#Natasha ROmanoff x you

[esouliie]

COME FIND ME, MY LIGHT.

(natasha romanoff x reader)

summary | What began as an attempt to bring Christmas back to Natasha turned into something deeper as both of you realised that love is what truly warms the heart this season. By Christmas Eve, Natasha wasn’t just in love with the holiday again: she was in love with you, and maybe- just maybe- you had been in love with her all along too.

tags | christmas fic! hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, dead family trope, alternative universe so no avengers, you’re both a bit sad! :/

notes | i want a christmas love like this so what better way to manifest than by writing a fic abt it hehe. this was also inspired by my fav person’s return to tumblr and her love for the holiday - @please-destroy, thank you for inspiring this by just being you! this is also a part of your gift, surprise!! everybody, go read her stuff now. it’s truly amazing!

word count | 5K

Merry Christmas!! ⊹♡

Since the moment you met, you knew Natasha carried a storm inside her. It was always tamed, hiding just beneath the surface of her eyes. But, from a year of friendship, you’ve noticed that storm that seemed to erupt around this time of the year. Being your only friend, she was always the one to accompany you on your trips out around the city. It’s there where you noticed the way she flinched at carols and avoided the cheerful chaos of Christmas markets you brought her too, by moving through it as fast as she can. The world’s merriment seemed to mock her darker memories. She confessed one night, in a rare moment of vulnerability and a very expensive bottle of wine, that Christmas had always been a painful time for her. Her voice, usually steady and unwavering, softened as she looked at you across the table. She told you about her sister, Yelena—the only person in her family who had ever truly cared about Christmas. Yelena had been the kind of person who could find joy even in the bleakest of places, someone who refused to let the world’s coldness harden her heart.

“She loved it,��� Natasha said, her lips curling into a wistful smile as if she could still see Yelena bustling around their childhood home. “The lights, the snow, the decorations. She’d drag me into whatever shop she could find, looking for things to make the house even more festive. Ornaments, candles, the cheesiest, most stupid Santa hats—whatever she could get her hands on.” She paused, her gaze unfocused as though she were looking back through the years.

Yelena had been the one to make Christmas feel like magic. She knew all of the Christmas carols, singing along even if the notes were slightly off-key. This joy followed her into her adulthood, and even when she became sick. Every year, she insisted on stringing up lights around their shared apartment —“even if we don’t have a tree, Natasha, we’ll have lights. You know it’s all about the glow.” She was fearless, mischievous, and relentlessly stubborn in her belief that joy was worth chasing, even if it didn’t come easy. “She’d bake,” Natasha continued, her voice thick with emotion. “Not well obviously— she couldn’t stand for long at the point. Plus, her cookies had always been terrible—but she didn’t care. She’d make a mess everywhere and laugh at herself, daring me to do better. I never tried, though. I always just watched her and took her to bed whenever she was done.” Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass, her knuckles whitening slightly. “She believed in traditions, even when there was no reason to. Especially when there was no reason to,” she added, “she said traditions gave people hope, something to hold on to in the dark. I didn’t get it then—I still don’t fully— but with time, I understood she was trying to help me be okay with the world when she was no longer around.”

Yelena had been more than just a younger sister to Natasha —she had been her tether, her mirror, her light. She was the last person left of her family, and the only one who ever made Natasha feel things she often tried to ignore: a steady warmth, a strong connection, the possibility of life being worth more. She was everything Natasha wish she could be.

And when Yelena died, Christmas died with her.

“There was no one to care about it anymore,” Natasha said, her voice breaking for the briefest of moments before she pushed the emotion back behind her walls, blinking her tears away. “No one to make it mean anything.” You reached across the table, placing your hand over hers. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t meet your eyes either. For a long moment, the two of you sat in silence, the air between you thick. “She would’ve liked you,” she murmured after a while, her voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “Yelena… she always liked people who made things feel… safe.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of her words settling deep in your heart. You realised, in that moment, just how much Natasha trusted you—how much she had given you by sharing this piece of herself. From that moment, you made a promise to yourself: a promise to return Yelena’s light back into her life.

⊹♡

One morning, you found yourself lost on a tree farm. Rows upon rows of evergreens stretched out like soldiers in formation, their frosted branches from the night before glistening in the morning sun. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, the crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound for a moment. Natasha walked beside you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coat, her eyes on swivel but not necessarily looking at the trees. She hadn’t said much since you picked her up that morning, you weren’t entirely sure if it was the early start or the occasion that silenced her.

“This one’s nice.” You said, gesturing to a stately Fraser fir with almost symmetrical branches. She stopped, gave the tree a quick once-over, and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, moving along until you could find the next one. You had planned on finding a tree that you both could put up at her place, but with each step, it seemed like this tree would be better suited living at yours. You tried again. “What about this one?” You pointed to a taller tree, its branches also slightly uneven but full of character. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I guess. If you like it.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t inviting either. You let out a small breath, watching it cloud in front of you before dissipating into the icy air.

“No, we can keep looking.”

Laughter and the occasional clatter of a fallen tree echoed through the air. You couldn’t see them mostly but could imagine families adorned in colourful hats and scarves scattered across the farm. Natasha, however, didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes back to skimming over the trees with a detached disinterest and her surroundings, her mouth set in a way that told you she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Do you want to go home? You asked gently.

She paused, her head tilting slightly as if weighing whether to respond. “You wanted a tree,” she said finally, her voice even. “So we’re getting a tree.”

“It’s not that important.” You said. “If you’re not into it, we can go.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m fine.” She said, her voice clipped. Then, softer: “Let’s just look over there.”

You didn’t press her further.

The two of you wandered deeper into the farm, the trees becoming denser, their branches heavy with snow. You found yourself wondering if Natasha even saw them, her eyes not even bothering with her environment anymore as she kept her head down towards the snow, her mind clearly somewhere far away. “How about this one?” You tried again, stopping in front of a modest blue spruce. Its branches were sturdy, the kind that could hold up heavy ornaments, and its shape was pleasingly perfect. She stopped beside you, her eyes lingering on the tree. She didn’t say anything right away, and for a moment, you thought she might dismiss it like the others. But then she tilted her head, considering.

“It’s okay.” She said, and while it wasn’t glowing praise, it was a step up from fine.

“You sure?” You asked, not wanting to push.

She nodded, her gaze lingering on the tree a second longer. “Yeah. It’s fine.” She finished, before turning abruptly back in the other direction. Later, the workers secured the tree to the roof of your car, their cheerful banter filling the space as you and Natasha stood off to the side. She didn’t say much, but when you glanced over at her, you thought you saw her mouth twitch—just the faintest hint of a smile. “Thanks for letting me tag along.” She said quietly.

You offered her a small smile. “I’m glad you came.”

⊹♡

Snow finally began to settle permanently in the middle of December. It clung to the rooftops and frosted the tree branches outside your apartment. Winter had truly arrived. You hadn’t seen Natasha since that morning; her work had whisked her off to the West Coast for an urgent business trip, leaving you to decorate the tree in your tiny apartment alone. Your living room was silent except for the soft hum of a holiday playlist you’d set to shuffle, but you were used to the lingering echo since moving in.

You missed her terribly.

Without Natasha here, you were unable to focus on anything but yourself: your terrible breakup last Christmas that had you packing your bags and running away to a different state, your argument with your family that had been the last time you’d spoken to them and the reason why you weren’t invited home this year, your sadness that crept up whenever you were forced to sit in silence with yourself. Deep down, you know she could see through you, could see how you suffered much like she did. It’s why you both clicked together instantly. But the difference with Natasha is that she never pried, never pushed you to talk about what you weren’t ready to say. And it wasn’t like you wanted to dwell on these things, but they lived inside you now, demanding attention in the silence.

Your ignorance was bliss, until it wasn’t.

And days when Natasha went away were the worst.

The doorbell rang at a late hour. Behind it stood Natasha, her coat dusted with fresh snow, her cheeks flushed pink from the nipping cold. She looked exhausted, her carry-on slung over one shoulder and her laptop bag in the other.

“You’re back?” You blurted out, wondering why she was here and not at her own place. It was Wednesday after all.

“I wanted to see you.” She admitted, shuffling awkwardly at her confession.

You pulled her through the door, allowing her a second to set her bags down with a tired sigh, her shoulders finally dropping as the door clicked shut behind her. “How was the trip?” You asked as you moved toward the kitchen, already reaching for the kettle and her mug.

“Exhausting.” She replied, shedding her snow-damp coat and draping it over the back of the chair. “And frustrating. Clients were indecisive, as usual, and the meetings went in circles half the time.”

You gave her a sympathetic look as you handed her a steaming mug of tea. “At least now you’re done for the holidays, right?”

She hummed in agreement, her fingers wrapping gratefully around the warmth of the cup. Despite the drink, you noticed her shiver and disappeared into your bedroom. You rummaged through your drawers, pulling out an oversized purple sweatshirt and some grey sweatpants.

When you handed them to her, she raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to—��

“You’re not sitting around in wet clothes, Natasha.” You cut her off, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Go change.”

By the time she emerged, looking infinitely more comfortable in your clothes, you had noticed the snow starting to pick up outside. Large flakes swirled under the glow of the streetlamps, a storm intensifying.

Perfect weather for what you had planned.

You grabbed a spare hat and scarf from the coat rack, along with a pair of gloves, and tossed them at her.

“What’s this?” Natasha asked, catching the items with a puzzled expression.

“We’re going out.”

“Out? In this weather?”

You were already pulling on your own coat and boots, ignoring her protests. “Yes, out. You’ve been cooped up in airports and meeting rooms for weeks. You need this.”

“I need sleep.” She muttered, but she already had her coat, reaching for the hat, her lips twitching as if she was trying not to smile.

“Come on. You urged, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the door.

The streetlights cast a warm golden glow on the fresh blanket of snow, and for a moment, she hesitated. Her reluctant smile cracked through the guarded exterior she so often wore when you were outside. It was like sunlight breaking through clouds. Looking down at her watch, she noticed the time read 1am. “Oh my God, it’s the middle of the night,” she moaned, shaking her head, “and it’s freezing!”

“You’re Russian.” You deadpanned. “Aren’t you genetically programmed to thrive in this?”

She shot you a withering look, but the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her. “That’s not how it works and you know it.”

She turned back around towards your building but before she could move any further, the first snowball struck her shoulder with a soft thwump. She froze, blinking in disbelief. You stood a few feet away, grinning triumphantly, the remnants of the snowball crumbling in your hand. She swung back around, her eyes narrowed, lips parted in exaggerated shock. “Oh, so that’s how it is? These are your clothes you know!” Before you could reply, she bent down, scooped up snow, and hurled it at you. It hit squarely on your chest, the icy cold seeping through your coat.

“Hey!” You yelped, laughing.

“You started this!” She shot back, her voice light—playful in a way you rarely heard.

And then it was war. Snowballs flew in all directions, and the street filled with your laughter, echoing off the quiet houses. Natasha’s aim was deadly accurate, and you were sure she was holding back for your sake. It was quite pathetic. At one point, she feigned defeat only to pounce on you with a pile of snow that left you sputtering.

“You’re a cheat!” You gasped, brushing snow off your face.

“And you’re slow!” She quipped, already forming another snowball to smush in your face.

The cold stung your nose and turned your cheeks raw, but none of it mattered. What mattered was the way Natasha laughed—real and unrestrained, her head thrown back, the sound almost musical in the still night. It was the kind of laugh that felt like a gift, something rare and precious, and you never wanted it to end. Finally, both of you collapsed onto the snow, breathless and flushed. The stars peeked through the gaps in the clouds, and the world seemed impossibly quiet, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Natasha’s head rested on your shoulder, her knitted beanie (that actually belonged to you) slightly askew. “Okay,” she said between gasps, “I admit—that was fun.”

“You’re so welcome.” You teased, shifting to look at her.

“But that’s only because I beat your ass.”

She looked so beautiful in this moment. Her cheeks were rosy, the same shade as her damp hair where stray snowflakes had melted. She was at peace—something you wish you saw more of. You brushed a gloved hand against her cheek, then leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her icy forehead, unable to stop yourself.

“You were right. You’re freezing.” You murmured.

“Maybe.” She replied, her smile small. She shifted closer, laying her head on top of yours. “But I don’t mind.”

⊹♡

With both you and Natasha no longer at work, meant she could hang out with you more often. It was late one evening —you both had spent the day inside your apartment doing absolutely —when she insisted on a walk, claiming the air was getting "stuffy," though you suspected she just needed an excuse to stretch her legs.

Somehow, you had ended up in the suburbs in New Jersey.

“You know, this is kind of perfect.” She said, glancing over at you with a small smile. “No one’s out right now.” You laughed softly, the warmth of her gaze doing more to fight the chill than the layers you’d bundled yourself into. “Yes, well, the suburbs In Jersey are surprisingly magical when nobody’s around.” You joked, sarcasm evident, as you nodded toward the rows of houses strung with twinkling lights. It felt like something out of a postcard, the kind of scene you’d only read about.

The two of you turned a corner and were met with the soft harmony of voices carried on the wind. A group of carolers stood in front of a house, lanterns glowing in their hands as they sang “Silent Night.” Natasha paused, her steps slowing as she tilted her head to listen. Her expression softened, a rare kind of calm washing over her features.

“You don’t strike me as the caroling type.” You teased, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“I’m not.” She admitted, though her lips curved into a grin. “But... it’s nice, isn’t it? Peaceful.”

It was odd. This was the first time you’d seen Natasha act normal with the idea of Christmas.

“They make it look so easy.” She said after a while, her voice quiet.

“What do you mean?”

“They make it look easy believing in... I don’t know. The magic of it all.” She added, as her brow furrowed.

You turned to look at her, the soft glow of the carolers’ lanterns catching in her green eyes. “Maybe it’s not about believing.” You said after a moment. “Maybe it’s just about... letting yourself feel it. Even if it hurts, let yourself feel all of it.”

She stood quietly for a beat before adding, “Yelena loved this song.”

You stayed silent, letting the moment slip away as she became lost in the tune. Natasha's expression contorted with pain as the song finished and the group moved on, but made no move to leave. Without hesitation, you clasped her hand tightly, guiding her away and back in the direction of the city.

You both walked in silence the entire way home.

⊹♡

The next time you saw Natasha was the following weekend when she came over for a sleepover. You could tell the temperature had dropped even more just by the state you found her in at your door. You could only see her eyes. She was wearing your beanie again, with a scarf wound tightly around her neck and the exposed parts of her face. She carried a mismatched tote bag that practically bursted at the seams, the telltale sign of someone who couldn’t quite decide what to pack.

She’d never slept over before.

Well, purposely.

Later that night, in the cozy warmth of your kitchen, you began pulling out ingredients for gingerbread cookies, demanding the taller woman come stand beside you once her ‘bones were warm enough.’ Natasha remained perched on a stool, her favourite mug clasped in her hands, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a half-smirk.

"Our first sleepover. And you’re putting me to work? At this hour? I almost died coming over to see you.” She teased, glancing at the clock.

It’s nearly midnight.

"It’s time for midnight gingerbread.” You replied, beaming as you tied an apron around your waist. "It’s a tradition now."

Now?" She echoed, laughing. "This is literally the first time we’re doing this."

"Exactly, that’s how traditions start."

Natasha rolled her eyes but hopped off the stool to join you, muttering under her breath about wishing she had froze to death on the way over before tugging at your apron strings like a mischievous child, pushing you slightly away from your spot so she could fill it.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The process was chaotic from the start. Natasha’s never baked before, and it showed. The first mishap happened when she cracked an egg with a little too much enthusiasm, sending yolk sliding across the counter. And from then, she managed to do nothing correct without your assistance. You were halfway through laughing when she retaliated by flicking a bit of flour at your cheek.

"Did you just—"

Before you could finish, she grinned devilish and dropped more flour over your head, “oh no, looks like you’ve got a little something there.”

Again, the process was chaotic.

Precision measuring gave way to messy improvisation as flour flew through the air in clouds of white. Natasha was unrelenting, chasing you around the island with a bag of powdered sugar like it’s a weapon. By the time you called a truce, the counters, the floor, and both of you were completely dusted with flour. "You look ridiculous.” You said, laughing so hard your sides ached. She wiped a streak of flour off her nose and smeared it onto your shirt. “Speak for yourself. You look like you’ve never seen the sun before.”

When you finally managed to clean up enough to resume baking, Natasha was benched to mixing the dough— far far away from the flour— but it took her all of ten seconds to abandon the spatula and dig in with her hands. “Are you sure this is hygienic?” She asked, grinning as she squished the dough between her fingers like it’s Play-Doh.

You’re pretty sure she doesn’t know what Play-Doh is.

"Absolutely not.” You replied, shaking your head. But neither of you cared. Somehow, The batter never even made it to the oven. After a mutual taste test—"for quality control," Natasha insisted upon —you realised you (she) had eaten most of it. "So, we’re out of ingredients." You admitted, licking a stray smear of molasses from your thumb. Natasha plopped down on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets with a satisfied sigh. “Good.” She said, licking a bit of dough off her finger. “The batter’s better anyway.” You sat beside her, the warmth of the oven lingering even though you never used it. The kitchen was a mess, the cookies a total failure, but none of it mattered.

You both fell asleep that night with the biggest smiles on your face.

⊹♡

Natasha ended up staying the next weekend too. Christmas fell on a Sunday, the big day seemed to sneak up on both of you, but for now, it was Christmas Eve, and the night stretched on, timeless and unhurried. After watching a few Christmas movies, the two of you found yourselves curled up in front of your fireplace — the fireplace being a YouTube video on loop coming from your television. The crackling flames painted your surroundings in shifting shadows, the room bathed in a burnt orange haze that made everything feel a little softer, a little more intimate. Natasha’s arms were wrapped securely around you, her presence grounding and warm. You hummed an old carol you heard once before under your breath, a lullaby that filled the quiet. Her hand traced lazy circles on your back, her fingers light but steady, as though she was trying to etch the moment into her memory. You watched her, unable to help yourself. The way the firelight kissed her skin, the soft rise and fall of her breathing, the peace in her expression— how rare it was to see her like this. Truly at ease. Vulnerable, but not guarded. You wanted to hold this moment forever, to preserve it for her in the way she deserved, and selfishly for yourself.

Falling for Natasha wasn’t difficult. From the beginning of the friendship, there was a constant undercurrent, a slow burn that never fully ignited, yet refused to fade. You fell in love with her so suddenly—in the quiet moments—that you couldn’t figure out when she became more to you than just a friend. Or if she was ever just that. And over the past year, you’d learned there was so much more to her than the cold, unyielding exterior she presented to the world. No one loved as much as she did. And now, as you sat basically on her lap, the space between both impossibly vast and unbearably close, you realised that falling for Natasha wasn’t just easy—it was inevitable.

“This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, like a thought she hadn’t meant to say aloud. As if she didn’t want to disturb the silence. Her gaze was distant, yet there was a softness in her tone that made your chest burn. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before they could fully form. “You miss her.” You finally said. It wasn’t quite a question, but Natasha understood. Her eyes flickered to yours, that same vulnerability reflecting through. “I always miss her.” She admitted, her voice even quieter now, almost fragile. She didn’t need to say Yelena’s name; you knew. “It’s strange… even after all these years, I still expect her to be here sometimes. Like she’ll just walk in, scolding me for not keeping the lights on all day or dragging me out of the house to help on her latest conquest.”

Your heart cried out with something deep and tender, the kind of feeling no words could ever quite capture. “I’ve got something for you.” She looked at you, her brow furrowed slightly in curiosity as you stood and walked to the Christmas tree. From beneath its branches, you retrieved a small, carefully wrapped box and brought it back to her—one of many gifts you’ve bought for her. “This was supposed to be for tomorrow,” you said, sitting down beside her again, “but I think it’ll mean more tonight.” She took the gift, her fingers brushing against yours briefly before she began unwrapping it. Beneath the paper was a small music box, its pearl-coloured sides adorned with golden, intricate carvings. She opened the lid, revealing a tiny engraving inside: the words “My Light” in Russian reside underneath a picture of Yelena in her youth, dressed as an angel for a school nativity play, her beaming smile radiant and full of life.

Natasha’s breath caught, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the edges of the engraving. “How did you—” she began, her voice breaking.

“You have to twist the key, Nat.” You said softly, closing the lid of the box.

She turned the key, the lid opening to reveal her younger sister all over again; as the music box began to play a gentle melody. But it wasn’t just music—it was a recording, faint but unmistakable hidden under the notes. The sound of Yelena’s voice filled the room, singing “Silent Night” with all the enthusiasm a child could muster for the slow song. Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth, and tears streamed freely down her face as the recording picked up another voice. It was quieter, steadier, but unmistakably hers. A younger version of her sang along with Yelena, their voices blending, only broken by their shared giggles as they sang together, sometimes stumbling over the lyrics. Her shoulders shook as she listened, and you reached for her, pulling her into your arms. She clung to you, her face buried against your neck, her tears damp against your skin, as sobs rocked her slender frame. You held her tightly, wishing you could somehow ease the weight of her grief and the bittersweet joy of this moment.

Her lips trembled as she tried to form words in the broke of your neck. “This…this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. I don’t even know how you did this—” She pulled away from you to glance back at the music box, her fingers delicately tracing the engraved picture of Yelena. “She was my everything. The only good thing I had for so long – moya sestra (my sister), moy malen'kiy svet (my little light.)”

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “I know. And now you have her again, even if it’s just a little piece.” Natasha set the music box down carefully, as though it were made of glass. She leaned forward, confident in her actions, in her love for you—a soft kiss pressed to your lips.

She had never kissed you before.

She wanted to again.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned in, kissing her once again, the taste of salt comforting. “You deserve everything good in this world,” you said softly, stroking the remnants of her tears, “and you deserve love, Nat. I’ll promise I’ll remind you of that every day.”

You placed a delicate hand over her heart and spoke, “I see you. And in this light of yours, I see her.”

She kissed you again, softer and longer than the last, her lips brushing yours; fuelled behind every emotion, every feeling, every part of her heart that now belonged to you, “Thank you for giving her back to me.”

You smiled softly, brushing a stray red curl away from her face. "I promise to make every Christmas something worth remembering, for as long as I can. To remind you there’s always light to find, even in the darkest nights."

She leaned in, resting her forehead gently against yours. "You already have."

You smiled, brushing a stray red curl from her face. “I promise to make every Christmas something worth remembering for as long as I can. And to remind you of her light. With you. With Yelena.”

She leaned in, her forehead pressing gently against yours. “You already have.”

[trikruismybitch]

i'm not even worried because trying to after natasha is going to be a huge mistake.

A Feline Connection Part 8

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You attempt to return to your previous way of life, one without Natasha or Widow, while Whitney discovers an unacceptable revelation.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 4576

Your footsteps are light, barely making a sound as you move through the dimly lit room. The figure lying on the couch is finally resting, her breathing steady, her brilliant green eyes hidden behind closed lids. 

But as you reach her side, you notice the faint pinch of her brows—a small but telling sign of a troubled sleep. 

Gently, you place the curled-up bundle of fur in your arms onto the cushion beside her. 

Widow doesn’t stir much as you settle her near the redhead. 

With a realizing glance at the absence of any comfort on the couch, you go back to your room, retrieving a blanket. 

When you return, you pause for a moment, taking in the person before you. 

Natasha’s face, so often guarded and composed, looks almost softer in rest, though the faint crease in her brow remains. 

Quietly, you unfold the blanket and drape it over her, your movements slow and delicate, as if the sheet might somehow shield her from whatever dreams are troubling her. 

Your hand stills as she shifts slightly, her head turning toward you. For a brief, tense moment, you freeze, holding your breath as you watch her, waiting to see if she’ll wake. 

But her eyes remain closed, her breathing steady. 

A stray strand of red hair falls across her face from the movement, and before you can stop yourself, your fingers lift to brush it back. The touch is featherlight, almost hesitant, as if afraid of breaking the moment. 

Her brow twitches slightly at the contact, her expression scrunching faintly in reaction, though it’s more of a reflex than wakefulness. 

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips at the sight. 

Slowly, you pull your hand away, straightening up, but before you can step back, you feel a gentle tug on your wrist. 

Looking down, you see Widow’s tiny paws wrapped around your hand, her claws pressing lightly into your skin.

Her yellow eyes, now awake, tilt up at you, curious and questioning. She goes to open her mouth as if to make a sound, but you quickly raise a finger to your lips in a silent, shushing motion. 

At your gesture, her small mouth snaps shut, following your request. Widow tilts her head at you before glancing back at Natasha, then back at you. 

Coming to a decision, the little cat shifts on the cushion, her grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly, as if trying to drag you closer to the resting Avenger. 

A quiet laugh escapes you, more a huff of breath than a sound, and you crouch down to meet Widow at eye level. 

You shake your head at her before nodding pointedly at the redhead and giving the cat a gentle wink. 

Widow seems to understand your silent directions, her claws releasing your hand reluctantly, though she takes a moment to nuzzle against your fingers one last time before padding closer to Natasha. 

She circles on the cushion once, twice, before settling in beside Natasha’s arm. Widow burrows herself carefully under it, her small body fitting perfectly against Natasha’s side. 

Almost unconsciously, Natasha shifts toward the warmth, her arm curling protectively around the little cat as her expression softens, the lines of tension in her face easing at last. 

You straighten slowly, watching the two of them for a moment longer. A faint smile lingers on your face as you take a silent step back, turning toward the door. 

Under Natasha’s protective embrace, Widow’s wide yellow eyes follow you, watching your every move until you slip out of the room.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

The guards stationed outside barely spare you a glance as you enter the mansion’s perimeter, and you offer them none in return.

They know who you are—or more specifically, what you are to their boss—and that knowledge alone is enough to keep most of them from daring to cause you any trouble. 

The air inside the sprawling estate feels suffocatingly familiar, the scent of polished wood and faint traces of Whitney’s preferred perfume triggering memories you’d rather leave buried. 

You move through the halls with automatic precision, the pathways etched into your mind from the years you spent living here. Every turn is automatic, every step calculated, your body remembering the routes even if your heart no longer feels at home. 

Reaching your old room, you pause. Your gaze lingers on the door, your instincts prickling with suspicion. 

Something feels off. 

Your hand slowly reaches for the doorknob, twisting it carefully. The lock clicks open with no resistance, though you know for a fact you had secured it before you left. 

A quiet sigh escapes your lips, laced with frustration. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.

Pushing the door open fully, you step inside, your eyes sweeping across the familiar space.

Everything appears untouched at first glance, but your attention is quickly drawn to the figure sitting at the edge of your bed, her presence commanding despite her relaxed posture.

“You’re back early,” you remark, your voice calm, carefully neutral. 

Half-shadowed by the dim light, Whitney’s lips curve into a small, knowing smirk. She leans back on her hands, her fingers splayed against the silk bedspread, her legs crossed elegantly at the ankles.

“And you’re out late,” she counters smoothly, her tone carrying a disarming casualness.

Tilting her head slightly, the gold mask glints in the exposed night light as she studies you with a look that feels too calculated to be innocent.

“Wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

In the past, her question would have sounded harmless to your ears—a simple inquiry you’d answer without a second thought, trusting her completely. 

But now, the words land differently. 

The casual tone feels deceptive, masking something deeper. It’s not a request; it’s a test, a command cloaked in false sweetness. 

For a moment, you hold her gaze, weighing your response. Her expression doesn’t shift, but the stillness in her posture speaks volumes. 

Whitney doesn’t need to explicitly demand answers. Her presence alone does the job. 

“I went back to my place to grab some things,” you reply plainly, your tone deliberately calm as you turn away from her. 

Moving toward the couch, you shrug off your jacket, letting it slide from your shoulders. 

But as your hand grips the fabric to fold it, something makes you pause.

This isn’t one of your jackets.

A small smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush over the familiar black leather, realizing you must have grabbed Natasha’s jacket without even noticing.

The faint scent of her still clings to it, grounding you for a fleeting moment. 

“This is your place,” Whitney’s voice comes from behind you, smooth and controlled. “Anything you needed, I could have gotten for you.”

Before you can respond, her arms snake around your waist, her movements deliberate as her chin comes to rest lightly on your shoulder. 

She holds a neatly wrapped box in one hand, extending it up toward you.

Folding Natasha’s jacket carefully, you place it on the couch, out of Whitney’s line of sight, and take the box from her.

Removing the lid, you reveal a sleek new phone nestled inside.

“It’s the latest model,” Whitney remarks, her tone casually proud. 

You huff softly, disbelief flickering across your face as you close the lid. 

Your phone had mysteriously disappeared a few days ago, and you don’t need to guess too hard about who’s responsible.

Placing the box back in her hand, you keep your tone light but firm. 

“Thanks, but I’ll keep looking for mine,” you say evenly. “There’s stuff on there that’s important to me.”

A soft scoff comes from Whitney as she tosses the box dismissively somewhere. 

“You mean pictures and videos of that cat,” she says, her tone mocking.

Your response is immediate, unflinching.

“Like I said—important to me.”

Her grip tightens slightly at your tone, her voice dropping into a whisper as she leans closer, her breath brushing against your neck. 

“I’m trying to help us start over here,” she murmurs, her tone softening in a way that feels practiced. “So that we can be like we were before.” 

The cool touch of her mask grazes your skin, a stark reminder of who she is to the world—and to you now.

It’s impossible to ignore the difference. 

She straightens as you turn in her arms, her hands lingering on you as if reluctant to let go.

Not able to see her whole expression, your hand lifts hesitantly, brushing the edge of the metal mask that conceals half her face. 

“You used to never wear this around me,” you remark, your voice low but steady.

Her reaction is immediate—her head pulls back sharply from your hand, her gray eyes narrowing in warning. 

“That was before you decided to abandon me,” she snaps, her tone colder now, tinged with a bitterness you’ve come to expect.

Your expression shifts to something unreadable, neutral, as you lower your hand to your side. 

“Maybe we’ve just become different people,” you reply softly. 

Whitney’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Slowly, her hands move to the back of the couch, her body leaning forward deliberately, effectively boxing you in. 

“No,” she counters firmly, her tone quiet but laced with steel. Her gaze hardens, cutting through any remaining facade.

“Just you. I haven’t changed.”

She leans closer, her voice dropping into a whisper, each word delivered with precision.

“I used to be your everything. And I still can be.” Her eyes search yours, unrelenting.

“Just let me back in. Only me.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication, as her gaze pierces yours.

“You owe me that much,” she finishes, her voice soft but pointed, the accusation embedded within her tone slicing through your resolve. 

You close your eyes briefly, the guilt rising like a tide within you, threatening to pull you under.

Her words strike deep, tugging at the cracks in your armor where your past with her still lingers. 

Memories of shared moments—of trust, dependence, and betrayal—flood your mind, blurring the lines between who you were then and who you’ve become now.

Releasing a deep breath, you open your eyes to meet hers. Slowly, you lift your arms and wrap them around her, pulling her into a loose embrace. 

The motion feels mechanical, more an attempt to appease than a genuine act of comfort. 

“Okay,” you mumble softly, your voice muffled against her shoulder. 

The word feels heavy in your mouth, weighted with the concessions you’re making and the pieces of yourself you’re once again offering up to keep the peace.

Whitney’s arms tighten around you in response, her grip possessive as she burrows closer.

Her voice is quiet, almost tender as she whispers, “Good girl.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

One Year Ago

Whitney sits at the head of the table, her eyes scanning the agreement laid out before her—terms negotiated between two minor rival crime families trying to end their long time feud.

The dim light from the chandelier above casts a soft glow on her polished gold mask, which rests on the table beside an opened bottle of wine.

She leans forward slightly, her slender fingers wrapping around the stem of a wine glass. Raising it to her lips, she takes a measured sip, her movements slow and deliberate as she reclines in her chair. 

The quiet moment of control is interrupted when two hands suddenly appear from behind her chair, moving toward her neck.

Instantly, her eyes narrow, the faintest flicker of paranoia flashing through her mind. Her fingers tighten on the glass, her muscles coiling in preparation for defense.

But then a cool touch of metal brushes against her collarbone, accompanied by a familiar voice.

“A lovely necklace for a beautiful woman,” you murmur, leaning into view with a slight smirk on your lips. 

Whitney’s grip on the glass relaxes, her wariness dissipating as she recognizes you. Her gaze flicks to the side where your face is now close to hers, and she allows herself a faint smile.

After clasping the ends of the necklace, you move to the edge of the table, taking a seat. 

Whitney brushes a strand of black hair behind her shoulder, reaching up to hold the necklace to the light. The jewels catch the glow, casting tiny reflections across the room.

“Nice work,” she remarks, her hand sliding effortlessly to rest atop your leg. Her touch is light, almost casual, though the possessiveness in the gesture is unmistakable.

“The job wasn’t too difficult for you, was it?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back on your hands.

“Your tip was spot on as usual,” you reply, your tone carrying an easy confidence. “Though, you’d think for something so precious, they’d have stored it in a high-security bank locker or something. Not just a simple safe in their bedroom closet.”

“The rich always think they’re untouchable,” Whitney remarks, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. 

You place your hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before lifting it to your lips. Your kiss is soft, featherlight, and the smirk that follows makes her eyes gleam.

“Are you?” you tease, your tone warm with amusement.

Whitney’s smirk widens, her posture relaxing slightly.

She loves this expression of yours—the one that focuses entirely on her, the affection in your eyes reserved solely for her.

But the moment is short-lived. 

A black blur suddenly darts across the table behind you, landing neatly on your lap.

Widow nuzzles against your side as she settles, her small head tilting up to look at you with an affectionate chirp. 

Whitney’s lips press into a thin line as you release her hand, your attention immediately shifting to the small animal. 

Your fingers move instinctively to scratch behind Widow’s ears, and a soft, fond smile crosses your face—one Whitney had always believed belonged exclusively to her. 

“Well, Widow also made it easy too,” you add, your voice light as you stroke the feline. “She had the little girl and her family completely smitten with her adorable little face. Once she got in the house, she unlocked a window for me to slip inside. In and out, no alarms, no fuss.”

You squish Widow’s face gently, bending down to nuzzle your nose against hers. 

“Isn’t that right, Widow?” 

The cat lets out a happy meow, nuzzling closer to you, and your soft laughter fills the room.

Whitney exhales sharply, turning her head away in frustration.

The growing sense of regret bubbles in her chest—the regret of ever letting that cat into your life, of allowing her to claim a piece of your heart that once belonged entirely to her.

The thought eats at her, fueling the slow burn of jealousy simmering beneath her composed exterior.

Whitney reaches up, her fingers deftly unclasping the necklace, and with an almost dismissive motion, she tosses it onto the table.

The clatter of jewels against wood echoes sharply in the quiet room. 

Pushing her chair back, she stands with deliberate purpose, her movements measured, her posture rigid.

The sound pulls your attention immediately, your laughter fading as your gaze follows her movement.

Your eyes flick to the discarded necklace, then back to her. Tilting your head slightly, your smile dims into an expression of cautious concern.

“Everything okay?” you ask, your voice careful, as if trying to gauge the sudden shift in her mood. 

Whitney straightens further, her figure towering over you, a shadow of elegance and control.

Her sharp gray eyes flick briefly in irritation to Widow, who is contentedly nestled in your lap, before returning to you.  

“I have some people coming for a meeting tomorrow,” Whitney says, her tone vague, deliberately nonchalant. 

You know her too well to miss the subtext.

Your criminal expertise has always lied elsewhere: stealth, cunning, and precision.

The darker side of her world has never been yours, and you’ve never wanted it to be.  

Your head tilts downward slightly, your gaze drifting to the side as you process her words. You don’t press her for more details; experience has taught you better. 

Instead, your hand moves to the golden mask resting on the table, the cold metal a stark reminder of who Whitney is and the role she has in her world.

Wordlessly, you lift the mask and place it into her hand.

There’s no judgment in the gesture, just quiet understanding. When your eyes meet hers again, you offer her a small, faintly resigned smile.

“Okay,” you reply simply. 

Cradling Widow carefully in your arms, you stand and move toward the hallway leading to your room where you’ll likely remain until she concludes her business. 

The following day, Whitney sits at the head of the same table, her posture composed and commanding.

Her golden mask conceals half of her face this time, its gleam catching the dim light. 

Before her, the two crime family heads sit across from each other, their voices raised in a heated argument as they hurl accusations back and forth.

“We put up that necklace as collateral, and now that we’ve repaid our end, you’re saying you won’t give it back!” one of the men shouts, his face red with frustration.

“I’m saying I don’t have it with me at the moment,” the other counters coolly, his tone dripping with indifference.

“I knew we should’ve never trusted you people!” the first man snaps, his fist slamming against the table.

Whitney leans back calmly, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of her chair.

Her gray eyes shift to one of her guards, who slips into the room silently and gives her an affirming nod. With a flick of her fingers, she motions for him to proceed.

“Gentlemen,” Whitney interjects smoothly, her voice cutting through their bickering like a blade. “I believe I can give an answer to this little situation of yours.”

At her signal, the guard drags a struggling figure into the room.

The man’s head is covered with a bag, his muffled protests filling the tense air. The guard forces him to his knees, holding him firmly in place.

“Let me go! I’m innocent!” the man pleads, his voice trembling.

Whitney rises gracefully from her chair and approaches the tied-up figure. With a single, fluid motion, she rips the bag from his head, revealing his panicked expression.

“Seeing how the last person to have the necklace was you,” Whitney says, her tone icy, “you can see how hard it is for me to believe that.” 

The man recoils at the sight of her, his fear evident as his wide eyes dart toward the others at the table. His gaze locks onto one of the heads, his desperation palpable.

“You have to believe me!” he pleads. “I didn’t take the necklace! It was secured when I checked yesterday!”

The other family head narrows his eyes at the man, his tone accusatory. 

“So he is one of yours. I knew it. He probably already sold it. That piece was worth millions! How do you expect to pay us back?”

The room erupts into chaos as the two men begin shouting at each other, their accusations flying back and forth. 

Whitney remains silent, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she watches them unravel. She waits patiently, knowing the exact moment to step in and present herself as the solution to their disputes. 

It’s a calculated move, one that cements her position as the one they can trust—or fear—to lead them through any crisis. 

A faint creak of the door interrupts her focus. Her sharp eyes flick toward the edge of the room just in time to catch a black blur before it is pulled back, disappearing through the crack. 

Her gaze hardens as she briefly glimpses your face through the opening before you vanish from her sight. 

Her smirk fades instantly.

Cursing under her breath, Whitney excuses herself with a clipped, “I’ll be back shortly,” and strides purposefully after you without waiting for a response.

When she reaches the outside of your room, she pauses, removing the mask from her face. Her expression shifts as she pushes the door open. 

The dimly lit space greets her, and her eyes quickly settle on you, sitting on the couch with your back to her. Your shoulders are hunched, your figure curled protectively around something in your arms. 

She doesn’t need to guess what it is.

Your voice breaks the silence, soft and tinged with quiet devastation. 

“Did you know?” you ask, the words trembling slightly. “When you sent me for that necklace, Whitney…did you know this would happen?” 

She doesn’t respond immediately, but her silence is telling, the weight of it hanging in the room like a verdict.

You’ve already pieced together the truth. 

“Don’t hurt that man, Whitney,” you say, your voice firmer now, though it carries a note of pleading. “Not for something I did. Please…just let him go.”

After a brief moment, Whitney finally moves. She steps forward slowly until she’s standing directly behind you. 

Her sharp gray eyes darken as they linger on the little creature in your arms, the one offering you comfort—comfort that before, she was the only one to provide. 

The cat raises her head briefly at her approach, its yellow eyes narrowing at her before turning away dismissively and nuzzling closer in your arms.

A flicker of irritation crosses her face, a crack in her composed demeanor, before she smooths it away, her expression shifting back to something controlled, deliberate.

Her arms snake around your shoulders, wrapping you in a firm embrace. Her chin rests lightly atop your head as she holds you close, her body caging you in. 

“Alright,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost soothing. 

She feels the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, your body instinctively relaxing into the familiar warmth of her embrace at her apparent acceptance.

Her arms tighten around you subtly, the gesture more possessive than affectionate, as her voice drops to a low whisper against your hair.

“Whatever you say,” she breathes, the words deceptively gentle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

Present Day

Whitney steps into your room, her gaze immediately falling to your figure leaning against the armrest of the couch, your back turned to her.

The soft light from a nearby lamp casts faint shadows across the room, illuminating your distracted posture.

As she strides further inside, her eyes catch on something on the side table—a piece of old newspaper, its yellowed edges curling slightly and its headline stark in black ink: “Tragedy Strikes: Family Caught in Crossfire During Criminal Shootout.”

Her eyes narrow as they drift to the faded photograph accompanying the article. The image is grainy, but the family’s figures are clear—a man standing beside his wife, their hands protectively on the shoulders of a little girl nestled between them. 

The man’s face tugs faintly at her memory, though it’s blurred by time, his panicked pleas of innocence echoing faintly in her mind.

Her fingers curl around the edges of the paper before crumpling the article in her hand.

She thought she had buried all the traces of this incident. Though she isn’t surprised. She knows you must have hidden pieces of it away, unwilling to let go of the memory–of the guilt.

It’s evidence. Evidence of the first crack in your trust in her, a fracture she’s spent trying to patch and conceal.

Regaining her composure, she moves to stand just beside the couch, her imposing figure looming slightly behind you. 

Her gaze narrows when she notices your hand absently tracing the black leather sleeve of the jacket you’re wearing. Something about the way you touch it makes her stomach twist.  

Her lips press into a thin line, her irritation bubbling beneath her composed exterior. She calls your name, her voice sharp yet measured.

Once.

Then again. 

The second time, you snap out of your thoughts, your posture straightening as you turn to face her.

Your eyes blink a few times before focusing on her, as if dragging yourself back to the present. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice soft, distracted. “What did you say?” 

Whitney studies you intently, her gray eyes sharp as they search your expression. She keeps her features impassive, but her mind is racing.

It’s not the same.

You’re here, by her side again, but the look in your eyes isn’t what it used to be. She knows it too well to see the difference—that far-off gaze, the way your attention seems divided. 

It’s a silent confirmation of what she already suspects. 

That not every piece of your heart belongs to her anymore, maybe even less so now than before.

That’s not acceptable. It never was. 

“I have a job I need your help with,” Whitney says finally, her tone carefully casual, though the edge of control is there. She extends a folded paper toward you. “It’s a request from one of my father’s old clients. They’ve asked us to retrieve something for them.”

You take the sheet from her, unfolding it as your eyes scan the text. Your body tenses as you reach the description of the target, realization dawning instantly.

“But this is—” 

“Another chance,” Whitney cuts you off smoothly. Her hand moves with practiced ease, tilting your chin up to force your gaze to meet hers. The pressure is light, almost tender, but her intention is clear.

Her gray eyes bore into yours, sharp and unyielding, her voice dropping to something quieter but no less insistent.

“This time, we’ll finish the job together,” she says, her words laced with a promise—and a warning. “Like we were supposed to.”

There’s a pause, and then you nod, your voice soft but resigned. 

“Okay.”

Whitney watches you closely for a moment longer, her eyes searching for any hint of defiance, but you remain still.

Satisfied, she releases your chin, her touch lingering just a second longer than necessary before stepping back. 

Before she can fully turn away, your hand catches her wrist, stopping her in place. Your voice drops into a whisper, tentative, almost pleading.

“You’ll keep your promise?”

Whitney hesitates for the briefest moment, her rehearsed reassurances ready to spill out. 

But then her gaze flickers to your bed, and she freezes. 

Nestled among the folds of your sheets is something that sets her teeth on edge—a small cat toy, unmistakably styled after a red-haired figure.

The bright, taunting hair is an unwelcome reminder of her.

The sight stokes her irritation, her fingers tightening slightly into a fist.

“Whitney?” you press again, your voice drawing her attention back to you.

She releases her grip, smoothing the tension from her features with practiced ease. A small smile curls her lips, carefully crafted to appear genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Of course,” she replies, her tone deceptively warm, masking the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Her mind races, calculating. There’s only one way to ensure your attention—and your heart—returns entirely to her once more.

To make sure there are no more pesky little distractions.

No more rivals.

And this time, she won’t get caught breaking her word to you.

Not again. 

This time, everything will fall perfectly into place.

Because heroes die all the time. 

No one would question one less Avenger in a dangerous world like this.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

a/n: Didn’t have time to make a fic for the holiday so I decided to post this instead. Hope you all have a restful and happy Thanksgiving! Again thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it or if the tag did not work for you, please let me know.

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[please-destroy]

Temper Temper

Natasha Romanoff x Reader + Family.

Word Count 1.4k

Follows on from the last few stories I've posted on here.

.

‘She might have had a good reason.’ You reminded Natasha as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

Natasha rolled her eyes. You sent a prayer ahead to Yelena waiting for you in the school office. Natasha had been seething since she’d received the call about the fight.

‘It’s her temper.’ Natasha muttered quietly as she pulled into a space in the school’s parking lot. You leaned over, running your hand soothingly along her tense shoulder. Natasha’s eyes closed for a brief moment.

‘She’s got fire.’ You corrected, knowing how easily Natasha saw her own fears reflected back in her daughter. ‘Just like you.’ You reminded her softly.

Natasha let out a long breath.

‘If she hurt someone-’ She whispered.

‘Let’s wait for the facts.’ You interceded, brushing your thumb over her wedding ring absentmindedly. ‘But, even if she did.’ You paused, making sure Natasha was looking at you. ‘That’s not on you.’

Natasha’s lips pressed together and she didn’t reply. You didn’t push your point any further.

Yelena was easy to spot, sitting outside the principal’s office. Her hair was a deep shade of blue and it stood out against the bland beige walls of the hallway. She looked over at the sound of your footsteps. You saw the nervous anticipation on her face as she caught Natasha’s expression.

To anyone else, your wife was the picture of careful neutrality. Yelena knew better than to believe it, you watched her swallow nervously. You felt a small spike of anxiety as you noticed the cut on her lower lip. It had swollen slightly, making her look like she was pouting. She seemed younger than ever.

You slowed slightly whilst Natasha walked directly over. She moved to stand directly in front of Yelena, imposing despite the fact they were nearly the same height when both standing. Yelena’s chin tilted up defiantly and you tried to prepare yourself. 

‘You got in a fight.’ Natasha stated quietly, letting her disappointment seep into the air.

Yelena glanced at you, eyes suddenly filled with nerves. 

‘That’s not what happened.’ She hurried out. ‘Those girls were-’

‘I didn’t ask for an excuse.’ Natasha interrupted, voice deceptively calm. ‘Those girls are a grade younger than you.’

You moved forward, seeing some of the pieces that they were both missing. You were sure Yelena had been provoked, you were certain Natasha’s anger came from fear of her own influence. 

Yelena always wanted to hear stories about Natasha’s superhero life. Now, she was getting into physical fights. It wasn’t hard for Natasha to find a correlation.

The sound of footsteps behind you drew your attention along with Natasha’s and Yelena’s. The principal gave you a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

He moved past you, unlocking his office door and holding it open for you all to enter. You purposefully moved to walk in between your wife and your daughter. 

Natasha took your hand automatically as it brushed hers. You reached for Yelena’s but she yanked it back. 

Quiet concern filled you. Getting into a fight at school was bad, but losing Yelena’s trust was going to be much worse.

There was a tense silence as you all took your seats in the school office. The principal leaned forward on his desk, fingers drumming out a rhythm on the hard surface. Natasha’s jaw tightened and you knew the sound was setting her on edge.

‘Today has not been a good day.’ He hummed out thoughtfully to the room and you tried to swallow your own annoyance at his officious tone. Unable to help it, your arm moved comfortingly around the back of Yelena’s chair. You heard her breathe a little steadier. 

‘Are the other girls okay?’ Natasha asked suddenly, voice tight. The principal nodded.

‘Relatively.’ He answered and his gaze flickered to Yelena. 

‘And you?’ He asked simply.

‘Fine.’ She replied bluntly, sitting stiffly in the chair. 

‘There are going to be big changes, going forward.’ He addressed you and Natasha now. ‘This will not happen again.’

Natasha nodded immediately, shooting another disappointed look over at Yelena. You resolved to enforce some space between them as soon as this meeting was over. Everyone needed a moment to calm down.

‘I hope you’re still happy to keep Yelena enrolled here.’ The principal continued seriously. ‘She really is a wonderful student.’

Natasha froze next to you. You glanced at Yelena in confusion, but she kept staring forward, obviously unwilling to engage.

‘Why wouldn’t we?’ You prompted carefully. 

‘We think the bullying has been going on for months.’ The principal informed you in a softer tone. Your eyebrows raised in surprise and you adjusted yourself in the uncomfortable seat.

‘The what?’ Natasha asked now, and you could hear the shock in her voice. Your heart started sinking before the principal confirmed it.

‘There’s been a social media campaign by several students targeting your daughter.’ The principal answered bluntly. 

Natasha was out of her chair before you could think of moving, going to stand next to Yelena. There were many moments when Natasha seemed achingly maternal. Her instinctive need to protect her daughter was the most obvious to see.

‘What sort of campaign?’ You asked the principal,, not quite sure you were ready to hear the answer.

‘It’s nothing.’ Yelena muttered now, furiously avoiding Natasha’s searching gaze.

‘From what I can gather, it was mainly focused on your wife.’ The principal informed you quietly. 

‘No.’ Natasha breathed out.

Her hand touched Yelena’s shoulder and you watched as Yelena flinched away from the comforting touch.

The principal’s eyes scanned the scene and he nodded to himself once. 

‘I’ll give you a moment.’ He said, rising from his chair and moving to leave the room.

The door had barely shut before Yelena spoke up.

‘Don’t make this a big deal.’ She directed to the pair of you quietly, with an enforced stillness similar to her mother’s earlier . ‘It was just some stupid comments online.’

‘Did they upset you?’ You asked her bluntly, already anticipating how much Yelena was going to try and minimise the incident. 

There was a slight pause and then Yelena nodded curtly.

‘I’m going to kill them.’ Natasha murmured and her hand fell from its position hovering above Yelena’s shoulder. 

You stood up before she could make a move for the door.

You touched Natasha’s arm, trying to calm the fresh panic you could see in her eyes. Her gaze clung to you, trying to ground herself. 

You looked back reassuringly at your wife, promising to fix what she didn’t know how. 

You turned to address your daughter, feeling the familiar uncertainty of a new parenting situation.

‘You are so brave.’ You told Yelena simply, finally getting her to raise her head and look back at you. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could tell us.’ 

Yelena’s gaze flickered to Natasha and then back to you. You all understood what she didn’t say. Natasha curled in on herself subtly. You brushed along her tense shoulders soothingly.

‘I just got confused.’ Yelena mumbled now, obviously on the verge of tears. ‘I didn’t think they’d actually do anything.’

Now, when she looked at Natasha, her stare was pleading. Yelena had always wanted to be like her Mom. 

‘I didn’t hit them back or anything Mom, I swear.’ 

Natasha knelt down in front of Yelena’s chair. Yelena looked down at her Mom now. Natasha’s chin tilted upwards as she started to speak.

‘I’m sorry.’ Natasha said abruptly, the words a little choked. Her hand reached up, thumb brushing Yelena’s cheek. 

‘I’m so proud of you.’ Natasha told Yelena softly. 

Yelena’s expression relaxed and you knew it was the only thing she’d wanted to hear. 

‘Thanks Mom.’ She said shyly, a tiny smile growing on her face.

You moved forward too, your other hand moving to rest on Yelena’s nearest shoulder. Yelena flinched obviously and then stilled herself purposefully.

The realisation hit Natasha first. She groaned exaggeratedly. Your gaze flickered in confusion between the pair of them. 

‘Please tell me you haven’t been hiding an injury this whole time.’ Natasha prompted teasingly.

‘I haven’t been hiding an injury this whole time.’ Yelena parroted back. Her wide smile was mischievous as Natasha rolled her eyes at the blatant lie. 

‘Why am I always taking someone to the Emergency Room?’ You said loudly, sighing dramatically as you fished out your car keys from your pocket.

‘Because we both have tempers.’ Yelena sang back to you, repeating one of Natasha’s favourite declarations.

‘No.’ Natasha corrected suddenly. She gave you an affectionate glance and your heart filled with a tender rush of love. 

‘We’ve both got fire.’

[saphiccarma]

- The Red Means I Love You

Relationships - Mob Boss!WandaNat x Reader

Summary - You almost get killed again before some comfort with your girlfriends.

Warnings: Violence but nothing really

Pt.1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

The rifle was shoved firmly against your shoulder, the material pressed through your tactical suit. You twisted a nob, fixing the scope and letting it adjust properly before exhaling slowly. You had done this hundreds of times before. This was nothing.

Just another person to kill, another person to cross off the list that Natasha gave you. It was someone irrelevant. You had no idea who they were, or how important they were, but all that mattered was Natasha told you to do it. You didn't dig into their life at all - you soon learned that it only made things worse. Even as is, guilt throbbed in your stomach as you waited for your target to show themselves. The cement was hard from where you laid against it. Your shoulders ached from sitting out here all day.

Earmuffs quieted the world around you. The bustling of the streets as people went about their day. Birds circling overhead as they flew around in search of food. Music blaring from the apartments below you. It was all silenced by the muffs you wore. That was a dangerous thing, you couldn't hear a single thing - it left you vulnerable. Natasha had told you to leave them off whenever you weren't shooting, but you were too exhausted to remember.

Natsha had been working you into the ground.

Day and night on jobs. Whatever she wanted you to do. Kill someone? You would do it. Spy on someone for days straight? Yes ma'am. It was never a question of how morally bad the task was. Morals didn’t matter in this line of business. You knew better than to question her. Your body ached with a constant dull pain from constantly moving. You were always doing something. Whether it was in bed or out in the world or training with someone else. There was never a minute for rest for you.

Even still, that was not an excuse to get sloppy.

Evidence of that was a knife pressed against your throat and the earmuffs ripped from your head.

"Hi again," a voice whispered in your ear and you instantly knew who it was, muscles locking up tighter than before, "It's nice to see you." The cool metal dug into your skin, almost deep enough to draw blood but not quite. Your fingers twitched from where they sat on the rifle. "Now, I'm going to remove this knife, and you are going to stand up slowly, hands off the gun."

You waited with bated breath as she removed the knife from your skin, and you heard her take a few steps back. Carefully, you stood, removing your hands from the rifle. The instant you turned around and caught a glimpse of her taunting smirk, you reared your hand back and swung. It landed solidly against her cheek, her head snapping to the side.

She chuckled, spitting blood out onto the ground, "So that's how you want to play it?"

There wasn't even a second for you to react before she was lunging at you, throwing a payback punch. Your cheek throbbed with a newfound pain. The fight that ensued was a mix of grace and pure brutality. Rio's eyes were alight, a devious glint in them that promised pain. You were only focused on not dying.

Her punches landed nearly every time, but she rarely threw them - only when she knew they would hit. It was a smart tactic; you had to give her that. She was a good fighter, graceful in every movement she made. You admired that. Natasha taught you to be graceful, but you leaned on the side of being aggressive. It was odd since you didn't like violence. But that didn't matter when in a fight, as seen now.

The two of you traded blows, Rio dodging yours with little laughs, taunting you. Frustration boiled inside of you and your movements grew less strategic. They were desperate blows; you could tell you were losing. There was no way you could win this. But you weren't someone to give up.

Blood leaked from your lips from a nasty right hook and Rio had a black eye already forming. Both of you stood, breathless, for a moment, taking each other in. Rio had more time, expertise, she was more experienced. You barely had a year, maybe not even that, while she had who knows how long. You didn’t stand a chance.

For a moment, a crazed grin split your lips to match Rio's. Adrenaline pumped through you, buzzing beneath your veins and making you feel alive. There was a rush of what almost felt like joy. Although it was more like exhilaration - joy was the wrong word. There was no joy in fighting. It only lasted for a brief second before the two of you were at it again, dancing around each other in a skilled dance. Eventually, Rio got the better of you.

Shoving at your shoulders, Rio pushed you into a planter box. You spluttered as the wood dug into your bag and knocked the wind out of you. Rio stood above you, licking blood from her lips, and her eyes shining with pure mischief.

"You're cute," She whispered, a tugged her knife out. Your fingers tug into the planter box at the sight of it, chest heaving as you tried to regain your breath. The knife was pressed onto your neck, "Listen to me," Rio crouched and then leaned until she was right in front of your face, breath warm, "This is not a battle you will win. I was sent to kill you, but you're fun, so I'll leave you alive for now." Her words sent a flash of desperation through you and panic seized your thoughts. Gasping, you went to grab at her wrist. You weren't sure what you were going to do, but before you could Rio pulled back, smirking furiously before she was gone. Just like that she was bolting down the stairs.

That did not just happen.

You shut your eyes for a moment only to open them a second later. The sun was slowly setting, the sky a dusty pink with a few hues of blue in there. It was beautiful sight, unlike the blood that slowly leaked onto your lips, metallic and salty as you licked it. Rio had nailed a solid punch to your nose. It mixed with the blood that slowly bled from your lips as well, a small cut there.

Slowly, you shoved yourself off the planter box, groaning at the throbbing pain, but you snatched up your rifle and made your way down the roof. Time to head home. Your motorcycle was waiting for you once you climbed down the several flights of stairs. Going down was just about as hard as going up.  The helmet fit snuggly on your face, almost too snuggly that it was pressing against all your bruises. Regardless, you sped off, making your way to the house.

Natasha and Wanda had been doing digging for months, searching for some evidence as to what was going on. Danvers clearly had a part in it, from what you could tell, but Stark had gone radio-silent ever since that man came to the doorstep of the base. Another name that came up frequently was Agatha, and now this scuffle with Rio only made things clear they were part of it. You had to tell Wanda and Natasha, and maybe you could have some more quality time together.

As busy as they were, they made time for you. Slowly Wanda became part of your routine. She was confusing at first. Hot and cold, sweet and harsh. You never knew what to expect from her, but that was part of the excitement. However, a routine slowly built that you were familiar with. Wanda became as important of a part of your life as Natasha.

Your motorcycle buzzed to a stop as you parked it in the driveway, sliding your helmet off. The rifle strap dug uncomfortably into your shoulder; it was heavy for your tired body. Making your way to the door, you fumbled with the key in your pocket, pulling it out.

Key in lock. Key in lock. Turn the key.

It wasn't that difficult, but your fingers trembled around the key, and you eventually got the lock to turn.

You stumbled into the house, droplets of blood staining your hands and dirt underneath your nails. After you first killed someone, Natasha began sending you out on more solo mission, killing more people. It still hurt, a dull ache constantly thrumming in your chest. Tears would swell in your eyes at night when you lay awake, breathless and naked, while Natasha and wanda slept on your sides. But you were able to shove all the emotions down in favor of the sweet praise you got from your girlfriends when you got home. It made all killing worth it - at least that's what you told yourself.

Your fingers fumbled with the latch on your holster, finally pulling your gun out after a moment. It left the holster with a soft click, and you set the gun down on the table next to the door, taking your belt off next. You dropped the rifle next to the door and threw your keys onto the table so that they clattered softly.

Sinking to your knees, you fell face first onto the cool, wooden floor and turned so that your cheek was resting against it. The cold soothed the warm fire pulsing through your veins. You exhaled slowly, your eyes fluttering shut and you could hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs. You didn't have to look up to know it was Wanda, and she glided past you smoothly, heading into the kitchen. Her vanilla scent lingered. It had become a routine now, where you would just collapse on the floor.

It was part of your process. There was a familiarity to just lying on the floor, something plain and simple. Absently, you picked at your own fingernails, trying to erase the feeling of violence on them, the lingering trail of blood you slowly began to leave. You were so different from where you first started out, despising the business but being forced into it. Now you were killing people for a living. The thought of it made your insides churn anxiously and your eyes flutter shut. It was what you had to do. It made your girlfriends happy. Now that - that made butterflies erupt in your stomach whenever you thought of them. They were perfect.

For the next several minutes, maybe half an hour even, you let the floor comfort you. Swallowing thickly, you pushed yourself off the floor, legs shaky beneath you. It nearly physically hurt, you wobbled towards the living room, hoping on of your girlfriends would be there. Sure enough, you saw Natasha's hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a book resting in front of her from where she sat elegantly on the couch. Her legs were tucked beneath her as she flipped the pages. You staggered over, limbs screaming from the physical battle you just had, and- didn't make it. You fell just before you were able to land on the soft cushions, instead your knees sinking to floor and head landing on Natasha's shin.

You knew she glimpsed your face, but she didn't ask about the blood or the bruises, just offered quiet comfort. You appreciated the lack of questions. If she asked you weren't sure if you would be able to form a coherent answer, not with how exhausted you were.

Her bare skin was cool in a comforting way. You whined into her skin, head limp and body sore with dull pain. Her soft laugh echoed above you as her hand slid into your hair, gently tugging on all the tangles. The touch made your eyes close once again, leaning into her. She brushed her hand through your hair rhythmically, occasionally teasing the hair on your neck and scratching with her fingernails, but still gentle. She lulled all your worried thoughts with a soothing touch. Then after a few minutes, her fingers grabbed at your hair, tugging your head back. You whined petulantly, eyes opening reluctantly.

"Up." Her words were hardly directed at you, eyes still trained on her book, but you obeyed the command. The minute you were on your feet, Natasha spread one of her arms out, a silent invitation. Her eyes were still trained on the book, but you knew she was waiting. You fell into her lap; your legs bracketed her hips as your head landed on her shoulder. She hummed, pleased, and her arm snaked around you, stroking up and down your back while the other held her book.

You sat there for a while, listening to the soothing beat of her heart that was clear and steady beneath you. Every minute or so her hand would love your back to turn the page of the book, the ruffling sound just barely audible to your fuzzy mind. You could feel the fog slowly coming over, all worries leaving you completely with every second that ticked by. There was nothing coherent in your head, just absorbing Natasha's quiet comfort.

Your hands had buried into her shirt at some point, and lips began teasing her neck. It was nothing special, just a needy girl searching for something intimate without starting something you didn't have the energy to finish. Natasha's skin was pulled between your teeth as you alternated between softly biting and shallow sucking. Even as you did something, your eyes were squeezed shut, and soon enough even those small movements stopped.

Wanda came in, her footsteps soft as her baggy pants swished around her ankles. She wore a soft smile on her face, eyes amused as she took in the sight of her wife and you on the couch. Her hands found your hair the minute she came over, sinking onto the couch next to you, drawing a small sigh out of you. You shoved your face further into Natasha's neck. Wanda laughed, amused, but the sound hardly reached your ears.

"Sweet girl," she whispered, "It's time for some food."

It was as if you didn't register her words, still drawn into a certain headspace by Natasha's soothing movements. Natasha gave her wife an amused smile, finally looking away from her book for the first time and setting it down on the side table. Sighing softly, Wanda pecked Natsha on the cheek. Then it evolved into more, their lips melding together and tongues clashing. Both of their bodies pressing against you woke you up a bit and you began squirming in Natasha's lap.

They both chuckled against each other's mouths but otherwise ignored you. You whined quietly and sat up so that you could grab Natasha's collar, politely shoving Wanda away, before you pressed your lips onto Natasha's.

"There's our girl," Wanda mumbled, her hand in your hair tugging you back. An immature sound escaped your mouth as your eyes finally opened. Wanda raised a brow, questioning if you really wanted to go down this road when you protested to her hauling you up. And as unsteady as your legs were, you let her guide you into the kitchen. A warm meal was ready for you. But instead of heading to the table, she led you to the sink, her hands gripping your waist until she hauled you up onto the counter.

You made a small sound of protest, still surprised at her strength. Wanda pulled a cloth from the counter and ran it under the sink water. Gently, she pressed it against your face, softly hushing you when you flinched and whined. It was cool against the warmth of your skin from being shoved in Natasha’s neck, but it helped dull the pain that pulsed through your cuts. She dabbed away at your wounds, cleaning them up softly while Natasha plated some food for the three of you.

"What happened?" It was phrased as a harmless question, but there was a dangerous undertone to Wanda's words. You hesitated, eyes flickering down to look at the ground. Wanda pressed down particularly hard, and your gaze snapped back to her with a glare, "What happened?"

You shook your head, "Nothing."

Wanda sighed but let it go and in turn you let her guide you to the table, setting you down at a chair for food. You inhaled slowly. Everything was fine. You were fine. It was all going to be fine.

Taglist: @macaroni676 @gaylorvader @ashadash0904 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @wolfangnight @rosekjsses @jessycatatiana

[cthulhus-curse]

Thinking about professor Natasha who sits around her desk grading papers and exams while you hide between her legs with her thick cock shoved down your throat. Her being unable to hide those throaty moans from you. Lewd noises fill the office, enticing you to keep bobbing your head up and down her dick until spurts of cum fall across your face. Nat shuddering, her thumb wiping a drop of her cum from your cheek before offering you the finger to suck on.

[scarnatlover]

Yours is in red underlined

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Electrokinesis!Reader

Summary: Years ago, Natasha Romanoff and Y/N Y/L/N, a Red Room guard, shared a forbidden love. Y/N helped Natasha escape, but was captured and brainwashed by HYDRA, losing all memory of their love. Years later, they meet again as enemies, but Natasha still recognizes Y/N as the woman she once loved. Determined to uncover her lost memories, Natasha begins a painful fight to awaken Y/N and free her from HYDRA's influence. Will Natasha be able to rekindle the spark between her and Y/N or will theirs be forgotten hearts forever?

Warnings: dark themes, violence, torture, whipping, restraining, cutting, skin, sewing, brainwashing, blood, gore, name calling, mention of death, fainting.

Fear.

What is fear?.

“Emotional state consisting of a sense of insecurity, confusion and anxiety in the face of a real or imaginary danger or in the face of something or a fact that is or is believed to be harmful: more or less intense depending on the person and the circumstances, it takes on the character of a strong and sudden disturbance, which also manifests itself with physical reactions, when the danger comes unexpectedly, takes you by surprise or in any case appears imminent”: definition of fear

“Again”

It is a primary emotion, present since always in both the human race and the animal kingdom. Like all emotions, fear has an adaptive function, in fact it protects the individual in the face of a danger or a threat (real or imaginary) and is invaluable from the first years of life.

“You were nothing before we found you”.

We refer to fear with different terms based on its degree of intensity: Fear, Anxiety, Fear, Phobia, Panic, Terror and Horror.

Fear is the least intense form of fear and is determined when a situation promises pleasure but, at the same time, also pain: there is the perception of the possibility of losing pleasure, but one still moves towards it. In this case the threat of pain and that of pleasure are equivalent, generating a situation of conflict while waiting for some clue capable of tipping the scales to one side or the other.

Fear emerges when the context is dominated by the threat of pain or its perception: in this case one is pervaded by the desire to escape or in any case to distance oneself from the source of pain, whether real or imaginary. When the anxiety in front of a certain object, animal or event is considerable and cannot be controlled by reason, it is called phobia.

This causes a reaction that is significantly disproportionate to the situation being faced. For this reason, the subject who has phobias carefully avoids all situations that could trigger his anxiety. Therefore, his social life can be significantly affected. Examples include claustrophobia, agoraphobia, and centrophobia. When fear is at its maximum and is charged with a premonition of death, it is called panic. This is defined by Galimberti as an "acute episode of anxiety characterized by emotional tension and intolerable terror that hinders adequate organization of thought and action". The panic situation is related to claustrophobia.

Terror is the extreme form of fear, even more intense than panic, where the impulse to escape is so high that an immediate solution is sought: in this case the individual chooses to retreat inside himself. Terror is a real escape inward, so much so that the muscles can become paralyzed in an attempt to reduce the sensitivity of the organism during the presumed or real agony.

Horror is a feeling of strong fear and disgust aroused by what appears cruel and repugnant in a physical or moral sense. By extension, horror can indicate a fact, an object or a situation that arouses such a feeling.

“You will never be enough”

Many people have common fears, but you. Oh, if only I had only a few. There are so many that you probably don’t even know them all. But no fear you have ever felt can be compared to what you felt in those moments.

In the moments when you were tied to the bed, with ropes that left marks on your wrists, when they pushed your head under water and continued to do so until you passed out, when they left you in a small room without food and water for days. And the memories continue. Those memories that every day, constantly, cloud your mind, make you feel even more angry towards the people who took you. For the conditions in which they made you live. For how they changed you.

—

The footsteps that echoed in the hallway, getting closer and closer to your room, were heavy, full of anger and rage. Somehow, it gave you a very clear idea of ​​what was waiting for you.

Those same footsteps stopped right in front of your door, then slammed it open and entered that small space where you are forced to spend your few free moments.

“Get up” said the hoarse voice of the man in front of you. “You’ve done it big this time, you mutt” he approached, forcefully lifting you to your feet.

You stumbled, but the strong grip the man had on your arm prevented you from falling. The two of you walked in a direction that was now familiar to you. The red door, given by the rust that had formed on it, was getting closer and closer, and with it the consequences of his actions.

The two guards in front of the door moved when they saw you coming and opened the door, both with an evil smile plastered on their faces, knowing exactly what was about to happen to you and ready to hear the noises they would hear.

The guard who had initially escorted you now led you to the center of the room. It had no windows, the only light came from a light bulb attached to the ceiling, right above you, the stone walls almost made you feel the pain that the other test subjects and prisoners had felt and among those screams of pain, you could hear yours too.

The guard made you undress, leaving you only in your underwear. The chains that he then tied to your limbs were heavy. Those same chains that you had been attached to for hours were sometimes no longer your first thought, not even the noise of the whip with the metal tip, which dragged along the floor emitting an annoying screech. No, your only thought was whether you would actually come out alive, and if so, how much longer you would last. He circled you, stopping right in front of you and lifting your head with a knife.

“Were these not enough for you?” he asked, smiling evilly at you and tracing the scars on the sides of your mouth with the tip of the knife. “Obviously not,” he pressed against your cheek, glaring at you with hatred and causing a few drops of your blood to fall to the ground.

You still remember the pain and the satisfied face of the person who had caused them. You remember one of your attackers holding your head still while the other, without flinching, pushed the blade against your skin. You remember your eyes filling with tears and the two of them laughing at the scene. You remember your mouth filling with blood, that metallic taste that was unknown to you before, now oh so familiar. You remember being taken to a doctor who, without caring about your pain, began to sew your cheeks back together.

He spat at you, then returned to his starting position behind you.

Your back arched as the whip came into abrupt contact with your skin. Your hands gripped the chains so tight that if they had been normal, they would have broken. You could feel the skin splitting open, wounds that were now almost completely healed reopening, blood running down your back. You felt like you were on fire. The subsequent lashes were never in the same place, but each time they hit an open wound it felt like a limb was being torn from your body. You could hear the laughter of the man behind you and, unfortunately thanks to your super soldier hearing, that of the guards outside the door.

You were always taught never to grimace in pain or show signs of weakness in general. Maybe that's why you didn't cry; or maybe, more simply, because you didn't have the strength to do so. The first few times they tortured you, your screams could be heard from thousands of miles away, but now it was as if they had ripped out your vocal cords. You didn't even know what your voice sounded like anymore. Was it high-pitched, like the little girl who was kidnapped all those years ago, or hoarse, like the monster they created, or soft, like you spoke to that red-haired Russian girl you'd met all those years ago, during your time in the Red Room? You couldn't have known that. 

You didn’t know if your mind went blank for the rest of the punishment or if you fainted, you just knew that you didn’t feel the last lashes. It was almost as if your body was a mannequin. You could feel the skin of the whip on your skin, but you didn’t feel any pain. But you could see, or imagine, a very well defined, but above all very familiar silhouette. That very bright red hair, those sharp green eyes, those full lips, that body, those shapes that some time ago had been your favorite.

Natalia. Your Natalia. The girl you, against your will, began training during your time in the Red Room after the unexpected death of your predecessor. The girl with whom you formed an unbreakable bond in such a short time. The girl who introduced you to that feeling that still consumes you just thinking about it.

You muttered her name under your breath, but in that dark, windowless room, the sound was amplified. And, unfortunately for you, the murmur of that name, which even now, years later, still instilled fear, was heard by your torturer. He stopped, the hand that held the whip still behind his head, ready to deliver yet another violent and painful lash. His face showed shock and disbelief, but it was quickly replaced by an expression of anger mixed with terror. He quickly dropped the whip, and quickly returned in front of you, kneeling down and forcefully cupping your face in his hands, his fingers applying pressure against the hideous scars on your cheeks.

“What the fuck did you just say, mutt?” he spat, his spit landing on your face. You closed your eyes, not wanting to look into the eyes of the man in front of you. You tried to hide your face by turning it towards the floor, but his grip was too tight. “Say that again, if you dare.”

Silence.

The small, dark, gray room was deadly silent. The only sound that could be heard was the mix of yours and his labored breathing. You looked up at the man’s eyes, but this time there was no more anger or fear on his face, replaced by a smirk.

“Did I hear that right?” he began, after you whispered the forbidden name again. “Is that the name of that cheating bitch Black Widow? The girl who made you weak? The bitch who’s the reason these scars were made on your face?” he laughed.

“Did you really think she fell in love with you, that you two had something special? Oh, honey, she just used you to escape that shithole that is the Red Room. No one could love a monster, not a murderer, not even a monster himself,” he continued.

“I’m not a monster,” you muttered, watching the man’s face harden and turn red with anger. “You made me one,” you spat in his face, smiling at his shocked face. Apart from the first few times, you had never spoken to anyone like that, too scared of the consequences. But you had nothing left to lose.

He looked at you for a few seconds and then called out to the guards outside the door. They untied you from the heavy chains and forcefully dragged you out of the small room, walking down the long corridor that smelled of death, probably from the multitude of now-deceased bodies that remained in the basement to rot.

They pushed you into another room, this time much larger and much brighter thanks to the many lights, but still without windows. You realized how heavy the consequences of your actions would be only when you saw the chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by all the other utensils.

“No no no no, please. I’ll be good, I swear. Please, I beg you. Everything but the chair” you screamed, your voice full of terror. They ignored you, without even deigning to look at you and, with a few struggles, they tied you to the seat. You started to squirm, trying in every way to free yourself from the straps, but one of the two guards, positioning himself behind the chair, held your face still while the other, after briefly heating the blade of his knife with a blowtorch, started to cut your cheeks, in the exact same spot as the original carvings.

This time, unlike before, you screamed in pain, hot tears streaming down your face and mixing with the blood, landing on your wounds and starting to burn. This went on for quite some time, the guard only stopping when a deep, raspy voice ordered him to stop and move away from your painful form. Your vision was blurry, the figure in front of you unidentifiable, but that didn’t matter. He touched your cut and bloody cheeks, pressing hard against the cuts, making you moan in pain. “Oh, how I love it when whores like you moan for me,” he muttered. He motioned for another individual to come over and position the machine above your head in the correct position. The iron was cold against your skin, which brought relief for a millisecond.

“Wipe her,” he ordered, not a shred of hesitation in his words.

“But Sir, she is too weak. She may not survive,” another voice replied, higher pitched and with an Eastern European accent, very different from your Western one

“I told you to do something, and you will do it, without question. Wipe her.”

The doctor approached the control panel of the machine, and with uncertainty, he lowered a large lever and immediately the room echoed for a second time with your cries of pain. The procedure took a long time, almost longer than usual, but it was much less precise and effective, since the last thing you thought about before giving in to the pain and passing out was the very person who put you in these conditions.

Natalia Romanova.

[strangelystrangestrangerrr]

The three times you trusted Natasha, and the one time you didn’t | Prologue

Pairing: Natasha Ramanoff x Fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, trauma, unrequited love, descriptions of injury, kidnapping

Note: Hey guys! This is my first ever fanfic, feel free to tell me what do you think~ Also, English isn’t my first language, so please kindly forgive me if I made any grammatical mistakes. :)

———————————————————————————

It was not easy for you to open up to others. Having been alone for your whole life, you didn’t know how to love someone nor did you dare to imagine what it’s like to be loved. Being the strong and independent woman you had trained yourself to be, you made peace with that. After all, it is what is it right? So you turned your focus into getting a success career in attempt to search for the meaning of life, something to define your worth.

After training for countless days and nights, here you were, standing in front of Nick Fury, applying to become an Avenger.

“Impressive,” the man complimented as he was reading your profile, “your ability to heal yourself by regrowing your flesh after traumatic injuries would certainly bring positive contribution to our missions.“

“Do you experience pain when you get hurt?”

“Yes sir. It’s no difference than how one would normally feel it.” You explained.

“Well I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, since you’ll always be able to recover from it yea?”

Without giving you time to respond, he continued, “after a few discussions, a decision has finally been made”

You know damn well that you were going to get the job.

“Welcome to our team, agent.”

[traveler-at-heart]

Good Luck Babe

Summary: Wanda's boyfriend is the biggest asshole you've ever met. You think she'll choose you in the end.

Wanda Romanoff x F!R, eventual Natasha Romanoff x F!R

A/N: Don't be fooled by the summary, this is a Natasha Romanoff x R fic

Classes can be a drag. Especially the early mornings, where not even a cup of coffee can make you focus.

And then, there’s Wanda Maximoff, looking at the professor as she speaks, diligently taking notes while looking perfect, as usual.

She catches you staring and you have to look away, pretending that you weren’t just wondering how she manages to look effortlessly beautiful.

Class is dismissed and you take a minute to pack your things, preparing for the next session. You try not to roll your eyes as you find Wanda with her idiot boyfriend right at the door. As usual, they take up too much space, and you have to push one of them aside.

“Coming through, princess”

You don’t have to look back to know Wanda glares at you, annoyed at the nickname.

To be fair, the first time you used it you thought you were both involved in playful banter. Hell, you even meant it to be flirty, but she took great offense in it, which was the case with most things you did, whether they were aimed at her or not.

It was pretty clear she hated your guts. You just didn’t know why.

——

“I don’t know what her problem is” Wanda says, the music loudly booming across the house.

“What?” Jarvis says, leaning forward because he didn’t hear a word Wanda said. Partly due to the loud music and also because he’s looking at other girls, albeit discreetly.

“Y/N. She’s always being a total ass” the girl says, watching as you enter the house, avoiding her stare.

“She’s just jealous because you’re so pretty” he says and that’s enough to distract Wanda.

Across the room, you curse under your breath at the sight of the Maximoff girl. God, you hate her stupid boyfriend. Always runnig his mouth to his friends about Wanda, telling them private things… you’d overheard them at a bar once and it took every ounce of your being not to kill him right then and there.

Not to mention, the rumoured affairs that everyone knew about. Everyone, but Wanda, that is.

“You made it!” Carol greets you, and then follows your gaze. “Ugh, that guy’s the worst”

“Agree” you nod, turning to look at her. “Shots?”

“Hell, yeah” your friend says, taking you to the kitchen where Val is pouring some alcohol.

To your relief, you get to avoid Wanda for the entirety of the night, and as your friends arrive you quickly forget what had soured your mood in the first place.

Wanda, on the other hand, is not having such a great time. At some point while she was chatting with Pepper, she lost sight of Jarvis and can’t seem to find him anywhere. Knowing Stark could get crazy ideas, she worries that they might be doing something reckless so she goes around the house, looking for her boyfriend.

She’s expecting everything but seeing him with his pants around his ankles while a girl Wanda doesn’t even know gives him head.

“Wanda!” Jarvis shouts, startled.

“That’s not my name” the girl says, smiling playfully. “Or are we role playing?”

“I need to get out of here” Wanda says, closing the door.

Of course, he chases her down the hall, desperately sayig any excuse he can think of. Wanda tries to walk past him, but he blocks her from going downstairs.

“Don’t be so uptight about it” he loses his patience when Wanda refuses his apology. “Guys just need to do it more than girls, it meant nothing”

“You’re an ass” she says, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Wanda, don’t leave” he warns, as she finally walks around him to go to the first floor. The shouting makes some people turn around, and it’s almost impossible to ignore the commotion.

You’re standing next to Val and Darcy, unable to look away as the oh so happy couple keeps shouting at each other.

“Guess he got caught red handed this time” Darcy mutters. She and Wanda were friends but had a fallout and you suspected it had to do with Jarvis and his side pieces.

“Let go of me” Wanda insists when he takes her arm, pulling her close to him.

“People are staring, shut your fucking mouth”

“You’re hurting me” she protests, trying to losen his grip.

Maybe it’s the way she says it, so defeated or even scared, but those words make you snap, and you walk up to them, pushing Jarvis away.

“Stay out of it” he warns.

“Make me”

You are expecting the first punch so you dodge it in time, but he manages to land another one on your mouth, and you feel the taste of blood.

“You’re gonna regret this” you say, launching yourself forward until you knock him over, landing on a coffee table that breaks. Grabbing him by the shirt, you land two punches and go for a third one when he kicks you, making you gasp for air.

“That’s enough” Thor steps in, his brother looking delighted at the chaos. “You better leave”

Jarvis glares at him, but truth be told, Thor doesn’t like him and he is your friend. He leaves the Odinson house, cursing under his breath.

“I’m fine” you tell your friends as they bring over ice to put on your cheek.

“Want us to take you home?” Carol offers.

“It’s good” you say, shaking your head. “I should go, take some painkillers”

“Call us if you need anything”

“Ok” you pat Darcy’s back, leaving the house where everyone’s partying like nothing even happened.

As you walk to your car, you spot Wanda, sitting on the sidewalk, wiping away the tears that roll down her cheeks.

“You ok?” you ask, standing next to her.

“He’s an idiot. No, I’m the idiot for being with him” she rambles.

There’s a very sarcastic comment at the tip of yout tongue but you save it.

“Did he drove you here?” Wanda nods and you jiggle the car keys. “Come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm”

“I don’t want to be alone” Wanda hugs her knees, and in spite of everything, your heart aches for her.

“Any friends that can take you in for the night?” she shakes her head no and you sigh. “Wanna stay at my place?”

“Are you sure it’s ok?”

“Yeah, come on” you say, walking to the car. You drive in silence, eager to get home and put some more ice on the punch.

Wanda gets out of the car and follows you to the dorm you share with Carol, who usually stays with Val most nights.

“Take the bed” you say, handing over some clean clothes so she can change.

Wanda looks at you, and you feel uncomfortable at the intensity of her gaze.

“I… thank you, Y/N”

“Sleep tight, princess” you say with a smile and for the first time she doesn’t look upset as you call her that.

——

The smell of bacon and butter wakes you up and you stretch, trying to remember why you’re in the couch.

When you see Wanda in your kitchen, everyhing that happened comes back and you groan, rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

“Ouch” you say when you rub close to the punch on your cheek.

“You’re up” Wanda says, smiling. It’s a strange sight, as she’s used to glaring at you or just ignoring your presence.

“You sleep ok?” you say, trying to hide your blush when you notice she’s still wearing the clothes you let her borrow.

“Yeah, thanks” she nods, pulling up two plates with pancakes. “I wanted to thank you for everythig you did last night”

“No need” you say, grabbing a fork and eating. Wanda’s just being nice and you honestly don’t want to force her to interact with you, so all you want is to finish your food and give her an out so she can leave.

“He’s been texting me” Wanda says, looking at her food but not eating anything. “Saying it was a mistake, a one time thing and that it would never happen again”

“And you believe him?” you try to control your tone.

“I’d heard the rumors… even from Darcy. You probably know already”

“We assumed that’s why you fought, but she told us it was none of our business. And I know this isn’t none of mine, but you deserve better”

Wanda giggles at that and you look at her, intrigued.

“I’m just… I thought you didn’t like me”

“Where’d you get that?”

“The nickname, your constant glares across the room…”

Oh, shit. Here you were thinking you were obvious about your crush, and Wanda thinks you hate her.

“I hate… Jarvis. I knew he was a dick so I always disliked him. Seeing him with you. Yeah”

“Do you like me?” Wanda asks and you take a deep breath, shrugging your shoulders.

The girl smiles, finishing her food. You stay in the kitchen, fidgeting with your fork until she comes back, changed into her own clothes.

“I should get back. Do you need anything? Painkillers, ice?” she leans forward, her hand touching your bruise gently. Then, you notice her eyes drifting to your lips.

“I’m fine” you say and she nods, stepping back.

“See you in class?”

“Yes” you say, smiling as she waves goodbye. Carol walks in ten seconds later, looking behind her.

“Was that…?”

“Yes”

“Did you…?”

“No” you cut her off. “She just didn’t want to be alone after what happened”

“Y/N…” Carol says in that tone you dislike so much. You’re about to get scolded over something that isn’t that big of a deal.

“Carol, come on. She slept in my room, I stayed on the couch. That’s it”

“I just don’t want to see you getting hurt” your friend says and you nod. “I mean, you got a split lip and a black eye already so maybe it’s a little late for that”

“Yeah, that’s true. Come on, there are some pancakes left”

——

You tell yourself it means nothing. Wanda sits next to you during class, and offers a second scone she got from the cafeteria.

“How’s the eye?”

“I’m not blind” you shrug your shoulders. “Jarvis hits like a little bitch”

Wanda snorts at that, and you can’t hold back your own laugh. That attracts the attention of Professor Harkness, who focuses on your eye.

“Do I even want to to know, Y/L/N?”

“Nah” you shake your head and she rolls her eyes.

“Alright”

With that, the lesson begins. You try hard to focus, but Wanda smells really nice and you’re only human. At one point, she shuffles in her seat, her leg coming in contact with yours and you give up on taking notes.

“You ok?” to your surprise, Wanda follows you out of the classroom. “I can let you borrow my notes, if you want”

“Wanda” you stop abruptly, sighing. “Listen, you don’t owe me anything. I helped because it was the right thing to do. So don’t worry about paying me back in any way”

“That’s not… ” she stutters, fixing her hair. “I don’t really have any friends. I was always with him”

“Oh” you feel like an idiot. “Well, ok. I could use those notes”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, come on. I’ll trade them for a coffee” you smile, walking next to her to the library.

—

It surprises you, how much you and Wanda have in common. She likes sitcoms and though you’re more of a Friends kind of girl, it’s fun to watch those old shows where they dance and sing from time to time.

“I only know Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins” you confess one time, which prompts Wanda to invite you to her dorm for a marathon.

“Where are you going?” Darcy says when you walk past her and Carol that evening.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun” Carol smiles and you glare at your friend.

“Well, Wanda and I…”

“Oh, my God! You traitor. Brutus!” Darcy shouts, throwing a napkin at you. “She’s the worst”

“I wouldn’t know. You didn’t tell me what happened”

“She got you there” Carol points out, eating popcorn while she enjoys the show.

“That is besides the point”

“Look, I’m not putting Wanda on my will or anything, we’re just hanging out. And if she mentions you, I’ll be the first one to defend you”

Darcy sighs, chewing on her lip.

“It’s not about me. Wanda has the habit of just… using people when she’s bored or on a break from that idiot. And then they get back together and forgets about you. Which sucks. I wouldn’t want it to be the case for you, that’s all”

“I’ll be careful” you promise.

Once at Wanda’s, you’re trying to enjoy the show, but Darcy’s words are echoing in your head. You had to admit that if you spent more time with Wanda, you’d probably develop an even bigger crush. And if she went back to that asshole, it would hurt you.

Was it really worth it?

“Is the show boring? We can watch something else. I know it’s weird that I like this” Wanda pauses mid episode.

“No, it’s just… Darcy said some things…”

“Oh. I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to hang out anymore” she sighs, looking down at her hands.

“I’m just thinking… maybe it would be good if you fix things with her? Say sorry. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it”

“I can try, but you know her. She won’t make it easy” you both laugh at that. “Is that all?”

“Yeah” you lie. “Come on, let’s keep watching. I wanna know if Rob goes to Ritchie’s play”

Wanda smiles, this time moving closer to you. Her head rests on your shoulder, relaxing against you. It’s so intoxicating, to have her so close, to feel her warmth.

And all you can think over and over again is “please don’t break my heart”. But you can’t ask for the impossible.

—

You’re really not expecting Wanda to take your suggestion at heart, but one day you see her speaking with Darcy in the hallway, your friend pretending to not be interested in the conversation at all.

The only sign that she actually forgives Wanda is when you’re sitting with the girl at the cafeteria and Darcy sits next to you, carrying a tray.

“This is the only seat that I could find” she mutters unconvincingly, making you and Wanda smile.

Though you spent most of the time in each other’s dorms, watching movies or shows. You learn that Jarvis was the one that dragged Wanda to all those parties and anytime you invite her to one she politely declines.

Now, you’re staying in while the rest of your friends are at the Odinson mansion. You don’t know if they’re allergies or a mild cold, but you’ve been feeling sick all day and wanted to rest.

“Coming” you groan when someone knocks. You open the door to find Wanda on the other side. “You’ll get sick, what are you doing here?”

“I made you soup”

“Thanks” you take the container, and you gotta admit the idea of warm soup makes your mouth water. “I’d say do you want to come in, but I really do worry this might be contagious”

“I’ll be fine” she walks inside, finding her usual place in the couch and patting the spot next to her. “Come on. We’ll even watch that boring show you like”

“The Office is not boring!” you huff, making her laugh.

A couple of episodes later, and you feel your eyes slowly closing, a side effect from the  medicine you took. Wanda notices, and makes you walk to your room.

As you lay in bed, you’re drifting off to sleep when you feel Wanda sliding next to you, her hand on your forehead.

“Your fever is down”

“Mhm. Thanks to the magic soup”

“I’m staying, in case you need anything”

“Ok, baby” you nod, too sleepy to notice what you’re saying.

Wanda’s heart flutters at the term of endearment, and she watches you sleep peacefully, her mind racing with thoughts about what could this possibly mean to you both.

On the other hand, you don’t remember anything and are startled when you feel someone sleeping next to you.

“Wanda?” you say when you turn around, smiling at how cute she looks, all confused.

“I must have fallen asleep here. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks” you lay on your side, still smiling. Wanda is still thinking about the way you called her and it’s fairly obvious you don’t remember.

Still, she leans forward and you almost watch in slow motion as her lips meet yours in a short kiss.

“Why did you…”

“You make me feel… I don’t know. Safe. I’m sorry, if I crossed line. Maybe I should go…” she sits up and you follow suit, making her turn to you.

This second kiss is a bit more urgent and less delicate, but you hope it makes a point.

“Now I really hope that what I had wasn’t contagious”

Wanda laughs at that, her hand over yours.

——

The next few weeks you grow closer to Wanda. You spend most of the time at her place, watching sitcoms and more often than not, you end up making out on her bed, until you’re both out of breath.

She also enjoys teasing you endlessly, like that time she sat next to you in Agatha’s class and put her hand on your thigh. Your knee jolted forward, crashing against the table and making the professor glare at you.

This time, you’re supposed to be studying in your room, but you find that looking at Wanda as she goes over her notes is far more interesting.

“Stop” she says after a few minutes and you smile.

“I’m not doing anything”

“You’re staring”

“Can you blame me?” you crawl behind her, placing small kisses down her neck. She sighs at the contact, leaning against your front.

“Are you doing this to get my notes?”

“Maybe” you laugh against her shoulder, making her turn until you’re kissing her, and she pushes you down on the bed, straddling your lap.

“You better work for them, then”

Next day, when you’re done with your test, the first thing you do is reach for Wanda’s hand. To your surprise, she flinches away, grabbing the strap of her bagpack.

“Did you do ok on the test?” she’s quick to ask, hoping you won’t push it too much.

“I think so, yeah”

“If you pass, I’d say you owe me for borrowing my notes” she smiles.

“Well, we could go out to the movies. Or dinner?” you suggest, your heart beating faster. It’s a thought that has been going through your mind recently.

Not that you don’t enjoy the kissing and sneaking around, but you’re eager to take Wanda out, find new places together, talk about something else other than classes and her old shows.

“I’m not sure I can make it” Wanda says, avoiding your eyes again.

This new rejection stings and you drop your shoulders, looking for an excuse to leave.

“Yeah, you’re right. We have lots of stuff to do. I’ll catch you later” you say, walking faster and not waiting for Wanda’s reply.

The rest of the day is spent in your dorm, which isn’t unusual. The only difference is that you’re alone instead of enjoying Wanda’s company, and hiding from seeing her.

“Wanna go to Joe’s with us?” Carol offers. “To celebrate midterms are over”

“Sounds fun” you agree, because it’s been forever since you’ve been with your friends.

“You can invite your girl”

“She’s not my girl”

“Oh?” Carol tilts her head to the side, putting the pieces together. “So that’s why you only hang out in the dorms”

“What did you think we were doing?”

“Having sex like crazy”

No answer comes to you, because sex is something that hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe never, considering Wanda doesn’t want anything more.

“I don’t think she knows what she wants, Carol”

“Do you?” she asks gently. Your immediate response is a shrug of your shoulders, and it’s a lie, because you know exactly what you want. “Come on, it’s her loss then. Let’s just go out and have fun”

Meeting your friends does improve your mood and you’re happy you listened to Carol. You eat and play pool, until everyone gets restless and looks for something else to do.

“Heard Stark is having a party” Carol says, knowing he always gets the fancy booze.

“Pass” you’re the first one to speak.

“Why?”

“Isn’t he best friends with Jarvis?” Darcy says. “We don’t want to have another fight, do we?”

“Oh come on, there will be so many people he won’t even notice that you’re there!” Carol insists, and you can tell she’s gonna be stubborn and annoying until she gets what she wants.

So, you agree, but spend the whole time looking around, waiting for that jerk to pop out of nowhere and pick up a fight.

“I don’t think he’s here” Darcy says, patting your back. “Let’s just have some fun, then Val will drag Carol out of here and we can go home, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan” you nod.

For the next hour, you do enjoy the party and are even surprised when Tony seems happy to see you. To be fair, he is a lot nicer than most of his friends. You’re relaxed, dancing to the music and doing shots with Darcy and Val, almost forgetting why you were so sad in the first place.

That is, until you walk out of the living room to get another beer, but the place is so crowded you bump into a girl.

“Sorry, are you ok?” you say, turning to make sure she’s fine.

Your stomach drops when your eyes meet Wanda’s.

She calls for you, but the sound of her voice is drowned out by the music and the ringing in your ears. Jarvis says Wanda’s name, and you take advantage of the distraction to escape, pushing people out of the way.

When the fresh air hits you, the first thing you do is bend over the railing of the porch and throw up, coughing and wretching violently.

“It’s ok” Darcy comes out of nowhere, getting the hair out of your face.

“Shit” Val sobers up immediately. “Time to go home?”

“Yeah, come on. Let’s get a cab” Carol says, patting your back.

They think you’re wasted, but all you are is heartbroken. Wanda was with him, after everything you’ve been through.

The shame over being so naive makes you stay in your dorm for the entire day.

Wanda shows up the minute Carol leaves.

“You should go”

“Please let me explain”

“I don’t think that’s possible” you shake your head. You know it, deep down. She’ll never give you a place in her life.

“We’re just… friends. He wanted to talk, apologize”

“Wanda” you plead, hoping she’ll stop. But instead, she pushes past you, her hands in your face.

“I can’t lose you”

“Why would I stay?”

Wanda answers with a kiss, that is slow at first, and then borderline agressive. You’re pushing, then pulling, unsure of what you want from her, but she pulls your pants down, just enough for her hand to fit, moving past your underwear and circling your clit. Your nails dig into her shoulders, gasping and breathing as she enters roughly, her fingers moving fast and hard.

It’s not nice or affectionate, but a way to further claim you, ruin you, brand you. Now she’s reached and touched more of you, and you’ll never be able to erase it.

Your orgasm comes unexpectedly, and after the high, you come crashing down. All you feel is bitterness and guilt and anger. Wanda stays inside, biting your neck. The sting reminds you, you’re only gonna get pain out of this.

—

It becomes a vicious circle. Wanda is distant in public, because more often than not Jarvis is by her side. And then, she corners you in any spot she can find, kissing you and pressing her body against yours.

The more you let her in, the weaker you are and it’s nearly impossible to stay away. It will hurt if she leaves, and it hurts to be with her.

“I don’t know how to stay away” you confess to Carol one particularly hard night. Darcy was called to offer her support, and she provided that along with snacks. “You were right, Darcy”

“I didn’t want to be” she says, holding your hand. “You’re the only one who can put a stop to this. She’ll never stop looking for you”

You can’t see yourself doing that, but then you walk past her in the hallway, and you hear her saying those words to Jarvis.

“I love you”

You couldn’t even get her to hold your fucking hand.

Pushing past her, you walk away, hoping to find the nearest bathroom and lock yourself there. Lucky for you, Wanda doesn’t follow you.

There’s someone else waiting outside.

“Miss Y/L/N” Professor Harkness greets and you nod, looking at your feet and hoping she doesn’t notice your red eyes.

“Professor”

“You’re too advanced for my class. My wife has a spot in her lecture. New people to impress, most of them pHD students”

Her emphasis in the new makes you understand.

You won’t have to see Wanda in class.

“Ok. I’d like that”

“Keep your head high, kiddo” Agatha says, her hand on your chin. “And don’t tell any of this to Rio or she’ll accuse me of going soft”

“Yes, Professor Harkness. Thank you”

“Mhm” she nods, giving her signature smirk and turning around.

One less place where you’ll have to see Wanda.

Soon after that, you change everything about your routine. Where you eat, study, even go out for runs. Hell, you change your phone number and Darcy is kind enough to let you stay with her for a while. That, and the Thanksgiving break are enough to give you three weeks of space.

It hurts and more than once you have to stop yourself from looking for Wanda. But what’s the point of being a secret? The longer it goes on, the more it will hurt.

Still, there are days when anger weights heavier than sadness. You’re mad at yourself, for being so stupid. At Wanda, because she was a coward and a liar. And those times, you get restless and go out to run, listening to music until you reach a hidden lake. It’s one of the few places you can be at peace, because you found it after Wanda broke your heart. So, there’s no ghost of her here, only you and your conflicting emotions.

Throwing stones at the lake is a way to pass time, and you’re doing exactly that when you hear rustling behind you.

“Sorry” a raspy voice says. Your eyes meet green ones, but these are softer, almost shy. The girl has beautiful red hair, braided with a few strands lose. She misinterprets your silence, and quickly retreats. “I’ll find another spot”

“That’s ok. I can… I can go”

“No, you don’t have to” she’s quick to reassure.

“Well, we can always share” you propose, smiling. The girl nods, and places her bagpack next to a log. She pulls out a book, and begins reading. You continue throwing rocks, stealing glances here and there.

“Is the book any good?” you finally ask.

“Depends”

“On what?”

“On your fascination with social expectations in Russian society during the 19th century”

“Pass. Got anything lighter?” you joke. To your surprise, the girl pulls out another book.

“How about the perils of indulging in romantic fantasies?”

“I know those very well” you say, grimacing. She puts the book down, smiling at you. You try to smile back, but turn your attention back to the lake until you’re able to calm down.

“Lit major?” you guess, pointing at the spot next to her. She moves her bag, allowing you to sit.

“Yeah. You?”

“Anthropology. Minor in Art History. I’m surprised we haven’t seen each other in the building”

“I'm a grad student, so I’m usually at the library” the girl says.

“No parties?”

“No one ever invites me” she shakes her head.

“I’d invite you” you blurt out, finding her blush adorable. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be forward”

“It’s not… you’re fine”

“So. Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary. Are you trying to find out if Tolstoy really wrote his book with Flaubert’s in mind?”

The girl gives you an appreciative smile, nodding.

“Yeah, but it’s more about how men in 19th century wrote about women. Even in two different societies, the protagonists are punished for following their desires”

“No one should be punished for that” you say, looking at her. She averts her eyes, holding back a smile.

“Why Anthropology?” she changes the subject.

“Because. We’re the same and we’re not, even thousand of years apart. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“How so?”

“Do you think you have anything in common with someone who lived thirty thousand years ago?”

“We need food to survive. Sleep, water, oxygen” she lists, and you nod.

“Mhm. All basic needs. Next question, did you make a drawing of your hand when you were a kid?”

“Everyone did” she says, as if it’s obvious.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to see what it looked like. Because it was my hand and no one else’s”

“And people thirty thousand years ago thought the same thing. And left their handprint in a cave in Southern France. Isn’t that something wonderful?”

She stays silent for a second and then smiles.

“I suppose it is, yes. To have an impact, so long after you’re gone too”

“You get it” you nod. “I’m Y/N, by the way”

“Natasha” she says, smiling at you.

The next few days, you catch yourself thinking about Natasha, and even with all the distractions, your mind goes back to her. It takes every ounce of self control to not wait everyday by the lake. Why would you want to get hurt, when you just started healing?

Love never ends well for Anna Karenina, Emma Bovary or yourself.

And yet… three days later you’re by the lake, holding a book of your own collection and an extra scone. You’re about to give up when Natasha shows up, and she seems as eager as you.

“Hey”

“Hi” she answers, a smile on her face. “Am I interrupting lunch?”

“This is for you. I mean, I was hoping I’d see you here” you stutter, looking everywhere but Natasha’s eyes.

“I was hoping to see you too” she confesses. It takes you by surprise, so she grabs the scone and the book as you try to gather your thoughts.

“Emily Dickinson” she reads. “Enjoying it?”

“You can borrow it if you want. I mean, yes I enjoyed it when I read it. But I just thought, you might like a change from male authors”

“Thank you” she nods, holding it close to her. “I actually have to go…”

“Oh, right” you nod, trying not to look disappointed.

“Can I have your number?” Natasha blurts out, her cheeks turning almost as red as her hair. “To give you your book back”

You smile, handing over your phone.

“I recently changed my number and I haven’t memorized it yet. So give me yours”

“Ok” she says. As soon as the device is back in your hands, you send her a text.

“See? Now I’m sure I gave you the right number”

“Talk to you soon. Thanks for the food”

When is it appropriate to text someone without looking desperate?

Either way, you can’t hold back your excitement as you walk to your dorm, jumping on Carol’s back as she’s eating her cereal.

“Are you mad?” she says, flakes and milk flying all over the counter.

“I’m just happy!”

“Why?” she glares, hoping you’re not back to your old ways.

“I spoke to a girl. And she gave me her phone number”

“Oh, my God! Y/N!” Carol shouts, the rest of her cereal thrown away as she dances around.

“What’s all the fuss?” Val says from the shower, concerned over the noise. Carol runs to the bathroom and opens the door wide.

“Y/N met a girl”

“Way to go!” Val joins the celebration and you’re about to say thank you when you notice she’s stepping out of the shower.

“Gah, bye”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want your new girlfriend to think you’re a pervert!”

“Shut up” you say, walking to your room and flipping her off without turning back.

The rest of your evening is spent studying, but also looking at your phone waiting for anything to come through.

As you’re getting ready to sleep, there’s a text.

Nat: I’m ready to give the book back.

Y/N: It’s been… seven hours?

Nat: I’m a fast reader.

Nat: Secret spot? Saturday morning.

Y/N: I’ll be there

—

It’s the first time you’re there so early. The light filters through the leaves, birds chirping as their day begins with the rays of sunshine.

The walk to the lake is lovely, and you spot a couple of small flowers as you find your way to the place. Deciding to get one for luck, you twirl it around in your fingers.

You sit by the log, looking at the fog over the surface of the water when you hear soft footsteps approaching.

“I was afraid you’d stood me up” you joke when Natasha sits next to you.

“And stole your book?”

“The book, I could get over” you admit, giving her the flower. Natasha smiles, her fingertips caressing the petals delicately.

Your eyes are focused on the curve of her lips and those beaufitul eyes.

“Well, I’m here” she says, smiling when your eyes meet hers. “Thank you, I enjoyed reading it”

You take the book, your hands touching briefly.

“There’s a problem, though”

“What is it?” you say, worried that something’s wrong.

“I gave the book back, but I still have to thank you for that scone”

“Oh” you laugh.

“So, what is your preferred payment method? Ice cream? Coffee?”

“It’s a little early for ice cream”

“Then we’ll get it later. I know just the place”

“Yeah. I’d like that”

Though there are no classes, Natasha still has to meet with her advisor, so you chat for an hour until she has to go back to uni, agreeing to meet at your dorm in the evening.

“Is this a date?” you ask your friends on the video call as they agree on what you should wear.

“Of course it is, you silly goose!” Carol says, her face occupying half of the screen. “Wear something hot!”

“No, something comfortable. It’s an ice cream date, not a club” Val argues, trying to get a glimpse of the options.

“Something comfortable AND hot”

As they keep arguing, you opt for a pair of jeans, a white cotton t-shirt and a light jacket.

“Gotta go” you say when someone knocks. After hanging up, you are surprised to check Natasha’s ten minutes early. Plus, you don’t remember giving her your exact room number, agreeing you’d come down and meet at the lobby.

You’re about to open the door when the voice on the other side makes you stop in your tracks.

“Y/N? Please. Open up. I need you”

Wanda.

That voice, those words, the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to push away and bury come back. But instead of hurting you, they make you angry. You’re about to go out with a wonderful girl, who seems geniuenly interested in you. And here comes Wanda, trying to stain that as well.

Without thinking twice, you climb out of the window, holding on to the emergency ladder. You look down, unsure of what to do when you reach the last step.

"What are you doing?" Natasha says, rushing to stand above you.

"Parkour?" you reply weakly. "Is it too high?"

"Don't worry, I'll catch you"

Trusting her, you jump. Truth to her word, she eases the fall as you land, but you drag her along with you as you stay on the floor.

“Are you hurt? Why did you do that?”

Her hands are running over every inch of your face, going down to your shoulders and arms. The worry in her eyes only makes your heart beat faster.

“My roomate accidentally locked me inside”

You figure it's better than saying "My situationship is outside my door and I wanted to avoid her"

“You could have told me, and I would have gone and find her” Natasha insists.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s get ice cream? I won’t ever do this again” you promise, holding her hand. The redhead rolls her eyes, but nods and leads you away from the building.

You make small talk, appreciating how her hand doesn’t leave yours as you get away from campus and to the walking district. You try to look discreetly behind you, hoping Wanda didn’t see you and followed you.

Natasha finds the store, opening the door for you.

“Rocky road, please” you give Natasha puppy eyes and she smiles, ordering strawberry ice cream for her.

“So, what’s your deal?” she asks as you leave the store.

“My deal? What do you mean?” you say, mouth full of ice cream. The girl wipes the corner of your mouth with her napkin.

“You mentioned parties. Are you some sort of wild girl looking for someone to charm every night?”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite the Casanova” you laugh. “No, come on. My friends are cool and we just like to have fun from time to time”

“So, not a player” she notes with a smile.

“I did get my heart broken, though”

“Fella done you wrong?”

“His girlfriend done me wrong” you correct, wishing you were talking about anything else. But truthfully, if you want things to work out, you better be honest. “She was with me, but only on her terms and as if I were a secret”

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that”

“I moved on. So, don’t think I’m just messing here, Nat. I really like you” you hurry to say, blushing slightly.

“I like you too” she takes your hand. “Now, let’s finish our ice cream so I can show you this awesome bookstore I found”

The next few hours are spent talking about college, some of your plans for the future and also, your friends. You smile when Natasha comments she’d love to hang out with them.

Before it gets dark, you walk back to campus. Worried that Wanda might still be at your door, you asked Darcy a while back to go check. Apparently, the coast was clear.

Natasha walks you to the door.

“I had the best time” you say, smiling. “We should do it again. Maybe go to the movies?”

“Would love to” Natasha nods, her eyes drifting to your lips. You lean forward, heart beating fast as you’re eager to feel her lips on yours.

“Are you still here? I told you to beat it!” Darcy opens the door, making you both jump back. “Oops, I thought you were someone else. Sorry, I’ll go back inside. Pretend this didn’t happen, make out”

“Darcy” you groan. Your friend doesn’t get inside, though.

“The famous Natasha. Y/N here won’t shut up about you”

“Shhh, don’t listen to her, she’s off her meds” you ask Nat, covering Darcy’s mouth and pushing her inside. As you close the door, you hold it so she can’t open it again.

Natasha laughs, her hands going to your hips and pulling you softly. You take a few steps forward, smiling as she lifts your chin, leaning to connect your lips in a slow kiss.

It’s mindblowingly good, although too short for your liking.

“So, when are we doing this again?”

“The date or the kiss?” she jokes and your hands go around her neck.

“Both”

“As soon as you’re free” she says, kissing you once more before leaving for the day.

Darcy snaps a picture the second you walk inside.

“That’s the gayest you’ve ever looked, congrats” she says, sending the picture to the group chat.

You roll your eyes, pulling out your phone and smiling.

Y/N: Best I’ve ever had

Nat: The kiss or the ice cream?

Y/N: What do you think?

Smiling at your phone, you walk to the couch where your friend is sitting.

“I’m happy that you’re happy” she says, relieved that you’re healing from everything that Wanda put you through.

“Me too” you sigh, pulling your knees against your chest. “Though I do have to ask. Did Wanda say why was she here?”

“I didn’t care enough to find out. All I did was tell her to leave you alone. And then I pretended you were inside so she wouldn’t go anywhere else looking for you”

“You’re a great friend” you nudge her with your foot and she glares.

“Ew, get that thing away from me”

“I take it back” you show her your tongue.

The next week, you text Natasha between classes, and though she’s very busy, she’s always making time to get back to you. You agree to go out on another date on Friday, but neither one can wait to see each other, so you end up at the library on a Wednesday evening, each one focused on your work.

Well, Natasha is focused on her work. You’re looking at her, because this is the first time you’ve seen her wearing glasses and it’s adorable.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Plenty” you say, not even pretending to be reading your notes.

“You’re not the only one who’s staring” Natasha’s eyebrow arches, speaking without looking up. “Brunette, green eyes, a lot of rings and eyeshadow”

“Oh”

“Is that the infamous ex?” she says and you’re scared she’ll be upset about this whole situation.

“Uhm… yeah. I’m sorry. If she’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll just leave…”

Natasha looks up at that, eyeing you up and down as you struggle to read her expression. She surprises you by pulling your chair until it bumps against hers, leaning forward and kissing you, one of her hands on your thigh and the other holding your chin, in that signature move that always makes your head spin.

“Maybe that’ll keep her away” Natasha says, smiling and bumping her nose against yours.

“You can’t just kiss me like that and expect me to focus on an essay” you say, biting your lip.

“Then let’s get something to eat. We need a break from all this studying” she proposes, picking up her things and leading you out of the library, her hand in yours.

You don’t care to look around for Wanda to check if she’s watching, because this moment with Natasha is yours. She’s holding your hand, kissing you, spending time with you whenever she can, instead of hiding you like you’re a dirty secret.

By being herself, she’s given you the one thing you always craved for. Something real.

Finally, Friday comes and you’re buzzing with excitement, getting ready to meet Natasha.

“Wanna go to a party tomorrow? You can invite your girlfriend” Val says, painting her nails while Carol throws a ball in the air.

“We haven’t had the talk about being each other girlfriends”

“What? And you call yourself a lesbian? This is the second date, you should be adopting a cat by now”

“Like you and Val with Goose?”

“Yes!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint the sapphics, I’m just trying to not scare her away. And about the party, yeah, if Natasha’s up for it, we’ll stop by”

“Alright, it’s at Stark’s”

“Oh. Maybe not, then”

Your friends share a look, and you glare as they both stay silent.

“You can’t avoid her forever” Val is the first one to speak. “She’s gonna keep looking for you, getting in the middle of what could be a good relationship just because she thinks she can”

“Yeah, next time you see her, don’t jump out the window. Open the door and tell her off” Carol agrees.

“You did what?” Val looks at you, baffled.

“It’s ok, Nat was there to catch me. Speaking of which” you hear a knock on the door, and stand up. “See ya, cat ladies”

“Hey! We only have the one”

You laugh as you open the door, but then you’re interrupted by Natasha’s lips on yours.

“Hey”

“Hello” she smiles, and then looks behind you as your friends whistle.

“Meet Val and Carol. My two former best friends” you grumble when they make kissing sounds.

“Nice to meet you” Natasha greets over your shoulder.

“Bring her home at a decent time” Carol says. “Unless you plan on having sex. In that case take her back to yours so she doesn’t wake me up”

“I hate you so much” you sigh, pulling Nat away.

“We’ll see you at the party tomorrow”

“Sorry about them” you mumble when you’re going down the stairs.

“What was that about a party?” she asks, opening the car door for you.

“Ever heard of Tony Stark? Big house, bigger ego. Loves to have parties. We don’t have to go unless you want to” you say, half expecting her to turn down the invitation.

“If you want me to go I’ll be there”

“I just want us to spend some time together, doing whatever you want” you say, blushing.

“I did promise I’d try going to a party with you, and it seems like the perfect time. Could meet the rest of your friends”

“Alright then” you nod, excited and terrified about how things could turn out if a certain someone is there.

Carol is right, though. You can’t be looking over your shoulder all the time, expecting Wanda to approach you and open those wounds.

If you have closure, in whatever way that is, she won’t have the power to hurt you anymore.

It’s hard to focus on the movie with Natasha by your side, her hand clasped in yours over your leg. At one point, you lean against her shoulder and she kisses your temple.

She’s so perfect, it makes you dizzy.

“What did you think about the movie?” she asks as you go out of the theater, her arm around your waist.

“It was good. I’m glad I understood most of it without having watched those other Alien movies”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have picked a different one” she protests, pulling you to a stop.

“I just want to be with you. Plus you looked so excited to watch it, I had a hard time saying no”

“Is that so?” she arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t use that against me, Natasha” you warn, getting ready to argue but her lips silence you, and you moan against the kiss.

It’s not nearly enough, and you need more of her, not just kissing.

“So if I ask you to go back home with me, will you still have a hard time saying no?”

“On the second date? What do you think I am, a harlot?”

“I’d count the lake as a date of it’s own. And the library too”

“So, this is like the fourth one?” you say, counting with your fingers.

“You don’t have to, I was only…”

Natasha’s words are cut off by your lips on hers, and she holds back a moan of her own when you run your tongue over her bottom lip.

“I’d very much like to go back to your place”

The drive back is silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. There’s a certain tension, and the expectation of what is about to happen makes you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest.

“This is home” Natasha says, opening the door to her apartment. Of course, as a grad student, you expected her to have her own place, but you still admire how homey it feels. There are books everywhere, which makes sense, and pictures of Natasha’s family.

“It’s lovely” you say, turning back to look at her. The tour of the place is forgotten, as you watch Natasha approach you slowly, her hands dropping to your waist.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah. A bit” you admit, because lying to Natasha has never been something you’d consider doing. “I want this to be perfect. And for you to really like it”

For me to be enough.

“It’s already perfect” she says, coming closer and kissing you slowly. Your eyes close as you enjoy the sensation of her lips against yours, hands wandering to your lower back. Without breaking the kiss, you discard your jacket and take hers off as well, and she immediately pulls you against her, your hands holding her cheeks as she deepens the kiss.

“Are we doing it standing up?” you ask when she breaks apart, breathing heavily against your neck. “Because I’ve never tried it, but I am open to experimenting”

“You could just say that we should take this to the bedroom” she laughs against your temple.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Still, she laughs as you pull her by the belt loop of her pants, guessing that her bedroom must be that last door to the left.

“Bingo” you smile, opening the door. There are more books scattered on the nightstand and the floor, but at least the bed is clear. “God, Nat, your reading is gonna kill me” you say as you fall to the bed and make her land on top of you.

“Sorry, I don’t have company very often”

“Are you a virgin?” you tease, knowing full well she’s dated in the past, though nothing serious.

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, her lips drifting down to your neck, and then lower to your stomach. In one swift motion, she unsclaps your bra and lifts your shirt up, her tongue swirling around a nipple. You moan, surprised at the contact, holding her head in place as she moves to the other nipple.

“Does it look like my first time?” Natasha says against your lips, her hands going down to undo the button of your jeans.

“I’m sorry, I was only joking, baby” you say, and it’s almost embarassing how desperate you sound.

“Good girl” she comments, pulling your pants down. You struggle with your underwear and Natasha’s too impatient, so she pulls it aside and starts eating you out, her tongue making circles and swirling around your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you say, biting your hand to keep you from screaming. Natasha nudges your clit with her nose as she moves to go up and down and you’re close when she stops. “Why?”

“I want to be inside you”

It’s a mystery, how your brain doesn’t stop functioning at that, but you manage to discard your shirt and start to undress Natasha, eager to feel her skin against yours. Once you’re both naked, she flips you, so you’re on top of her, straddling her lap.

“I’m debating if it would be better to have my fingers or my strap buried in your pussy” she says, and you wonder how the girl who is so well spoken can manage to be so crass.

Not that you’re complaining.

“Anything you want” you say, aware that you’re rubbing your center against her thigh.

“What’s that?”

“I… please. Just use me” you plead, desperate for some release.

Those words do it for Natasha, who takes out a strap on from her nightstand. You protest when she stands up to fasten it around her hips, feeling like you’re gonna combust if she’s not touching you.

“Shh, I’m here” she soothes you, laying on top of you and rubbing the strap against your entrance.

“Fuck me, Nat” you squeeze your legs around her, hoping she stops teasing you.

“That’s the plan, baby. Tell me if it hurts?” Natasha asks as she begins to fill you up, and you’re too far gone to give a verbal confirmation, nodding instead.

“More” you insist when she stops, searching for any sign of discomfort. Natasha thrusts forward, sinking the entire shaft and you moan, arching your back. “Harder”

Truthfully, Natasha’s never been so adventurous or forward in her sex life, but the way you’re pleading, clenching and panting underneath her, wakes something entirely new inside her. Pushing your knees against your chest, she moves in and out, reaching new spots that make you see stars.

“Yes, yes, yes” is all you manage to say, holding on to the sheets as your knuckles turn white. “Nat, I’m gonna…”

The words are stuck in your mouth as a powerful orgasm takes over, leaving you breathless. You feel Natasha slowing down her movements, and then she goes to kiss your neck, the strap still buried inside you.

“That was…” you sigh, trying to make your brain work. As your breathing steadies, your muscles relax and you let a finger run up and down Natasha’s side. “I don’t know what to say. You’re the one with the big words”

“That was fucking hot” she says, making you laugh. “And I’m not done with you”

Good thing your schedule was clear for the next day, because you weren’t getting any sleep tonight.

—

Your muscles feel sore when you wake up, stretching and turning in Natasha’s arms, watching her sleep.

Her alarm woke you up, but she’s still sound asleep.

“Nat” you say, moving her fiery hair out of her face. “Baby”

“No” she protests.

“Time to get up. You’re meeting your advisor, remember?”

Natasha curses under her breath, clearly not caring enough to wake up.

“Hey… what if I sit on your face?”

“I’m up” she says, opening her eyes and pulling you by the waist. “Come on, giddy up”

“Nuh-uh. Get dressed”

“Why would you lie about something like that?” she whines, burying her face in your neck.

“I didn’t lie, because technically, I didn’t say I’d do it right now. Get dressed, I’ll make breakfast and then we can go back to uni”

“Fine. But this discussion is not over” she kisses your cheeks, neck and then your lips, smiling as you laugh. “Morning”

“Morning, baby” you say, appreciating how beautiful she looks even with bed hair.

When she gets up, you find one of her t-shirts and go to the kitchen, looking at your options. You opt for french toast and make some coffee, because Natasha is definitely gonna need it to stay awake.

“Tastes amazing” she comments when you sit down to eat.

“Breakfast or me?” you tease and she almost chokes with her coffee. “Sorry, let’s eat”

“So, what are the plans for today?”

“Laundry, some homework. Standard stuff”

“Do you have any plans for lunch?” Natasha asks and you shake your head no. “Would you like to eat with me? After I’m done with my meeting and you finish your stuff, of course”

“Would love to” you say, smiling at how domestic and perfect it all feels.

Once you finish breakfast, you get changed and walk to Nat’s car. Parking close to your dorm, she kisses you goodbye and walks to the professor's offices.

You’re so distracted, thinking about everything that happened that you don’t notice Wanda sitting outside your dorm until you’re at the door.

“Wanda” you say, your hands in the pocket of your jeans. “Hey”

“Y/N? Did you just get here?” she says, looking around and then at the time on her phone. “You didn’t sleep here?”

“What do you want?”

“I want… to apologize”

You sigh, hoping the conversation ends soon so you don’t have to ever talk to her again.

“Anything else?”

“I thought he would change. He promised. But then it happened, again and again. And all I could think about is how you’d never do that to me”

“No, I wouldn’t. But now it’s too late. You made your choice”

“It was the wrong choice. Please, just give me another chance. I was scared before…”

“No, Wanda. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear it and we’re not gonna be anything at all. Natasha is… she’s amazing and I want to be with her. You had a choice to make and you went with him. And now… I have to choose the girl I’m in love with”

“Is there anything I can do or say…?”

“No. I’m sorry” you shake your head. Wanda nods, wiping away the tears. It does tug at your heart, seeing her so alone and broken. But it’s not on you to fix this.

Not anymore.

You let out a sigh when she leaves the hallway, turning in the other direction so she doesn’t see you wiping away a tear of your own.

Your eyes meet Natasha’s. She’s holding a bouquet, looking at you intensely.

“Nat. I can explain.”

The redhead drops the flowers and you’re scared she’ll walk away, but instead, she approaches you, lifting you as she kisses you. You sigh against her lips, holding on to her as if she’s the only thing in the world.

“I heard. Everything. You don’t have to explain anything” she puts you down, smiling. “I’m in love with you too”

“I don’t… know what to say” you laugh, craddling her face in your hands.

“No need to speak” she pulls you closer again, walking back until your're cornered against your door.

“I swear to God, if it’s that girl again I’m going to…” Carol opens the door without a warning, making you almost fall. “Awww, you guys! Val, come look! They’re kissing”

“With tongue?”

“I hate you so much” you complain, hiding your face in Natasha’s neck. She laughs, kissing your temple. “Now close the door so I can say goodbye to my girlfriend”

“Girlfriend? Val, they’re girlfriends!”

“Wohoo!” the girl screams from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Agh, it’s like having overbearing lesbian mothers” you slam the door shut, turning to Natasha. “I’m staying at your place tonight, or they will drive me insane with all their questions”

“Tonight, every night. Whatever you want. Just know… you’re getting very little sleep” she says with a smirk, kissing you.

“I can live with that”

[witchesverse]

ouija board. (kinktober)

pairing: demon!wandanat x fem!reader

summary: after playing with an ouija board and forgetting to say goodbye, you let two horny demons into the world of living.

content: noncon, slight daddy kink, pussy eating, fingering, summoning demons with an ouija board, possibility scary descriptions of the demons ??, dom!wandanat, sub!reader implying kidnapping.

masterlist

You laughed as Kate, with a big grin, revealed the hidden Oujia board and candles from her backpack. You sat across from each other and she placed the board and candles in the middle.

"You cannot be serious, Kate." You said with a laugh.

"I was promised by the guy that we can actually summon things!" She explained for what felt like the millionth time.

You sighed, "Fine."

The candles were lit around the board and you both had your fingers on the pointer. You didn't believe in supernatural things, but Kate was obsessed with them. Ouija boards were a joke.

"Okay, ask now."

You wanted to argue that this wasn't real, but Kate looked so excited and you couldn't ruin that.

"How many spirits are here?"

There was nothing for a few moments, then, the pointer moved to the numbers.

2.

"Kate, you so just moved that."

"I swear I didn't!" She whined, "Ask again."

You rolled your eyes, not believing her.

"Who is here?"

It moved again.

D. A. D. D. Y.

"Daddy?" You laughed, "This spirit is a freak."

Kate urged you to continue asking.

"Where are you?"

B. E. H. I. N. D. Y. O. U.

You felt a chill run down your spine and glanced over your shoulder, seeing nothing. You cleared your throat and prepared to ask another question but Kate's phone rang.

"Shit. It's my mom, she knows I snuck out." Kate declined the call and stood, "I'll see you next weekend?"

You nodded, "Yeah, see you then."

At 3AM, you woke to the sound of your phone pinging with notifications.

katie <3: fuck. y/n did you say goodbye to the ouija board?

you: no?

katie <3: fuck fuck. dude, ur meant to say goodbye so you can close the door and stop spirits from entering the world of living.

you: sure kate. goodnight.

You switched your phone off and rolled over, wanting to get some sleep. In the corner of your eye, you noticed something in the corner of your room. It looked to be some type of human figure but deformed in a way you couldn't describe. Your window and door were closed, yet you felt a gush of cold air flow over you and shivered.

Your heart began to pound and your skin crawled with discomfort.

Another figure appeared in the corner of your room.

Kate is playing a stupid prank on me.

You sat up and reached for your light switch but your wrist was grabbed and long, cold fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing slightly.

Your eyes widened and a whimper left your throat.

Minus the large horns, razor-sharp teeth, skin that appeared to be shattered, freezing cold skin, and dark black blood oozing from the body; it looked human.

"What the fuck are you?" You screamed.

The creature attempted to smile. It looked unnatural and made you feel sick to the stomach.

"Shouldn't have left the door open. You let daddy right in" It, no she, spat.

Your eyes widened. Kate wasn't joking about the Ouija board and leaving the door open. You had let two spirits into your home.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"God, do mortals ever shut up?" Another female voice spoke with a thicker accent.

The hands around your throat were removed, and the new spirit caressed your face with the back of her hand. She looked similar to the other spirit.

"What are you?" You questioned, voice shaking.

"Demons, sweetheart." She swiftly replied "Hurry up, Natasha. I don't want to be here much longer."

Natasha, the first demon, ripped your blanket off your body. You cried out as she did the same to your clothes. You tried to crawl away from Natasha but she grabbed onto your hips and pinned you down.

"Go on, Wanda." Her tone was teasing "I know you want and miss it."

Wanda barred her teeth at Natasha, making your heart drop. It was a terrifying sight.

You tried to fight Natasha's hold, but she easily overpowered you and manhandled you until you were lying on your back and bare. She wrapped her arms around your thighs to keep them open and settled between them.

"Fuck you." Wanda hissed, sending Natasha a glare.

Natasha snarled and dug her fingernails into your thigh, making you whimper. You didn't understand their feud, but it seemed somewhat playful.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest as she squeezed your cheeks, forcing your tongue out and sat on your face. She rocked her hips back and forth, sighing in contentment as the pleasure spread across her body.

"That's it, baby," Natasha muttered, watching Wanda intently.

It was strange, but you didn't want to fight back. Your clit was throbbing and your skin felt hot. Your brain felt hazy and you struggled to form a thought that wasn't about pleasure.

You wrapped your arms around Wanda's thighs and pulled her closer. You alternated between lapping at her dripping cunt and sucking her clit.

Natasha slipped two fingers inside of you and kitten-licked at your clit. Her fingers felt like they were made for your pussy. Your walls clenched around her and you mewed loudly.

Wanda groaned and panted above you. Her slick was dripping down your chin to your neck. The taste of her was addictive.

"I'm gonna cum." Your words were muffled by Wanda, but the demons heard you. "Please, can I cum?"

"Oh, this one has manners, Natty." Wanda laughed above you. Her laughter was strained and whiney.

"Hold it." Natasha snapped.

You whined loudly, wanting to fight Natasha on her decision, but you felt like that would do more harm than good.

Wanda grabbed at your hair and pulled you further into her cunt. Her hips stopped grinding against your face and you moaned as spurts of liquid hit your face.

Your orgasm quickly followed.

You found yourself in Wanda's arms when you came down from your high. She caressed your face with the back of her hand with that sick, inhumane smile.

"I think we're gonna keep you."

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 (𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟖) - 𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐡 (𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐞)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nerdy!Nat x fem!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, nerdy!Nat, Nat has a penis, glory hole, anonymous sex, oral, slight size kink, masturbation, Nat is a virgin and a perv, kinda

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Nat follows a college tradition to lose her virginity with an unexpected twist

𝐀/𝐍: Wdym it’s the 20th already?

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧e

This is so stupid, said Natasha to herself again and again as locked herself into a certain bathroom stall in her college. A stupid dare she had to do to prove that she wasn’t a pussy. Anxiously she waited in the stall, her eyes locked on the hole in the wall, its sides covered in duct tape. It wasn't uncommon to use it, many had done it before her until it even became a campus tradition, but it still felt weird.  

You were just as inexperienced with the hole as Natasha was but you were dying to get into the thrill. You could see one of the two stalls already locked, a good sign. When you entered it, locked the door behind you you could see the shows of the other person sticking out, red converse. 

You placed your foot against her a wordless question, which was answered by a zip of a zipper. Natasha was so nervous she wasn’t even sure if she managed to get one up. This was pathetic, she thought to herself. She stroked herself a few times to get hard again trying not to overthink this too much. On the other side you put your hair up in a bun waiting for the other person to start 

She was anxious as she pushed her length through the wall, you gasped at her sheer size. You had never sucked someone so massive. She let out a long groan as you liked over her tip. She was truly pathetic having to pull herself together to not cum from just this. A small fuck slipped from her throat as you took her further into the warmth of your mouth, and ot was like music in your ears. 

She could make out how you gagged around her struggling to take her completely. Natasha never felt like this before, she was a virgin after all, only ever having felt her own hand. She was addicted to the feeling of those wet warmth and already imagined how it must feel like to take the other person probably. Or that one girl from her math class she never had the courage to strike a conversation up with. 

You let your tongue slide ver her length as she moved her hips, practically fucking your mouth, as she moaned and whimpered. You could feel your feeling getting wet at the angelic voice panting from the other stall. You couldn’t help but let your own hand slip past your pants to rub at your clit. You were intoxicating to Natasha, making her lose her mind at the sheer thought of you. She could swear to smell your perfume and she wanted more, she needed more. 

It took everything inside of her to not go on the other side and take you there and then. Muffled moans from yourself could be heard from the other side as you rubbed over your slippery clit. Even though this wasn’t the first blowjob you gave, it was  the hottest by far. “Fuck” The other person groanded “I’m gonna cum” She whimpered pathetically, with a few more uncontrolled thrusts she had emptied herself down your throat as you came into your own hand. 

She pulled out her face painted red by embarrassment about the whole situation. When she had pulled her pants up again. She waited for the click of the door to be sure the other person had left. Only to meet with you as soon as she excited the stall. You, the cute girl from math fixing her makeup after she just took her virginity. She couldn’t even muster a word out as you looked positively shocked  at the revelation. But before you could say a world she had sprinted out.

@jolyssereed

[romanoffshouse]

[Natasha speaking Russian]

Y/N, sighing: Yeah, I know.

Tony: You speak Russian?

Y/N: No. I just know the phrase, "This is all your fault"

Y/N: She says it a lot.

[flkwh0re]

Try it, Bite it, Lick it, Spit it

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Strap-on usage (R receiving), Brief fingering, Degradation, Praise, Use of the word slut, Mirror sex, Hair pulling/gripping, Sex in a public bathroom (gross Natasha 😕), Overstimulation (R receiving), Oral (R receiving)

Word Count: 1.1k

Authors Note: Didn’t really have much going to this fic, I just wanted to make a fic with this title. (Stream Guess by Charli xcx and Billie Eilish 😚)

The loud music that blared through club felt like it shook your core. It was so loud you couldn't even hear your own thoughts, which was a total lie. You just couldn't think because of the gorgeous red head that had showed up with Yelena.

Yelena was your best friend, along side her girlfriend Kate Bishop. You'd known Yelena since your first day of college, she was your roommate at the time. You did everything with her and basically knew everyone she did, but not this woman.

"Y/n, come here!" Yelena yelled to you, the thick Russian accent being the only reason you were able to hear her. "I want you to meet my sister, Natasha. Natasha this is Y/n." You weren't sure how you should greet such a beautiful woman, so you stupidly stuck your hand out for a handshake.

"It's nice to meet you, Y/n." The woman said with very captivating grin on her lips. "Like wise, Natasha." The use of her full name caused her to cringe a little, "Just Nat." You awkwardly smile and nod.

The night moved very slowly, mostly due to your soberness, but also the countless men that would hit on Natasha ruining your small talk. "Let me buy you a drink, help you enjoy yourself a little." Natasha suggested. "I've gotta be able to get home, last time I trusted Yelena getting me home we spent half the night on the streets trying to figure out the gps." A grin creeped on Natasha's face at your jab directed at her sister.

"I can get you home sweetheart, it's no big deal." You were saved by the dim lights of the corner you and Natasha were in, you were sure your face was scarlet red. "Fine." Following your agreement, drink after drink kept coming, and now Natasha's and yours conversation flowed like you'd known each other for years.

"C'mon Nat, dance with me." You pleaded with the older woman, tugging on the sleeve of her jacket. Eventually you dragged her onto the floor, pushing through the swarm of bodies. Her front pressed flush against your back, as you swayed to the music. Her hands possessively held onto your hips, almost as if she were afraid you'd get away from her to go dance with some helpless drunk.

Your body felt like putty in Natasha arms, the arms that were moving up and down your body as her hands gripped and groped at your curves. Her hot breath fanned on the back of your neck, her soft lips occasionally brushing the sensitive skin. "Come with me."

Your hand linked with Natasha's as you two walked off to what you assumed was to the bathroom. You were never one for a hookup, especially in a club bathroom, but Nat made you want to and so you did. Your back collided with the door as soon as it shut, Natasha briefly fumbling with the lock before her lips hungrily connected with yours.

Her tongue laced with yours, as your lips molded together. Your mouths so connected that your moans didn't escape her mouth, but rather she swallowed them. "Fuck you're so hot, I wish Yelena brought you around." Natasha leaned back to admire your current state. Your hair pushed around, clothes slightly wrinkled, your gradually weakening legs as Natasha worked you up.

Her lips returned on yours, and her fingers found new ground on the clasp of your jeans. She tugged it apart and slipped her hand past the lacy material of your soaked panties. "Fuck pretty girl, you're so wet." She rasped, eliciting a pitiful whimper from you. "All for you." You could barely muster the words.

Natasha's rough fingers rubbed your clit just the right way, almost too good for you to bear. "F-fuck Nat! Feels s'good." You managed out the words that felt caged in your throat, and you could tell she knew you were struggling by the small laugh that came from her.

"You like that, hm? Wanna see how much you like this?" She took your hand rubbing it against her crotch, the feeling of silicone begging for release rubbed against your hand. You groaned loudly just from thinking about her fucking you with it. "I think you're wet enough, turn around." Natasha demanded, and you obeyed.

Natasha tugged down your jeans, along with her own. She slid the toy into you with ease and a little force, which caused your front to be flush against the sink. Natasha's hands roughly gripped your hips, yours holding onto whatever you could grab. "Fuck you're so tight, I wish I could feel you. I bet you feel so good." Her filthy words making you moan, so loud that she covered your mouth.

Her hips slapped against yours so rapidly it was almost painful, but the pleasure of the toy rubbing against your deepest parts made all that pain unrecognizable. "You're doing so good for me Y/n, being such a good girl."

Your hair was tugged and balled up into Natasha's hand in a matter of seconds, as she forced you to look in the mirror. "Watch yourself get fucked by me you slut, fucked by your best friends sister. By a woman you just met." The harsh, degrading and words that left her lips made you even more turned on.

"Nat, 'm close. 'M gonna cum, Please!" You begged. "Yea, gonna cum on my cock? Go on then, cum for me." And you did, Natasha made you see stars as she mercilessly fucked you through your orgasm.

Before you knew it she had you sitting on the counter, your jeans completely discarded somewhere. Her head between your thighs as she ate you out. You were too sensitive to take it, but to fucked out to use your words to beg her to stop. Your second orgasm nearing and all you could manage was a little whimper, "C'mon use your words, you got this baby. You're doing so good for me, you can do it." She praised.

"Please, I need- I can't take it!" Her pace quickened, it was so painful but you needed release so bad. "Nat, 'm cuming!"

"You did so good, let me help you clean up and I'll take you home okay?" You nodded, "But what about Yelena?" You asked as Natasha helped support your body, so you could redress. "I'll text her, don't worry your pretty little head." She said as a placed a little kiss on your forehead.

That night wasn't the end of you and Natasha. Eventually after a few hook ups she asked to take you on a date, which went so well it turned into multiple dates, then you were officially together.

MASTERLIST

[just-aake]

Flustered Crushes

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The Black Widow does not get flustered. So why is it that Natasha can’t seem to stop embarrassing herself in front of you?

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2795

At the edge of the bustling hangar bay, Natasha leans against the cold, metallic wall, her arms folded tightly, a faint frown etched across her brow as her sharp gaze observes the scene unfolding before her. 

Near the base of the Quinjet’s ramp, you are engaged in animated conversation with Carol Danvers, who happened to arrive at the compound for a quick visit precisely when you returned from your mission.  

You've been with the Avengers for a few months now, a former SHIELD agent seamlessly adjusting to the team dynamics. 

Over time, you've connected with everyone—including her. 

So, Natasha’s made an extra effort to help you feel welcome. 

Clint often teases her about her behavior, insisting her attentiveness borders on something more personal, something like a…crush. 

Natasha dismisses his comments each time with a roll of her eyes. 

She’s just being nice. 

After all, it's only natural to want a solid, dependable relationship with a new teammate, especially someone she'll be working closely with.

That’s the only reason why she came to greet you when you return from your mission.

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she stands there, alone, on the sidelines…not with you. 

Natasha watches Carol say something that makes you laugh, causing her faint frown to deepen.

The flash of amusement in your eyes as Carol grins back makes Natasha roll her eyes and look away, unable to take the sight anymore as a pang of irritation tightens in her chest.

She tries to shake it off, but it doesn’t disappear.

After all, it’s not like she got here an hour before your scheduled return and waited to see you…just to end up watching as the blonde space beauty swoop in, effortlessly captivating your attention.

Deciding she’s had enough, Natasha pushes herself off the wall, preparing to leave.

However, her abrupt movement catches others around her off guard, and she ends up bumping into a passing cart loaded with tools and equipment. 

A clattering sound echoes across the hangar as wrenches and bolts spill onto the floor. 

Natasha curses softly under her breath, a mix of pain and embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she drops to gather the scattered items, apologizing hastily to the technician she collided with before quickly exiting the area.

In her haste, she doesn’t notice your gaze, the subtle smile tugging at your lips as you follow her with amused eyes, tracking her every flustered move across the hangar bay, even as she slips away without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So, how’s it going with your crush?” Clint asks, a playful glint in his eyes as he watches Natasha.

Natasha shoots him a warning look that would strike fear into the most fearsome of villains.

Without a word, she grabs the coffee pot, filling his mug before pouring some for herself. She replaces the pot with a decisive click.

“There is no crush,” she states firmly, taking a sip as though punctuating her denial.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint asks skeptically before continuing, “Whenever Y/n’s around, it’s like you lose all of your charm and coolness.” 

Natasha gives him an unimpressed glare. 

“Really? Coolness? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Clint smirks, raising his mug in mock salute.

“Ask me again after I finish this coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, holding her mug close, feeling the warm comfort seep into her hands.

Just as she brings it to her lips, the doors swing open, and Tony strolls into the kitchen, spotting them with their drinks. 

“Oh, coffee! Pour me a cup, Romanoff.”

“Pour your own,” Natasha mutters, savoring her next sip. 

Tony feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. 

“FRIDAY, remind me, who owns this building?” 

“You do, sir,” the AI replies smoothly. 

Tony gestures upward triumphantly at her before pointing towards the kitchen. 

“So, technically, that machine is mine, the beans are mine, and...oh, right, that pot of coffee is also mine.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes but eventually reaches for the pot, lifting it begrudgingly.

Tony holds out his mug with a victorious grin. 

But just as she hovers the pot above his cup, she stops short.

“A ‘please’ once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

Tony’s eyes widen, and he gasps in exaggerated disbelief as Natasha raises a brow in expectation.

Huffing, he mutters, “Can I have some coffee, please?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Natasha quips with a smirk, preparing to pour him his coffee.

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal you, fresh from your morning workout, dressed in your training gear.

You walk by the kitchen, spotting the other Avengers gathered around. 

A delighted smile spreads across your face. 

“Ooh, coffee! Can I have some, too?” 

Natasha’s response is instant. 

“Sure, I’ll make you a new pot.” 

Her tone is warmer than usual, surprising even herself.

You beam at her, and Natasha feels herself pause, momentarily captivated by the sight. Distracted, she almost misses your following words. 

“Thanks, Natasha! Let me change, and I’ll be right back.”

You slip through the doors, leaving Natasha blinking, still trying to regain her composure. 

Tony watches with raised eyebrows. 

“Wait a second—she didn’t even say ‘please,’ and you’re making her a whole new pot?”

Natasha’s eyes narrow as she holds the pot just out of reach of Tony’s mug. 

“Do you want coffee or not?” 

Tony grumbles before muttering a grudging “Yes, please.” 

Satisfied, Natasha pours the coffee, keeping her focus steady. 

“Natasha?” your voice catches her off guard, and she glances up to see you poking your head back into the room. 

“Yes?” she replies a little too quickly, immediately focusing on you. 

Both Clint and Tony fall silent, watching the two of you with curious eyes. 

“Steve’s got a mission tomorrow,” you explain. “Would you mind if I train with you in the meantime?”

Natasha’s mind races for a moment before she steadies herself to answer.

“Uh—yeah, sure. Anytime you want.” 

“Great!” you say enthusiastically before glancing worriedly at the counter. “I think that’s enough coffee.” 

Natasha follows your gaze, eyes widening as she realizes Tony’s cup is overflowing, dark liquid pooling across the counter. She yanks the pot away with a muttered curse. 

“Oh sh—!”

Tony steps back just in time, glaring down at his soaked countertop.

“Really, Romanoff? This is a new suit!” 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grabs paper towels, unruffled by his dramatics. 

“Calm down, it barely even touched you.”

You let out a small laugh. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, shooting her a smile as you exit.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, her attention lingering on the door.

Clint chuckles as he takes another sip, eyeing her knowingly. 

“You’re right, Nat. It’s not a crush,” he says, leaning back with a smirk. “It’s way worse.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha flashes one of her most charming smiles, leaning just slightly forward as the receptionist fumbles through her files, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue under Natasha’s intense gaze. 

“Here you go!” the receptionist says, her voice soft as she hands over a key card. “I’m sorry again for the mix-up.”

Natasha’s fingers rest lightly over the receptionist’s hand as she accepts the card, her eyes warm and a playful smile tugging at her lips. 

“No problem at all,” she replies, her tone smooth. “I don’t mind the delay with such lovely company.” 

The receptionist blushes deeply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and giving Natasha a flustered smile. 

Natasha’s confident smirk grows as she watches her charms take effect. 

Quick and efficient, she slips the USB drive from the computer, seamlessly hiding it under her palm as it rests over the key card. For a moment, she feels pleased with herself, effortlessly pulling off her usual charisma.

See, she thinks to herself, Clint has no idea what he’s talking about—she’s got plenty of charm.

“Nice job, Natasha,” your voice suddenly crackles in her earpiece, startling her. 

Her hand slips in surprise, almost knocking over the items on the counter. She turns it into a casual adjustment, but not before the receptionist gives her a curious look. 

Natasha quickly smiles, grabbing the key card and offering a polite nod before walking away toward a secluded corner of the lobby.

Pressing a finger to her comms, she mutters, “Y/n? Where’s Clint?” 

“He had to step out for a minute,” you answer. “He asked me to take over. Is that okay?” 

“No–I mean—yes, of course,” Natasha says, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly. 

She straightens, running a hand through her hair as she tries to regain her composure. It’s not like she hadn’t expected you to assist with missions, but the thought of you watching her…

She tamps down the sudden flutter in her chest and forces herself to stay focused.

“Your next target is on the same floor as the key card you just picked up,” you continue, your voice warm and steady in her ear. 

“Got it.” 

“I’ll explain what you’re looking for.”

Natasha nods and begins striding toward the elevators, hoping her sudden focus will drown out the distraction of your voice in her head. 

She tells herself it’s just a mission—professional, routine.

But now, with you guiding her through the next steps, each word falling from your lips makes it harder for her to maintain her usually calm, steady demeanor. 

Her heart beats a little faster, and her cheeks feel a bit warmer than they should. She brushes off the thoughts and keeps walking, determined to stay cool and collected.

“Um…Natasha?”

She stops mid-step. “Hmm?”

“You’re…going the wrong way.”

Natasha freezes, blinking in surprise. She glances around, realizing she’s heading in the opposite direction from the elevators.

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over her as she lets out a quiet curse under her breath.

“Right,” Natasha says, turning with as much dignity as she can muster, her face heating as she finally heads in the correct direction.

Oh, she thinks to herself, she’s definitely going to kill Clint.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha steps out of her room, her leather jacket slung over one arm as she adjusts the zipper. 

Your voice calls her name from down the hall, catching her off guard and making her slam the door shut in a startled motion. She spins to face you, only to be tugged back by an unexpected resistance.

Natasha looks down with a sigh, spotting her jacket sleeve caught in the door. Tugging at it proves ineffective, as it stays firmly wedged in place.

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Natasha hastily shoves the jacket behind her back, trying to appear composed. She leans casually against the door, hoping the awkward moment has gone unnoticed.

“Hey,” you greet with a warm smile as you reach her.

“Hey, Y/n,” Natasha replies, attempting a relaxed tone.

You eye her with a hint of curiosity. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Natasha says quickly, forcing a casual smile. “Just, um, examining the door. Thought it could use a closer look.”

Your brows raise in amused surprise at her peculiar explanation, but you let it go. 

“Well, once you’re done with that,” you say, playing along, “I made a reservation at that new place downtown. I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

“Just the two of us?” The words slip out before Natasha can stop herself. 

A flicker of excitement and amusement crosses your face as you nod. 

“Yeah, just us,” you say softly.

Natasha’s heart gives a small flutter, but she maintains her composure. 

“I’d love to,” she says, a smile slipping through despite her best efforts to stay calm.

“Great, it’s a date,” you say, grinning. “I’ll meet you in the garage.” With a playful smirk, you add, “After you finish your ‘inspection,’ of course.”

As you walk toward the elevator, Natasha watches you with a lingering smile.

Once you’re out of sight, she finally frees her jacket and heads to the garage a few minutes later, finding you waiting by her motorcycle.

You hop on behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist in a snug embrace. 

The warmth of your presence makes her feel a fluttering sensation in her chest she can’t shake. Distracted, Natasha blindly reaches for her helmet and slips it on—only to be met with complete darkness.

With a soft sigh, Natasha’s head drops to her chest, realizing she put it on backward. 

The chuckle that escapes your lips behind her is quickly muffled as you clear your throat, your hands reaching to help her. 

You gently remove the helmet, your fingers brushing her cheek as you pull it off.

When Natasha glances back, she catches the playful look in your eyes as you bite back a grin.

Seeing this, Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Can we just pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen and start over? I swear, this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

You laugh, unable to hold back anymore. 

“Oh, I know all about the smooth and charming Black Widow,” you say, your gaze warm and teasing. “But I think this side of you is pretty cute too.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks at your words, and Natasha takes the helmet, this time slipping it on correctly, with a soft smile she can’t quite hide anymore.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

It’s another one of Tony’s famous parties, where glittering lights reflect off polished floors and music pulses softly through the spacious hall. 

In the middle of the dance floor, beneath the warm glow, Natasha sways with you, her hands resting gently on your waist as you move together to the rhythm of the soft melody. 

You wrap your arms around her neck, leaning in and drawing her closer until your lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. 

Natasha smiles softly against your lips, and as you pull back, she rests her forehead gently against yours, eyes half-closed in a moment of quiet contentment. 

Even as the music fades into the background, her hands remain firm on your waist, as if she has no intention of letting go.

“Why don’t we get something to drink?” you suggest, glancing over at the bar lined with sparkling glasses.

Natasha only pulls you closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the small of your back as she murmurs, “Or…we could stay right here and have another dance.” 

Her voice is a soft suggestion, and she leans in slightly, her green eyes filled with warmth and alluring charm.

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across your lips. 

“It’s cute how you’re trying to be smooth.”

Natasha’s expression shifts, feigning innocence. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, though the faintest blush colors her cheeks.

With a playful glint in your eye, you tilt your head at her in challenge. 

“How long has your bracelet been stuck to my dress?” you ask, giving her a teasing look.

Natasha glances away, the blush deepening as she realizes she’s been caught. She’s spent the past few moments subtly trying to free her wrist from your dress, but to no avail.

“In my defense,” she murmurs, attempting to deflect, “you distracted me with how beautiful you look tonight.”

You chuckle softly at her excuse, reaching up to pull her even closer. With a playful grin, you press a gentle kiss to her lips before leaning in to whisper against her ear.

“Think of the bright side—if you can’t get it loose, I’m sure you could just rip this dress off me.”

Natasha’s breath catches, and for a split second, she’s utterly still, her mind stalling at the suggestion. 

You pull back just enough to watch her expression, and a delighted smile grows on your face as she stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered, clearly caught off guard.

It only takes her a moment to catch on, her eyes narrowing in realization as she shakes her head with a playful huff. 

“You’re trying to embarrass me on purpose,” she accuses, a hint of a smile breaking through.

Unashamed, you bite back a laugh and nod. 

“It’s nice to see the calm and collected Black Widow all flustered for once.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a smirk as she pulls you flush against her, her free hand sliding up your back, fingers grazing along your spine. She leans in, her lips just a breath away from yours, the warmth of her gaze intense.

“Only for you,” she murmurs, her voice a hushed promise before closing the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that makes you forget the world around you, the room fading away as you melt into each other’s embrace.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a short fluff with a soft Natasha that I had finished some time ago. after everything that has happened yesterday and today, I wanted to give some kind of happier distraction, even if it may be only a temporary escape from everything. I’m still going between disbelief, sadness, and anger myself about the situation while also trying to be prepared to continue on. But hopefully, this was able to bring some of you some sort of break from everything else.

[please-destroy]

Legacy

Natasha Romanoff x Reader + Family

Word Count: 1.7k

You can definitely read this on its own. Or it can follow on from the last few stories I've posted.

.

You heard the front door slam and winced automatically. Every day seemed to hold another fight between your daughter and your wife.

When Natasha had told you she was picking your daughter up from school, you’d bitten your tongue. You heard the raised voices in the hallway and sighed slowly.

You braced yourself as you rose to join. This didn’t feel like much of a family these days. You felt like more of a peacekeeper than a parent or a partner.

You paused behind the closed door when you heard your daughter yell.

You tried to click pieces into place before you joined them. Something about her hair and her choice.

You heard the low murmur of Natasha’s voice. She always went quiet in fights with your daughter. Some legacy of her past that still made her wary of the impact of raising her voice, of losing her temper entirely.

You couldn’t hear her words but her anger was unmistakable. You opened the door hurriedly. Two pairs of eyes landed on you at once.

Your daughter rushed to get the first word in, as if you were the judge and jury of this argument.

‘I already bought the stuff.’ She told you determinedly. Her fingers gripped her backpack fiercely.

You caught Natasha’s desperate look at you and sighed quietly. Whatever was going on, you knew Natasha was silently asking for your support for a reason.

You tilted your head at your daughter and waited for more information. You hated playing this balancing act.

‘I’m going to dye my hair blue’. Your daughter continued. Her brown eyes flashed suddenly with something that was entirely Natasha.

‘No you’re not.’ Natasha interrupted suddenly from beside you. Her arms moved to cross in front of her. Sometimes, the two of them reminded you more of sisters than mother and child.

There was a pause. You saw the look on your daughter’s face and realised she was trying to prepare herself for her next words. You cringed in anticipation.

‘I know you had blue hair.’ Your daughter accused Natasha abruptly.

The air left the room as you both froze. Your eyes scanned Natasha’s immediately. You hadn’t known that, but you could tell immediately that it was true. Natasha blinked back her obvious shock. You resisted putting an arm around her shoulders. You didn’t want to take sides, but you felt the ache of Natasha’s past like an old wound.

‘I saw the pictures.’ Your daughter added, her arms moving to cross themselves, just like Natasha’s.

An acutely vulnerable and threatened look crossed Natasha’s features. Her eyes were unseeing as more emotions rolled through her. You tensed nervously. She looked murderous. A line had been crossed.

‘Those pictures are private.’ Natasha said in a low voice. A shiver ran down your spine at the sound. ‘You had no right - ’.

‘I’m your kid.’ Your daughter interrupted, her voice rising higher with hysteria. She blinked away her tears angrily.

‘Where are those pictures now?’ Natasha’s voice stayed a growl. You found yourself stepping forward. It was too late to keep the peace, but you felt the situation slipping closer to words that couldn’t be unsaid.

Your hand brushed your daughter’s shoulder.

‘Hey.’ You called calmly and your daughter’s eyes flickered warily up to you. ‘We can talk about dyeing your hair later. Get your mom’s pictures.’

‘No.’

Your jaw clenched in frustration, you took a deep breath. You felt the oncoming explosion, you didn’t know if you could stop it.

You felt Natasha seethe obviously. You loved her well enough to sense how hard she was working to stay cool. You didn’t know the context of the pictures, you were certain of their importance to her. 

‘Give them back to me.’ Natasha said one more time, and you knew it was the last warning.

‘I get to have some pieces of you.’ Your daughter declared suddenly. Her voice was wavering obviously, the angry tears still stained her cheeks.

‘You don’t get to have that piece.’ Natasha shook her head fervently. ‘Give me back my fucking photos.’

‘Fuck you.’ Your daughter retaliated, and the words fell out her mouth like she’d been waiting to say it.

Something hardened in Natasha as the words landed, you watched her try and ignore it.

‘Pictures.’ You iterated again, firmly. Your voice stayed level. You knew the unbearable tension couldn’t release from Natasha until she had them back.

You didn’t realise there was more your daughter might say. Her fingers fumbled with the front zipper on her backpack, she rummaged inside and produced a single strip of photos. Your eyes clung to the produced glossy strip of paper as she threw it in the air and floated to the ground.

There were two girls in the pictures and your heart twisted in further understanding. You noted the bright blue hair that caught the eye easily. 

Natasha snatched the photos so fast, they hadn’t even reached the ground. You should have anticipated her next move. Your daughter certainly didn’t. Natasha plucked out the box of hair dye from inside her open backpack in one smooth motion. 

The outrage in your daughter’s face would have been comical if it didn’t make you so nervous.

‘Fuck you.’ She said again and this time the words came out in a desperately controlled voice. She’d pitched it lower and you wondered if she knew she was imitating her mother.

‘You never wanted me.’ She accused Natasha now, voice cracking. Tears started streaming down her face again as the deeper hurt was exposed.

‘We both know I’m not even yours. Now, you won’t even fucking let me look like you.’

Natasha sagged immediately with the weight of your daughter’s words. You saw the horror and shock weave through her furrowed brows. Her mouth fell open.

Your daughter didn’t see any of it.

She crumpled down to the ground in a motion that ached with familiarity. For a moment, you remembered those first moments of her learning to walk. The strongest part of that memory was Natasha’s smile when your daughter had chosen to stumble clumsily over to her.

You didn’t need to look at Natasha to know she’d felt the words like a sucker punch. You crouched down next to your daughter. 

‘You are and have always been the best thing in both of our lives.’ You told her quietly. Your daughter didn’t stop crying. Her arms circled her knees. 

Natasha moved closer, hesitancy laced her movements and you could feel the nerves emanating from her. This was everything she’d ever been scared of. You felt her anticipating more rejection from the person who could hurt her most. Your hand moved to brush the back of her nearest leg soothingly. 

‘Your mom loves you completely.’ You said simply and your daughter’s chin tilted reluctantly towards you. She shook her head disbelievingly. You saw the deep insecurity and wished desperately to remove it.

‘I always thought I might have children.’ You continued carefully, trying to decide what you could share as you spoke. ‘But, for your Mom, that wasn’t even a dream she was allowed to have.’

Your daughter’s face twisted as she tried to process the words. Her eyes flickered uncertainly up at Natasha. You followed her gaze and caught Natasha’s ashy expression. She was still caught, waiting for more rejection.

‘Do you understand?’ You pressed softly, and your free hand reached out to your daughter’s knee. ‘You are better than she could have ever dreamed.’ 

You felt Natasha kneel down beside you too, she took the hand you’d had on her leg and held it in hers. Your fingers interlaced automatically and, when she squeezed it, you felt the cool of her wedding ring against your warm palm.

‘Not to mention, you are already so alike. It’s ridiculous.’ You added, letting your tone get lighter. Somehow, just having them sit closer to each other, reassured you.

Natasha outstretched her free hand, with the previous photos purposefully on display to your daughter.

‘You see that other girl?’ She murmured. Her eyes caught yours intermittently, seeking reassurances You squeezed her hand and gave her a careful smile. 

Your daughter nodded, silent with the expectation that this was important.

‘She’s my family.’ Natasha stumbled. ‘Or the closest I ever had to it.’ She corrected embarrassedly. She took a shaky breath before continuing. 

‘And, that’s why you’re named Yelena. After her.’ 

Yelena stared back at Natasha, surprise and curiosity entirely replacing her earlier hurt.

‘Where is she now?’ She asked immediately, her voice hoarse from crying.

‘I don’t know. But I love her. You remind me of her every day.’ Natasha answered simply.

I know I’m not your Mom, not biologically.’ Natasha’s eyes met yours and you saw a longing in them that you never wanted to see again.

‘But I want to be.’ She admitted softly.

Your daughter’s hand reached out for her mother’s. Things settled inside your heart, a heaviness lifted from the air.

‘Maybe.’ Yelena started, face filling with a small smile. ‘Maybe I could dye my hair red instead.’

Natasha regarded her with a new softness, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards too. They understood each other so much better than they thought. 

You rolled your eyes as you got back to your feet, pulling the pair of them up along with you.

‘Just what I need. Double the trouble.’ You teased, barely able to keep a straight face as Natasha swatted at your arm halfheartedly.

Yelena grinned up at you. Her hand slipped out of yours as she moved to wrap her arms around Natasha’s waist. Her head buried against Natasha’s front. Your daughter was growing up, but she was still so young. 

The tentative tenderness in Natasha’s answering hug was more precious than you could ever explain. Her hand slipped out of yours too as she moved to rub light circles on Yelena’s back.

‘I’m really sorry.’ Yelena mumbled.

‘I know.’ Natasha soothed and she pressed a kiss to her daughter’s hair. 

Yelena moved back a little and you watched her head tilt up as she regarded Natasha. Natasha smiled familiarly back.

‘Whatever colour you want. I’ll help you dye it.’ Natasha promised her quietly. ‘But, you’re already my daughter. You always have been.'

‘I’m yours.’ Yelena affirmed as her rested back against her mother. Natasha’s lips brushed her hair as she held her tight against her.

The world had finally righted itself and you found yourself sighing in relief.

[scarletcomalies]

Imagine Natasha, your mom's best friend, who accepted the task of teaching you self-defense classes. However, in just a few sessions, she was also able to tame your arrogant attitude.

Word count: 1,483

Warnings: Theft, mention of knives and guns, brat reader. 18+ content, degrading, restraint, slight bit of dub-con, Nat has a penis, daddy kink, unprotected sex, breeding.

A/N: Not sure how drabbles work, but I was bored at a birthday party, and I felt like writing a little something hehe.

It all started when a thief had taken your handpurse from you and ran away quickly.

You barely felt it being snatched from you, and as you turned around, you realized that the thief was already at a considerable distance, so you opted to simply mutter a curse under your breath and continue on your way.

The thief was going to be disappointed when he sees its contents anyway, and you weren't going to run in heels for lipstick, a crumpled five dollar bill and your student ID.

Although it wasn't a particularly shocking event, your mother, with her tendency toward overprotectiveness, was convinced that this event had irreversibly scarred you. As a result, she decided to ask her best friend, Natasha Romanoff, to teach you self-defense classes.

From the beginning, you made clear your disinterest in attending. You arrived intentionally late for every session, and at the redhead's scoldings, you would simply roll your eyes and dismiss her words with disdain. During training, you often interrupted her instructions with snide remarks, and refused to follow her directions, preferring to improvise moves that lacked technique. There was something magnetic in her determination and in the way her green eyes flashed with frustration that made you purposefully act even more insufferable than usual. You loved to see it.

During lessons, there were times when she would restrain you from behind so that you would repeat the technique she had taught you, and you could feel a bulge in her pants rubbing against your ass. It was such a yearning feeling, that you would pretend to do it all wrong, so that she would make you repeat it, and in that way, prolong the contact.

"Your mom just wants to protect you, you know?" Natasha remarked, once another not-so-successful session was over.

You were so exhausted, you preferred to sit on the floor with your legs crossed rather than even get up to help Natasha put the equipment away.

"Come on," you scoffed from your spot. "The thief barely touched me. He just took my handpurse and left."

"Fortunately," Natasha replied. "Imagine if he'd had a knife, or worse, a gun. Imagine if you had been alone, at night."

She took your silence as if you didn't really care to understand your mother's point of view, but in reality, you were reflecting. She just wanted you to know how to take care of yourself, in case something worse than that happened. And Natasha had been so nice and patient to you.

But before you could respond, she spoke up, "What am I bothering to convince you for? You probably are so selfish, that you'd let someone stab you just to worry your poor mother."

You weren't sure if her words had hurt or offended you, as perhaps you had taken your attitude to such an extreme that you had actually caused her to have a twisted perception of you. It was true that you possessed certain difficult qualities, but you were not evil. Sometimes you simply felt that your mother's overprotection was excessive, and that made you more irritable than usual.

What you said next was the result of not having slept at all the night before, for you had been studying intensely for an exam. Despite all the sleeplessness, you didn't manage to answer it as you expected, leaving many questions blank. All that you had accumulated, added to her hurtful words, led you to say the following...

"And you probably have a tiny dick," you snapped. "And maybe that's why you're bitter and miserable, because no one wants you."

Natasha was silent for a moment, too peacefully that it was scary, but her intense, darkened eyes were the only thing that allowed you to realize that she was indeed impacted by your words.

"Dare to say that again?" She challenged you, the tension in the atmosphere becoming more palpable every second.

"No one wants a woman with a small dick," you crossed your arms over your chest, arching your eyebrow in that defiant manner she was already more than sick of.

Natasha began to laugh, but it wasn't the sarcastic kind of laugh, no, it was one that was beginning to terrify you and hindering your ability to maintain your composure.

Natasha approached you with firm steps, her commanding presence filling the space between you both. She was so close that you could watch her green orbes, deep and piercing, burning with such intensity that you felt that at any moment, she was going to set the whole room on fire.

She simply pulled down her pants and boxers at the same time, at the level of her thighs, and seeing the massive size of her member, made you swallow your words.

"Is this a small dick for you?" She asked, seemingly satisfied at your shocked expression.

And as if the situation wasn't humiliating enough, Natasha used a quick and precise maneuver, where she grabbed your shoulders and, in an instant, had you face down on the floor. She proceeded to restrain your wrists against the small of your back, and by straddling the back of your legs, she prevented any movement from them as well.

"Come on, defend yourself like I taught you," she groaned, pressing you harder against the cold floor.

You tried to free yourself from her grip, but every move you made only brought you more pain, because Natasha, with her keen perception, detected every attempt to escape and prevented it with ease, adjusting her grip to make you feel even more trapped.

The whimpers you emanated were so delightful to her ears, making her cock grow more erect. She didn't know who was suffering the most, whether she for not filling your bratty hole right there, or you, who were being physically and verbally degraded.

"That's what I thought," she chuckled, grabbing the shaft of her cock and smacking it softly against your covered ass.

With one hand, albeit clumsily, she managed to pull down your pants and panties just like she did a few moments ago, and released your wrists so that, with her two hands, she held your waist and positioned you on all fours so firmly that you felt as if you had no control over your own body.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you pretend to be dumber than you are, just to feel my cock against you," she remarked. Obviously, she was able to understand the workings of incredibly complex, criminal and dangerous minds, how could she not detect yours? A clueless, spoiled, college student. "You probably said that just so you could see it, hm? So desperate for Daddy's cock."

But it was very double standards on her part, calling you desperate when she always ended up in the training facility bathrooms after you left, grunting your name between longing gasps as she pleasured herself.

She ran the tip over your awaiting hole, but as she noticed how it contracted in anticipation, almost imploring to be filled, the last ounce of reason left her body, letting her full length inside you. And better than she had imagined, your warm, wet pussy welcomed her deliciously.

In unison, you let out a prolongued moan of pleasure, both of you mitigating that unspoken desire that had become so unbearable.

Her movements began slow and safe, intending to feel for as long as possible how tight you felt around her, and to hear those low moans you vocalized every time she entered and exited you, complemented by the sloshing sound your hole made in consequence.

But that same action was what provoked her breath to quicken, and along with it, her rythm. Her hips were working overtime to match her cock's desperate needs, but it was impossible when said needs increased every passing second with the way you were whimpering, now high pitched and more frequent.

"Can a small dick fill your hole this good, hm?" She groaned, tilting her head back as she felt her climax approaching.

"No! No!" You cried out, and just like her, you could feel it coming. Your head was growing fuzzy for the pleasure altering every fiber of your being, like the most powerful drug ever made. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I lied! I love your big, fat cock! Please!"

She swore to herself that she was going to be strong and proud enough to stop when you admitted it, having already achieved her goal, but your words made her cum involuntarily erupt inside of you.

That sensation of being completely filled with her seed made your orgasm follow hers a little later, yours and her release leaving her cock shiny and dripping with your mixed juices.

Natasha was aware that even the most intense masturbation would not match how wonderfully your pussy embraced her cock, and how mesmerizing was the sight of your ass bouncing whenever your bodies clashed together.

Imagination was not going to overcome reality, in this case.

So she preferred, just this once, not to be frustrated by her loss of control.

[marvelfilth]

Torn (18+)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader, Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Warnings: set during AoA, kryptonian!reader, love triangle, established Natasha x reader - fwb situation, somewhat toxic!Natasha, smut, violence, jealousy

Summary: after your home planet is destroyed, you find a new home in Asgard, but when your brother brings you along to Earth, you find more trouble than you expected.

Masterlist

"F-fuck, Y/n. Right there… Yes." The woman below you pants in your ear, nails scraping down your back to grip your butt possessively.

Your hips move faster, deeper with each thrust, making her moan. "You could've told me you were coming back today," you grunt.

She digs her nails into your skin and you hiss in annoyance, slapping her inner thigh. "Do that one more time and I'm not fucking you for a week."

The spy lets out a throaty laugh that turns into a scream when your thrusts suddenly become harsh and uncoordinated, your hands pressing down her hips. Her tits bounce with each push, her perky nipples begging for attention. You look up to her tear stricken face, enjoying the sight of her reddened cheeks and bleeding lips.

"It was- fuck… u-undercover," she's breathless, stuttering, "... secret," she manages at last, pulling your face down to her breasts, knowing you still have something to say.

You're annoyed and maybe a little bit hurt, but you still let her guide you, eagerly sucking on the tender skin, grazing her nipples with your teeth.

Maybe she'll finally agree to talk to you after.

She comes with a stifled cry, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and gets up as soon as her body stops shaking.

You have a lot of things to say, but your mouth is suddenly too dry and your throat too hoarse, so you sit on the edge of your bed and watch her dress.

"Thank you," she kisses you on the corner of your mouth, lingering, nose nuzzling against yours when she pulls away.

She looks reluctant to leave and you hope she doesn't.

The door clicks shut on her way out.

×××

"No daydreaming on the mission briefings." Clint snaps his fingers in front of your face, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blink, eyes refocusing to see everyone staring at you in question.

"What?" You ask, shifting in your seat.

"Stark wants to know if you like your new suit," Natasha asks with a smirk on her face.

You look up at the screen in front of the room and there it is - yet another heavily modified piece of clothing you undoubtedly going to destroy on your next mission.

You can admit it looks better than the previous one, the red is much deeper and the blue is not as obnoxious, but they still clash, not coming together as seamlessly as the one you wore back home, but that's the best Stark can offer and you're thankful he's even trying, so you nod in appreciation and send him a grateful smile.

"Think this one will fall apart mid flight?" Thor teases, reminding you of one of your most embarrassing moments.

It happened when you first joined the team. Tony made you wear a suit he made, claiming it was good to match with the team, so you've listened to make him happy and fit in better. It's a good thing you wore your underwear from Asgard that day.

"Now that it's settled we should move on to the purpose of this briefing," Steve waited until he had everyone's attention before continuing, "now that Thor is finally here we can finally take back the Scepter…" he continues with the details and you easily tune him out, focusing on the redhead woman across from you instead.

The corner of her lip is still quirked up, her eyes trained on Steve as he gestures to the map on the screen behind him. You look down at your hands on the table, fiddling with your thumbs.

You wish you were better at reading humans.

“You okay?” Clint leans into your side to whisper discreetly.

You nod, managing a convincing smile. “Didn't get much sleep is all.”

He glances at Natasha not so subtly, his brows furrowing. You think he's the only one who knows about the two of you, or, at least, he suspects.

“You know what you're doing, right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, not knowing at all.

×××

You're hovering over the base, looking through the walls for Scepter, when you first see her.

The girl looks about your age, you think, maybe a little younger, and she is busy talking to a silver haired man. They look too out of place, dressed like high schoolers and unbothered by the attack. You frown when the girl whispers a quiet "take care of the big guy" to the boy, your mouth dropping open in shock when he runs almost fast enough to go unnoticed by you. Almost.

Deciding it's your time to intervene you warn the team before landing in front of the back entrance, eyes trained on the girl behind the door. You don't know what she's capable of and you find yourself intrigued. The door opens with a squeak and you wince, mutterings a curse under your breath.

She's out of sight by the time you enter, but you can still hear her erratic heartbeat.

"Come out," you say, tilting your head to the right. You heard enough to know she's hiding in the shadow.

You hear her gulp before she steps into your field of view, her shoulder grazing yours as she comes to stand in front of you.

She is beautiful, you think, taking note of redness in her pupils.

"You know who we are," you wait for her to nod before continuing, "you can come with me." You offer your hand, palm up, and wait for her to decide.

She scoffs and her eyes turn redder. "What makes you think I want to?" There's red around her fingers now and you find yourself curious to find out what she can do.

You smile. "You will come with us one way or another. I'd prefer not to hurt you."

You realise your mistake as soon as the words leave your mouth.

Suddenly, there's red everywhere and you're out of the building, flying through the door to the other end of the backyard. You feel a pressing weight on your chest, and when you look down you see red wisps enveloping your body, keeping you pinned to the ground.

You look up when a shadow falls on your face.

She crouches with a smirk planted on her smug face, and moves your hair out of your face. "You can come with me," she offers, mirth in her eyes and you let out a breathless laugh, closing your eyes and tilting your head back.

"I'm afraid I have to say no," you whisper after a moment, strangely content at the mercy of your enemy.

She hums, waving her hand over you and you feel the weight disappear.

When you open your eyes she's no longer there.

×××

"You just let her go?" Natasha asks later that night, her head nestled on your chest after hours of hiding her moans in a pillow as you pounded into her.

You snort. "She's a witch, Nat, I don't think I can keep up with magic."

She lifts her head to look at you, eyes searching for something you're not even aware of. "You're the fastest person on this planet. Faster than her brother, and certainly faster than her."

You look away, closing your eyes in embarrassment. You didn't even think about your speed when you faced the witch.

You feel her get up from bed, and you open your eyes, reaching for her, "Natasha- " Her eyes flash, and you close your mouth.

She shakes her head. "She distracted you. And you let her go," she huffs and bends down to pick up her panties.

You get up and catch her wrist. "Can you tell me what's going on?" You ask, searching her eyes for an answer, but you're an alien and she's the best spy in the world so you're left even more confused.

She opens her mouth for a split second before snapping it shut. She pulls away and puts on a shirt before finally speaking, "I saw the footage."

You frown.

"Didn't know it only takes a little flirting and a pretty face to make you let an enemy go," she hisses through clenched teeth.

Your mouth drops open in shock.

"Are you-" you let out a breathless chuckle at the mere thought before finally getting yourself together, "are you jealous?"

You can hear her jaw grinding, can hear her nails dig into the soft skin of her palm.

And yet, you still can't believe what she just said.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, Natasha," you say, and a split second later you're dressed and out in the nearby field, searing up towards the sky.

You don't see her falling back into the pillow you layed on mere seconds ago, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

×××

There's a party the next day, and a part of you just wants to hop in your pod and disappear in the depths of space.

Another part of you wants to see Natasha happy and content, basking in the warmth of your arms. You know she'll never allow anyone to know about the two of you, but still, hope blossoms in your chest when you first see her go down the stairs. She moves right past you towards the bar, and you see Banner approach her with a nervous smile. His flirting is awkward and you pity the man, awaiting Natasha's response.

She flirts back.

"So… You and Romanoff?" Steve comes to stand beside you, smiling his fatherly smile, and you fight the urge to run away.

"You should tell her," he presses on, "she's not the most open person in the world, but from what I know about her, I think… there's a good chance for the two of you to be happy."

You've told her.

She doesn't like you back.

You shoot him a quick, awkward smile. "I'll think about it."

He nods, satisfied and walks up to the pair, his eyes widening when he overhears the last bit of their conversation. He winces and looks back at you, knowing you probably heard it all by now.

You shake your head at the concerned look he sends your way, and walk to sit on the couch, closing your eyes for a moment, letting your hearing go wild, listening in on an argument on the other side of the city, anything to remove yourself from this situation. The argument doesn't last too long, the engaged pair making up not even ten minutes later and you move your attention back to the party.

When you open your eyes Thor is sitting beside you, daring Clint to pick up his hammer. You sit up straighter, curious to see where it might go.

"Everyone knows it's some kind of a trick." His fingers wrap around the handle, but the hammer doesn't move an inch, much to the archers embarrassment.

Tony appears seemingly out of nowhere to make fun of Barton and you join in on the laughter, enjoying the rare moment of happiness, momentarily forgetting about your not so fun predicament.

Thor winks at you, enjoying this way more than he probably should, and hands you a bottle of Asgardian beer.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Natasha join your little game, Steve hot on her heels. She looks a little out of place, eyes laced with uncertainty when she sees an empty spot by your side. With a slight push from Steve she sits, careful not to touch you.

Banner is left standing a few feet away.

"It's simple physics," Tony grins, attempting to lift the weapon. His eyes narrow when it stays in its spot.

You rub your eyes when he decides to embarrass himself even further, calling Rhodes for backup and putting on his suit. The ridiculous game goes on, and Steve decides to try, you don't bother to watch, but then you hear metal scraping against the fine wood of the coffee table. Your head snaps up to look at Thor and immediately you know he heard it too, his eyes going comically wide for a split second before closing in relief when Steve doesn't pull harder, letting the hammer stay in its place.

"Natasha?" Banner nudges the redhead.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your bear. You want to go and finish the drink in the solitary of your room, maybe let out a few tears, but you promised Thor you'd stay until the very end, knowing he's set to leave in a few short days.

"I don't want to know the answer to that question," she says before taking a sip of her beer.

"Y/n?" Thor invites you to try, but you shake your head no, an excuse already on your tongue when you first hear it.

The screeching is loud enough to hurt humans, but to your enhanced hearing it's pure torture. You fall to the floor, covering your ears, letting out a silent cry and Natasha is by your side immediately, pressing you into her side, trying to ground your hearing. You hiss in pain, your head feels like it's being slit open, and you think Natasha is saying something, but you can't focus on a single thing.

The next second you feel her lips against yours and the sound is gone, replaced by Natashas frantic heartbeat.

"Focus on me, baby, come on," Natasha whispers against your lips, words barely audible. You nod, trying to regain your senses.

Her kisses move lower to your chin, then to your jaw, her fingers skimping under the hem of your shirt, setting the skin of your lower stomach on fire.

"Stay with me, baby," she mumbles in your ear.

There's a fight going on around you, robots flying around destroying everything in sight, but the only thing you see is Natasha's glistening eyes as she pulls away to check on you.

Then she's pulling you up and out of the room, narrowly missing a piece of metal flying her way, your eyes flicker around and you stop in your tracks, ready to join the fight and end it in seconds, but then there's a tug on your hand.

"They'll handle it. Let me take care of you."

You nod, feeling hope blossom in your chest.

Maybe Steve's right.

×××

They handled it and now you're off to Africa, getting ready to fight a villainous robot made of vibranium. The jet is weirdly silent - Tony's sulking in the corner, unusually quiet, Steve stares him down from his seat, jaw grinding in annoyance and you wonder what happened after Natasha led you to her room. You tried to pry away, ready to run back and join on the planning, but she didn't budge, staring you down until you relented and fell against the sheets, her fingers making quick works of your belt buckle.

Now though, she's back to acting like she doesn't care, her eyes trained on the skyline and you can't even pretend you aren't hurt.

"We are close," you warn the team, already searching for the target. Your eyes lock on the pair talking to Ultron. "The twins are there, on the second floor, talking to Ultron. We need to hurry."

Natasha looks at you for the first time since you boarded the jet. "Stay away from the witch. We'll handle her."

You scoff at her tone, mildly pissed at her bossing you around. "You're ordering me around now?" you force through gritted teeth.

Her eyes narrow and she looks like she wants to say more, but Tony pushes her out of the way to jump out of the jet, Thor and Steve following right behind him, and she's left glaring daggers at your back as you hurry along.

You look for the witch the moment you land.

She's easy to find, hiding in the shadows, waiting for a perfect moment to strike, while her brother runs around wrecking havoc.

"Little witch," you call out, startling her enough to make her jump up.

Her eyes flash in annoyance, but the second she sees it's you her lips stretch in a one sided smile. "I have a name, you know."

You nod, your lips stretching into a full blown grin. You remember how your last conversation ended, but you don't care much about the possibility of her hurting you.

"I won't," she says, like she just read your mind.

You suppose she might have, she is a witch after all.

She shakes her head, letting out a huff of laughter, "There's a lot of things I can do," her eyes flash dangerously, her smile now with a hint of malice, "make sure not to cross me." She winks and turns just in time to step out of her brother's way.

You blink, cursing yourself for getting so distracted again, and dart after her brother. It is an easy ordeal, and mere seconds later you have him pinned to the ground.

"You really should let me go," he grunts against the concrete, wiggling against your hold.

"I am an alien, not an idiot," you scoff, easing your hold on him just a little.

He stills for a moment, craning his neck to take a look at you, "An alien?"

His eyes are full of wonder, and suddenly you're reminded that the two of them are young, the same age you were when you first stepped foot on Earth.

You sigh, looking around for a cage of some sort or a piece of metal to bend around the runner.

"Why are you helping them?" He asks, wonder replaced by anger. "Do you know what he did?"

There it is. An old basement with a bulletproof door.

"Making a bomb and launching it at civilians are two very different things, you know?" You quip and his eyes flash in indignation, but before he can start his rant you push him inside, locking the door and bending the metal for a good measure.

"He did some shitty things in the past, but at least he never joined the Nazis."

You walk away, painfully aware of the truth in your words. Now that you've said it out loud you're faced with the fact that the witch you've grown to like just after two short interactions is not a good person.

Shaking your head you make your way up, one down, two to go. You squint in the dark, trying to spot Ultron, but he's nowhere to be found and neither is Tony, so you mentally brace yourself to face the witch again, but the second you step on the landing you see Thor's slumped form.

"Hey!" You shake his shoulders and slap his face for good measure and his eyes open. He's blinking rapidly, like he just woke up from a long nap, his eyes glossed over.

"Y/n!" He whispers feverishly, and pulls you in a bone crushing hug. "You're okay, of course you're okay. That witch. She warped my mind," he pants, pushing you away, "You need to make sure everyone else is okay."

You look him over, and once you're sure he's not hurt you nod, pulling him up to his feet, and take off in the direction of Natasha's heartbeat.

You stop in your tracks as soon as your eyes fall on the trembling woman. Tears stream down her face, but her eyes are focused on the floor, unblinking. She doesn't move when Clint presses her into his side, doesn't flinch when he hauls her up to her feet, but when her eyes register you she jumps as if burned, clutching at Clint.

You take a step closer, your own eyes watering, but she looks like she might throw up if you move any closer.

Clint sends you a look and shakes his head, mouthing, "I've got her."

She limps past you, shaking so violently you're sure even a human can notice.

They move past you and suddenly all you see is red.

Moving faster than the speed of light you have the witch pressed against the wall, her fingers clutched in your vice grip.

She looks up, her eyes wide and terrified.

Good, you think.

"What did you do to her?" You growl in her face, pushing her into the wall with your whole body.

No way you'll let her escape this time.

Her throat constricts. "I- Her biggest fear. I showed her her biggest fear." She sinks her body against the wall, trying to wrangle her hands out of your grip. Her heart is thrumming violently and you can't tell if the tiny skip of a beat is a result of her fear or her lie.

"She'll be fine in a few hours, I swear." Her eyes lock with yours, so unbelievably green, and you feel yourself slipping away. "Just let me go," she asks, pushing her body forwards, her fingers slipping away from your hold. Her face tilts forward until your lips are almost touching. “Let me go,” she whispers. You don't see the wisps of her magic swirl around her fingers, too focused on the way her lips move. Too many thoughts swarm your brain, but you find yourself focusing on one. You want her to close the gap.

"That's right, you want me to kiss you." Her lips almost brush against yours in a gentle peck. Your grip on her weakens completely and you're enveloped in her arms. Suddenly, she's everywhere. In your arms, in your head, in your heart. "I'm sorry about this," she whispers before pushing you off the ledge.

There's red everywhere and you find yourself falling and falling…

…and falling until your back hits the ground with a painful thud.

"Y/n! Get up. Come on." Your father helps you up, tilting your head to check the injury, but you can't focus on his face, all you can see is purple.

The planet under your feet rumbles, splitting open yet again, making your father forget about tending to your bloodied forehead in favor of hauling you up over his shoulder.

"No." You push against his shoulders when you finally realize where he's taking you. "No! I'm staying with you," you cry out, wiping the tears out of your eyes.

The sight in front of you is a nightmare. A sick, deranged nightmare. You can see the man responsible for this hold up the purple stone higher in the air, another powerful wave destroying everything in its wake.

"We have to fight, dad! We have to stop him! What about mom?!" You scream until your throat hurts, but your father doesn't budge, pushing you through double doors leading to the pods.

"We will fight," he promises, putting you down. "But you… you're destined for greatness, my child. You can't die fighting a losing battle." He places a kiss on your temple, pushing a syringe into your side.

You stare at him in betrayal, fighting against him with all your might, but your limbs get too heavy and your eyes start closing on their own.

You're pushed in the pod and your father types coordinates for Asgard. "They'll treat you as their own," he chokes, trying to fight tears, "I love you, my sweet girl."

"Y/n!"

You sit up, gasping for breath, eyes darting around the room.

"Y/n, a little help!"

Tony's voice sounds from your comms and you shudder.

"I can't-" you sob, looking around you, searching for the witch, but she's long gone, and all you can do is sit in the dark and hope someone will come and get you.

"I don't know what you saw there, kid, but our green friend might chew me up any second now. I really need you," he pleads.

Your hands shake and your legs tremble as you stand up, forcing the memory to the back of your mind. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall and tear through the roof, unaware of a pair of eyes watching you leave.