bobbin-buckley

[bobbin-buckley]

guardian of the hummingbird ──── a natasha x fem!reader story

You are the Hummingbird, a healer known for your skill with herbs, and when Natasha, an assassin, kills a dying enemy who binds her with their last breath and drop of blood to protect you, her path is no longer her own.

warnings ➸ 6.6k words, eventual smut, fantasy!au (slight worldbuilding), top!natasha, bottom!reader, fingering/oral (r receiving), overstim hinted at, slow burn, "friends" to enemies to lovers, natahsa's a total liar at first, assassin natasha, healer/herbalist reader, side character death/injuries mentioned, alcohol consumption (n), hurt/comfort, happy ending, slight magic

You heal.

She kills.

So truth be told, neither of you expected to need each other.

In Kingsworth, that's where you reside, grew up. Across the seas in Levon is where she grew up, but no longer resides. Two completely different worlds, morals.

Your parents were healers, and their compassion whether hereditary or taught, was passed onto you. Seeing another in pain brought tears to your eyes. So alike your parents, you grew into their passion and eventually took over when they passed.

Meanwhile her parents were a painting. It's all she had of them. She grew up with the need to hide away every emotion, becoming steel. The hurt turned to anger when she became a teenager. Bad choices were made, and here she is on a path that all she sees is another in pain. Inflicted by her.

Where she sees the light die in others’ eyes, you are there to rekindle it.

The lamp beside you flickers dim, but enough to continue stitching the man's arm back together again. There's a few others in the small cabin, some asleep, some watching anxiously as you sew together their family member again. Their father, their son.

The air is thick with quiet tension, broken only by the soft scrape of needle against skin and the steady rhythm of your breath. Outside, the wind howls through the streets. The scent of herbs and dried flowers mingles with the faint copper tang of blood.

Each careful stitch is a promise, a vow to hold them together, to keep the pieces from falling apart. Their whispered prayers and barely suppressed sobs weave through the shadows

Only a few more, you whisper, your voice steady and calm. “Breathe slow. You’re so close.”

With careful hands, you finish the last few stitches before applying the soothing paste over the stitched wound—its cool touch settling like a balm. “This will ease the pain and help the flesh mend faster. Keep it wrapped tight, and your body will do the rest.”

On the other side of town, Natasha stands silently beside a bed, a man bleeding out beside her—her knife still buried deep in his chest. His grip tightens around her hand, trembling, and with his fading breath, he murmurs a final enchantment. The light in his eyes dims until nothing remains.

For a long moment, Natasha remains frozen, the weight of the moment sinking in. Then, sharp and sudden, realization strikes—she curses under her breath, stepping back as her gaze falls to the thin line of blood where his blade had nicked her skin.

Her eyes flash with frustration. She kicks a nearby object—hard—sending it clattering across the floor. Another curse escapes her lips, raw and bitter.

The wooden boat creaked softly as it sliced through the calm harbor waters, carrying a handful of passengers away from the island's fading lights. You stood near the bow, clutching a small satchel of herbs, eyes tracing the shoreline as the familiar town slipped into the mist behind you.

You turn around, every nerve on edge—only to find yourself face to face with a woman. She raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“Oh my—sorry!” you stammer, stepping back.

“No need to apologize,” she says with a small, effortless smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You ease up a bit, surprised by how calm and inviting she seems.

“First time in this part of the world?” Natasha asks casually, a stray lock of hair dancing in the breeze.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Is it yours?”

“Oh, many times,” she answers smoothly. “By the way, I’m Elisabeth.” She extends her hand. “Looks like we’re headed the same way.”

You take her hand, sharing your name. A small smile tugs at your lips as a quiet conversation settles between you.

You really got to know her, Elisabeth. Natasha.

She's also from Kingsworth, lived in a village across the way from yours. Grew up a merchant before she decided she wanted to be a cartographer. You were somewhat familiar with her last name, Withers? You're sure your parents met them at some point, that the family was mentioned somewhere in your journal.

She was kind, friendly. Offering to show you around the new town you both were set towards, which you took because you've never been to this specific town before.

The town was decorated very nicely, to which she explained its due to the festival that's happening that night. The Moonborn market festival, celebrating the full moon and it's prosperity.

The day slipped by faster than you realized. You’d spent most of it tending to a handful of villagers—bandaging scrapes, checking fevers.

And all the while, she waited.

She never offered to help, never wandered far. Just stood or leaned quietly by the door of whatever home you entered, arms crossed, eyes distant. Sometimes she’d vanish briefly—like smoke on the wind—only to reappear again without sound or fanfare.

Now, night had fallen. The village has changed. Where once there were quiet courtyards and dusty streets, now light spills across stone from hundreds of lanterns strung between rooftops.

The Moonborn Market Festival has truly begun—music curling through the air like incense, laughter rising, scents of honeybread and fire-roasted fruit warming the breeze.

You pause at a vendor’s stand set just beneath a silver-draped awning. Trinkets and fabrics hang in tight rows—moon-etched pendants, soft scarves dyed in swirling indigo and gold. Your fingers trail lightly over a length of cloth that shimmers subtly under the lanternlight, like woven water.

“You like it?” the merchant asks—an older woman with bright, too-knowing eyes and silver rings stacked like armor to her knuckles. Her smile is sharp around the edges, just a little too eager. “Hand-dyed silk from across the Eastern sea. Rare stuff. You won’t find that shade again after tonight.”

You offer a polite smile, fingers brushing the shimmering fabric once more. “It’s beautiful, but I’m not sure I need—”

“Of course you need it,” she cuts in, voice thick with charm that’s quickly losing patience. “Look at that face, darling. That color was made for you.”

You shake your head gently. “Maybe another time.”

The woman’s smile vanishes like a snuffed flame. “You touched it.”

Your brows furrow.

“You touched it,” she repeats, louder now, eyes narrowing. “And then put your hand in your bag.”

A beat of confusion freezes in your chest. “Excuse me?”

“She took something!” the woman snaps, voice rising like a flare into the festival noise. “Tried to distract me with small talk and slipped something into her satchel!”

Around you, people begin to turn. Eyes flash in the lanternlight. A few step closer. You back away from the stand, heart pounding. “I didn’t take anything?!"

A man grabs your arm roughly. “If you didn’t, open the bag.”

Your voice tightens. “Don’t touch me.”

The merchant’s tone sharpens, her face lighting with cruel satisfaction. “Thief. No wonder she looked so interested—sticky fingers.”

The crowd stirs, voices rising like sparks off kindling. Fingers brush your arms, your bag, your shoulder—grabbing, accusing. You twist, chest tightening, heart hammering hard against your ribs. Panic rushes your throat. Then—A crack of motion.

Her hand snaps around the wrist of the man grabbing you. She twists it back with surgical force—he cries out, stumbling away, cradling his arm like it’s suddenly made of glass.

You catch the glint of steel too late—he slashes forward, blade kissing the back of Natasha’s upper arm. Blood opens like a ribbon along her sleeve. She faces him, driving the blade across his wrist in one clean, ruthless arc. His hand hits the ground with a slap of flesh and bone.

The man staggers back, staring at the stump where his hand had just been. Blood pours between his fingers, bright and shocking under the moonlight.

The crowd recoils, gasps turning to silence. Even the music seems to falter for a breath. Natasha stands over the man, breath steady, her injured arm bleeding freely down her side.

Your eyes are stuck on the scene, breath completely gone from your lungs. She gently guides you, walking the two of you away from the scene. Not a single word uttered.

You’ve checked into a room somewhere—you're not even sure where. Everything feels heavy, like your mind is still bleeding from what you witnessed in the square. Blood. Screaming. That hand on the ground.

Your stomach turns just thinking about it.

What pulls you out of the haze is the low, steady sound of metal being cleaned. You glance up.

Natasha sits across from you near the window, her legs stretched out, a cloth in one hand, her knife in the other. She’s wiping it down with the same calm she always carries—like she didn’t just sever a man’s hand for you.

But it’s not the blade that holds your gaze. It’s her arm. The back of her sleeve is torn and soaked in dark red.

You fumble with your satchel, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re hurt.”

She hums, not even looking up. “So it seems.”

You shift on the bed, more insistent now. “I can help.”

That finally earns you her eyes. She lifts her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth. “Truly, don’t worry about me, little bird. I’ve been through worse.”

“But,” you say, scooting to the edge of the mattress, “if you leave it, it’ll get infected.”

Natasha watches you for a long, unreadable moment. Then.

“If I let you assist me,” she says dryly, “will you stop hovering like a worried mother?”

You nod, maybe a little too fast. That seems to satisfy her. She sighs through her nose and shifts upright, rolling her shoulder once before motioning toward the stool near her. “Alright then."

You grab what you need from your satchel—clean cloth, salve, needle and thread, just in case—and move to the stool beside her. A candle flickers between you on the nightstand, casting gold along her jaw, her collarbone, the tension in her muscles.

She shrugs off the coat slowly, and you peel back the ruined sleeve to expose the gash—clean, but deep. Still seeping blood.

You work in silence at first, the candlelight dancing with your movements.

Then, softly, “Thank you.”

Natasha glances at you from the corner of her eye.

“For stopping them, saving me. Even if… it wasn’t exactly gentle.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, wincing only slightly as you press the cloth to her wound. “Gentle rarely works. People like that… they don’t understand it.”

You meet her gaze, steady and sincere. “I don’t think that’s true. Gentleness can reach places violence never will. It takes time, patience—sometimes a soft touch is exactly what someone needs to heal.”

She snorts softly, "sure."

You shake your head gently, fingers stilling on her arm as you finish wrapping the bandage. “They need gentleness the most.”

The air between you thickens as your hands move over the last folds of cloth. When you finally look up, she’s already turned her gaze away, lost in thought—or maybe something else entirely.

The silence lingers, heavy and unspoken.

"I can take the floor," you offer, settling back, packing up your bag again.

She throws a laugh, "don't be silly. I'll sleep on the floor."

"But, Elisabeth," you look to her, "you saved me today, this is the least I can do. I just..."

"How about we both sleep in the bed? That way you stop your whining and I don't get a sore in my back when I wake up. Deal?"

A smile runs across your face as you nod.

You're heading back to the boat, having left Elisabeth Natasha back in the room. A note was left on the bedside table, a thank you for all she's done, but a fairwell at the same time.

With your hands tight on your bag you climb up into another ship to head over to another land. Ravens. The land with the castle, the royal family. There is where you expect hirearchy, chimpmunks, orange seashells.

The last thing you'd expect is her.

You'd wondered into a pub, bottom lip almost falling open in shock as you see her at a nearby table. Her knife is embedded in the scarred wood, feet stretched out, a lazy smirk playing on her lips like she owns the place.

You usher over to her, whisper yelling. "Why are you here too? Are you following me?!"

Natasha looks up slowly, her eyes narrowing with mild amusement. She flicks a finger toward the knife, then shrugs, as if to say, Maybe.

“Seems like I’m where I need to be,” she says, voice low and effortless. Her smile widens, drunken.

You pull up a chair, heart still racing. “You could have just said goodbye,” she whispers next, pouting dramatically. "Was sad when I woke up and the bed was empty."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden softness in her tone. Her smile falters for a moment, then returns, warm and teasing.

“Didn’t expect you to care,” you say quietly.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “it’s not every day someone piques my interest enough to follow halfway across the world.”

You believe her—her words feel honest, the teasing tone disarming. Maybe she’s just as unpredictable as ever, but a little softer.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “So what now? You follow me like a lost dog?"

She shrugs. “Sure."

And that's exactly what happens.

And that's exactly what happens.

Over the next few months, Natasha becomes a constant presence by your side—sometimes silent, sometimes teasing, always watchful. The days blur into a rhythm of shared moments. You learn more about her past in Kingsworth, her parents. How she misses them and their time together.

You've really grown to tolerate her company, maybe even like it.

A piercing sound shatters the night air. Both you and Natasha snap your heads toward the village, where a towering column of smoke and flames rises into the sky. Your heart pounds fiercely, breath catching in your throat.

“No...” you whisper, voice trembling. “I have to—”

Her hand shoots out, gripping your arm firmly. “No.”

You jerk away, eyes blazing. “You can’t decide this for me!”

Her gaze hardens, steady and unyielding. “If you run in there, you’ll get yourself killed."

“So what?” you shout, voice cracking. “I can’t just stand here while everything burns?”

She steps closer, voice low but fierce. “Right now, rushing in does nothing but make things worse. We have to wait. Watch. Once the chaos fades, we can return—help those who survive, heal the wounded.”

Your chest heaves with frustration and helplessness, but her words sink in—the cold logic beneath the firestorm of emotion.

She loosens her grip but stays close, eyes never leaving the burning horizon. “Trust me. We’ll do what needs to be done. But not like this—not blindly running into danger.”

You swallow hard, torn between the urge to act and the stark reality in her calm, unwavering stare.

She reaches for you, "come on. We need to seek shelter."

The flames flicker in the distance, and for the first time, you realize that sometimes the hardest battles are the ones fought with patience.

You've walked through the forest for a while, silence suffocating between the both of you.

You follow her into the forest, your bag clutched tight, each step weighed down by everything you’ve left behind. The trees close in, tall and looming, and the night air is thick with smoke and silence. Not even the crickets sing.

You've walked for what feels like hours, the hush between you and Natasha stretching long and heavy. Neither of you speaks. Not because there’s nothing to say—but because too much hangs unsaid between you.

Leaves crunch beneath your boots. Branches shift above you. Somewhere far off, the faint echo of chaos still lingers in the sky.

You steal a glance at her. She walks a few steps ahead, eyes scanning the trees, jaw tight. She hasn’t looked at you since the fire. Not really.

“Do you think anyone made it out?” you ask finally, voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t answer right away. Then, “Some. Maybe.” Her tone is steady, but it lacks the certainty you’d hoped for.

Your throat tightens. "I—I knew some of their names.”

Natasha slows, but doesn’t turn. “And you’ll help them again. Just not tonight.”

There’s no warmth in the words—but no cold, either. Just fact.

You want to hate her for it. You want to scream. But instead, you keep walking.

Eventually, she nods toward a small, covered clearing, half-sheltered by an outcropping of stone. “We’ll rest here. Just for the night.”

You drop your bag, sitting with your back to the rock. Your hands shake as you reach for your canteen.

She watches you from the edge of the firelight, unreadable.

“I left them,” you whisper into the dark.

Natasha crouches down beside you, her voice low. “No. You survived them. So you can go back.”

You don’t answer. You just let the weight of her words settle beside you, heavier than anything you’ve carried yet.

“Why did that happen?” you ask next, your voice hoarse. “Why an attack all of a sudden?”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away. She’s crouched by the edge of the clearing, sharpening her blade in the low light, the steady scrape of metal on stone filling the silence. When she finally speaks, it’s quiet—measured.

“Because something’s changing.”

You frown. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

She glances up, meets your gaze. “It does if you’ve seen it before.”

You wait, but she doesn’t elaborate.

Your voice tightens. “People died, Elisabeth. They were just living their lives—”

“I know.”

The words come fast, sharper than the knife in her hands. She stands, slipping it back into its sheath.

“There’s always a reason for fire,” she says. “Whether it’s to burn something down… or to smoke something out.”

You stare at her, trying to piece together what she’s not saying. “You think someone was after someone specific?”

“I think…” She pauses, gaze distant now. “It wasn’t random. Villages like that don’t just burn.”

You hug your knees, the cold creeping in under your skin. “And you think it’ll happen again."

“I know it will.”

Her certainty sends a chill down your spine.

She moves to the edge of the rock outcrop, her back to you, watching the dark like something might crawl out of it. “A king died in Ravens a few months back,” she says finally. “Quiet death. Covered up. No procession. No mourning.”

You lift your head slowly. “Why?”

“They didn’t want anyone asking questions. Didn’t want panic.” A beat of silence. “But there are those who noticed. Those who still served him… who want blood for it.”

You stare at the outline of her shoulders, stiff in the faint moonlight. “Revenge?”

“They’re not just burning villages,” she murmurs. “They’re sending messages.”

Your breath hitches. “And who are they blaming?”

She doesn’t answer. Her head tilts slightly, like she’s listening to something far away. You can’t see her face, only the curve of her jaw, the stillness of her hands.

You don’t know it, but her thoughts are already somewhere else—back in the cold, candlelit room where a crown lay beside a lifeless body. Her blade had been clean by the time she slipped out, silent as smoke. No one ever saw her. No one but him.

She’d thought it finished. Tied off. Forgotten. That people would move along with their lives, but this is what frustrates her most about humanity. What she hates most about herself. Revenge.

It’s been a week since then. The two of you have been holed up in a quiet coastal town, a few days’ journey from Ravens—close enough to listen for whispers, but far enough that the smoke hasn’t touched the sky here. Not yet.

The townsfolk seem unbothered. They barter fish and bread, hang their laundry, chase their children through the winding streets like nothing is wrong. Maybe nothing is, not here. Not yet.

You haven’t said much. Most of your days are spent in quiet—wandering the market aimlessly, staring at things you don’t need. And at night, you walk down to the shore and sit by the sea, as if the waves might hold answers.

That’s where you are now, shoes off, toes buried in the cool sand, the sky above streaked with pink and bruised blue. The sea laps at the edge of the shore like it’s breathing—calm, even, the kind of peace that feels too far away to touch.

Behind you, you hear footsteps, slow and deliberate. Elisabeth Natasha. She sits beside you wordlessly, her presence like a shadow sliding in alongside your own.

You don’t look at her, eyes still on the water. “Do you ever feel like we’re just… waiting for the next horrible thing?”

There’s a pause before she answers, voice low. “Yep. All the time.”

You finally glance at her. She’s watching the horizon too, her features softer in the fading light. She’s not wearing the usual smirk, not hiding behind some flippant remark. Just quiet honesty.

“I used to think helping people would feel like more than this,” you admit. “Like it would mean more. But now everything I do feels too small.”

“It does mean something,” she says, turning toward you. “You helped people. That matters. Even if it doesn’t fix the world.”

You study her face, the rare sincerity there. “And you? Do you ever wish you’d done something else with your life?”

She lets out a breath, her eyes darkening. “Sometimes. But I made the choices I made. You don’t get to erase that.”

There’s something heavier beneath her voice, something close to regret—but not quite.

You tilt your head. “Would you change it?”

She’s quiet for a long time. Then, so softly you almost miss it, she says, “Maybe. If I’d met you sooner.”

Your heart stumbles.

You turn back to the sea, unsure what to do with the warmth suddenly curling in your chest.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Elisabeth,” you say, quieter than before.

She gives a huff of a laugh—dry, but not bitter. “You’re probably the only one who thinks that.”

You look at her. Her eyes meet yours, searching, guarded—but something cracks there. Something real.

The silence stretches, not uncomfortable. Just full.

Then, slowly, you both lean in.

The kiss is soft, uncertain, like neither of you is entirely sure you’re allowed to want it. Her hand brushes your cheek, careful, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away.

But you don’t.

For a moment, the war, the fire, the broken kingdoms fade. There’s only her lips against yours, the salt of the sea in the air, and the quiet hum of something neither of you can name just yet.

When you pull apart, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling.

“Careful,” she murmurs. “Keeping looking at me like that and I'll want to kiss you again."

You smile faintly. “you say that like it's so terrible."

A smile grazes her lips, a genuine one as she leans in again. A hand on your cheek.

The next morning, the two of you board a modest trading ship bound for the Isle of Thorne—a quiet place rumored to be untouched by the conflict brewing inland. The deck creaks underfoot, gulls screech overhead, and the salt-heavy breeze plays through your hair. You and Elisabeth lean over the side of the ship, watching the mainland shrink behind you, wrapped in fog and memory.

She’s quieter than usual, chewing on a piece of dried fruit, eyes distant, unreadable. Last night, she'd kissed you like you were something she might never have again. This morning, it’s like she’s trying not to look at you too long.

You don't push.

Instead, you walk across the deck, helping a young crewman who sliced his hand on a tangled rope. You clean and wrap it without much thought—he smiles, grateful, tells you you’ve got good hands. You return the smile distractedly, your mind already elsewhere.

And then it happens.

A voice—older, gravelly, uncertain—calls out behind you.

“...Natasha?”

The name doesn’t land right at first. It doesn’t belong to anyone here.

You turn instinctively. But it’s her that freezes.

Your gaze snaps to Elisabeth. She’s gone pale, the dried fruit slipping from her fingers to the deck. The sailor who called the name—an old man with a scar over his nose—squints at her harder.

“I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “Natasha! Thought you were—”

“I’m not,” she cuts in sharply, her voice low and cold.

She doesn’t look at you.

You step toward her. “Elisabeth…”

Her jaw clenches. The man backs off slowly, muttering something about keeping to himself.

“Elisabeth,” you repeat, firmer this time. “Who is Natasha?”

She finally meets your eyes—and for the first time, you don’t recognize the expression she wears. It isn’t teasing, or soft, or even distant.

It’s the look of someone who’s been cornered. Exposed.

“I didn’t want you to know me like that,” she says quietly. Everything else she says after that fades away. Truly it felt like a panic attack. World spinning, heart dropping. The air left you completely.

You laugh, mocking and sour. "Oh so what, you've just lied to me this whole time? Who are you, Natasha?"

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. You see it then—the flicker of panic behind her eyes, quickly buried beneath the usual cool detachment she wears like armor.

“I didn’t lie about everything,” she says finally, voice low, almost pleading. “Just the parts I didn’t know how to give you yet.”

“Oh,” you spit, the laugh sharp, bitter. “That’s comforting. Thanks.”

You pace a step back, fingers tightening at your sides. The ship rocks gently beneath your feet, but it might as well be the world shifting.

“So what, Elisabeth was just a convenient little costume?” you snap. “Was any of it real? The village, the festival, the kiss—?”

Her jaw tenses. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t what? Ask you to be honest?”

“No,” she says, firmer now. “Don’t pretend none of it mattered. You know it did.”

You shake your head, fury and confusion twisting together in your chest. “I knew Elisabeth. I trusted her. I let her sleep near me, touch me, kiss me—?!"

“I’m still that person,” she says, stepping forward. “Even if my name’s different. Even if my past is darker than you want it to be.”

You stare at her, your breath shaky. “So what is your past, then? Who is Natasha? Who are you really?"

She’s silent. The ocean groans around you, the sails straining in the wind.

“Oh, so you’re just going to tell me you’ve killed people?”

You say it with a bitter edge, half hoping she’ll deny it. But her silence pulls the ground out from under you—like falling off a cliff with nothing to hold onto.

You want to deny it, but looking back on everything. It hurts to see that everything lines up.

You want to scream. Or cry. Or ask her to turn around and jump ship so you never have to look at her again. But all you can do is stand there, heart in your throat, trying to reconcile the woman who kissed you with the stranger standing in her place.

“I don’t know who you are,” you whisper, tears in your eyes. "And I don't want anything to do with you ever fucking again."

She doesn’t try to stop you this time when you walk away.

You heal.

It’s who you are. not just a skill, but a calling that pulses through your veins like blood itself. In every herb you crush, every stitch you sew, there’s a piece of you poured out, a quiet promise to mend what’s broken. It’s what your parents taught you, what you’ve always known.

For about a week now, you’ve been tending to the sick in a small village tucked between the hills. Their coughs and fevers, their cracked skin and tired eyes — you meet them all with steady hands and a soft heart. You move from one bed to the next, offering relief, hope, a chance to breathe easier. But somewhere deep inside, that spark that once lit your touch feels dimmer, shadowed.

At night, when the village sleeps, you lie awake, your mind tangled in thoughts of Natasha.

You can’t stop thinking about it. The fact she's a killer. How different her path is from yours, yet somehow it’s intertwined with your own. You wonder if she feels the weight of it all or if it’s just a part of her, cold and distant.

You sigh, turning around, trying to sleep. As you look up, a scream etches its way out of your throat. You shoot back, gasping for air.

Someone stands over you, a knife in their hand poised now over your neck.

"Scream and I'll kill you," they whisper, voice devoid of any emotion.

The stranger’s gaze is cold, unyielding—no hint of doubt or mercy. You force yourself to stay calm.

“Who sent you?” you ask, searching for answers.

The silence stretches, heavy and thick. Finally, the stranger’s voice is low and deadly serious. “You're hers. And I’ve been sent to find you.”

You wake up with a sore back. Hands cramped behind you, tied. You're on something that's moving, heading somewhere. You'd know if you could see, but there's a cloth blocking your vision.

The rough fabric scratches against your skin as you blink, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The steady creak of wood and the rhythmic slap of water against hull tell you one thing for certain—you’re on a boat.

Your breath comes shallow, heart pounding as you test the bindings around your wrists. They bite into your skin but hold fast. Panic threatens to rise, but you push it down, forcing yourself to listen.

Voices murmur nearby, low and cautious. Footsteps approach—heavy, deliberate.

A shadow looms, then a voice, calm but cold: “Good gods, you’re finally awake."

You swallow hard, every nerve screaming for a way out, but all you can do is wait and think of a way out.

Your eyes squint against the fading light as you try to make sense of the woman standing before you. The ropes around your wrists have loosened, but your hands remain bound.

“Who are you?” you ask, voice steady but cautious.

She steps forward, her expression unreadable, a faint edge of something like amusement in her eyes. “I’m the one sent to find Natasha.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why bring me here? What do you want from me?”

Her lips curve into a cold smile. “Natasha killed the king of Ravens. I was tasked with finishing what was started.”

You feel the air leave your lungs. “And I’m just bait?”

She nods slowly. “She trusts you. That makes you the perfect way to draw her out.”

You swallow hard, the truth settling heavy. “What happens when she shows up?”

Her smile fades. “That all depends on who strikes first."

The cold slap stings your cheek, sharp and sudden. You grit your teeth but say nothing, meeting her eyes with steady defiance.

“Tell me the truth,” she demands, voice low and harsh.

You shake your head, struggling against the ropes but knowing it’s useless. “She didn’t. All she did was lie to me! I didn't even know her name."

Her eyes flash with disbelief. “You expect me to believe that?”

You swallow hard, heart pounding. “I only know what she’s shown me. That’s all I have.”

Before the woman can respond, the heavy door creaks open. Two figures step inside, each gripping one of Natasha’s arms. She’s limp between them, unconscious and bruised, her breathing shallow.

The woman’s eyes widen, but she says nothing. She shoves you hard, the sudden force catching you off guard. You stumble backward, hitting the ground with a harsh crack. Darkness quickly floods your vision as the world tilts and fades away beneath you.

The last thing you hear is the low murmur of voices and the creak of the door closing behind her.

Next time you open your eyes, you're face to face with her. Her expression concerned, a hand dabbing at your face with a wet cloth. You're laid on some matress, her body sitting on the bed, facing you.

You curl slightly away, the sting of the cloth against your skin sharper than you expected. Your throat tightens, words tangled up in the knot of confusion and pain.

Her eyes don’t waver, holding yours like she’s trying to unravel the walls you’ve built around yourself. She sighs, sitting back. Silence overtaking the both of you before she starts again.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

She looks away briefly, the weight of her past flickering across her eyes before she meets your gaze again.

“I grew up in Levon. My parents were never around. Anger took hold—I made choices I’m not proud of. And then I became an assassin. It's cringy, but I wanted community. They never looked down on me like everyone else did. It was pity or shame, and I was so fucking sick of it."

“I killed the king of Ravens," she pauses, breathing out, "it was a job—one I was paid to do like every other one. But that moment… it changed everything. As he died, he bound me—cut a mark into my hand, mixed our blood. He tied me to you, declaring I must protect you.”

She swallows, a strange mix of bitterness and gratitude in her eyes. “Why he chose you, I don’t know. But… I owe him thanks. For two reasons.”

She pauses, searching for the right words. “First, because that bond pulled me away from the life I was trapped in—no more contracts, no more killing for money. I’m tied to something… different now. Something I never expected.”

“And second… because it brought me to you."

You finally meet her gaze, your expression still guarded but quieter now—listening, and that’s enough.

She exhales softly, relief flickering across her features. “You don’t have to forgive me. I don’t expect you to want to understand, either. I’m sorry—for the past, for the lies, for everything I kept from you.”

Her voice lowers, earnest and raw. “But please… just let me heal you.”

There’s a vulnerability there you hadn’t seen before—a plea beyond words, beyond duty. And in that moment, something shifts between you. She gingerly reaches towards you again, wiping away at the died blood by your eyebrow.

The salt air drifts gently over the porch where she stands, silhouetted against the pale blue of the sea. You recognize this place—it’s the same home where you once tended to a fevered child, the memory faint.

You step quietly beside her, the silence stretching between you. After a moment, you break it. “What did those people want?"

She doesn’t turn, voice low and steady. “I don’t really know. I hoped they were the last. That whatever shadow was chasing us… is finally gone. I hope. Revenge flickers out eventually, people get tired. Especially for royalty such as himself. he was a pissy king."

The quiet returns, heavy but not uncomfortable.

You draw a slow breath. “I don’t like that you lied to me. And I don’t think I’ll ever like that you killed people—no matter the reason.”

Her shoulders tense, but you soften your tone, eyes tracing the horizon. “But I can see the change in you. It’s real. I know you’re not the same person you were.”

For the first time, the weight between you feels less like a barrier, and more like a fragile thread—something that might hold. She reaches for your hand, but you move back, just slightly.

"This doesn't mean I've forgiven you just yet," you murmur, looking back out at the sea. "Give it time... and we'll see."

A month later. You're sitting alongside the shore of Kingsmore. Laughing and teasing a kid who you've just bandaged a broken arm, doing your best to erase the that were in his eyes. He now smiles, eyes glimmering not from tears but from laughter. You chase him around, doing what you can to bring him joy.

You kick up sand as the boy darts past you, laughter ringing clear and light in the salty air. His broken arm, once swollen and angry, now wrapped tight with your careful bandages, seems almost forgotten. You chase him with a teasing grin, heart swelling with a fragile hope you haven’t felt in weeks.

Eventually, the boy darts off toward his family, and you wipe the sweat from your brow, standing and brushing the sand from your clothes. The path back to the house feels different now — softer somehow, as if this place is slowly mending alongside you.

When you reach the porch, Natasha is there, leaning against the doorframe, eyes fixed on the sea. She watches you with that unreadable expression she’s perfected, neither warmth nor cold — just presence.

You approach quietly, your footsteps softened by the worn wooden boards.

“Hey,” you say softly.

She shifts, turning to meet your gaze. “Hey.”

The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken words.

“Can we talk?” she asks finally, voice low but steady.

You nod, heart fluttering unexpectedly as you step inside together, ready to face whatever comes next. You both step inside your store, the door swinging shut behind you. She turns back towards you, words starting to escape her but you stand on your tip toes and cut her off with a kiss.

She eagerly responds, hands cupping your face. Your back bumps into the wall behind you, hands weaving in her hair. She kisses you desperate, wanting, loving.

She tugs at your shirt, puling your clothing off. Each article falling onto the floor as you both stumble into the bedroom. She kisses along your neck, fingers finding your hot core.

"Nat," you gasp, back arching as she rubs your clit with practiced ease. Against your neck she whispers her praises, her confessions.

"So pretty."

"So fucking soft."

"I love you. Oh gods, I love you."

"You're so beautiful."

She kisses down your body while her fingers work you open, feeling how you clench around her. Her lips wrap around your nipple, a smile on her face as she watches you keen. She moves her way down until shes hovering right over your clit.

The moment her tongue presses onto you, a choked moan escapes you. Hands gripping the sheets tight as she brings you to your high embarrassingly quick.

Her name on your tongue as you come down from your high. You realize half moan that you're way too loud, and you slap a hand over your mouth. Muffling yourself.

“Sorry,” you breathe out, flustered and a little breathless, laughter still clinging to the edges of your voice. “What… what were you going to talk to me about? I didn’t mean to cut you off, I just—”

She’s still laughing softly as she leans in, the corner of her mouth brushing your cheek in a kiss so gentle it stuns you still. Her finger rises, rests lightly against your lips.

“Shh,” she murmurs. “Relax. I was just going to say I love you. But this was way better.”

Your chest tightens. Everything slows — the air, the sea breeze, the thrum of your thoughts. You look at her, at the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, at the steadiness she’s grown into beside you.

And then you say it.

“I love you too.”

Her eyes widen for a second — just a flicker — and then something softer, something real and quiet, settles between you both like the hush of the tide.

notes 𓇕 hope you enjoyed this!! whoever you are! Love that you love stories, even if they're shitty. Because I fear this is shitty, but. I spent like 7 hours writing this!

[bobbin-buckley]

The Roommate — Under the moonlight

Summary: Navigating jealousy was a hard thing to do for Natasha, because that would mean she also had to face the truth. But after Steve asked you out, she knew she had to do something about before she broke. Maybe the night will be her best ally.

Pairing: g!p! Natasha Romanoff x fem! reader

Warnings(+18): jealous sex, daddy kink unlocked, fingering, spanking, blowjob, dacryphilia, degradation kink, unprotected sex, slightly possessive! Natasha Romanoff, clueless! reader, kind of an asshole! Steve Rogers, motorbike, implied eating disorders, goofy! Natasha, light fluff.

you don’t have permission to translate/repost my work anywhere. Please be respectful. Likes, reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated. MDNI — Regina.

A/N: I’m sorry for the delay, you have no idea how many drafts I deleted before getting this the way I wanted. Highly offended that you guys liked the first chapter more than the second one hahaha :( Anyway, enjoy! ♡ see you guys soon and thank you for the support!

CHAPTER INSPIRED BY: Yo no soy celoso - Bad Bunny

Series masterlist || Main masterlist

Natasha Romanoff was not the jealous type.

She didn’t have to be. Girls fawned over her, fought for her attention, wanted to be hers even if it was just for a night and they always wanted for her to call back. The redhead was always the first choice, everyone else was a consolation prize.

So why on earth was this feeling running through her veins?

Jealousy was a powerful and uncomfortable feeling. It ignited every inch of her skin, made her ears ring and her heart beat so fast that she felt it was about to jump out of her chest.

The worst part was knowing she had no right to be jealous. You were just having sex, no feelings, no string attached and barely friends.

But watching you give Alexander your undivided attention, laughing at silly jokes and being curled up next to him as he played video games and you ordered food was driving her crazy.

After she fainted, Natasha regained consciousness just to find almond eyes looking at her with insufferable amusement and yours a little worried. So not only was she burning with jealousy, but she also got her ego shattered.

And she locked herself in her room, but your giggles reached her ears every time to the point she ended up putting on her headphones with the volume all up just to muffle the sound and probably her thoughts.

The presence of Alexander was rubbing her off, as if someone was stealing something from her, threatening to ruin whatever you two had.

The redhead fought every thought, of course she did. She didn’t own you, not even when the sex got hot and possessive and you claimed to be hers. But it was just that, sex with no attachments or serious commitment.

Natasha also didn’t have a lot of information about you, that was the only thing that made her feel a little justified about her feelings.

You were insanely private. She came to realise that every bit of yourself that she knew was because you wanted her to or because she observed.

Every time Natasha asked something, the immediate response would be a chuckle. Sometimes, you just pretended you didn’t hear her. Best case scenario, she got a short response that left no room for more.

It wasn’t like she needed to know everything or that she cared, Natasha was just curious — or that’s what she kept telling herself every time her heart fluttered when you actually gave her something.

That Saturday was probably the longest one in her entire life and not in a good way. She barely left her room, all of her friends were busy and honestly she was too caught up trying to bury her feelings that she didn’t want to go out.

By the time Alexander left, Natasha was already asleep but not even in her dreams was she left alone.

Over the previous days, Natasha started to dream about you and they weren’t exactly wet dreams. No, the redhead started just picturing silly moments around you. Dreams so soft and warm that every time she woke up, it was like she was given an energy shot.

Of course, she blamed the whole sex thing for your presence in those dreams. Not that you were relevant or something, her mind probably just chose you because you were now a constant in her life.

But that night, her dream — well, nightmare was entirely about you with Alexander.

The thing about nightmares was they tended to be clearer than a dream. She got under so much distress, that her own body started to react while she slept.

You hugged him and her fists clenched. You kissed his cheek and her jaw tightened. You looked at him with soft twinkling eyes full of love and devotion and her heart raced.

She woke up sweaty, tense and her heart hammering like never before. It was like dying in her sleep because with jealousy arrived that little and annoying voice in her head that chanted over and over again the same thing.

That should be me.

If only Natasha wasn’t so stubborn, if she only had the courage to face the truth, if only she wasn’t an idiot sometimes, maybe she would get what she wanted.

And that was a big maybe.

The other side of the coin, you, was as stubborn and stupid like Natasha Romanoff.

It was easy when you didn’t know Natasha that much. Having sex with someone that is known for refusing a serious commitment was easy because you didn’t think you could change her, you just went with it.

But days passed, months even, and fights happened but not as much, she started being around you more and you found out Natasha was someone easy to like and not because of her looks but because when her fuck girl facade wasn’t around, she actually was a smart and goofy human being.

Natasha walked around the world with a confidence that bordered arrogance. She was charming, flirty and sometimes too smart for her own good. She thrived on attention as much as you did, she loved the spotlight and she loved knowing how much people desired her.

However, behind the scenes when no one was watching and in the middle of her solitude, Natasha was soft and sweet. The redhead was the type of person to remember how you loved your coffee, to remind you to eat and to even sat and help you study when you struggled.

Natasha Romanoff was the ultimate golden retriever.

In so many ways she was just like you and at the same time so far away from the woman you were. She balanced you out, she pushed your buttons and they were always the right ones. It was like being around someone that knew you too well without trying really hard.

And that was the scary part because a different set of feelings started to ignite inside of you. They were quiet, not invasive but terrifying. And you forced yourself to believe it was friendship, it had to be and it would be.

Just as much as Natasha thought she had no right over you, you thought you had no chance into taming that woman.

You craved each other more than any of you wanted to admit and not just physically but in every other aspect.

Natasha didn’t stop fucking around, she just wasn’t doing it that much because you kept her satisfied — or that was what she told herself.

You sometimes let her hang a little more after sex because it would definitely be mean to kick her out when she just gave you a mind blowing orgasm, not because you liked the warmth of her body and the soft kisses she placed when you were wrapped in the sheets.

Natasha sometimes joined you during your time over the treadmill and you sometimes jumped into the ring as she tried to teach you how to spar.

You both were starting to hang more without noticing it; the sex kept happening but it wasn’t the main event now, it was a side effect, a benefit.

Again, two sides of the same coin. Stubborn, stupid and awfully terrified of facing the truth.

You both were falling in love.

(—)

Natasha started to be hyper-aware of people around you and their behaviour.

She knew you were college’s golden girl, the one everyone desired and couldn’t have and there was a little pride in being the one that managed to do it but they didn’t know that and Natasha couldn’t tell.

So she had to endure watching every ridiculous attempt of people trying to gain a little of your attention. And you, for someone that loved turning people down as if it was your pride and joy, were awfully kind with others.

In fact, the only one that got rejected and mocked around was Natasha. At least directly.

The rest got sweet smiles, sometimes pity looks and when they kept trying without taking a no for an answer they got mean comments wrapped in softness.

Honestly, you were the devil in disguise and as amusing as it was watching people try to get you, it was also infuriating.

Natasha couldn’t just walk right up to you and place her arm around you to scare them off. You probably would kill her if she did and she didn’t have the right to do it.

The redhead was doomed to only watch and sometimes break whatever that was on her hand.

It was a game changer when Steve Rogers decided to try his shot because he didn’t know Natasha and you were sleeping together, he also was Natasha’s friend and the redhead was about to lose her mind.

It was a beautiful Wednesday. You were wearing a sundress that almost made Natasha pass out again when you walked out of your room; mustard yellow with little white flowers that reached a little above the knee and had bows over the shoulder straps.

Your hair was up in a ponytail with soft locks falling and a yellow bow placed above it that made you look so innocent and so cute. And for once you weren’t wearing heels but sandals, making you look much tinier than you already were.

You were sitting at the outside stone tables next to Wanda and Pietro. The three of you were chatting, studying and having lunch since you had a free period and so did Natasha.

She was watching you from three tables away, listening to Clint and Steve talk as she pretended to be thinking about her essay when in reality she was just thinking about dragging you to the closest bathroom stall and lift that pretty dress.

Then, Steve said your name.

“Do you think she will say yes? I know my chances are very thin but she’s always so soft around me” Steve said with dreamy eyes, watching you giggle at whatever Pietro said.

Natasha looked at him and blinked like he just said the most stupid thing. And maybe it was, but it was also hard to know because you actually liked Steve, as a friend.

“I don’t know, man, you are already her friend” Clint said, barely looking from his notebook “She doesn’t date friends neither”

“Yeah, why trying? Girls actually like you, why her?” Natasha tried to sound casual, not like someone trying to push her friend as far away as she could from the girl she secretly liked.

Steve sighed “You live with her and you don’t see the appealing?” Natasha shrugged and Steve chuckled “It must be nice not catching feeling for someone. Well, she is really kind and smart”

“She is a bitch when she wants to” Natasha offered, gaining a glare from Steve and she smiled “I live with her, I see what you don’t”

Yeah, she saw what every other person in campus wanted. You naked and moaning her name, begging her to never stop. And your kind and smart self. But the statement was true too, you were a bitch when you wanted to.

“No, you just love to push her buttons” Clint chimed in, deciding his own essay was going nowhere with those two talking “When I tried, I saw her just as a pretty face. But she’s actually an amazing friend”

“That she is” Steve smiled softly and Natasha was about to break something “I’ll ask her out, worst case scenario she says no and I laugh and tell her it was just a joke”

“Or you could just ask another girl out. Heard Peggy Carter was asking about you” Natasha insisted and Steve furrowed his brows “She’s cute”

“You probably fucked her already” Steve retorted and Natasha shook her head.

“Not my type” she grinned and Clint snorted.

“Your type is anything that moves, Romanoff” Clint teased and she rolled her eyes “But the Peggy part is actually true, she asked about you”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that. In the meantime…” Steve stood up and Natasha jolted.

“Where are you going?” she rushed to ask and Steve just smirked.

“To try my shot” he shrugged.

Her ears started to ring and her heart started to race because not only was she jealous, but she was praying you broke Steve’s heart so she didn’t have to face her friend.

(—)

You said yes.

Natasha heard the awful news when Steve came back with a bright smile and asking her if he could borrow her bike. And the redhead forced a smile and said yes because what else was she supposed to say?

She tried to look as a supportive and proud friend when in reality, she was burning on the inside with anger and jealousy. Why on earth did you say yes?

In reality, you said yes because you didn’t know Steve meant it as a romantic date. On the contrary belief, you didn’t know about Steve’s crush on you. It might’ve been obvious to everyone but not you.

Steve was always so sweet and charming with everyone, not just you. He was a gentleman with every woman, the type that stood up when a girl arrived to the table, the type that opened doors and not once did he look at their ass.

He was your friend and you cared for him as such, how would you know that he was interested in you when he behaved with you just like he did with everyone else?

By the time Natasha arrived home after a long and endless sparring session. She didn’t even tried to fuck you earlier and let you leave for dance practice. She needed to blow out some steam before she actually picked a fight with her friend.

You were curled up watching TV, still wearing your sundress and Natasha wondered what you wore for dance practice. Amelia was gone and the only thing keeping you company was some iced tea and your show.

“Watching TV on a Wednesday night? Did someone die?” Natasha teased, sitting next to you not close but enough.

You flipped her off “So funny. I actually finished everything. You are just late”

Natasha snatched your tea from your hand and ignored your glare as she took a sip and placed it over the coffee table.

“So sweet, were you waiting for me?” she grinned and you snorted.

She was right, you just didn’t want to admit that.

“I was enjoying the silence as I tried to catch up with my show” you shrugged and slid closer to her “Now that you are here, it’s over”

“For someone so smart, you enjoy Love Island too much” she also moved closer and her hand landed over your thigh “Mind if I change the show?”

Your eyes looked down, calloused fingers caressing your thigh and damping your underwear because Natasha had that effect on you.

Lately, her touch, her scent, her voice even turned you on faster than anything. Your body buzzed with need when she was around and as much as you wanted to turn it off, it wasn’t happening so you just went with it.

“Sure, I’ll head to bed” you murmured and she looked at you “What? Are you trying to have a movie night, roomie?”

“Why not? Roomies also do that, right?” she whispered and you hummed “Want popcorn?”

“I’m fine but if you go to the kitchen I want more tea, please” you asked softly and she nodded.

There was also that domestic routine between you. Natasha learned to clean after herself immediately after Wanda mentioned how much you struggled with things being out of place. You let her borrow your special blanket and sometimes cooked for her, although Natasha was the better cook.

You helped each other, sometimes had silent study sessions and you even had full weekends around each other as if going out pained you too much to leave the house when in reality, you just wanted to hang a little more.

Natasha came back with your iced tea refilled and some popcorn for her. You raised a brow at her lack of drink for herself and she smirked.

“We are sharing”

“No, we are not” you smacked her hand away when she tried to grab your cup “Stop it, it’s mine”

“Learn to share, princess” she tried again and you moved your hand away “You will spill it and you will make me clean”

“Then stop trying” you grunted and she laughed “Get your own tea”

“Yours tastes better” she insisted and finally grabbed your cup, although she was sure you let her win “Horror or comedy?”

“Surprise me” you said defeated as you grabbed your blanket.

Natasha picked whatever movie she found first, it really didn’t matter when you were looking so hot next to her and her mind started imagining how well the movie night could end if she played her cards right.

However, you weren’t paying so much attention since your phone kept buzzing. At first, Natasha didn’t mind. Then, she peeked just a little when you giggled and saw Steve’s name on the screen.

She faked a yawn and wrapped an arm around you and you snorted as she pulled you closer. Her body buzzing with jealousy and possessiveness, fighting the need to throw your phone away.

“Subtle” you teased, not minding when her arm secured you closer to hers and you locked your phone as you rested your head over her shoulder “Look at us, being decent around each other”

“Yeah, it’s easier when you are not being a bitch” she teased and you punched her abdomen making her wince.

“And you ruined the moment” you straightened up and went back to your phone. Natasha’s jaw tightened when you opened again your conversation with Steve and she took away your phone “Hey! That’s mine”

“We are watching a movie, be respectful” she retorted as you rolled your eyes and she pulled you closer again “I heard you are going out with Steve, do you think that’s a good idea?”

You furrowed your brows and looked at her with confusion. Natasha’s fingers curling on your side as if you were about to vanish from her side. But her scent was clouding your judgement, being so close to her was enough to make you lose reason when she smelled so good after a workout.

“Why wouldn’t it be? If I didn’t know any better, I would say you are jealous” you murmured, resting your head again on her chest unaware of her tensed state at your words “He is my friend”

“He is in love with you” she said sternly and you looked at her, snorting “I’m serious”

“Aw look at you, being a protective friend over Steve” you grinned and Natasha rolled her eyes “He is not, he is just being nice” your hand started caressing her thigh, moving up and making her lose focus for a moment “Besides” your hand wrapped around her cock and started rubbing it over her sweatpants “I don’t date, you know that and he knows that”

Natasha moaned, her dick reacting instantly at your motions and you smirked. Her grip tightened around you and her blood kept boiling with jealousy when she imagined you doing the exact same thing to Steve.

“I don’t think he knows” she breathed out and you raised a brow.

“And I don’t think you should care that much” you pointed out and tugged the waistband of her sweatpants “If I misread his intentions, I will let him know”

You knelt in front of her and Natasha’s mind felt hazy. You tugged her sweatpants down and your tiny hand wrapped around her length, jerking her off to get her fully hard.

But she kept picturing you with him, with Alexander, with every person that dared to talk to you. The sight was getting her hard but her skin kept buzzing trying to rip out the truth from her throat.

“I don’t think you should go out with him” she whimpered when you licked the tip and doe eyes looked at her.

“Stop talking about Steve, it’s turning me off” you said sternly.

Your tongue traced a line from the top to the base and Natasha moaned. You smirked as your hand kept pumping her and the redhead tossed her head back when you wrapped your lips around her cock.

Natasha always got impressed by your skills. You were the only one that gave her a proper blowjob, the one that had the power to make her see stars and last so little.

Her hand fisted your ponytail and helped you bobbed your mouth, gagging noises muffling a little her own mind as she tried to focus on you and not the feeling that was burning in the pit of her stomach.

Was Steve going to have the privilege of learning about your skills too? Would you kneel in front of him like you did with her?

She pushed you down with more force, trying to remind you that she was better, so much better. And you tried to relaxed your throat, choking on her cock as your skin flushed and tears pricked in your eyes.

You tapped her thigh when your lungs started burning and tears rolled down your cheeks but Natasha was barely there, her mind driving her body to claim you in the only way she could.

Natasha wasn’t your girlfriend, she didn’t want to be, but in bed she should be the only one that could ruin you and she was planning on that.

You forced yourself up, mascara ruined and a string of saliva left behind as Natasha moaned at your sight. You didn’t say anything, you were loving the strength and the power she had.

You moved your hand up and down, eyes focused on Natasha as her grip tightened around your ponytail. Then you went back to suck her dick and she jerked her hips up, fucking your mouth with purpose, listening to your gagging noises and praying that Steve would never hear them. No, they were for her ears only.

Doe eyes met darkened green eyes and maybe if you weren’t so turned on, you would see the jealousy that were clouding them. The way Natasha’s features were hardened by the need to claim you as hers and only hers.

“Will you do this to him?”

The words left her lips before she could register them and you only moaned, vibrations sending pleasurable waves up her body and she stood up with your mouth wrapped around her.

She took off her tee, tossing it somewhere over the floor, the movie playing on the background and her abdomen on display just for your eyes only as she fucked your mouth.

“Do you think he will know how to properly fuck your slutty mouth?”

Your mouth popped around the tip, her dick almost resting against your cheek and almost as big as your small head as your hands moved up and down and your eyes were drunk on her.

Maybe her words shouldn’t turn you on as much as they were doing it, maybe they should be flaring alarms in your mind and making you stop but they were doing quite the opposite. They were making you wet, electrifying your skin with need and you wanted more.

But the reason was that you thought they weren’t real, you were lacking to see that Natasha meant them. As if she was role playing thinking you would actually sleep with her friend, as if the jealousy was just coming out to play to turn you on and not because she was losing her mind.

Because Natasha couldn’t be seriously jealous, right?

Natasha Romanoff jealous of someone else getting their hands on you sounded ridiculous. That would mean she’s catching feelings and Natasha had very proudly announced to the world she would never do it, no one would ever chain her into monogamy.

As they say, never say never.

“Maybe I should try it, don’t you think?” you provoked her, trying to get more of the same reaction from her.

Her jaw tightened and she pushed your mouth back in place, your eyes rolling back and she kept fucking your mouth. Her forehead sweaty and her hips moving desperately.

You were playing. She was not.

“No, you won’t” she said through gritted teeth, her face red with anger and you moaned “You are my slut, only mine”

You moved back, pre-cum and drool dripping down your chin as you looked at her with eyes darkened by desire. You loved when Natasha treated you like that, possessive and commanding. When she degraded you instead of feeding your ego with hollow praises.

“Then show me, Nat. Or I will let him ruin me before you can”

Natasha growled and pulled you up. Usually, she was more gentle when manhandling you but that night she really couldn’t care less about your well-being when you were fuelling her anger.

She captured your lips in a claiming and possessive kiss, moving with desperation and anger as her feelings pulled her mind in every direction. Your fingers tangled with her hair as she undid your ponytail and then her lips moved down to your jaw and then your neck.

In a swift move, she sat on the sofa with you straddling her lap. Her teeth sinking in your skin and her lips sucking with purpose. You moaned, too drunk on the moment to actually stop her because Natasha had never marked you until that night.

Her hands ran up your thighs, sneaking under your dress and hooking her fingers on the waistband of your underwear. You stood up to take them off quickly and went back to position as she went back to mark you.

You were grinding your hips as she undid the bows over your shoulder straps and left a trail of bruises down your neck onto your collarbone and then down your chest.

You weren’t wearing a bra that day and maybe she would’ve made a snarky comment about it but she only felt more jealous, thinking that anyone could’ve seen your hardened nipples or down your cleavage when she should be the only one.

Natasha moved her hands onto your ass, lifting your dress up around your waist and hands squeezing your naked ass making you moan even more.

An idea ran through her mind and she moved you around, bending you over her knee with your ass in the air and you whimpered.

“You know, maybe I should be more rough with you” her fingers caressing your soft skin and then the first slap came, making you whimper and trying to stand up but she held you down “None of that, princess. You want to be a slut, then let’s treat you like one”

Another spank came on your other ass-cheek and your fists clenched as you bit your lip, skin burning and your slick dripping down your thighs.

“Natasha, that hurts” but you moaned as she smacked your ass again.

“You seem to like it” she smirked and continued “He is my friend, you know? Imagine how heartbroken he will be when he finds out I’m the one that fills you up”

At some point, between slaps, you stopped fighting and your body started leaning back seeking more. The line between pleasure and pain already blurred. Your head lolled against her thigh as she continued, her own dick aching against her abdomen at your sight.

“Daddy, please” you moaned, your mind barely registering your words and she chuckled.

“Daddy, hm? Much more kinkier than I thought” she mocked and your cheeks flushed, but before you could take your words back, she pushed two fingers inside of you and your knees clasped together as you whimpered “So fucking wet, is it because of me or him?”

“Please, Nat-“ you grunted when she pumped her fingers and her other hand slapped your ass “Oh, fuck”

“No Nat. It’s daddy now, princess” she commanded and you moaned at her words, pushing your hips back for her to continue “Answer me, does thinking about him make you this wet?” you mewled as her fingers moved faster, hands trying to grab whatever was around you to ground yourself “Answer, princess, or I will stop”

“N-no, he doesn’t” you cried out, your abdomen tightening as your nails scratched her leg “I’m wet because of you, daddy” she pumped faster and her thumb reached your clit, rubbing fast and you moaned “Please, I’m so close”

“I know you are because I know your body” she reminded you and you whimpered “No one knows your body the way I do, keep that in mind” your toes curled, legs moving desperately as she worked between your legs and her other hand fisted your hair, pulling you up “Come, princess, make a mess around my fingers”

And you did, your ears ringing as you screamed out her name. She slowed down her movements as you were panting and then you watched her lick her fingers clean and you collapsed against her legs.

“That was…” but Natasha cut you off, moving you up and taking off your dress. She sat you on her lap, your back facing her chest “Nat, I need a… Fuck” she whimpered as she rubbed her cock against your slit and when you looked down, you watched her slid inside of you with ease as you tried to steady yourself with her shoulders “Don’t m-“

Natasha wasn’t waiting, her fingers hooked around your hips and helping you bounce on her. You whined and that would usually be enough for her to slow down but she was driven with her own need to ruin you.

“He’s probably not as big as me” she murmured in your ear, one hand wrapped around your throat and pulling you back. Your head resting against her shoulder as she slid down to move her hips more freely “Not as good as me. You hear that?” your slick was dripping, moist noises filling the room along with the movie credits and you moaned, hiding your face in the crook of her neck with shame “He won’t do that to you, princess”

“Please, don’t stop” you murmured against her neck and you sucked on her neck making her whimper “Nat-“ she slapped your thigh and you whimpered “Daddy, please, I’m so close again” you whined.

She forced you to turn your face as much as you could to kiss you as her fingers rubbed your clit once again. You could feel her cock twitching inside of you but Natasha didn’t seem anywhere close to come.

No, Natasha needed to ruin you all night and she would do so until your date with Steve or at least until you dropped the idea of going out with him. Whatever happened first.

You bit her lip forcefully and she grunted, feeling the way you clenched around her. Your arm hooked around her head, pulling her closer to your lips as you kissed and moaning against her lips as you came again, your body shuddering over hers as she held you down.

She stopped moving but didn’t pull out and you were too tired to ask her to move. Natasha kissed the back of your neck as you panted and her hands caressed your body.

“How is it that you haven’t cum?” you murmured and Natasha chuckled, helping you up and turning you around and making you straddle her hips again “Am I losing my magic?”

“On the contrary, your magic is working way too well” she whispered and you weren’t sure if she was talking about sex but she silenced your mind by kissing you again “Let’s go to bed, I’m not finished with you yet”

“Nat, we have class tomorrow” you tried to excuse yourself but she was already standing up with your body wrapped around her and walking to her room “I thought it was my bed’s turn, I won’t be able to walk back when you are done”

“Who said you have to leave?” she said tossing you onto her bed and getting rid of her clothes “Who said I’m not keeping you up all night?”

Natasha hovered your body and your legs spread instinctively, both moaned when she buried herself again inside of you and you cradled her face.

“You better not” you whimpered when she started thrusting herself and your back arched “Fuck, I really love your cock”

Natasha kissed your neck because three words threatened to leave her lips. Three words, eight letters that were too dangerous to say out loud when she was drunk on you and jealousy. When her mind was too hazy to think straight.

She wanted to believe they were a lie, but they were too heavy on her tongue. And all she wanted to say was:

‘And I love you’

(—)

You were looking at yourself in the mirror of your vanity desk, groaning as you applied makeup over the bruises Natasha kept leaving.

You tried to stop her but trying to stop someone from marking you as they fucked you was nearly impossible, specially when you were loving it a little too much.

So now you were stuck at taking a little more time covering them up and Natasha was hating it because you were supposed to wear them proudly, not hide them. Still, she said nothing and kept marking you until you gave up on trying to cover them.

“Could you give me a ride to campus?” Natasha asked leaning on your doorframe and you raised a brow, looking at her through the mirror “Steve borrowed my bike”

“There’s public transportation or you could just walk” you shrugged and she walked up to you, leaning to kiss your neck and you smacked her thigh “No, I’m doing my makeup. Stop”

“But you love when I do it” she grinned and you rolled your eyes “Come on, give me a ride and I will make up for it”

She pouted and you snorted even when you thought she looked extremely cute with those green puppy eyes.

“Fine, but I drive. Not eating in the car and I swear if your dirty boots leave a mess-“

“You will cut off my dick, yeah I know the drill” she pecked your cheek and your blushed “Movie night?”

“Rain check? I’m going out with Steve, remember?” you smiled softly and her jaw tightened but she nodded “That reminds me, you will have to drive my car from the gym. Could you do that?”

“What? Why? Aren’t you coming home after dance practice?” she said frowning, taking in your outfit.

You were wearing a black skirt, a soft pink blouse and heels. Your hair was down and wavy and you were putting on earrings. Your left wrist had a single silver bracelet and you were wearing rings.

You were dressing up for him.

“No, Steve will pick me up at the academy” you stood up and fixed your clothes “How do I look?” you turned to face her and her dick twitched when her eyes landed on your cleavage, you were wearing a push-up not that you needed it but that was too much for a friend date as you claimed it was “Eyes up here, idiot”

“Isn’t it too much? I mean you look-“ she bit her lip, taking a second to check you out again “fine, but you put too much effort into a date that you claim it’s not a date”

“Just fine? What’s wrong with this?” you looked down and grunted “You know what? I don’t have time to change. Let’s go” you ushered her out of your room, not before grabbing your backpack that Natasha immediately snatched from you and you decided to let her carry it “And for your information, I don’t dress for anyone. I dress for myself”

Natasha hummed, mumbling a ‘I hope so’ that you didn’t catch.

The both of you went to the parking lot in silence, moving around each other as if it was a practiced dance. Your perfume hit Natasha, intoxicating her senses as she sat on the passenger seat after you made her take off her boots and she groaned.

The interior was white, you had a point but that didn’t mean Natasha would go down without a fight. And it was spotless, it always was.

All the times Natasha was inside of your car was to fuck so she barely paid attention to details. But your car not only smelled like you, it looked like you.

Ordered and somehow, girlie. It was like you had everything you needed in case of an emergency, everything correctly placed for quick usage.

She watched you buckle your seatbelt, checked the rear-view mirror three times, connect your phone to the car and searched for your driving playlist and after picking the correct song, you started the car.

And Natasha thought of teasing you, but you probably were like that all the time without noticing it and she knew better by now not to mock your rituals.

You got out of the building and Natasha just tapped her fingers to the music. It was probably the first time she had listened to it, you were always wearing headphones around the apartment or during your morning run so she never got the chance.

And of course you were into pop music. But when Muse started to sound, she looked at you.

“‘Stockholm Syndrome’, seriously?” she looked at you surprised and you shrugged as you stopped at a red light “What else you got in there?”

“I like to think that a little of everything?” you handed her your phone unlocked “You can pick the next one but only from there, it’s my morning playlist”

“Of course it is” she chuckled and looked through the playlist, names that she had never heard of showing on the screen and she found one song with the title in Spanish “‘Yo no soy celoso’ by Bad Bunny, who the fuck is that dude?”

“Puerto Rican singer, helps with spanish although it’s not the best accent to learn from but his music is cute” you smiled and she played the song “I wish I got tickets to his concert”

“He isn’t that bad but concert worthy? Come on” she teased you and you glanced at her with a smirk.

“He is hot” Natasha rolled her eyes and placed your phone down “And I really like his music”

Natasha hummed, the lyrics almost making sense to her as she searched for him in her phone. He was handsome but she was better.

She grunted under her breath because she was doing it again, comparing herself to anyone that you might like.

The music got interrupted by your phone ringing and Natasha swore the universe had something against her when Alexander’s name popped in the screen with a white heart next to it.

“Rise and shine, sunshine” he greeted you cheerfully “I assume you are already on your way to college. How’s the roomie treating you?”

“Said roomie is listening to you” you announced carefully, ignoring Natasha’s questioning look and searching for a place to park “Are you on your way to yours, baby?”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the pet name, looking outside the window as you parked. Her fingers twitching over her thighs at the sound of your sweet dripping tone.

“Not today, I will visit during your free period” he announced and you hummed “Make sure Wands is there”

“Of course you will come to visit me to see her” you chuckled and Natasha raised a brow “I gotta go. See you later, my love”

“See you later, beautiful” he hung up and you unbuckled your seatbelt but Natasha remained still.

Green eyes were looking at you in confusion and you furrowed your brows when you looked at her.

“What?” you asked as you reached for your backpack that was in the backseat.

“Are you in an open-relationship or something?” she asked slowly, hands barely managing to unbuckle her seatbelt as she opened the door to put on her boots.

“What?” you chuckled, leaving the car with phone in hand and your backpack in one shoulders “Why would you think that?”

You both started walking towards the campus and she fought her hand when it almost moved to grab yours. Not her girlfriend, just friends.

“Isn’t Alexander your boyfriend or something?” she insisted and you stopped walking, starting to laugh really loud. You bent down, holding your abdomen and your backpack falling from your shoulder “What’s so funny?” she asked sternly, grabbing your backpack and you looked at her, wiping tears away.

“You thought Alec was my boyfriend?” you laughed walking next to her.

“You call him ‘my love’” she gritted her teeth and you kept giggling “Stop it!”

“I’m sorry, I’m trying” you said between laughs and Natasha rolled her eyes “Alec is…” a chuckle left your lips and you inhaled sharply, trying to regain composure “he’s my little brother, his pictures are all around the apartment”

Natasha stopped moving and you looked at her, laughter slowly dying down as you kept preventing tears from ruining your makeup and she looked at you dumbfounded.

“What?!” she said stunned and you giggled.

“I know right? He looks older” you shrugged and took your backpack away from her “And he also looks more like mother”

You started walking away and she ran after you once the shock left her body. Well, that was a relief. But Steve was still an issue.

“And you call him ‘my love’?”

“Don’t you have a sibling, Romanoff?” she hummed but shrugged “Well, we are one year apart and we bonded very deeply after our parents divorce. So we treat each other as that, unless he is messing with me”

“And the Wanda thing…”

“He has a crush on her, I’ll appreciate if you don’t mention it to her” you said seriously, putting on your protective big sister mask and she swallowed “I tease him about it but I won’t snitch on my own brother. Well, great talk! See you in Spanish”

You felt the need to kiss her and she saw the moment you hesitated, stepping closer to kiss you too. But you squeezed her arm tenderly and offered her a soft smile.

She watched you walk away, her legs glued to the concrete and her heart beating fast. But this time, it wasn’t because of jealousy but because she really wished you kissed her goodbye. And she wasn’t sure what terrified her the most:

Thinking someone could be the lucky person to get to kiss you goodbye or that she wanted to be that someone.

(—)

The redhead kept looking at the clock, as if the time would slow down and she could keep you at the gym. But no, it was actually running fast. Too fast.

Her coach was telling her something during her sparring session, but her ears were ringing as the time passed. You were lifting weights and her eyes kept glancing at you. Her mind running every damn idea of how she could keep you there and knowing already how much you hated to be late when your schedule had to be followed down to the dot.

So there was only a thing she could do. Literally, the only thing she could give you so Steve couldn’t cross the line that night.

For you, you were just two friends hanging out. For Steve and Natasha, that was a fucking date and the only one that couldn’t see that was you.

And she dropped the idea of telling you about it because you kept laughing and teasing her about her being just jealous. And she was losing it.

You started to walk to the lockers after your last exercise and Natasha took off her gloves as Phil watched her with amusement.

“I’ll be back, I just need a break” she panted and he hummed, holding back his laughter.

Natasha got off the ring and almost ran to the lockers, searching for you and knowing that lately your locker was next to hers. Not that she asked to be moved there or at least she wouldn’t tell you that she did.

You jolted when she appeared and she grinned, pushing your body back to the lockers. Hands roaming your body as she pressed her chest to your back and your body reacted to her movements.

“Romanoff, I really have to go” you moaned as she cupped your clothed cunt “Natasha”

“Just a quickie, I’m in the mood” she asked and you turned around.

“You are not even hard” but your legs wrapped around her hips and you moaned when she kissed your neck.

“I just need a minute, princess” she whispered and kissed you desperately.

It was a hot and steamy kiss, one that left your lips swollen as she was grinding her hips against yours and making you moan against her mouth.

You heard footsteps and broke the kiss, moving your legs away and Natasha grunted as you pushed her away with your cheeks flushed and smiling softly when a woman walked past you, offering you a suspicious look.

“Yeah, not happening today” you breathed out and patted her arm “Maybe later if you are up when I get back to the apartment” you turned around and handed her your car keys “Not a single scratch, Romanoff”

“Yeah, sure” she mumbled and you looked at her with furrowed brows.

“What’s wrong with you?” you tilted your head to the side, noticing the way her muscles were stiffened and her features hardened.

“Nothing” she replied instantly and you hummed, squinting your eyes “I’m serious, I’ll just take care of this. You can go”

“Okay…” you said slowly and sighed “See you later, Romanoff”

You closed your locker and started going to the showers and Natasha wanted to follow, not only because she was hard now but because she needed you not to leave.

Although, there wasn’t really much she could do to stop you from going out with Steve. She didn’t know where you went to dance practice nor she had the right and the only way would be telling you the truth but she wasn’t so sure you would believe her anyway.

She wasn’t sure she was ready for that, either.

(—)

Steve arrived to the academy right on time, just like you liked.

After your third shower of the day and redoing your makeup perfectly, or so you thought, you left the building with a bright smile and your duffle bag. But you scrunched your nose when you noticed he was leaning back on a motorbike, your mind immediately trying to figure out how the hell were you supposed to ride that death trap with your duffle bag.

“Hey, cutie. Looking good” he greeted you and offered you a helmet “How was practice?”

“Good. Tell me we are not riding that thing” you said pursing your lips and his cheeks flushed “Wait, is that Natasha’s bike?”

“Yeah, I wanted to impress you” he muttered and you bit the inside of your cheek before you could say something mean “We can take an uber if you like?”

“No, it’s okay” you sighed and smiled softly at him “I should’ve worn jeans though”

“You look perfect” he pecked your cheek and grabbed your duffle bag “I’ll carry this” you opened your mouth to decline but he smiled “I insist, please”

You nodded and watched him get on the motorbike, helping you up and you wrapped your arms around his waist trying to maintain a respectful distance between your bodies and praying that the wind wouldn’t lift your skirt.

You had never been on a motorbike nor was it on your plans to do so since you could easily get injured. But what wouldn’t you do for friends that were making an effort to spend time with you?

Steve started driving, the motor humming underneath you and your grip tightened when he sped up. You should be feeling safe with him, but your heart was racing at every turn he took, your ears ringing and all you wanted now was to go back to the safety of your apartment.

By the time you stopped in front of an Italian restaurant, you thought you were about to kiss the sidewalk or puke. Thankfully, you didn’t do either.

You followed Steve inside the restaurant and thanked him when he dragged a chair for you, placing your duffle bag over the chair across from you and sitting next to you.

And then, Natasha’s words started making sense.

Steve ordered for you, which you hated with all your heart because you sure wouldn’t eat a whole lasagna by yourself nor you were a fan of beer but he insisted that it was the perfect match.

And he made small talk, trying to ease you as you forced yourself to eat the whole thing because you sure wouldn’t be bringing it back home and weren’t comfortable enough to ask Steve to finish it for you. Lately, only Wanda and Natasha did it for you.

By dessert, you were sure you were about to vomit but you weren’t so sure if it was because of the food or because Steve was being annoyingly sweet and now you had to come up with something to let him down slowly without losing his friendship.

“So? Did you like the lasagna?” he asked after the waiter left, leaving a strudel between you with a scoop of vanilla ice cream that Steve ordered.

“Yeah, it was great” you lied and he smiled proudly, pushing the plate towards you and you raised your hand “No, please. You start, I think I’m full”

“Come on, cutie! I know you are on a strict diet but count this as your cheat day” he insisted and your head started spinning, he clearly didn’t know about your schedule either and you couldn’t blame him for it.

“Sure, just one bite” you forced a smile and took a small piece “Yeah, that’s good” you lied again.

It wasn’t that the food was bad, it was that your tongue probably died after that much sugar and your mind kept repeating that you needed to stop or you would gain weight.

“You know, I thought you were going to turn me down” he admitted after a few minutes “I guess I’m the luckiest guy in the world now” you choked on your water and looked at him, cleaning your mouth with your cloth napkin.

“What?” you chuckled nervously, knowing damn well where that was going and still trying to play dumb “Why would I turn you down, Steve? You are my friend”

“I know, I know” he sighed with a sheepish smile “But I was hoping we could be more than that, that’s why I asked you out”

So Natasha was right. You were the only fool that didn’t know about Steve’s crush on you. Maybe you were aware and decided to ignore it or maybe you were really blind, but whatever it was it got you into that mess.

“Listen, Steve…”

“Wait, what’s that?” he asked lifting your chin gently and you frowned “Is that a hickey?”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. You forgot one spot, apparently. And now Steve knew someone was leaving bruises all over your skin. Not just someone, but Natasha. Although, Steve didn’t need to know that small detail.

“I- well-“ you stuttered, your mind running as fast as it could, you drank your water and your stomach started aching for the sudden amount of food and drinks “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about” you said softly, grabbing his hand and he furrowed his brows “I- I’m seeing someone”

“What?! But you accepted a date with me” he asked hurt and a little angry “Why would you do that?”

“Steve, I thought we were hanging out as friends” you explained and he snatched his hand away, as if your touch burned him “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know”

“How could you not know? I’ve been fawning over you for over a year” he gritted his teeth and you grimaced, unused to Steve being so hard on you “I asked you out”

“You never said this was a date” you pointed out and sighed “Steve, this doesn’t change anything…”

“No, it does. I feel like you played with me” he said coldly and you restrained yourself from rolling your eyes “Does your boyfriend know you are here with me?” he asked sternly and you pursed your lips.

Honestly, there was no boyfriend but the owner of those bruises did know you were there. However, your silence made Steve scoff.

“She does” you rushed to say and he raised a brow “I told her”

“It’s a she” he breathed out, his ego a little hurt that a woman was faster than he was, luckier even “Do I know her?”

Natasha’s name was threatening to roll out of your tongue but not only would you be lying about it, you would be dragging her into the mud with you and as much as it would be fun to watch her suffer a little, that wasn’t your type of thing.

“No, I don’t think so” you mumbled and he sighed “I’m really sorry”

“Yeah, whatever” he called a waiter over and asked for the check “I tried for nothing” he said coldly and you frowned.

“What? You were just being my friend to get something from me?” you stood up and reached for your duffle bag, searching for your wallet and threw some cash over the table “Honestly, Steve, I thought you were different. I said I was sorry but now you are just being an asshole”

“That’s not- don’t turn the tables on me” he defended and you glared at him “I tried to do this the right way, unlike Natasha that I know you don’t like”

“You know what? I think I like Natasha better” you said sternly “At least she’s honest about what she wants. But you? You thought a dinner would get you into my bed” you snorted and he tightened his jaw “I rather sleep with her knowing she won’t call back instead of being friends with someone that just wanted to fuck me”

And before he could reply or apologise, because honestly he was just frustrated by the situation, you left the restaurant and called an uber.

You should’ve listened to Natasha, but a part of you was too caught up in the possessive sex and the hope that not everyone wanted to actually fuck you to listen.

And you also were wrong. Because Natasha wasn’t being entirely honest about what she wanted.

At least, not anymore.

(—)

By the time you arrived to the building and much to your displease, Steve arrived too.

He went back to leave Natasha’s bike and you wanted to curse at the redhead for letting him borrow her bike but it wasn’t her fault.

And the universe was mocking you at that point because he slid inside the elevator before it went up. He scratched his neck nervously as you kept your distance from him with folded arms and your jaw clenched.

He cooled down after you left, knowing the type of asshole he was but when he tried to talk you raised your hand without looking at him and he decided to shut up because honestly, what else could he do to make it better?

You opened the door and slammed it behind you, right into his face and making Natasha jolt on the sofa. She opened her mouth to talk but you didn’t even look at her, leaving her to open the door when Steve knocked and running to your bathroom.

You hated inducing vomit but not only were you upset because of Steve but the food was killing you. So you knelt in front of the toilet and pushed two fingers inside of your mouth, thinking of the nastiest things because god cursed you with no gag reflex that apparently was only useful when giving Natasha a blowjob.

But you managed, emptying your insides right into the toilet and the smell was enough to keep going with more effort.

Natasha, on the other hand, met a very distraught Steve that silently gave her the keys back and refused to tell her what the hell happened. So he just left and Natasha frowned, going after you.

Her heart dropped when she heard you puking because Wanda never said anything about you getting rid of food. She sprinted across your room, going through your closet and reaching the bathroom.

She opened the door without knocking and you were holding your hair up and she scrunched her nose at the smell but stayed strong before joining you.

“That bad, huh?” she said softly and you flipped her off “Hey, it’s not me who ruined your date”

“Romanoff, go away” you grunted and puked again.

Natasha leaned closer and you tried to push her away, but there was no way she was going to leave you alone.

Maybe she wasn’t going to stop you from doing it, even if she knew what a bad that was, but she was going to stay next to you.

So she held your hair and rubbed circles on your back, looking over her shoulder as her own insides were threatening to come out.

“The food was probably bad, right?” she offered when you rested your cheek over your hand and she handed you some toilet paper.

“Yeah, let’s go with that. Thank you” you said softly and flushed the toilet, cleaning your mouth and walking to the sink “Whatever you are doing here, I’m not in the mood”

“I can tell” she shrugged and leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded as you brushed your teeth “Want to tell me what happened?”

You spat on the sink and looked at her “Playing nice won’t get you fucked tonight”

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually trying to be a nice person?” she asked offended and you hummed as you washed your mouth “Well, start believing it. In fact, I’ve got an idea”

You raised a brow, drying your mouth as you looked at her. The redhead was grinning and she showed you her bike keys.

“No, I’m not getting on that thing again” you said walking out of your bathroom and she followed you, grabbing your arms before you could pick your pyjamas “Natasha”

“Come on, it will be fun” she said softly and placed a kiss over your temple. And you decided to ignore the softness of the moment, relaxing when her arms wrapped around you “It’s Friday night, you are clearly upset and just puked your dinner. What else could go wrong?”

“Dying on that death trap” you groaned and she laughed “It was my first time on one and my last”

“Steve probably doesn’t know how to properly drive” and Natasha noticed the way your body tensed at the mention of her friend but decided to wait “Come on, I promise I will be gentle. If you don’t like my plan, we won’t fuck for a week”

You snorted “Yeah, how is that a punishment for you? You will fuck with someone else”

“I won’t, you can cage my dick if you want” she grinned when you turned around and raised a brow.

“Kinky” you teased and sighed “Fine, but let me change my skirt” she pouted and you shook your head “I will get on that thing wearing jeans, not a skirt”

“Fine but I want you to know I’m highly offended. I’ll wait for you by the door” she smiled and left the room.

You changed your skirt, looking for some baggy jeans that you only wore around the apartment and somehow managed to turn on Natasha.

Well, at this point you could be dressed as a nun and Natasha would be all over you but you didn’t know that.

You washed your mouth again and searched for some bubblegum to appease your stomach. By the time you reached the door, Natasha was already holding a backpack and refused to tell you why.

You should be sleeping, your routine was exact except for the times Natasha was fucking you. But after the night you had, some part of you wanted to just curl up in bed. However, a bigger part of you wanted to be around Natasha and that was starting to scare you.

Natasha offered you the backpack and you looked at her in disbelief.

“You brought it and now you want me to carry it?” you scolded her and she grinned as you took it “Unbelievable”

“Well, do you know how to ride?” you shook your head and she shrugged “I’ll buy something to keep things okay? Just this once”

Unlike Steve, Natasha took the time to place the helmet around you with care. Securing it and double checking it was properly placed. Then she got up after placing hers and helped you up.

Your arms wrapped around her waist but you didn’t keep your distance like you did with Steve, your body pressed against hers and she noticed you were slightly shaking.

“If I go too fast, pinch my side and I’ll slow down” she said and you hummed.

And she started to drive.

At first, your body was tense but Natasha was right, Steve probably didn’t know how to ride. Or maybe it wasn’t about knowing how but about the driver, you weren’t sure. But you started to relax around her, safety surrounding you as the wind hit your face mixed with Natasha’s scent.

Not once did you feel like your heart was about to jump out of your chest, you actually enjoyed the ride with your chin resting over her shoulder and she was smiling softly.

She rode all the way to Coney Island. When she stopped, she offered you her hand to help you down and then she got down herself, taking her helmet out and you swore she looked hotter.

Then she took off yours and held the helmets with one arm and hung the backpack on her shoulders just to hold your hand with her free one.

For a second she hesitated but when you squeezed her hand and intertwined your fingers, she started walking down the beach wearing a proud smile.

The place was live, screams and laughter filling the air but even then a comfortable silence surrounded you. You focused on the breeze and the waves as Natasha guided you away from the crowd. And once she found the perfect spot, she dropped the helmets and you looked at her.

“I’m not sitting on the sand” you said softly and she rolled her eyes, taking off the backpack and getting out one of her blankets “Oh, you thought about everything”

“I know you believe I’m an idiot sometimes, but I’m very smart” she grinned and sat over the blanket, patting next to her “Come here”

You sat next to her cross-legged and she got out what was supposed to be iced tea and a beer. She handed you the tea and opened her beer.

“So tell me, what exactly are we doing here? We could’ve shared a drink back home” you said siping on your tea.

And she didn’t say anything for a few minutes, her eyes focused on the waves as silence stretched between you both. Under the moonlight, Natasha looked even prettier. But you forced yourself to look away before your mind went down the same path whenever she was up close and wasn’t kissing you.

The path that always screamed that you were falling for her and made your heart race.

“Back in California, whenever my sister was upset, I dragged her down to the beach” she started, not ready to look at you and taking a sip of her beer.

“A house by the beach? Rich people, man” you teased and she chuckled.

“You are acting like you aren’t rich yourself” she teased back and you shrugged with a smirk “Anyway, we sat under the stars and talked for hours with one condition” she looked at you and you nodded reassuringly “We were there to listen, not to mock or interrupt or judge. The ocean, the moon and the stars would be the ones to keep our secrets” her fingers brushed your cheek and you leaned into her touch “So we are here and I’m making you the same promise”

“I bet you say that to every girl you bring here” you said softly as she leaned closer and she shook her head with serious eyes.

“You are the first girl I bring here and the first one to know about it even” she whispered softly and pulled back before she could kiss you “And in good faith, I’ll start”

“Oh, you will now?” you giggled and she hummed while sipping on her beer.

“Sometimes I’m afraid no matter what I do, it won’t be enough for my parents” she admitted without looking at you and your heart skipped a beat at the sound of honesty. You parted your lips to say something nice but she just smiled “Your turn”

“Let me think” you hummed, tugging your jeans nervously and sighed “Sometimes I think half of my friends are my friends because they want to fuck me” Natasha choked on her beer and you smirked at her “You included”

“Excuse me? I wanted to fuck you before I was your friend” you giggled and she smiled “Okay, my turn I guess” you nodded and she bit her lower lip “Sometimes I’m afraid of really loving someone and not being enough”

“Well, for starters stop fucking around. That would make things easier” you offered and she looked at you with amusement “By the way, why do you do that?”

“I believe it’s your turn” she said and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine. Sometimes I don’t understand the appealing of me. I’ve got all these people trying to bed me and I don’t even think I’m that pretty” Natasha furrowed her brows and you sipped on your tea “Your turn, fuck girl”

She took a moment to think, or that’s what you thought when in reality she her mind was connecting the dots between your eating habits and the perception of yourself. But the words didn’t sound like yourself, more like someone told you that until you believed it was the truth.

“Yeah, okay” she sighed and looked at you “I fuck around because it’s easier to be wanted for a night than keeping people around long enough knowing they probably won’t like the real me. They just like the idea of me” your lips parted and she shook her head “What about you, golden girl? Why are you not dating?”

“I heard once no one would like the real me, so why trying? Besides, I’m too busy for that” you admitted softly and she hummed.

You two kept talking, failing at not mocking each other but laughing as the time passed. And Natasha felt safe, real even. She displayed for you all her dark thoughts and you offered yours back, and not once did she judge or tried to make you think different.

You both just listened.

And at some point, she laid on her back with her harms folded behind her head only to wrap one around you when you joined her, resting your head on her chest as you kept talking.

You shivered and she broke the embrace to grab one of her hoodies from the backpack. You looked at her and she shrugged.

“I knew you were going to forget your own” she said softly and you put on the hoodie that looked three times bigger around your tiny body “It looks good on you”

“I’ll believe you since half of the time you are trying to get me off my clothes not on them” you teased and went back to lay next to her “You know, the date sucked. And you were right”

“I’m always right” you smacked her and she giggled “What did Steve do?”

“Being an ass” you sighed and sneaked a hand under her own hoodie seeking the warmth of her abdomen “At least you made it clear you wanted to fuck me before”

Natasha just hummed and you both went back to talk about everything. Your body relaxed over hers, letting your walls down as her voice filled the air telling you a story about that time Yelena was knocked by a wave when she was little.

Your breath got softer, your eyes closed as you focused on her heartbeat and her grip tightened around your waist, keeping you close and warm.

And she thought you were asleep when she said:

“I think I’m falling in love with you”

It was the first time she admitted to herself, out loud and to you. But she hoped that secret would be kept between her, the ocean, the stars and the moon.

However, her heart started beating fast when your voice filled the silence.

“I think I’m falling in love with you too”

———

For mor chapter, visit: series masterlist

[bobbin-buckley]

Only a vampire can love you you forever

When you first got with Natasha you never expected her to be like this.

Body laying across yours. Her hand pressing down on your thigh. You can feel her moving between your legs. Her hair scratches the underside of your chin.

You can feel her breath soft on your neck before she bites down again, making you let out a breathy scream. Your neck is already covered in so many of her marks

"Nat...." You whine, trying desperately not to show much of this is affecting you.

This was supposed to be no commitment. That's what you said, but god she's making it so hard to keep to that agreement. Her hand slipped further up your thigh. Fingers playing with the hem of your panties, getting dangerously close to your pussy.

‘Hmm?” Natasha responds. Looking at you through her lashes, smirking as she sees your pupils blown wide. “Oh darling…. If only you could see yourself right now. All flustered, and covered in my marks”

“Fuck…” you moan out, her fingers ghosting of your clit. The wet fabric of your panties sticking to her hand. Groaning as she pulls her hand away.

“Be patient darling” Natasha murmurs into your collarbone. Planting a trail of hickeys down from your neck, chest, stomach, hips, and then finally stopping just inside your upper thigh.

“Natasha, please…” you beg as she bites your inner thigh. There is something possessive about the way she marks you. Like she wants something else, something red.

[bobbin-buckley]

hi scorpio. seeing the words "freak scale" in a pretty cursive font is something i never though id ever lay my eyes on. and yet here we are.

how about fluff cutie patootie romance sweetie pie scale? 1-10 of course. we gotta make sure ur wife isnt lacking.

-dani lovr xoxoxo freak bot

Dimitrescu Sisters Fluff Scale

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Nothing just fluff, def ooc

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: -

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I thought it would be funny HAHHAHA Nways dinner is served <3

I had to lay on the floor sm times just thinking abt what else to add

Bela Dimitrescu

Fluff Scale: 11/10

Look me in the eye and tell me this woman is NOT touch starved. Exactly, you can't bcs it's true

Sure she's busy most of the time but that doesn't mean she won't make time for cuddles

Poor girl is constantly stressed and done w her sisters shenanigans, give her a hug...

"Mmm..." She would mumble w her face buried in your chest as you ran your fingers through her hair, asking her how her day went.

When u guys first dated, I don't think she'd enjoy physical touch that much but would soon warm up to it and demands it always every damn time

You could walk into her room, see her busy and stressed n allat. The second you sat yourself in her lap, she'd immediately drop everything she was doing just to pull you closer and bury her face in your neck/chest while mumbling how much she missed you or how nice you smell

Waking up early? Don't even think about it, she'd whine and pull you closer "Don't go...just a few more minutes..." proceeds to cuddle in bed for an hour. R u gonna complain? HELL NO

Oh you're cooking? Would stand behind you with her arms wrapped around your waist and her face buried in your neck. "Bela I'm cooking..." "You can manage"

The second you open your arms, she'd immediately launch herself into your embrace.

Enjoys having her hair played w

Little playful nibbles and kisses have her heart

Would definitely kiss you all over just to hear you laugh

She's definitely the type to purposely brush her fingers against yours

Adjusts your collar, scarf, or hair with focused care, showing her attention to detail and thoughtfulness.

Would tots rest her forehead against yours after a kiss

Cup her face and she'd immediately lean into your touch with a happy hum. Trust me on this, I can confirm this fact cuz I'm married to her w 2 cat babies.

Def goes to u when her day is shit, crawling into bed and just laying on top of u, resting her head against ur chest to listen to ur heartbeat

Ur heartbeat = Absolute comfort

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Fluff Scale: 8/10

Bold but starved that's fo sho

Def wouldn't shy away from physical affection once she’s comfortable with her lover. Lowkey a natural flirt but also secretly craves genuine closeness which she masks with her playful teasing bcs idk...she's just built like that. Skibidi Alpha core

"Hah! Me? Touch starved!? Never!" While having you trapped in her embrace, refusing to let you go when you tried to squirm away just to prove her wrong

Would casually initiate lil touches but lingers longer than necesarry despite saying she doesn't care abt physical touch cuz it's stupid

100% would tackle u down playfully, saying that it's "just for fun and to test your strength" when in reality this is her way of seeking closeness w u w/o asking for it and embarrassing herself...cough and her ego cough cough

Pulls you into her lap w no shame whenever u two r alone "What? I can't pull my lover into my lap anymore?"

She’d want to be the only one you touch or hold and wouldn’t hesitate to make it known.

When u two r alone, Cassandra would soften. She’d lay her head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, maybe even play w ur hair

Think of a manly dude cuddling his gf, immediately acts like he wasn't just whining softly when he saw her recording. Yea that's her.

Bold but starved that's fo sho

Grumbles when u point out how much she enjoys cuddling, says she's just bored but refuses to let u escape her grip

Def wouldn't shy away from physical affection once she’s comfortable with her lover. Lowkey a natural flirt but also secretly craves genuine closeness which she masks with her playful teasing bcs idk...she's just built like that. Skibidi Alpha core

She'd never admit it but she craves being held as much as she loves holding u. After a stressful day, she might just pull you close and rest her head on ur chest, staying silent but clearly seeking comfort which u happily give

Daniela Dimitrescu

Fluff Scale: 13/10

No words, just look at her.

This woman is CLINGY and she is PROUD.

Clings onto you whenever she can

Around you 24/7, either standing near u or just all up in ur personal space, clinging onto u like a koala

"This is y/n, she loves her personal space" "This is Daniela, Daniela also loves y/n's personal space"

Would be all over her you, always seeking physical contact. Whether it’s holding hands, cuddling, or resting her head on their shoulder, she craves constant reassurance through touch.

Being close to u = Ultimate comfort

Unbothered by how clingy she is, as long as ur aware of how much she loves u (and ur personal space)

Would tackle u before saying "Just wanted to be near u :3"

Kisses out of the blue

Just like Bela, she enjoys having her hair played w

Would pout and whine when u try to get up "Dani I need to piss..." "Okay and??"

Would giggle mischievously when she manages to pull u back down, clearly happy that she got her way

Eventually (reluctantly...rlly reluctantly) lets u go when u genuinely need to go somewhere

Also like Bela, wouldn't let u leave her bed "It's too early to get readyy!! Stay with mee" Proceeds to miss breakfast

She’d insist on sitting in your lap or making u sit on her lap, laying her head in your lap, curling up beside you with her arms wrapped tightly around you, just anything that involves being near u, she loves it

If cuddling was a sport, she'd ALWAYS win.

You'd be the first person she finds after a hard day, wordlessly throwing herself into your arms

Drama queen.

"You...you refuse to give me the affection I so desperately crave...?" you just said you were busy "Oh! I am hurt!" W her hand against her forehead and the other one on her chest "This is torture!"

Ur nightly cuddles consist of Daniela either falling asleep in ur arms or falling asleep w u in her arms, clinging onto you tightly as if you might just disappear if she were to loosen her grip.

When she’s feeling emotional or scared, Daniela would def crawl into your arms and cling to you silently, just needing the reassurance of your presence. "Bad day?" "Mhm..." "I got you, lovebug. I'm here" "Mm..." followed by small sniffles while u trace gentle patterns on her back which btw have I mentioned that she loves it when u do that? It's like the ultimate source of calm

She’d love giving and receiving soft, lazy kisses

Def enjoys playfully nibbling u.

[bobbin-buckley]

I feel like I can finally die in peace now. LIKE, THE CARESS ON THE CHEEK??? That's just so sweet, everything about that kiss... ugh, I need that.

Scarlett was born to be a girl kisser. Nothing can change my mind. FIGHT ME, COLIN!!!

(Took that video from tiktok btw)

[bobbin-buckley]

And if I pull her by her tie to kiss her, then what

[bobbin-buckley]

just another day of missing natasha romanoff

[bobbin-buckley]

Logistical Errors

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Before you can make some snarky remark about how this is an error on the part of whoever planned the logistics of this mission, Tony holds up his hands in surrender, laughing again.  “Whoa, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he assures you. “I’m just doing what comes naturally to a scientist – I’m making an observation.”  A/N: Hi again! So I didn't expect anyone to read that Sue Storm x fem!reader fic I posted, but people actually seemed to enjoy it? And after a talk with my Bestie about how we didn't see many fics about Natasha on our dashes back in the day, this just sort of appeared in my drafts 😅 This is one of those "I wrote this for me, but I hope you'll enjoy it as well" scenarios 💖 Warnings: assumed homophobia and Tony thinking he's funny

“Okay. Not to be that guy, but it’s kinda hot, right?” Tony’s little snide remarks are usually so coolly delivered. But this time around, some laughter slips into his words. And not the suave, practiced laughter that he does for reporters and any public appearance he deems to be a performance – which, let’s face it, is basically every waking second of the man’s life, considering that his ego is more of a mask than the faceplate of his suit at this point – but a genuine laugh that’s bubbly like champagne and spills through the room infectiously, making some of the other Avengers chuckle as well. 

A scowl tugs at your lips as you cross your arms. From the corner of your eye, you can barely make out Natasha’s expression. But hell, you can hardly look at her through your embarrassment, worried that your face will become even more warm if you dare look her way.

From what you can see, though, Natasha is as cool and as unreadable as always. She gives nothing away. Growing up in the Red Room will teach a person how to conceal their true emotions like that. 

You didn’t have that misfortune. For you, it was just SHIELD training. Which was mostly good for learning how to keep secrets. Like the one you’re currently hoping doesn’t come out as this whole thing unravels before your very eyes. 

“Shut up, Stark,” you snap. 

Before you can make some snarky remark about how this is an error on the part of whoever planned the logistics of this mission, Tony holds up his hands in surrender, laughing again. 

“Whoa, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he assures you. “I’m just doing what comes naturally to a scientist – I’m making an observation.” 

Steve, who appears to be one of the only men in the group with the decency not to laugh, fixes Tony with a cool stare. “Tony,” he chides. “Nat and (y/n) are just sharing a bed for the sake of the mission. There’s nothing more to it than that.” 

“Why would there be more to it than that?” Thor asks with a hearty laugh.

That earns a cool look from Steve as well, but it quickly becomes obvious that Thor genuinely doesn’t seem to have any clue why everyone is laughing – he’s just going along with it because he knows something is funny and he doesn’t want to be left out. It’s another moment where it becomes obvious that being a god from another realm has left him behind in a social situation.

Unfortunately, the confusion only makes Tony laugh all the harder as he slaps the god on the shoulder good naturedly. “Well, you see buddy –”

“Nope!” Bruce interrupts. “No! Not going there! We’re not having the talk with a god.” 

“You’ve got a point,” Tony admits, though he’s smirking as he glances towards you and Natasha. “We should be giving it to the ladies.”

“Christ,” you snap, taking a step forward, ready to take a swing at the engineer. 

Before you can, though, Natasha places a hand on your shoulder and tugs you back. Keeping you away from Tony doesn’t seem to be enough for her, though, so instead of letting the argument continue, she guides you towards the bedroom that the two of you are supposed to share during the mission – the room that somehow only has one bed in it. 

Once the door is shut, Natasha fixes you with a look. It’s not hard, but it’s also not happy. It’s somewhere in between, like she’s scolding you and offering you sympathy all at once.

“He was out of line,” you say before Natasha can say anything. 

She steps away from the door slowly as she approaches you. “Stark is Stark,” she points out. “He wasn’t being homophobic, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you hope Natasha doesn’t notice. You know she will, though, because Natasha is in the business of noticing everything. 

“I just don’t want anyone to find out about us,” you admit quietly so that your voice doesn’t carry through the door or the walls separating you from the rest of the team. “I’m not ready to tell them yet. They might take one of us off the team.”

Natasha takes a seat on the bed, gently guiding you so that you’re sitting beside her. She squeezes your shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “They won’t do that.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from correcting her. Now isn’t the time for an argument. Not when this is still all so new and fun and unexplored. 

“Besides,” Natasha says, a small smirk tugging at the edges of her pretty lips. “We got what we wanted, didn’t we?” 

For a moment, you can only tilt your head at her, trying to decipher her meaning. 

“You didn’t . . .”

Natasha’s smirk only grows. “Of course I did,” she replies smoothly. “The room only having one bed wasn’t a mistake made by some poor schmuck in logistics.”

[bobbin-buckley]

We are girls too. 🫆

“You’re a masc, so why would I text you first?” - Because I don’t want to always be the one chasing.

“You’re a masc, you should be putting in most of the effort.” - I want things to feel mutual, not like a job.

“You’re a masc, why are you so emotional?” - Because I’m not trying to act through everything.

“You’re a masc, you’re supposed to plan the dates.” - I’d like to be thought about too.

“You’re a masc, why would you want to be held?” - Because it’s not always my role to carry everything.

“You’re a masc, why do you need reassurance?” - Because I have doubts, same as anyone else.

“You’re a masc, why do you want cuddles?” - Because comfort isn’t something I should have to earn.

“You’re a masc, why do you want good morning texts?” - Because it’s nice to feel like someone cares enough to check in.

“You’re a masc, why would you want someone to run their fingers through your hair?” - Because I want to feel close to someone, not just useful.

“You’re a masc, why do you want to be the little spoon sometimes?” - Because I want to rest too, not just be the strong one.

“You’re a masc, why would you want someone to hold your hand in public?” - Because I want to feel proud of who I’m with, and feel like they’re proud of me too.

[bobbin-buckley]

STAY WITH ME — zora bennett x reader

summary – you and zora set out to collect a simple raptor sample, something you've done a dozen times before. but deep in the jungle, things go wrong-fast. when you're attacked and nearly killed, zora's forced to face the one thing scarier than dinosaurs: losing you.

warning(s) – wlw, injury/blood, near-death experience, emotional intensity, fear and panic, soft romance in extreme danger, protective! zora, mutual devotion, medical emergency, crying, desperate love confessions, established relationship, angst with comfort, happy ending

men/minors dni

The jungle was impossibly hot. Sweat beaded down your back as you adjusted the strap on your field pack, ducking under a thick fern frond. Birds—if you could still call them that—shrieked somewhere in the canopy above. Jurassic World may have been rebranded, reborn, regulated to hell and back, but out here in the deeper zones, nature didn’t give a damn about fences.

Zora walked ahead of you, a few steps off-trail, crouching every so often to analyze disturbed foliage or check the track monitor strapped to her arm. Even after years of dating her, you were still in awe of how focused she got on expeditions. Sharp, calculating, unshakably competent.

“You’re sexy when you’re tracking a raptor,” you said, just to hear her scoff and shake her head.

She shot you a sideways glance, that subtle curve of a smirk flickering across her lips. “You always flirt when we’re two kilometers from base and surrounded by prehistoric murder machines?”

“Only when I’m trying to calm myself down.”

Her smile faded slightly. “We’re close. Look.” She pointed to the display. “Three heat signatures up ahead. Looks like an adult with two subadults. The female alpha, if I’m right. If we can get close enough to get saliva or shed dermal cells, that’s all we need. Then we’re gone.”

You nodded, pushing through another layer of leaves. “Okay. You want me to split left and circle around?”

“No,” Zora said quickly, standing up. “We stay together this time. That last incident—”

“I’m not gonna get myself killed. I promise.” You stepped closer, brushing your hand across her arm, the way she always liked. “Besides, you’re here. You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

Zora didn’t smile this time. She just stared at you with something heavy in her gaze. “Don’t joke like that.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Okay. No hero stuff.”

“Right.” She glanced at the tracker again. “Let’s get this over with.”

You moved quietly through the brush, each step measured and tense. The buzzing of insects filled your ears, the kind of noise that made everything else sound like it was underwater. Then, just beyond a thicket of vines, you saw it: a fresh carcass. Some herbivore—small—half-eaten, jaw torn at an angle no animal should have endured. Slick trails of saliva shimmered in the light breaking through the trees.

Zora crouched beside it, unzipping the sample case. “This’ll work. Give me a vial.”

You handed her one and knelt beside her, watching as she carefully scraped a thick string of clear saliva into the container. You were just starting to feel relieved when she froze.

Then you heard it too.

The crunch of leaves behind you. Slow. Deliberate.

You didn’t even turn.

“Zora,” you whispered.

“I hear it.”

The breath left your lungs in a single icy gust as something massive moved through the trees—low to the ground, fast, but not running. Watching.

Your hand inched toward the tranquilizer pistol on your hip, but it was too late. A blur of striped scales and talons exploded from the side. It was so fast you barely registered the impact before it slammed you backward, the weight of it pinning your body into the mud with the crushing force of a nightmare.

You screamed. Not out of fear, not yet—but out of raw, shocked pain.

The raptor was heavier than it looked—strong, muscular, intelligent. Its golden eyes met yours, head tilted ever so slightly. Curious. Then it hissed, a low, rattling warning that rattled your teeth.

You shoved at it instinctively, your boot finding its ribs. It jerked, more annoyed than hurt, and slashed at your torso with a hind talon. You didn’t even see the blood at first—just felt the heat across your stomach. A deep, slashing line. Not fatal. Not yet. But the second wound followed an instant later. The claws hooked into your upper shoulder, and this time you felt the burn explode like fire through your chest.

“ZORA!” you screamed, your voice breaking into something ragged and primal.

You heard her yell back, heard movement, but your world narrowed to this moment: the raptor tilting its head again, then opening its jaws and snapping at your neck.

You raised your forearm out of instinct.

A terrible choice.

Its teeth sank in, hard and fast, and your body buckled. The sound was the worst part—a wet, ugly crunch as its jaws broke bone like a twig. You screamed again, only this time it was shorter, sharper—cut off by your own breath stuttering.

Everything blurred.

Pain blotted out everything. You felt blood gush down your arm. You couldn’t lift it. Your fingers were useless. The skin on your face was pale, and there was already blackness creeping in around your vision.

The raptor backed off for a half-second, cocking its head, considering. Your blood was in its mouth. Your blood was on its claws. You couldn’t even move anymore. Your limbs were shaking, not from fear now but from blood loss.

Then the sharp crack of a rifle exploded through the trees.

The raptor shrieked, stumbling as a tranquilizer dart embedded in its thigh. It turned toward the noise—but another shot hit it square in the side. It growled, teeth bared, and then bolted into the underbrush, snarling as it vanished into the trees.

Zora was running toward you.

She dropped to her knees, grabbing your face with trembling hands.

“Hey—hey, look at me, look at me—oh god, oh fuck, you’re bleeding—Jesus Christ—”

You couldn’t talk. Your mouth opened but only a breath came out.

She tore open your jacket, saw the gash across your stomach, the blood-drenched shirt. But it was your arm that really broke her. The angle was wrong. The bite was deep, purple and red and raw. She could see bone.

Zora’s voice cracked. “No, no, no—don’t you dare close your eyes. Stay awake, baby, please, stay with me.” Her hands worked fast, grabbing gauze and tape and applying pressure, but it was like trying to dam a river with paper. She took off her own shirt, wrapped it around your arm, tied it tight with her belt. “Don’t die. Don’t fucking die.”

You tried to smile, even as the blackness rolled in. “Didn’t… plan to…”

Your head lolled to the side, and Zora grabbed your face again, her forehead pressing to yours.

“You’re not going out like this. You’re not leaving me, you hear me? I love you. You’re everything, and I swear to god if you die—”

Your eyes rolled slightly. Her voice was the only thing anchoring you.

“You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Zora,” you whispered, barely audible.

“Yeah, baby. I’m here.”

“I’m… scared.”

She bit her lip so hard it bled. “I know. But I’m not letting you go.”

Then came the sound of the evac chopper thundering above. The comms had picked up her emergency beacon. Zora lifted you into her arms, your blood still spilling over her skin, and carried you through the trees with everything she had. Her legs shook. Her breath came in sobs. But she never once loosened her grip.

⸻

They stabilized you in the chopper, barely. There were three moments where your heart flatlined and came back. Zora didn’t move from your side. She held your hand through all of it, your blood still drying on her skin.

You woke up three days later in a sterile, white hospital bed with your arm in a cast and your torso wrapped in bandages. Your throat was dry. You felt like you’d been hit by a tank.

But then you looked to your right.

And there she was.

Zora Bennett, asleep in a chair, your hand cradled in both of hers like she was still terrified you’d slip away.

You whispered, hoarse: “Zora.”

Her eyes snapped open. And the second she saw you looking back at her, she made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. She leaned in, kissed your forehead again and again, fingers brushing the hair from your face.

“You’re awake. You’re awake. God, I thought—” Her voice broke. “I thought I lost you.”

“I heard you,” you murmured. “In the forest. I heard you yelling for me.”

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she said quietly. “I thought I was going to watch you bleed out in the mud. I couldn’t even feel my legs. I just kept running. I—god, I didn’t know if I’d get there in time.”

“You did.” Your fingers tightened weakly around hers. “You saved me.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t wake up.” Her jaw trembled. “You can’t ever do that to me again. I mean it. No more wandering off. No more solo samples. No more pretending you’re fine when you’re covered in blood.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Zora let out a breath. “Good. Because I love you. And next time a raptor comes near you, I’m body-slamming it off a cliff.”

Despite everything, you laughed. It hurt, but it was real.

Then she leaned in, and your lips met—gently, carefully, but full of emotion. Not passion. Not desire. Just need. Fear. Relief. Love.

When you pulled back, your eyes met hers.

“We almost didn’t get a next time,” you whispered.

“But we did,” she said. “And I’m never letting you go again.”

a/n – jurassic world rebirth was SO good. maybe im just partial because scarlett johansson had no business looking that good the entire movie, but still the movie was definitely worth seeing. i couldn’t resist writing a zora bennett fic after that, so i really hope you guys enjoy it! more fics coming soon hopefully <3

[bobbin-buckley]

sunny days over gold

WandaNat x Reader

❀ - Wordcount: 990 ❀ - Author's Note: I'm thinking my writers block has been because of how heavy my fic is. I'm an angst lover, but every ongoing fic of mine is heavy angst. Anyway, here is some fluff. Not as polished as what I'd usually write but I hope it's enjoyable <3

The sheets are cool against your skin. Natasha shifts at your back, her fingers curling gently against the dip of your waist as she tugs you closer, a sigh tickling the hair on your neck.

Wanda’s absence is an undeniable void, even as you roll over and loop your arms over Natasha’s shoulders, burying your face against the crook of her neck. She still smells faintly of the bubble bath from last night, a gentle lavender that envelops your senses. The fingers on your waist twitch and her thumb smooths along the fabric of your t-shirt with wordless reassurance.

“Good morning,” she rasps as you press closer, like you could crawl into her ribcage if you can just get close enough, “what’s got you so clingy this morning?”

You don’t answer, choosing instead to press your lips to her skin. You feel, rather than hear, her chuckle as her other hand comes up to gently untangle the knots that had worked their way into your hair overnight. Your head feels heavy, thick with lingering fogginess despite how early you’d turned in, and it drags your eyelids shut as you melt into her embrace.

By the time Wanda finally returns, the hand in your hair has gentled to a rhythmic, soothing caress, with Natasha’s long, skilled fingers scraping against your scalp. Your thoughts feel distant and unimportant, nothing more than background noise—not when Natasha is here, siphoning all your attention onto her. There’s nothing that matters more than this—than your shared breath, her skin beneath your fingers, beneath your lips, than her hands on your skin.

“Well, what do we have here?” It was the sound of Wanda’s voice that shakes you from your stupor. “Is that a little bunny hiding under the covers?”

Natasha shifts. Then, “She’s feeling a bit clingy this morning,” she replies, light with amusement as she smoothes her thumb across the vertebrae jutting from your skin. “Aren’t you, зайка?”

“Mm …” The blankets, so warm and comfortable, cocooning your frame against the cool morning air—huddled against Natasha’s strong frame, her fingers ghosting against your skin, the heaviness in your head finally begins to lift. What replaces it is warm and honeyed, a tender caress against the back of your thoughts as their voices gently unfurl you from the place you’re tucked away, unravelling like a blooming flower in the sun. “You’re warm, Nat …”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you when you’re mumbling.”

You muffle a groan. You’ve come to understand her rhythms by now, but it still surprises you how playful she can be. When you first met Natasha, she was all hard edges and professional courtesy; a sharp voice and unreadable green eyes. Now, she holds you close and drags her fingers along your sides just to hear you squeal.

“I said …” 

Natasha clicks her tongue. “What did I say?” 

Her hand slows, crawling to a stop, and the mattress sinks behind you as Wanda sits. You can smell her shampoo—that sweet, vanilla fragrance that you always say belongs in a department store candle, not on her—as her hands settle on your shoulders, a light but firm pressure that’s both a greeting and warning. “Bunny,” she murmurs, as her thumb strokes the delicate line of your collarbone, “listen to Natty when she’s talking to you.”

With a theatrical groan, you wrench your face away from Natasha’s shoulder and repeat, “You’re warm, Nat.” 

Something in Natasha’s face flickers—so quick, you’d have missed it if you weren’t looking. Then, her whole expression softens; her smile gentles into something quiet and unguarded, like watching the sun rise after a long night. The pale light of morning paints her brow in hues of rose and muted gold as her hands come around to cup your face, thumbs brushing delicately across the soft skin below your eyes.

“There you go,” she rasps, a little hoarse with sleep and something else. She presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back. “Was that so hard?”

Behind you, Wanda’s fingers continue to move in that slow, rhythmic cycle, ghosting across the silver chain of your necklace as she strokes your throat. “Good girl,” she breathes, as she dips her head and presses her lips to your cheek, lingering for a moment. “Любимая моя, let’s get you up. Breakfast won’t eat itself.”

“Mmh … don’t wanna …” you whine, content to curl up between your girlfriends and spend the rest of your day in a tangle of limbs.

Wanda hums, amused, and begins to knead your shoulders with practiced ease. “I know, sweetheart,” she coos, “but the longer we wait, the colder breakfast gets.”

“Let it get cold,” you mumble. “I’m warm.”

“Mmhm,” Natasha cuts in, her grip tightening just a touch—not rough, but unmistakably firm, a warning that you ignore. “You’re warm because you’re lying on top of me.”

“Beside you,” you argue, flinging one arm over Natasha’s side for emphasis—only to squeal when she pinches your cheek, sharp and swift. Then she shifts, not quite shoving you away, but enough to make a point.

“Up.”

You don’t move and she pinches harder.

“Now.”

You crack one eye open and curl your lips into a pout, but all you get is that faint, skeptical arch of her brow that never fails to send your stomach cascading into butterflies. Wanda’s fingers sweep through your hair as she presses another kiss just below your ear.

“Come on, Bunny,” she orders, softer than Natasha but no less firm. “Don’t make Natty drag you out of bed again.”

You grumble, reluctant and unwilling, but finally untangle yourself from Natasha—just enough for her to slip free and sit up. You, however, stay behind, flopping dramatically, face-first, into the nearest pillow.

Then—

Natasha’s hand lands on your ass with a sharp, purposeful swat, the sound crisp in the otherwise quiet room.

“If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, I’m sending Wanda back with cold fingers.”

[bobbin-buckley]

guys! this picture!

the texture of her skin. the curve of her nose. the hair in her face. the shine of her earrings. the gloss on her lips.

[bobbin-buckley]

I just know that I need top!zora x reader x top!natasha 🤤

[bobbin-buckley]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

a/n: cross-posting from wattpad; you can definitely tell this is an older one but it’s also of my favorites (even though i don’t love the ending)

summary: basically 'i love you in every universe' but make it nat x you :) different timelines & universes

warnings: mentions of homophobia, cheating on a third person, mentions of blood, occasional bad writing

word count: 6.5k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— 1953 —

"Your coffee", you say, putting the cup full of steaming hot liquid down in front of your husband. He barely recognizes your presence, nodding curtly as his attention stays focused on the newspaper in his hands. You force yourself to keep a sigh from slipping out as you turn around again, drying your hands with a dish towel.

In the kitchen, you prepare breakfast. Sunny side ups, toast, orange juice. Bacon for William, like always. If his cholesterol doesn't kill him eventually, nothing else will, you think as you shake your head.

You serve him the food. Again, a brief nod, this time accompanied by a mumbled 'thanks'. You take the spot across from him and slowly start eating by dipping a bit of toast into the yolk of your fried egg.

You eat in silence, no words exchanged. The only thing you can hear is his chewing, not exceptionally loud but still irritating enough for you to notice. Every single thing, every tiny cough and sigh and slurp seems to build your tension up. You clear your throat in an attempt to calm yourself, which only works minimally.

It's not his fault; not really, anyway. Getting married to someone you don't love certainly wasn't the best idea, but it's you who did it. He didn't force you to — he just enabled it.

You still can't help the aversion you feel towards him. The way his lips smack when chewing his toast is enough for you to quickly stand up, holding your still almost full plate in your hands.

William looks up, not seeming too surprised. "Done?"

"Not hungry anymore."

He nods and finishes his juice in two big gulps, then he closes the newspaper and gets up. Fixing his tie one last time, he walks to the hallway and looks for his jacket.

"I'll see you later. Dinner will be ready by the time I arrive."

The latter sentence isn't a question — it's a statement.

"Of course", you say quietly. "Have a nice day."

Another brief nod. "You too."

The door closes behind him, and you exhale as you turn around. You stand behind the curtain, staring at your car until you see him sit down in it and drive away. The second the blue Buick has left, you rush to the mirror in the bathroom to check your hair and freshen up.

Some makeup, perfume, a nice necklace. Wedding ring on the shelf and the apron off your body, you head out the apartment and down the stairs. Thankfully, your desired destination isn't too far away.

You slip into her apartment without anyone seeing you, closing the door quickly. Then you finally allow yourself to look at her, and you can't help but smile timidly.

It's been almost two years, but the things she makes you feel never lost their intensity.

"Hello", she says softly, her hand resting on your waist as she draws you closer. "I missed you."

"Oh, did you?", you reply with a small grin, resting your hands on her shoulders as you feel yourself press up against her. Natasha smiles as she pulls you in, kissing you slowly. You sigh into the kiss, suddenly feeling completely at ease. Every bit of tension has disappeared from your body, at least for now.

You don't know how long it lasts, to be honest — you feel her lips on yours and the door against your back, rough hands caressing your waist gently. You slip from one moment to the other, letting the bliss wash over you like a warm shower.

You have no idea how many hours you've spent here, in her arms. All you know that you come here nearly every day, and you always stay until at least 4pm. And, as risky and confining the hiding can feel sometimes, you still wouldn't trade it for anything.

When she eventually pulls away, you can't stifle the sigh that comes from your mouth. Your eyes stay glued to her face as you look at her, heart thumping wildly in your chest.

The affection she's giving you is so different from what you usually experience, and you mean that in the best way.

Every bit of affection you receive from William — no matter how tiny it may appear — leaves you feeling disguising all over. It's as if your skin is covered in sticky fingerprints, making you want to shower in boiling hot water.

But with Natasha, the kisses and touches and embraces actually feel nice. They make you feel wanted, loved, as if there's truly something about you that can make someone else fall head over heels. You can finally be yourself in her arms — and you'll never stop wondering how something that feels so wonderful can be so hated by the world around you.

Natasha pulls you into the living room, where she quickly draws all the curtains closed. Only then does she join you on the couch, where she pulls you into herself before closing the distance between your lips and hers.

This time, the kiss is rather short. She pulls away reluctantly, her hands still cupping your cheek. You put your hand on top of hers, knowing fully well she can feel the heat in your face. As her eyes search yours, you realize she's about to say something — something big.

"Y/N, I'm leaving next week", she then says, quietly. You blink a few times, trying to let her words sink in. You don't succeed.

"Excuse me?"

Natasha hesitates. "There have been issues. Someone left something in my mailbox, and...it's not pretty."

You stare at her. "What?"

She shakes her head, slowly taking her hands off your face. "You don't want to know."

"No, I actually do. What is it?"

More hesitation from her side. She averts her eyes, internally debating whether she should tell you or not. After all, there's no need to make you worry about her — but it also wouldn't be fair of her to just leave it like that.

"A letter." She takes a deep breath, looking at the covered window. "The threats were quite blatant. They know what I am, Y/N."

Your heart starts racing in your chest again. This time, it's because of fear.

"No."

"Yes."

She leans back, finally looking at you again. You lean in, placing your hands on her cheeks.

"You can't just- I-" You cut yourself off, feeling incredibly selfish. Natasha wanting to leave because of the letter's contents just shows how bad it actually is. Her reaction is most likely well justified.

She looks at you, face empty but eyes full of sadness. An unidentifiable look crosses her face.

"Come with me", she then whispers, taking your hand into hers. You feel your throat going dry. "Run away with me."

For a moment, you're unable to respond. Your mind is all over the place as you're trying to figure out whether she's actually being serious.

Of course she is — she doesn't joke like that.

"But William", you say weakly. "We're married."

"Divorce him", she says, fingers entwining with yours. "You don't love him. He doesn't love you, either. We can be happy together. Somewhere else, where no one knows us."

"Natasha..."

"I'm serious."

You hesitate once more, trying to consider the idea. The pros, the cons, the risks — all of it fills your head within a split second, making it impossible for you to think straight.

"I don't know", you eventually whisper. "I'm sorry. I just don't know."

Natasha wasn't expecting anything else. Who'd give up safety and security in a world like this, even if it was in exchange for being with the person you love?

She doesn't blame you for not knowing. Instead she pulls you closer, kissing your cheek as she holds you tight.

. . .

"Not tonight", you say dismissively as William lets his hand slide down your thigh. He looks at you, lightly grabbing your knee. "I said not tonight. Please."

He sighs, not hiding his frustration at all, and opens the book on his nightstand. You turn around, staring out the window at the crescent moon.

By the time you've fallen asleep, you've made up your mind.

About everything.

. . .

Running away doesn't always mean running to freedom. But, as it is often the case, running away is better than staying where you are.

You get divorced — which, just like you expected, isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world, especially not for a woman. But you do it anyway.

Not much later, you and Natasha move to a different state. You find jobs, and an apartment, and you move in under the disguise of being friends who are trying to find a husband. From that day on you live a somewhat normal life, even if you spend most of it in the shadows.

Natasha and you will never be truly free. Years, decades will pass until you're finally holding hands outside your apartment for the first time — and even then you do it cautiously, constantly looking over your shoulder and everything.

You do get engaged, but actual marriage isn't an option until you're both at an age at which it feels as if you've been married your entire life.

But you get married anyway.

. . .

— 2000 —

It all started at a football game.

Bleachers full of students, the early evening air cold and fresh. You made your way past crowds of people, closely following your friends as they lead the way. You never were the biggest fan of sports events, but you don't mind going to one every once in a while.

Arriving at your seats, one of your friends spotted a girl she knew sitting in the row in front of you. They started talking, and shortly after the girl introduced her own friends to you: among them, Natasha.

At first, you didn't really know what to do. Your attraction to girls had always been something you were aware of, but the redhead was so painfully pretty that she seemed like the human reminder of it.

You decided to be quiet for a while and just sit back and watch the game. But Natasha's eyes kept flickering to you, and you also couldn't stop yourself from looking at her. Soon enough, everything else was forgotten about, and you were lost in a conversation with her. You let everything around you fade into the background as all you could focus on were her voice, deep and sweet, and the way her eyes seemingly just refused to move away from yours.

The hours flew by. The game ended, and everyone started leaving. Another look exchanged, and you finally found the courage to ask her into which area of town she was going.

After having found out that her house was only five minutes away from yours, you decided to walk home together.

Another conversation, this time a much more intimate one as you were finally alone. Natasha was funny, and sweet, so the thirty minute walk suddenly seemed impossibly short; you got to her house way earlier than you wanted to, and you lingered at the bottom of the stairs for a good few minutes as you just stared at each other, neither of you able to say what you felt.

Your first kiss happened on her porch, in the dark. You still remember the faint taste of cherry coke on her lips.

. . .

Her hand, once gripping yours tightly, lets go as you walk into the building. Crowds of students everywhere make it almost impossible for you to make your way to your lockers, so you edge past them in a hurry. Natasha throws you a slightly amused glance as she stays right next to you, her fingertips brushing against your wrist.

You're used to this by now. As soon as there are people in sight, you let go of each other — that's the way it's been since the beginning, and the way it'll stay for a while. It doesn't bother you as much anymore, but you still wish it was different.

"You got biology now?", you ask Natasha as you grab a stack of books out of your locker. She looks at the tiny 'N' that's scratched into the back of the locker door, smiling slightly.

"Yes. Calculus for you?"

You sigh. "Kill me."

She smiles. "Absolutely not. I'll see you at lunch, then."

"If I survive until then", you tease. Natasha shoves your arm.

"You're too dramatic for your own good." Then she quickly leans in, a tiny smirk on her face, and whispers: "I love you."

You grin back, something doing somersaults in your stomach. "I love you too."

. . .

Hidden beneath the staircase of the cafeteria, you let your fingertips brush underneath her jacket as you deepen the kiss. She smiles against your lips as her hands play with your hair, wrapping strands of it around her fingers and gently tugging on it. The taste of bubble gum is prevalent on her tongue, making you hum with satisfaction.

Everyone else is at lunch, loading up their trays with cheap hamburgers and whatever else the lunch lady is serving today. It couldn't interest you less, as they don't have what you want anyways.

You know you're not entirely safe in the shadow of the staircase, but you're confident enough to keep going with what you're doing. You kiss the underside of her jaw, making her breathe out a ragged laugh.

You're so invested in this that you don't even notice when your arts teacher, on her way to the bathroom upstairs, hears something. You don't notice that she peeks under the staircase and spots you, making her eyebrows shoot up. You only notice when she clears her throat, and you quickly jump away from Natasha with a bright blush on your face.

If you know one thing, then it's that being caught kissing another girl usually doesn't mean anything good for either of you. Your mind is immediately overwhelmed with thoughts about detention, being sent to the headmaster, your parents being called.

"We can explain-", you hurry to say, but your teacher quickly cuts you off.

"You're not allowed to be here during lunch. Now go and grab a bite, hm?" The look on her face is calm, but serious. Still, you don't miss the hint of a smile she gives you.

You frown, not entirely trusting her.

"Okay..."

"Come on", she says, waving her hand. "You got ten more minutes until lunch is over."

Natasha glances at you, and you meet her gaze. Then you decide to just do what you're told and slip out from underneath the staircase, quickly hurrying into the lunch room.

. . .

"We're not doing that again", you say quietly, your fingers entwined with Natasha's. You're all the way in the back of the bus, squeezed together as tight as possible. Your letter jacket is protecting your intertwined hands from unwanted attention.

"Nothing happened", your girlfriend says appeasingly. "We just got sent to lunch."

"Yeah, because Mrs. Stirling is a hippie. If my geography teacher had caught us-"

"He didn't, though."

You stifle a sigh. "Nat, you know what I mean. We can't risk stuff like that."

She raises her eyebrows and squeezes your hand wordlessly. You smile slightly, knowing exactly what she's implying.

"Okay, yes, but this is different."

"It's really not, but whatever." Natasha looks out the window, spotting something. "Let's get out here."

You frown as you look outside, seeing the Main Street with the library and all the stores. A nice part of town, but definitely nowhere close to where you live.

"But this isn't our bus stop."

"I know. But there's something I want to do with you."

You hesitate visibly, knowing you're the one who's supposed to make dinner tonight.

"I don't know..."

"Please."

Your eyes meet hers, and you let out a silent breath. Then you crack a smile and nod.

"Okay, sure. But I have to be home by six."

Natasha says a hurried 'fine, whatever' and then gets up, dragging you down the aisle to the exit. You jump out as soon as the door opens, and Natasha grabs the sleeve of your sweater to pull you towards an arcade.

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from making a joke and decide to just follow her blindly. Maybe this will be fun, even though this kind of activity is usually popular amongst middle school kids and other people you don't want to be around.

Inside the arcade, it's basically empty. A few kids here and there, more kids eating hotdogs in the sitting area, and a mom dragging her screaming child away from the Street Fighter II machine. You glance at Natasha, slightly amused that this is where she wanted to go.

"Come on", she just says. "We're in a hurry."

"Oh, are we?"

"Thanks to you", she points out, "yes."

Just like that, you stumble along as she leads the way to the racing games. You sigh as she sits down, throwing in a token.

"Where'd you get those from?"

She shoots you a sly smirk. "You'd like to know, huh?"

You shake your head. "Okay, whatever. What is this?"

"You think I know?"

Your eyebrows furrow as she starts the game, and you watch her drive the digital car. "You...you've never been here before?"

"No", she says nonchalantly, effortlessly drifting through a turn. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as you can't help but be slightly impressed.

"Okay", you say slowly. "I won't ask any questions."

"Good."

When she finishes the game, she leads you to a different machine. This time, it's Arkanoid; you're familiar with it, so it's your turn to play. Your hand on the joystick and your focus on the screen, you get close to beating the high score when, suddenly, Natasha hugs you from behind and rests her chin on your shoulder. You immediately lose control over your hand, causing the ball to go past the Vaus and making you lose one of your lives.

Natasha laughs quietly, her warm breath fanning your neck. You can feel your heart beat out of your chest.

"You're insane", you say weakly, glancing at her. She smiles and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Don't worry, we're alone", she then whispers.

You look at her, feeling the relief wash over you — until you remember something.

"Security cameras", you just say, face going pale. She pauses, then shrugs and kisses your cheek. "I'm serious."

A low sigh escapes her mouth and she brushes her lips against your jaw begrudgingly. "You're no fun", Natasha says, but lets go of you anyway.

. . .

She walks you home after you get out of the bus. You can't hold hands — thanks to the exhausting amount of nosy neighbors who are just waiting for some kind of scandal to happen —, so you settle for walking close enough to at least let your hands brush every few seconds.

You reach the path that leads to your house, and you linger by the mailbox for a moment. Her gaze meets yours, the green color shining and piercing into your eyes.

"You could stay for dinner", you say softly, letting your fingertips touch her forearm for a way too short moment.

Natasha smiles, but shakes her head. "I don't think your parents like me."

"They're not coming home for another hour, though. Only my brothers are here, and they don't care."

She looks at you, still seeming doubtful.

"We could kiss again", you then add, a sheepish look on your face. That promise is enough to convince her, and she nods as she follows you to the porch.

You slip through the open door, silently letting it fall shut behind you.

. . .

— 2018 —

Eyes on the targets, your hand on the gun. You can feel the sweat trickling down your neck, making you silently curse the vent you're in.

The men underneath you don't stop searching for you. You killed their boss, and now they're out for blood. Your blood, to be more specific.

It's pretty clear that you don't stand a chance. There's about a dozen of them, some armed, some not. But they're all dangerous in their own way, which scares you more than you'd like to admit.

You clutch the gun tighter as you feel it slowly slip out of your sweaty hands, and you swallow. Through the thin gap between the vents you can see how one of the men looks up, his face turning more grim as he notices something. He reaches up his hand, grabs the bottom of the vent and, before you can think twice, you're falling.

Within a matter of seconds, you're surrounded by them. You shoot at them, firing bullet after bullet, and hit a few of them in the process. Then you roll around, trying to dodge the torrents of bullets coming your way. Despite your best efforts, one hits your arm. You groan in pain as you keep shooting blindly, hoping to hit at least a few more of the men around you.

Things don't get easier when you notice you're out of ammunition. You dodge another bullet and throw yourself down a flight of stairs, staying in a position that will — hopefully — keep you from getting injured too badly.

The men follow you, running down the stairs and continuously firing shots at you. You mutter a curse as you dodge another bullet, feeling it graze your shoulder, and try slipping out of the building. But the doorknob won't turn, and you quickly realize you're cornered.

At that moment, you're pretty sure this is it. You get ready for the bullets to perforate you, which would lead to an inevitable death. You doge one more bullet, eyes narrowed out of fear — and suddenly, someone else joins you.

Her red hair, tied back and with tiny braids, is familiar in the sense that it makes you roll your eyes. You squeeze yourself into the corner as you watch Natasha take the men out one by one, until they're all lying on the floor.

She finally looks at you, slightly humored by this situation.

"Don't", you say warningly before she even had the chance to utter a word.

"Nice to see you, too." She puts her gun away and walks up to you, pulling you to your feet. You whine quietly as the pull on your arm makes the bullet wound hurt. Her gaze flickers to the bleeding wound on your arm, and a look of worry crosses her face. "You're bleeding."

"I can tell, thank you very-"

A gunshot cuts you off, and you both turn your heads. More men are sprinting down the stairs and, this time, they're all armed.

Natasha doesn't think twice before shooting the doorknob, making its lock burst. Then she grabs your hand and pulls you with her as you start sprinting. A sharp pain flames up in your ankle, making you cry out.

"Where's the safehouse?", she yells, trying to be louder than the traffic outside and the gunshots firing from behind you. You turn a corner, slipping into an alleyway. The men are still following you.

"I'm not telling you that!"

"Goddamnit, Y/N!" Natasha mutters a curse as you keep running for your life. You reach a dead end, making you stop in your tracks — but then Natasha notices a guy getting onto a motorcycle, so she quickly shoos him away with her gun before jumping on. She turns her head frantically as you stay frozen in place.

"We can't just steal his motorcycle!"

"Come on", she urges you. You sigh and get on behind her, wrapping your arms around her as tightly as you can. She fires the engine before speeding away, the cobblestones underneath you causing the ride to be one of the less smooth kind.

It takes a few minutes until you feel like you're somewhat safe again. You sigh quietly, leaning your face against Natasha's pleather jacket and feeling its fabric cool your heated cheek.

She glances at you over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Now tell me: what were you doing there all alone?"

"I was on a mission", you mumble. "I had everything under control."

"Sure you did. If I'd arrived just seconds later-"

"Yeah, but you came just on time", you reply snappily. "As always."

"I saved your ass."

"I didn't need your 'saving'."

Natasha huffs silently, but she can't help but feel amused. You've been gone for a while now, and she missed bickering with you.

She takes another turn, just to be sure, then she asks you for the location of the safehouse again. This time, you tell her — albeit reluctantly.

After about ten more minutes she makes the motorcycle come to a halt, and you both get off. She wraps her arm around your waist before you can protest, then she leads you into the rundown apartment building. A staircase leads to your apartment, which she helps you climb slowly and steadily. Your ankle hurts horribly, so your guess is that you sprained it.

Natasha unlocks the door with the key she fished out of one of your pockets, then she helps you to the living room. You've developed a limp, thanks to the fact that you can't put any pressure on your right foot anymore.

"Lay down", she orders, already on her way to the bathroom. You roll your eyes but do what she said, feeling the soft cushions of the couch underneath you.

She returns with a first aid kit in her hands and sits down next to you, already opening the white tackle box.

"Suit off."

You narrow your eyes playfully. "Trying to catch a glimpse?"

Natasha looks at you, amusement shimmering in her eyes. "Don't worry, that already happened. Now take that thing off so I can see how bad the wound is."

You chuckle quietly as you pull down the zipper. She gently peels the fabric, which is sticking to your skin, down so she can look at your upper body first.

The gunshot wound on your arm is the worst injury you have. It's still bleeding, so she hurries to get it treated before you lose too much blood.

Your eyes stay glued to her face as she applies the bandages. It's a nice view, which makes the situation at least somewhat better.

"Done staring at me?", she mumbles as she puts another bandaid on to secure the bandage. You stifle a laugh.

"I wasn't staring."

A smirk appears on her face as she looks at you. "Sure you weren't. It's okay, though. I missed you too."

You shift in your seat, looking not too convinced of that. "Oh, please."

"I'm serious. Now get up so I can take off the suit and see your ankle."

"You won't be able to treat it anyway. I sprained it, I think."

Natasha sighs, clearly getting impatient. "Y/N."

"Yeah, yeah, fine", you mumble, slowly rising to your feet — or rather your foot, as you're still not putting pressure on one of them. Natasha peels the suit off you and helps you step out of it, then she tosses it aside. She gently lifts your injured leg and puts it up on a chair so she can look at the ankle.

She touches and feels your ankle carefully, making you hiss out silently. Another mildly concerned look from her side.

"It could be broken."

"It's not broken", you respond irritatedly.

"Could be, smartass. I'll apply some ice, but if it gets too bad we'll have to find a doctor."

You nod, not in the mood to contradict her. Natasha gets up and grabs some stuff for you — clothes, painkillers, a glass of water, some snacks —, then she joins you on the couch again. As she curls up next to you, you can't help but feel relieved that she's here.

Moments of silence pass as you just sit next to each other. The sun outside is still high up in the sky, but it'll soon start setting.

You turn your head again to meet her eyes, and she smile softly.

"I am pretty happy you're here", you finally admit the thing you didn't want to say out loud. Her smile turns into a small grin. "But...how the hell did you find me?"

Natasha chuckles at that question. "I knew that was coming."

You grin slightly. "You didn't answer my question, idiot."

"The answer is none of your business." She nudges your side with her elbow. "Just be glad you survived after basically digging your own grave. What were you even thinking?"

You nudge her back, frowning. "Jerk. I was doing well until I failed to escape after killing the target. Suddenly I was being chased and had to hide in the vents."

She laughs. "Sounds just like Budapest."

You grin. "Not really. There were two of you in Budapest. I was alone."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "You were alone because you refuse to ask for help. I would've joined you if you'd asked."

You shrug, leaning your head against her shoulder. "Guess I'm too stubborn."

"Yeah, like me."

"Like you." You pause. "Match made in hell."

"You mean match made in heaven." Her hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. You feel her fingers intertwine themselves with yours.

You look at her, smiling. "Your flirting is making me forget about our fight."

The smile on her face widens slightly. "My plan's working?"

"Kinda", you admit, and she laugh silently. "I can't be mad at you for too long, anyway."

"I know." She smirks and leans in, kissing your cheek. You close your eyes as you feel her lips on your skin, a soft sigh escaping you.

You don't know how long you stay like that. But you do know that, after a while, Natasha pulls you into her lap, and you let her. Her lips meet yours in a feathery kiss, and her arms tighten around your waist.

After a minute or two you break the kiss to look at her, placing one hand on her cheek. Her eyes look up at you with utmost affection, giving you a strong case of butterflies.

A match made in heaven, indeed.

. . .

— 2023 —

A small house in the countryside of Norway. Dark wooden cladding, white rails and red frames on the windows. The leaves on the trees are starting to turn yellow, and a light fog makes it hard to see the mountains in the distance.

There's a narrow path made of stones leading to porch. In front of the door there's a doormat, covered in tiny bits of mud and dirt, and three pairs of shoes. Two larger, one small. Next to that is a white bench, with a kids' raincoat drying on it.

Through the hallway you reach the kitchen, which is connected to a dining room. It immediately becomes obvious that this isn't just a house — no, it's a home.

Drawings and fun magnets all over the fridge, wooden building blocks on the table, a stroller next to the staircase. Toys on the couch and under the coffee table, glitter stickers on the tv stand, a lost sock on the windowsill. Someone drew on the wall with a purple sharpie.

It may be chaotic, but in the best way.

Upstairs, you get woken up by something much sweeter than an alarm clock. Tiny footsteps, hands pulling at your blanket and then, before you're even awake enough to register what's happening, the little girl starts jumping on your bed. Natasha sits up instantly, grabbing her and making her stop.

"Honey, that's dangerous", she says softly, pulling Anastasia into her lap. Your daughter looks at her, pouting. "Also, mama needs her rest, hm?"

"I'm fine", you mumble, sitting up as gracefully as you can. You rest your hand on your rounded stomach as you look at your wife, then at Anastasia. "How late is it?"

"6am."

A groan from your side, and you plop back into the pillow. Natasha chuckles as the girl in her lap reaches out her hand to pat your arm.

"Re-entering hibernation?"

"Shut up."

"Shut up", Anastasia parrots happily.

You look at the girl, torn between sighing and chuckling. "No, no. Only mama is allowed to say that."

"That's true", Natasha says, kissing her head. "Let's go downstairs and find you something to eat, sweetie."

You slowly get up as well, putting your hands on your lower back as you grimace. Natasha shoots you a worried look.

"That bad?"

You sigh. "Kinda. The faster she's out of there, the better."

"I get that." She gives you a sympathetic look as she lifts Anastasia up, putting her on her hip. You walk downstairs into the kitchen together, where Natasha puts your daughter down. She immediately runs off to look for her baby doll.

You prepare breakfast together in silence. As you're plating the waffles, Natasha suddenly stops in her tracks to look at you, visibly nervous. You spot the change in her demeanor and quickly put the bowl of fruit aside.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing", she says quietly. "But I have to tell you something."

The tense look on her face makes your eyes narrow. "You better not tell me you cheated on me, Nat. I'm about to give birth to your second child."

The question visibly takes her by surprise. Her eyes widen as she looks at you, hands lifted slightly. "God, no! Of course not!"

You keep looking at her, raising your eyebrows. "What is it, then?"

"Look, the thing is-" She gets cut off by Anastasia, who ran into her leg to hug it. Natasha quickly ruffles her hair, then sends her back to the dining room to play. She sighs quietly. "I got a call from Fury."

Something in your brain clicks as you hear that. Internally, you can't help but curse him.

"Nat, you're on maternity leave."

"Technically, not yet. My maternity leave starts in ten days — and the mission will last seven. Starting tomorrow."

You whine silently, leaning against the counter.

"I'm sorry", she hurries to say, putting her hand on your back and rubbing it in a soothing manner. "I know you're upset, and I get it. But I couldn't just say no."

"Are you aware my due date is three weeks away? What if I go into labor while you're gone!"

Natasha looks at you, her eyes soft. She moves her hands to cup your face, lightly caressing your cheeks as she leans in to kiss your forehead. "I know", she then whispers. "I'm very aware of that. But I trust the baby to be patient and wait until I'm back."

You glare at her, making her bite the inside of her cheek guiltily.

"Idiot", you snap, one hand rubbing circles on your bump to calm yourself, the other clutching the counter behind you. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Her cheeks flush slightly. "No need to get all condescending, love."

You sigh, trying to be more understanding. Obviously it's not her fault she got called on a mission, no, but now you're mad at her for not going on maternity leave earlier. And you're mad at Fury, for thinking his dumb missions are more important than you having a baby.

"I'm carrying your child", you say, your tone still sulky. "I'll be as condescending as I want."

She nods slowly. "Okay, okay. Fair enough."

A longer moment of silence passes. Your daughter runs past you again, and you watch her as she presses her face against the glass of the door that leads to the backyard.

Natasha looks at you, clearly hesitant about saying anything else. Your head turns and your eyes meet again, and you shift slightly.

"Promise me you'll be back on time."

She nods. "I promise."

"And that you'll take care of yourself. And stay safe."

Her face softens as she puts her hands on your waist, pulling you into her. "I always do that."

You search her eyes for nothing in particular. After a few seconds you realize that you have no choice but to believe her, so you sigh and hug her tight.

. . .

A week doesn't seem like a lot until you have to spend it alone, pregnant and with a two year old child. You're used to Natasha being on missions every now and then, but the last one was almost half a year ago — back when you weren't even sure whether you're pregnant again, and when you weren't tired almost constantly. The fact that you could literally go into labor anytime now makes things much more difficult as well.

Natasha calls twice every day — at 9am, when she's absolutely sure both you and Anastasia are awake, and at 7pm, when you're just about to get your daughter ready for bed. She lets you tell her about your day in detail before she does the same. Your conversations last about half an hour, and you both miss each other more every time you hang up again.

Needless to say you're awaiting her return wistfully. You miss everything about her, but what you especially miss is the safety her mere presence makes you feel. You know she isn't invincible, but an almost childlike part of you still believes she might be.

She returns on Saturday, in the middle of the night. You jump awake the second you hear the car outside, and you can't stop yourself from going downstairs in your pajamas to welcome her home.

In bed, she leaves a kiss on the side of your bump before crawling further up, her lips meeting yours.

. . .

The baby arrives two days later. As you already knew, it's another girl.

Natasha leans over the bassinet, clearly hesitating. She looks at you for guidance, and you just dip your head as a way of reassuring her — you did this already, and you can do it again.

She's not sure whether that's true, but she goes for it anyway. Her hands scoop the baby up gently, placing it against her chest.

You watch Natasha as she holds the tiny human being, lowering her forehead against hers. She's biting back tears — you can see it on her face. You're not crying again — not yet, at least — but you're pretty damn close.

Anastasia, sitting on your lap, looks at you. Her face shows utter confusion. "Mommy sad", she whispers, pointing at Natasha.

You smile as you gently take her hand to stop her from pointing. "No. She's actually very happy, honey."

Your daughter looks at Natasha again, watching her curiously. She doesn't understand one bit of what's going on. The only thing she knows is that, somehow, this baby has come out of her mom's stomach. Everything else is a mystery.

Natasha rocks the baby from side to side — moving carefully, slowly — and then her eyes flicker up, meeting yours. You know what she's trying to tell you without hearing it out loud. After a decade together, it's become a kind of sixth sense for you.

. . .

You go back home three days after Lilah was born. Natasha carries her into the kitchen, gently putting the baby seat down on the table. You follow right behind her, Anastasia holding a firm grip on your hand.

To Natasha, this seems surreal. She never thought she'd have her own family one day; people who love her deeply, who she can come home to every day. Not after what she went through. A part of her never deemed her deserving of that.

But here she is, proven wrong by...

...by who exactly, actually?

The universe?

Herself?

Something completely different?

She isn't sure. But she feels your body snug against hers, her arm around your shoulder, and — suddenly — she doesn't need to be sure anymore.

[bobbin-buckley]

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚, 𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐚 𝐭𝐮𝐚

= my hand, your fault

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: turned out a bit darker than expected so please read the warnings carefully. based on this request (sorry it took so long — also i just realized it says enemies to lovers as well which i completely forgot about IM SO SORRY 💔 hope you like this anyway); the Y/N x natasha interactions here are limited but that’ll change in part 2 — i promise

ˣ ˣ ˣ = flashback starts/ends

summary: fem!reader villain Y/N x Natasha Romanoff

warnings: trauma bonding, smut (oral, n receiving; fingering, n receiving), graphic violence (maiming), blood, body horror, mentions of scalpels, emotional/mental torture, stalking; my first attempt at psychological horror (or something similar at least); there’s the possibility i forgot something so be careful while reading

word count: 8k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Each step down the stairs makes Natasha's head pound harder. Her hand slides along the railing, the polished metal smooth and cold beneath her palm. If she wasn't running late already, she'd stop to lean her forehead against it. A particularly nasty headache has been plaguing her for hours — days, at this point.

She doesn't know what's causing it. It comes and goes as it pleases. It stays however long it wants to. Not even the handful of painkillers she swallowed earlier, all stolen from Bruce's secret stash of prescription drugs, helped.

Her footsteps are quiet and calculated when she enters the meeting room. Her attempt at sneaking inside unnoticed falls flat. Heads turn, all of them, and she offers a short nod in return. If it hadn't been for Tony insisting she come down and look at this, she'd have stayed in her room.

It's unusual behavior. Even when sick, her last option is to crawl into her bed and rot there. Natasha was conditioned to always keep going — even if it leads to her last breath. She'd bleed out like a pig before quitting a fight. It's what she was taught, it's what her body pushes her to do. Every person on the team has a story about Natasha refusing to back down even when things got rough.

With her back against the wall, she closes her eyes. Not something she'd allow herself, but considering she feels like her head is about to explode, she tells herself she has no choice.

"Alright", Tony says. Swallowing a sigh, she opens her eyes and watches him pull up a webcam feed via his holographic interface. "Here's what we're dealing with. Times Square, 3am last night."

Something about it unsettles her immediately. The SHIELD symbol, upside down and burning. Natasha frowns as she tries to figure out what it's made of — wood? Plastic? She isn't sure, thanks to the feed being grainy. But that's not what causes her to stop. The interrupting piece of footage is.

She'd recognize that room anywhere. She feels that same cold sensation she had back then claw its way down her spine yet another time.

"Where is this?", Steve asks, leaning in. Natasha feels bile rise in her throat. "It's choppy. Who gave you this footage?"

Nausea and an elevated heartbeat don't pair well. Natasha whips around and leaves before her reaction becomes obvious to anyone else. Her headache has turned into a stabbing pain, one that is so bad she presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. By the time she reaches the bathroom, her hoodie is drenched in cold sweat.

She refuses to look at the contents she evicted from her stomach. She flushes with a shaky hand, then turns around to face the mirror. Eyes downcast, she washes her hands and rinses her mouth with cold water until her lips turn numb and prickly, like they're filled with thousands of tiny needles.

Her hand slips from the doorknob. Her head is swimming in a mixture of pain and confusion. The second she's back in her room, she grabs her laptop and opens SHIELD's register of current and retired members.

Before she can click on the search box, the screen goes black. Then, letters. White against a black backdrop.

Still looking for me?

She slams her laptop shut so hard the screen shatters.

. . .

— 5 weeks earlier —

The clock on her nightstand is one minute late.

Natasha's blinks the fuzziness in her mind away and slowly sits up. Bedsheets pool around her bare waist, crisp and white and ironed. Outside, it smells like late summer. A rain storm hit New York last night — the air is wafting in through the window, and it's bringing along the smell of raindrops coming in contact with the freshly mowed lawn surrounding the Compound.

It should be 6 am. She can hear the alarm Tony installed to wake everyone up at the same time. Instead, the little black alarm clock on her nightstand reads 5:59 am.

She doesn't feel the relief others do when they wake up on a Sunday morning like this one. Instead, her body complains about every movement she makes. Her eyes, however, are still trained on the clock. The moment she reaches out to grab it, it suddenly shows the right time again.

Her hand freezes midair. She hesitates for a split second, then she grabs the clock anyway. When turning it in her hands and inspecting it from all sides, it seems normal. No device attached, no chip, nothing. The clock corrected itself. Not gradually, or believably. It's like someone flipped a switch.

Natasha sets the clock back down on her nightstand. To the team, she's the 'paranoid' one already — a title she not-so-proudly shares with Bruce Banner. This isn't something she can mention to anyone.

She glances at the clock one last time — 6:01 am, as it should be — then she gets up. The floor is warm beneath her feet, curtesy of the underfloor heating Tony insisted on installing. Inside her bathroom, it smells like jasmine and the perfume she uses.

Even the loofah doesn't scrub away the bad feeling sticking to her skin. It's like the world tilted just the tiniest bit overnight, and now, everything seems to be slightly off. Misplaced.

Downstairs, she's called into the meeting room. It's way too busy for a Sunday. She's still rubbing her hair dry with a towel, her eyebrows raised as Clint nods at her.

"What's the fuss?", she asks, squeezing the ends of her hair. Water drips onto the hardwood floors.

"SHIELD", he mutters. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and lifts his chin. "We, uhm...there's been this thing. Tony will explain."

"It's bad?"

"Let's just say I should've retired when I had the chance."

Natasha nods and leans against the wall. Quietly, secretly, she agrees. He should've retired. Only few people are self-destructive enough to continue doing whatever this is supposed to be. She's one of them, unfortunately. Ruining herself in order to do her job is ingrained into every fibre of her being, and that's not something retirement would change. She'd find a different outlet. In a twisted way, this is safer.

When the holographic interface lights up, she lifts her head. Tony has pulled up a file — nothing else. A SHIELD file, she recognizes that detail immediately — but she's never seen anything like this before.

Apparently, neither have the others. Thor gestures at the hologram with the pencil he's been chewing on.

"What's special about that?", he asks, using his fingernail to remove a piece of wood stuck between his teeth. "That's a file."

"This is Danny Frost's file", Tony corrects him. Natasha pauses. "Don't see anything unusual?"

The entire room goes silent at the sound of Danny's name. Natasha remembers every detail, from his death to the accusations to the events that nearly destroyed SHIELD. And nearly destroyed her as well.

It had been a brutal scene. SHIELD agents are resilient. Body horror of all kinds — dismemberment, slit throats, gouged out eyes — isn't new to them. They're all used to bloodbaths. Yet, this was enough to make four people throw up.

To this day, she doesn't know the full story. She remembers pieces — blood, scalpels, you. Her hands were shaking. The light was flickering. Dozens of little details, but not enough give her an answer. There are two versions of you in her head, and she isn't sure which one was real.

Tony zooms into the file, enlarging the picture in the upper right corner. It should be Danny's face in the picture, all professional and in his SHIELD uniform. She knows he had perfectly white teeth. They'd been scattered everywhere across the room.

His picture, with the barely-there smile, is gone. The entire room is staring at a scalpel instead. Natasha could recognize it anywhere.

"Wow", Clint says. "That's why you called us here?"

"This is a threat", Tony immediately says, pointing at the scalpel. "This was put on SHIELD's doorstep, basically. I know you're trying to retire, but even you should remember what went down all those years ago."

"I do", Clint says, irritated. "I was there. I cleaned up the mess. Natasha, she-"

Her head whips around, eyes flickering from Tony to Clint and back again. They both stare back, and once she realizes she unconsciously slipped her hand into her pocket to reach for her pocket knife, she slowly pulls it out again.

"You're being ridiculous", she says, lowering her hand. "It's a scalpel."

"You remember what it was used for, don't you?"

"There was no proof", she says, voice low and controlled despite the irritation bubbling up in her. Despite it all, she's being defensive. "Those were baseless accusations. Those very accusations started a ripple effect. It almost destroyed SHIELD. This could be an attempt at confusing everyone."

Tony shakes his head and closes the file just to open another one. Pictures of the crime scene appear, translucent yet sickeningly clear. Medbay, treatment room 6 — location of Danny's death.

Murder, Natasha quietly corrects herself. But even that word fails to convey just how disturbing it all had been. It hadn't just been a death. It'd been a destruction, performed with surgical precision. A desecration. Only during her time in the Red Room had she seen something like it.

"Look at the damage", Tony says, using a pen to point at the remainders of what should've been a human corpse. "All of this — done with a scalpel. I know you're a bit of a masochist, Romanoff, but you can't be defending this."

She stares at the hologram, jaw clenched and eyes stubborn. Behind her eyes, she feels a throbbing pain. Faint as of now.

It's been years since she last saw you. Years since she swore herself to never fall for this — you — ever again. To never engage in this relationship that almost killed you both.

Even then, she spent way too long trying to locate you. She wanted answers. She thought she'd never get those, as she assumed you were dead. Suicide, maybe. Or killed by someone seeking revenge. It'd been the only reason why she managed to stay sane.

Natasha didn't want you to be dead. She just needed you to be, so she could breathe again.

"I'm not defending anything", she says. Her voice — controlled and even before — is now wavering. The desperation to cling to this idea of being free in at least one sense is pathetic, and she knows it. She doesn't feel like she has a choice, though. "Fury said so as well. There was no proof."

"He did", Clint confirms. Everyone else, listening silently, now turns toward him. "But aside from that, he also searched every continent for Y/N. There's no place they didn't turn upside down to find her. There's gotta be a reason for that."

"Fury's paranoid", she shoots back. "Everyone knows that."

"Oh, I'm sorry", Tony says, turning the hologram off with a swipe of his fingers, "you're much more rational, of course. Let's trust your judgment."

Natasha's face hardens in an instant. They're all aware of her connection to you — Steve, Tony, Clint especially. He had a front row seat during everything that went down after Danny's death. It's always been obvious they believe that connection never ended. Natasha doesn't form meaningless, surface-level relationships. Either you make it all the way to the core of her soul, or you're never let in at all.

Before the entire thing, Fury used to describe you as a parasite. You wormed your way into every target and sucked the life out of it, whether that'd been a person or a computer system. You knew your way into the most vulnerable aspects of any target, human or not. Natasha was never a target, but she got a similar treatment. The only difference was that you'd put the label 'love' on it.

Nobody believed her when she said she's over it. They knew it's hard to restore what you aim for.

"I was close to her", she says, doing her best not to snap at them. "Yes, I know what I'm talking about. You don't. You knew her on a surface level."

"Thank god", Tony retorts. "That woman was twisted. She ruined your life, Romanoff. How can you still defend her?"

Natasha doesn't respond. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes drifting from Tony to the floor. She remembers every little detail about you — how you'd pick flowers with bloodstained fingers, how you'd clean scalpels and then lean in to kiss her goodnight. You were unpredictable, charming in a way that threw everyone off. You effortlessly got people to love you, and that included the team. Even Tony, who's now standing there and running his mouth like a man who wants to get into a fight, once adored you.

With time, that idea of you shifted for everyone else. They saw your chaos, but never your warmth or the intimacy you so readily provided. You were manipulative, and at that you might've even exceeded Natasha. She knows she probably fell victim to you as well; she just doesn't know whether that was a constant or not. But the good outweighed the bad, at least at the time it did.

"I appreciate the concern, Stark", she says, stepping away from the wall. "You can't ruin something that never had a chance to begin with."

He frowns, giving her a quick once-over. Assessing her is more than difficult. He isn't sure anyone's succeeded at it so far — except from you, maybe, and not even that is certain.

"You won't be able to avoid this", he says slowly. "Fury has ordered an investigation. It'll only be a matter of time before we find out more."

"No", she says. "It won't be. We all know that."

They do, in one way or another. Admitting that you're powerless is hard, however, so even beginning to think they might be nothing but feathers in the wind seems impossible.

The door to the meeting room falls shut behind her. She hears the draw of a scalpel with every step she takes.

. . .

At night, SHIELD's hallways feel more like a maze than a structure Natasha got to memorize over the years.

Silence, apart from the gentle hissing of the air vents. Her boots pad over tiles which are still covered in wet footprints. The overhead lights are dimmed and the air is warm from the day.

She should've left two hours ago, but after falling asleep at her desk, she needed more time to finish working on the file Fury handed her this morning. That this happened in the first place was concerning enough — Natasha doesn't nod off. Ever. She had coffee as well, black and no sugar, but even caffeine didn't manage to keep her awake.

She rounds a corner, her eyes immediately tracking down the motion sensor light at the other end of the hallway. It flickers for a second, then dies again. Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn't stop. She keeps walking even when the smell hits her.

Antiseptic, sharp and sterile like an operating table. But that's not what caught her attention — the cleaning staff regularly uses antiseptic. It's the perfume entangled in it that makes her stomach coil. She'd recognize the musky perfume you loved anywhere. And even though this isn't the exact scent, it's still cold enough to throw her off.

She still knows when she smelled it the last time. The night before Danny's death, after you'd slept together on the couch in your apartment. It clung to your skin like old blood stains cling to concrete. Even sweating for an hour straight didn't manage to weaken the smell.

Before her mind can take her into dangerous territory, she forces herself to snap out of it. Your apartment had been miles away. The perfume you used got discontinued shortly after she secretly declared you dead. It's the remnants of exhaustion that are playing tricks on her.

The elevator door slides open before she can press the button. As she steps inside, she also steps into a cloud of your perfume.

Natasha freezes in the middle of the elevator. The door slides shut, the lights flicker, and the enclosed space starts moving. Moving smoothly at first — passing floors, humming quietly, carrying her all the way down into the garage. Then, it stutters. It shakes. It comes to a halt so sudden it makes her stumble.

Her hand reaches out to steady herself against the wall, but instead of meeting stainless steel, it presses right against a warm, moving chest.

She looks up. You look right back at her.

Bloodied hands. A cold smile. The tiniest flicker of amusement, one she memorized like her favorite lullaby.

"It's been a while", you murmur. You don't stop staring, even she tries shoving you away. Even when her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, when the proximity is making her heart pound in her ears.

The elevator fades. Natasha fades with it. She finds herself backed into the corner of your kitchen, one hand braced on the surface and the other gripping your shirt. Her head is leaning against your shoulder. Your hand is between her legs, making broken moans spill out of her. Apart from the muffled squelching sounds, it's completely silent.

It smells like blood. Her body tenses as something washes over her — relief, fear, longing. A mix of it all, probably. Before she can lean into the feeling too much, she's staring at the mirror inside the elevator. Behind her, the door has opened. A hallway, pitch black and filled with the humming of the air vents, reminds her to step outside.

Somehow, without thinking much, she makes it to her car. At this point, she's running on instincts and reflexes. She buckles up, pulls out of the parking lot, leaves the garage. It's almost 3am, the roads are abandoned out here, and she's never felt less secure in driving than she does right now.

Her hands are still shaking when she reaches the gate in front of the Compound. She's trying to avoid the mess she's feeling — all the grief, the anger swimming back to the surface. The unanswered questions and the quiet desperation that's been plaguing her since you disappeared.

As she makes her way into the building and up the stairs, the thoughts only get louder, more insistent. The urge to start looking is strong, yet she doesn't even know what to look for. She didn't find you back then, and she wouldn't be able to find you this time, either.

You'd always been good at disappearing. Natasha never asked where you went, or what you did. In hindsight, she probably should've. But she doesn't know whether that would've changed anything, and that might be the worst part. It seemed unconditional at the time. It was unconditional until it wasn't.

She unzips her jacket, folds it and puts it aside. She doesn't smell it. She knows your perfume is still lingering on the fabric.

Another shower. The water is hot enough to turn her skin red. She scrubs herself with the loofah until she's raw, then she dries off and gets out of the shower. Her eyes get stuck on the mirror, fogged up and spanning across half the wall.

Two words, written into the condensation of the glass.

Missed me?

She blinks. The words disappear, just like that. A breath leaves her heaving chest, and she takes a step backwards before finally turning around. The door falls shut and she locks it.

Natasha isn't paranoid. She's just overly cautious. But the line in between is blurry.

. . .

ˣ ˣ ˣ

Natasha can feel him in her vicinity. It's not just instinct — it's routine.

They don't share a workspace. They're not even in the same department. She's in Tactical Operations and Espionage & Intelligence. Danny, however, is working his way up in the PsyOps ranks. Yet, she sees him whenever she's in her office. He approaches her whenever he runs into her. She's not scared; not of a man with a muscle percentage below 30%. His presence alone is unsettling, anyway.

He hovers, and watches, and scrutinizes. It's part of his job. His responsibilities, however, don't include analyzing coworkers. Especially not Natasha.

You could tell something in his brain clicked the first time you saw them interact. At that point in time, you didn't know what it was or how to categorize it. But you could tell he had an interest in her. You could see through his act. You saw past the white teeth and the fake smiles, past the polished badge he carried with pride. You were able to because you weren't too different from him.

'Strategist with a god complex' is what Fury once said during a meeting. He was mumbling, sorting files. Too tired and distracted to keep himself in check, he'd uttered the words that'd end up deciding Frost's fate.

You could tell Danny thought he was being subtle. To others, that might've be true — but you spent too long perfecting your own public persona to not see right through his. You started keeping tabs on him months ago, just to be safe. So far, he hasn't disappointed you.

12 am, Natasha's rarely occupied desk. He walks past her office. His excuse is always the same: reaching the break room on the other end of the hallway. His department has a break room, too. He doesn't visit it nearly as much.

8 pm, another trip past her desk. He doesn't know you've had access to the security cameras for a while now. You're in your office, Natasha standing behind you. Her hands rest on your shoulders.

She's not nearly as concerned as she should be. She tells herself you're just worried, because that's what you told her.

"Every day", you say, clicking to the live feed of the camera a couple feet further down the hall. "He's not even trying to hide it."

"You shouldn't worry", she says, squeezing your shoulders. "He's harmless."

You go quiet for a long moment. Danny is in front of the water fountain, leaning over and tilting his head to catch water with his open mouth. He lets go and straightens up. A feeling of disgust hits you when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It doesn't matter whether he's harmless." You turn off the computer and turn around. Natasha frowns slightly. "Are you naive?"

"What?" She shakes her head. "It does matter. He's peculiar, but looking at his job, that doesn't surprise me."

"That's your excuse?", you continue. "'Peculiar'? I thought you were smarter than this, angel. Take a look at his file. Don't just skim it. Examine it. There's a reason people like us choose this kind of career."

Natasha knows you have a point. No ordinary person enters a business like yours. What she doesn't know, however, is that you weren't including her when you said "people like us." That detail slid past her with such ease it even baffles you. Because, in the end, there are things that differentiate her from you and Danny.

"I don't check the files of coworkers", she finally says. Your eyebrows rise with both sympathy and amusement. "There's a line, Y/N."

"Right", you say slowly, getting up from your chair. "Why are you lying?"

Your eyes have always been intense. It's one of the things that drew Natasha in the moment you met. Right off the bat, you were talking. Charming her, seducing her, all while being subtle about it. You slept together almost immediately, like it was an inevitability instead of a choice.

She felt a lot of things when it happened. You felt something — and that something was enough to let her stay. The look in your eyes never changed, though. Not for anyone else, and not for her, either. In this moment, she wonders what about them ever managed to lure her in.

"There's nothing we can do about it", she says, trying to distract you. It doesn't work, but you let her believe otherwise. She sees through it. "He's a valuable asset. Even if he does pose a threat, SHIELD will dismiss it. They've done it before. If nothing has happened, there's nothing they can do."

You study her for another second, contemplating quietly. Your hand reaches out, brushes her side, pulls her closer. She exhales and wraps her arms around your neck.

"Look at you", you whisper. Your hand curves her waist and dips lower. "Too trusting after all. To think I had hope for you."

Natasha shakes her head. She plays with the baby hairs at the back of your neck, wrapping them around her finger and smoothing them out.

"It's not trust."

"No. You're still naive."

She tilts her head. You're both aware that Natasha is a stranger to naivety. But you'd keep telling her this, no matter if she'd ever end up believing your words. Unfortunately for her, she would. It'd never be her fault.

You lean in and kiss her. Your nose bumps hers, your hands squeeze and rub her sides. It's brief, but you hope it's enough to keep Danny at bay. He did seem startled when walking past the open door, after all.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

With each night that passes, Natasha's sleep gets worse.

It creeps in slowly. She's used to nightmares, sure — but this is different. Even asleep, she's restless. She wakes up with the blanket and pillows on the floor, the sheets messy and an unfamiliar scent clinging to them.

Dreams are half-remembered. When she wakes up, she's disoriented for the first few seconds. Her head hurts, her vision swims. Every morning, she feels worse. She's never felt fully rested, but she's never been this tired either. It's the kind of exhaustion that stretches way beyond the physical.

A touch to her shoulder is what makes her wake up from a confusing dream. Her face is pressed into something soft and warm and moist. For a moment, she's too dazed to realize that everything about it is unfamiliar.

When she does finally open her eyes, she sees the blood-soaked pillow she's been resting her head on.

Her heart jumps in her chest as she immediately enters panic mode. Her hand darts under the pillow to reach for the knife she hides there. All she feels are soaked sheets.

It takes everything in her to calm down, even if her heart is still trying to escape her ribcage. A nosebleed, she tells herself, feeling her face. Completely dry and clean. I need to clean up.

Slowly, she scoots out of bed. The floor is cold beneath her feet, despite the underfloor heating. She makes her way into the bathroom and grabs a trash bag. She avoids looking in the mirror — no matter what she'd see, it'd only make things worse.

Natasha returns to her bedroom. Her eyes immediately zero in on the pillow. It's still in its place, right where she left it. Except now, it's spotless.

Something warm brushes her shoulder, like fingertips. She jumps around, getting into position immediately, but there's nothing there. It's just her room — empty, silent, minimalistic. An empty vase on her dresser, a blank wall behind it.

She forces herself to relax, but deep down, she can feel how tense she still is.

Nothing in life has ever been certain for Natasha. The only thing she allowed herself to rely on were her senses. Now, even those seem to be betraying her.

. . .

ˣ ˣ ˣ

"This is it?", you ask, glancing up at the tower. Avengers Tower, formerly known as Stark Tower. You're familiar with both, obviously.

"He's humble, huh?"

You look at Natasha. Her eyes dart lower, staring at the lipstick you're wearing. Pat Mcgrath — your favorite brand. You've never said it out loud, but you wear it often enough for her to know.

"He's a billionaire", you say simply. Your hand squeezes hers, and you start approaching the entrance. "You know what I think about that."

Her lips quirk into a fleeting smile. Inside the lobby, the receptionist greets you before returning to his crossword puzzle. He's chewing on the end of his pen, which is now starting to splinter.

Walking past, all you do is throw a quick glance at the newspaper. His thumb drums against the edge of a grid spanner. You smell cigarettes and deodorant.

"14 down, Hervey Cleckley", you say. Natasha looks at you, but you've already continued walking. "This is why humanity is doomed."

You press the button next to the elevator and watch it light up in blue. The machinery hums as it moves to your location on the first floor.

"It's a crossword puzzle", she says. You both step into the elevator, and you turn around to lean against the wall. With your hand holding hers, you tug her right against your chest. "There are bigger issues, unfortunately."

"He's part of the issue", you reply. You lean in and peck her lips. "Your friends. I can assume they won't disappoint?"

Natasha studies you. Her free hand reaches up to brush some smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth. She knows you'll be watching, judging, mentally picking them apart until they're nothing but their individual pieces.

The worst part is that she's letting you. She wants you there, after all. Even if she knows better. You're polite and friendly, sarcastic and intelligent. You're charismatic. But beneath all of that, there's so much more. An iron fist in a velvet glove.

"Don't expect too much", she says right as the elevator comes to a halt. "I've given up on trying to make you like someone."

"Smart girl", you mumble, only slightly taunting. "Might save you some energy."

Natasha shakes her head. Once she reaches the door at the end of the hallway, she uses her keycard to unlock it. It opens automatically, revealing a living space with multiple people in it.

You know all of them. Tony, behind the bar and poking Bruce with a toothpick. Thor, toying with his hammer and putting it on someone's phone. Steve and Clint, now looking up to greet you.

"Hey", Clint says. He knows you. He's met you. He can't say he likes you. "Nice dress."

"Barton", you reply. "How are the kids?"

His face hardens slightly, but he puts on a polite smile. That you even know about his kids is concerning enough — he's only told the people that are closest to him, and you haven't made it that far yet. His first instinct is to put his kids in a bunker before you can keep keep reminding him he has something to lose.

"They're good", he says evasively. "Work's treating you well?"

"Same old."

"Look at that", Tony says, grabbing a stack of whiskey glasses. "Romanoff brought someone over. Didn't think I'd see the day."

"Stark", you say, quickly scanning him. He raises his eyebrows and pours himself a glass of whiskey. "More charming than your file suggested."

He lets out a laugh, but Natasha squeezes your hand twice. You turn your head just enough to kiss her temple — and silence her —, then you make your way to the couches standing around two coffee tables.

The others join soon, as well. You can tell they're uncomfortable. Avoiding eye contact, but having plenty of it which each other. Downing whiskey like it's water. Clearing throats and gripping their drinks, but also trying to stay nice.

Only Thor doesn't seem to care. He's dug out a six pack of beer and is now trying to get you to chug it with him.

"Winner gets a prize", he says, trying to push a bottle into your hand. "We'll hunt a hog and slaughter it. Have you ever tried the innards?"

You quirk your eyebrows at him. "Can't say I've had the pleasure."

"Ah, it's no pleasure. Chewy and hard."

Your lips twitch into a smile and you shake your head. Your arm is wrapped around Natasha's shoulder, and you lift your free hand to hold the whiskey glass to her lips and tip it.

"Sounds like an experience", you say, studying the Norse god. "I like you. You don't pretend to be civilized. And you're far less tense than everyone else. No wonder there's a bar on every floor here."

Tony gives you a long look. He was about to pour himself another whiskey, and now that you said that, he makes more of a show of it than necessary.

"Tense? Us?" He nods and lifts the glass to take a quick sip. "Well. Don't take this the wrong way, but if something explodes, I'm blaming you."

"Relax, Stark. I only blow up the things I don't like."

"That's reassuring", Steve mumbles. Natasha glances at him, then at you again.

She doesn't know what she expected. She never expected you and the others to become best friends — not by a long shot. Even at SHIELD, you keep to yourself. There are few people you associate and socialize with. She doesn't remember you ever uttering the word 'friend'.

"Rogers", you say, like you were waiting for him to pipe into the conversation. "Captain America. Are you proud of that title?"

He pauses, a little taken aback. Everyone else is staring as well. Nobody expected a direct confrontation, after all.

Natasha notices Bruce nudge Clint a few times. One is nervous, the other more tense than the bowstring he's so skilled at using. You don't have to look at her to squeeze the part of her ribcage that's right beneath her breast.

"What I do isn't about pride", Steve says after a beat, his eyes fixed on yours. "If it were, I wouldn't be standing here today."

"What's it about, then? Self righteousness? Your conscience? Morality is so boring. Don't you ever get tired of it?"

He briefly sucks on his teeth in order to keep himself controlled. Natasha knows him well enough to see that you're about to make the impossible happen — get Steve up in arms about something. She knows it's not easy to make him snap, because she's tried before just for the fun of it.

"Having a conscience is boring?", he asks, eyebrows raised.

"You're putting words in my mouth", you reply, smiling. The heel of your high heels taps against the hardwood floor. "I've heard a lot about you. Frozen in ice for almost 70 years. How does one adapt to societal change that rapidly?"

One by one, you dissect them. Undress them publicly, make them question their own beliefs. The only one spared is Natasha — you keep her by your side, kiss her cheek every now and then, tap her side. Everyone else falls victim to your interrogation concealed as curiosity.

They're Natasha's friends, after all. Curiosity is natural. You want to know them for a multitude of reasons.

But beneath every question is a tripwire. If they are aware of its existence, they don't let you notice. If they aren't, they did exactly what you expected — show that, even in a room full of superheroes and American legends, you have the upper hand.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

. . .

It's hazy, hot, a little confusing.

Natasha's hands tangle in their hair. Her back arches off the bed. She doesn't remember the last time she was in this position, but her body knows exactly what to do. Tugging hard, she lets out a breathless moan.

Someone is between her thighs, two fingers slowly pumping in and out of her. A nose nudges her clit. The air around her is buzzing with something she can't quite place. But she knows the scent, the voice, the feeling in itself. She's been here before.

Her thighs tremble, the heels of her feet digging into the mattress. Her red hair is fanned out on the pillow. Sweat trickles down her chest and between her breasts, running over a scar.

The scar stings. It's fresh. She can't recall where she got it.

Natasha grips the strands of hair tighter and keeps herself from cursing. She shouldn't curse. She remembers how much you liked it, though.

You. Something about the realization makes her heart trip. Her grasp weakens and she tries to force her eyes open, but all she sees is darkness. She can't seem to open her eyes. She's stuck — she's not sure where, but she can't leave.

It all feels off. She hears sounds that shouldn't be heard. Dripping, burning, whispering. Her heart races in her chest. Your voice, nothing but a hum against her skin.

She should've known it's you. No other sexual partner has ever delivered this kind of precision. The way you're thrusting your fingers into her is almost rude.

"Y/N", she moans, her thighs clenching around your head. "Where- where were you?"

No reply. You use her lower belly as a pillow for your forehead, still fucking into her at a fast pace. It smells like sex, sweat, blood, perfume. You moan against her, teeth grazing her skin and breath hot against it.

The rhythm of it is off. It feels like you're switching positions every few seconds. Like multiple realities are crashing, like her own brain is battling for control over what information it processes versus produces.

Then, she wakes up. Not gradually, not slowly. It's violent and sudden and the shame floods her at the same time as the grief does. The bed is still empty, after all. All she's left with are white sheets, aching thighs and the urge to throw up. The disorientation is bad enough to make her lie back down.

One arm over her eyes, she tries to calm down. Her heart is still thudding against her ribs, but at least the dizziness has stopped. The panic has subsided, if only a little. If only it weren't for her phone buzzing on the nightstand next to her.

Natasha hesitates before rolling over. She grabs her phone, unlocks it, and sees the message in her notifications.

Anonymous. One picture attached.

She doesn't want to click on it. In the end, she does anyway. What appears on the screen is a picture of her, sleeping, just minutes ago. Red hair tousled, lips slightly parted.

The picture was clearly taken from the window. Nobody entered her room. She can even see the slight reflection of the glass. But none of this makes her situation better.

Panicking but convincing herself she's still in control, she starts tapping the screen frantically to delete the picture and block the messenger. But her phone glitches violently — the screen flickers, random lines appear, the brightness changes.

Then, it goes dark. When it comes to life again, the message is gone. It's like it never existed.

Her stomach turns. Before she can feel sick enough to throw up, she gets out of bed and hurries into the bathroom. The cold water she splashes her face with doesn't help — her cheeks are hot and flushed anyway.

There is no proof she's alive, Natasha tells herself. Anyone could've sent that.

However, she does realize the circumstances are odd. Getting a picture like that right after having a wet dream about you would be an odd coincidence. And Natasha knows you're not one for coincidences. Everything is strategic, planned. It has to be, otherwise your cover could easily be blown.

She also knows that something like this would be right up your alley. It's intimate, silently violent, way too personal for comfort. Natasha keeps things secret — always has, always will. You were a secret once, too. That didn't stop you from staking your claim.

No one ever understood her darkness like you did. She adored that once. Now, it terrifies her more than anything else ever could. Because every story, every confession, every fear could now be used against her.

Her sanity is slipping, but she knows one thing — it will be used against her. It already has.

. . .

ˣ ˣ ˣ

You don't tell Natasha. You're almost certain she knows. It doesn't help with your antipathy towards Danny.

He doesn't stop hovering around Natasha, not even when you leave a note on his desk. In fact, it only gets worse.

It didn't take long for you to catch on to his plan. Days after he started — digging into her past in the Red Room, quietly filing reports, even watching her through internal SHIELD channels — you realized that this wasn't innocent interest. Even that would've been to set you off. No, it wasn't interest; it was an analysis.

You weren't sure what his plan is and, truthfully, still aren't. You know he's part of the PsyOps team. You also know he's one of the most talented psychiatrists SHIELD ever recruited. He must've seen something in Natasha that he liked, which you can't exactly blame him for. His decision to target her, and pick her apart for fun and research, is something you blame him for, though.

The very first thing you noticed him do was take notes. They were brief, clinical, way too plain for someone like Natasha. They dehumanized her entirely. To him, she wasn't Natasha — she was a subject.

Subject shows signs of survivor's guilt.

Subject has a low to moderate susceptibility for manipulation.

Risk of subject: high. Reward: high.

You'd copied and kept every file. You'd logged every single action of his. You'd kept an eye on him, for weeks, until he went too far.

Natasha isn't vulnerable, or helpless. She can defend herself better than almost everyone you know. In the end, what you did wasn't about protection. There was more to it. But when he started getting too close — recording her during work (she knew), asking her invasive questions about her past (she stayed professional), attempting to put beta-blockers into her drinks (she found out immediately) — you knew something had to happen.

You didn't want there to be an explosion. Watching people unravel themselves is much more interesting. You started by leaving notes on his desk. Mostly things he'd said in the privacy of his own home, when alone with his friends or fiancée. You started mentioning seemingly mundane tidbits of information, like his fiancées severe shellfish allergy. It didn't stop him.

Dead flowers followed. Scalpel blades. A picture of his own hallway, at night. The licorice he almost choked on as a kid. In his locker, in the pockets of his jacket, in his lunch that he stores in a plastic container.

He seems to slow down for a week. Then, he doubles down.

You have no choice. The pig's heart is still warm when you leave it in his locker, vacuum-sealed and labeled 'profile this'.

You knew he'd freak out. You didn't expect him to have the guts to corner you in a hallway one night after his shift, though. You know he's approaching by listening to his footsteps alone. They're louder than other people's, slightly off beat, a little squeaky in the aftersound.

"Agent Frost", you mumble, flipping through a few files. "I'm on my way home."

"I know it was you."

You give him a brief glance over the shoulder. He's trying to corner you, but you're not budging. There certainly are more intimidating things in your life than the guy who uses whitening strips on his veneers every week.

"You'll have to be more specific. I do a lot around here."

He rolls his eyes and lifts his phone. You don't miss how he hesitates for a brief second, his hand twitching backwards just an inch.

"This", he says impatiently, shoving the picture of the pig's heart into your face. "I still haven't gotten the smell out of my locker."

"You usually store intestines in a fridge", you say, giving the picture an unimpressed glance. "They spoil quicker this way."

The psychiatrist pauses, still holding the phone. He slowly locks it and puts it into his pocket, but his eyes — wary, slightly panicked even — never waver from yours. He knows it was you who did this. You left a pretty obvious clue when ramming a scalpel into his front door.

"You're pathetic. Avoiding confrontation is people-pleasing behavior", he says, stepping closer. You get an unfortunate whiff of his aftershave. "A deep rooted fear of upsetting others. Didn't peg you as the type."

"If this is what you classify as 'avoiding confrontation', I'd rethink my career choices."

"Don't talk to me about career choices. You're the one who-"

"Listen", you say lowly, finally turning around to face him fully. "I know what you've been doing. You're not slick. You've been warned multiple times, and you ignored it over and over again. So here's my advice: stay away from Natasha."

He stares at you, unmoving and maybe even unbreathing. His hand forms a fist, only briefly. He knows he'd lose, though.

"Baseless accusations", he spits. "Don't start something you can't finish."

He'd regret his words once he feels his teeth being cut out of his mouth. The scalpel is in your pocket already, blade sharp and handle engraved.

"Stay away from her", you repeat, not breaking eye contact. "Find someone else to analyze. Don't touch her."

Danny shifts and tugs at the lapel of his shirt. Once ironed and smooth, now wrinkled from a long day at work. You spot a tomato sauce stain on his sleeve.

"Maybe I should analyze you", he counters, his voice suddenly regaining some kind of confidence. Like a light switch flipped, his attitude changed. "I know more about your past than you think, Y/L/N. Not as clean as Romanoff hopes it'd be."

"I have nothing to hide, Doctor", you say. You step closer and smell his coffee breath. "My file is clean."

He gives you a smile. Barely there, cold, detached — or at least that's what he was aiming for. The result is pathetic, so much so you're tempted to offer him lessons. At least he made an effort, though, and for that you applaud him.

"I never mentioned your file, did I?"

You're not sure what he tried to achieve with this piece of information, but it doesn't work. He thinks he has the upper hand. That he's smarter. It's nothing but an act of desperation, disguised as control. Your lips twitch into a smile. His own smile fades.

"That's cute", you say, tilting your head and studying him. "You're threatening me?"

"I'd be careful", he snaps. "They have no idea. Romanoff doesn't know either. I have a lot of dirt on you."

You lift your eyebrows. He's slightly more red in the face. He's blinking rapidly. He's slightly out of breath, despite only standing. He poked the bear, it backfired, and now he's trying to keep it together.

"I told you to stay away from her."

"Or what?" He lets out a laugh and drags his hand down his face. "I didn't do anything. I just paid attention to a coworker. A friend. That's not a crime. But you, on the other hand..."

Memories flash behind your eyes. It's not just one memory — it's multiple. In different locations, with months or even years between. You can't say you regret any of it. You're not scared of Danny, either. He's a joke, always has been. You're not worried.

But he's getting close to Natasha. He's been targeting her. Your idea of love, if you're even capable of it, is twisted; but that doesn't make it any less real. You feel the results of it just like everyone else.

Power, territory, protection, violence. It's delicious.

"You want to tell on me?", you mock. "Is this preschool? Did your mom forget to iron your shirt?"

He stares at you, breathing more heavily by the second. Somewhere down the hallway, a door opens. He doesn't bat an eye at the idea of a coworker possibly overhearing your conversation, and neither do you.

"You'll see", Danny says, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "She doesn't even know what you are."

You smile. "Neither do you."

(He will end up dead.)

ˣ ˣ ˣ

[bobbin-buckley]

Zora’s Baby

Zora Bennett x Reader

Word Count: 2,434

Summary: It was a near miss. A close call. You are fine. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself to keep from descending into a state of complete and total panic.

Warning: Dinosaur attack, blood, general scary dinosaur behaviour. Smut, thigh riding, mommy kink, praise kink. Dom Zora kinda. Choking kink.

⋆ ݁. 𓍊𖠰𖥧 . 𓍊𓋼 𖠰 ݁↟ 𓃦 𖡼. 𖤣𖥧 𖠰. ݁⋆ ݁. 𓍊𖠰𖥧 . 𓍊𓋼 𖠰 ݁↟ 𓃦 𖡼. 𖤣𖥧 ݁⋆ ݁

You're all standing in a field, tall luscious, green grass brushing against you as it’s swayed by the wind.

Zora and Henry stand not even ten steps ahead of you, barely visible in the tall grass. Both of them are enraptured by the titanosaurus in front of them.

You’re just as mesmerised, watching the animal embrace its lover. It's truly a sight to see. Something so heart warming. So surreal.

Everything about the moment feels perfect. The warmth from the sun heats you just enough to keep you comfortable. The breeze drifts through the grass, making the soft surface brush against your skin. The sounds of nature surround you, lulling you into a state of tranquility.

The look on your girlfriend's face brings everything together. The complete awe and wonder in her eyes draws your attention almost as much as the dinosaurs themselves.

Zora turns toward you, a cheeky smile on her face as she gestures towards the two titanosaurus and then between the two of you. You shake your head at her, a laugh tumbling past your lips at her silly sweetness. She winks at you, smile wide on her face before she turns back toward the two dinosaurs.

Your own eyes follow hers, gazing up at the sixty five foot dinosaurs. Elation fills you. This is something you’d dreamed of for years. You’ve imagined this moment so many times. You don’t think you could be any more at peace.

You close your eyes, taking a deep, prolonged breath to savour the moment. Life really couldn’t get any more perfect than this.

A sharp rustle from behind you catches your attention, your eyes snapping open as you turn. You half expect to see a baby triceratops or some other herbivorous dinosaur. You smile, eager to meet a dinosaur up close.

The grass parts, a long snout peaking out, sharp teeth bared. A noise fills the air, low and pulsing. Your breath catches in your throat, the creature steps forward and you come face to face with a raptor.

You scream, raw and instinctive, staggering back a few steps. It lunges at you, knocking you to the floor as its talons dig into your shoulder.

You cry out, blood dripping from your wound. The raptor tilts its head at you, contemplating. For a terrifying second you think you see the creature smile. Crazed and vindictive. Enjoying the pain it’s causing you. The raptor shifts its weight, its tallon digging into your skin further. Tears stream down your face, your eyes wide as you stare up at the monster on top of you.

The raptor rears its head back, mouth wide open ready for attack. It lets out a terrifying shriek, the force of it pushing you further against the ground. You close your eyes, terror seeping into your bones as you wait to feel its teeth rip into your flesh.

Loud shots ring through the air, one after another, each followed by a howl from the animal above you as it digs its claw further into your skin.

The raptors body is heavy when it crashes against yours, limp and unmoving. You want to scream, to claw your way out from under the crushing weight of the beast. But you can’t move, your body too overcome by shock to cooperate.

Zora’s boots land against the ground with a loud thud as she runs to your side, the noise dulled, all but drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“Y/n!” Her eyes are wide, frantic as she looks down at you. Her voice is loud and demanding as she yells for everyone to help lift the creature off of you.

Her hands are firm on you as she drags you from behind the raptor, hauling you up onto your feet with impressive strength.

“Are you okay?” Her voice sounds distant, her hands where they grip your forearms barely registering in your mind. “Are you hurt?”

Your breathing is uneven, your hands shaking, from fear or adrenaline you didn’t know. “M-my shoulder.” You whimper, Zora eyes immediately zero in on the wound. “We need to get you bandaged up.”

You nod shakily, all your senses coming back to you at once as you feel Zora move to step away. Everything is too much, the sun, the breeze against your skin, the quiet sound of long grass grazing off each other. You feel altogether too fragile. Too raw and open to the world.

Your hands clutch at her instinctively, knuckles white as they grip the front of her tactical gear. “No please.” You all but cry, desperation lining your voice.

Zora’s eyes snap to yours. She looks at you, really looks, the sheer terror in your eyes, the colour drained from your face. You're shaking, she can feel it where you hold her, see it in the way your legs barely keep you upright.

Zora’s jaw locks, her eyes darting to the unmoving dinosaur on the ground, green orbs filling with something altogether too hateful. She nearly lost you. That damned thing could have killed you. It was going to.

“We need to get out of here.” Henry’s voice pierces through her thoughts. “Raptors hunt in packs. If there’s one, the others aren’t far behind.”

Zora nods, ordering Henry to pass her bandages and a wrap. She makes quick work to cover the wound on your shoulder. It’s messy and rushed but it’ll have to do for now.

“Now, Z!” Duncan calls, voice filled with urgency, his eyes scanning through the field for possible threats. She doesn’t bother giving him an answer.

“Can you walk?” She asks you instead, eyes boring into yours. You nod shakily, your legs collapsing under you as you try to take a step.

Henry is at your side in seconds, slinging one of your arms over his shoulder as Zora does the same with your other.

You're slow as you move through the field towards the outpost nearby. Zora and Henry practically have to drag you. You keep apologising, insisting you don’t understand what’s going on with you.

“You're in shock.” Henry says, his voice soft. “It should wear off soon.”

Zora stays silent through the journey. Her eyes fixed straight ahead of her, her jaw locked. Her hands around you never falter. Her mind replaying the moment she heard you scream on loop. She hesitated. When she turned and saw you on the ground, the raptor pinning you. She hesitated, her whole body just shut down, fear of losing you taking her over. It was all of five seconds before she kicked into action. But those five seconds could have cost you your life. She’s not sure she’ll ever forgive herself for that.

—————————————————————

Once the outpost is cleared and checked for security concerns you all decide it’s best to spend the night. Everyone needing rest after the long day you’ve all had.

Zora takes time to clean your wound properly, all the while murmuring soothing words and soft apologies as you flinch and try to stifle whimpers.

She bandages it with care, ensuring you’re comfortable and will heal properly. You were lucky enough to only have a flesh wound, no bone or muscle damage. Nothing too severe anyway. You’ll still have to go to a hospital once you get home but this will keep you going for now.

Once everything is done she asks how it feels, placing a kiss above the wound once you nod your approval and thank her. The shock has worn off now, though you're still extra clingy. Still needing your girlfriend close.

Zora stares at you for a long moment, at the now bandaged wound on your shoulder, at your hand where it's laced with hers. Your head rests on her shoulder, your breathing back to normal as you soak up the comfort she offers you.

Zora’s mind flashes back to the attack. To the moment she nearly lost you. Her eyes darken, her hand tightening in yours. You look up at her, a question on the tip of your tongue before she stands, pulling you up with her.

She ignores you as you ask where she’s taking you, doesn’t answer when you ask if she’s alright. She leads you out of the room where everyone rests, up three flights of stairs, and down hallways, through doors until she deems you both far enough not to be heard by the others.

“Zora-“

She shushes you, hands gripping at your waist. She leans in, lips hovering over yours, her breath shaky. “I could have lost you.” She whispers. She’s slow as she backs you against a wall, mindful of your shoulder. Her hands push gently at your hips, her eyes locked where her hands meet your skin.

Her fingers run over your body, tracing every inch of skin she can reach, hands sliding under your clothes. “If I had reacted a second later…”

“But you didn’t.” You reassure her, hand resting on her cheek. “You saved me.”

Zora’s eyes snap to yours, darkening, something unreadable flickering over her face. Her hands grasp at you, pushing you firmly against the wall.

“Zora!” You gasp, exasperated. Confusion flickers over your face, brows knitted together at her actions.

“I almost lost you.” She whispers again, the pain dripping from her words knocking the air from your lungs.

“I need to feel you.” She says desperately, her body leaning into yours. “Please, baby.”

The second you nod Zora drops to her knees, gently pulling your pants and panties down your legs, kissing every inch of skin exposed to her. Once they reach your ankles Zora lifts each leg gently to remove the offending clothes, tossing them to the side with little care for where they land. She leans forward, her eyes slipping closed as she rests her head against your bare thigh. You bring your hand to her head, gently carding your fingers through her hair.

She releases a shaky breath, leaning back to look up at you. Your breath catches at the sigh of her and she smiles, leaning in to place a final kiss to each thigh before rising to stand in front of you.

She makes quick work of riding herself of her own pants, leaving her standing before you in black panties and her green vest top. Your mouth waters at the sight of her, toned legs and muscular arms on display.

She’s back on you in seconds, her body pushing yours back against the wall. Her breath fans over your lips as her thigh slides between yours, pushing up against you, pressure hitting right where you need it and you gasp. Your hands fly to her shoulders, your hips moving against her on their own accord.

Her thigh is firm and warm between your legs, your arousal making her skin slick. “Oh god.” You groan, head falling back against the wall, all thoughts of your close call earlier in the day gone from your mind.

Zora’s hands find their home at your hips, guiding your movements. You sign, her name tumbling past your lips. Zora smiles. “Good girl.” Her lips trace your neck, kissing and biting any bit of skin she finds.

You moan, hips stuttering against her thigh and her hold on your hips tighten, pushing you down against her greedily.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” She says between marking and kissing the delicate skin of your neck.

“I’m fine, love.” You pant, hips grinding down more insistently. Her thigh pushes up against you, her hands dragging you forward. “Really I- fuck that feels good.” You moan, a fresh wave of arousal hitting Zora’s thigh.

“What you are.” Zora’s voice is dark, filled with lust and something else as her hand comes to rest around your neck, applying enough pressure to make your head swim. “Is mine.”

“Mine to love.” She presses a kiss to the mark she’s made on your neck.

“Mine to protect.” She kisses your cheek.

Her lips hover over yours, greedily taking in every moan and whimper falling from your lips. “Mine to fuck. However I like. Whenever I like.”

“Oh god, Zora. Please.” She smiles, her grip on your throat tightening. You’re soaking, slick spreading down your thighs and over Zora’s.

Her lips trail from yours over your cheek to your ear, her hot breath setting your body on fire. “Go on, baby. Cum against mommy’s thigh.” She takes the lobe of your ear between her teeth, biting gently.

A loud moan passes your lips, your legs shaking, pleas and her name falling past your lips as you come apart on your girlfriend’s thigh.

Your hands grip her shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave a mark and she loves it. Loves that she’ll have a reminder of you like this. Completely ruined for her and only her.

“Just like that baby.” She coos, guiding your hips to ride out your high against her. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.”

It takes you a few minutes to come back to yourself, your breathing laboured, head leaning against zora’s shoulder as you catch your breath.

Zora’s hands move, one running over your back soothingly and the other cradling the back of your head against her. “There you go, baby. You're okay.” She whispers.

You lean back, arms loose around her neck as you look up at her. “I really am, you know. I’m okay. It was scary but then you were there and I knew I was safe.”

Zora releases a breath, her lips covering yours in less than a second. She kisses you softly, like she needs it. She kisses you like she’s planning to for the rest of her life.

She pulls back to look at you, her hands pulling you flush against her. “Marry me.”

“What?” You blurt out, eyes wide.

Zora smiles, nudging your nose with hers. “I love you. I never want to be without you.” She leans in to kiss you again, loving the way you melt into her.

“Marry me.” She whispers into the air between your lips.

You smile, a teasing lilt to your voice. “No ring Bennet?”

Zora laughs, her smile lighting up her face. “When we get home I’ll get you any damn ring you want.”

Her face turns serious but the softness in her eyes stays. “Marry me.” Her voice drips in sincerity. “And I’ll spend every day of my life showing you how much I love you.”

“Well.” You say, pulling her into another kiss. “When you say it like that, how could a girl say no?”

⋆ ݁. 𓍊𖠰𖥧 . 𓍊𓋼 𖠰 ݁↟ 𓃦 𖡼. 𖤣𖥧 𖠰. ݁⋆ ݁. 𓍊𖠰𖥧 . 𓍊𓋼 𖠰 ݁↟ 𓃦 𖡼. 𖤣𖥧 ݁⋆ ݁

A/n: I’m not used to writing for Zora yet I feel like I need to rewatch the movie to see more of her character. Purely for research purposes Ofc

[bobbin-buckley]