#Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvrgrl07 · 19 hours ago

Text

I’ve been so scarred by avengers angst that I definitely thought y/n was dying on that mission and they’d never talk it out😭

This was so cutie patootie I loved it

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head.

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him.

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing.

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air.

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply.

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller.

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha.

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug.

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago.

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa.

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you.

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek.

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure.

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room.

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief.

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes.

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency.

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless.

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair.

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels.

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you.

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin.

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand.

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you.

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly.

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open.

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there.

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place.

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind.

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt.

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization.

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible.

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway.

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder.

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel.

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again.

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates.

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line.

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze.

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly.

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #fic rec #fic recommendation #marvel fic rec

1K notes · View notes

bellamyarcade · 6 days ago

Text

C/W: implied smut, bits of fluff, no use of y/n.

WORD COUNT: 0.3k

NOTES: I have never kissed a girl before either, but I’d probably like it just as much TBH.

SEE THE “IMPLICATIONS” COLLECTION

KISS — Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” Natasha tells you with an almost imperceptible quirk of her lips. You smirk back, allowing her to press you up against the wall.

“Oh yeah?” You taunt, listening to the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer from down the hall. A few more seconds and your cover will be blown.

“Yeah,” she nods, leaning in closer, her hair spilling around your face like a curtain of fire, “Ever kissed a girl before?”

“You wouldn’t be my first,” you lie.

Natasha only hums briefly in mock disappointment, seeing right through you. But there’s no more time for games and she swoops in, her lips parting just a touch before they brush yours.

The first caress is electric, and you both feel it as your eyes lock. You grab the back of her neck and pull her in again, your lips meeting more desperately this time. You shudder against her shapely curves as her tongue sweeps into your mouth, when you feel her hand exploring between your bodies, nimble fingers slipping further and further south.

A groan reverberates from the back of her throat when she finds what she’s looking for.

The security guard rounds the corner and finds the pair of you like that, bodies pressed together, her hand between your legs, and your lips kissed swollen.

Natasha takes her time pulling back, levelling him with a dangerous look in her cat-like eyes, “Do you mind? Trying to show my girl a good time here.”

The poor guy apologizes profusely, red in the face as he turns and retreats in the other direction.

But she never withdraws her hand. Instead, she unfurls a full-on smile, relishing the way your breath hitches when she starts moving her fingers over the thin material of your tac-suit.

“Bet I’ll be the first one to kiss you here, though?”

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x f!reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff drabble #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x female reader #by bellamyarcade

103 notes · View notes

screaminglygay · 18 days ago

Text

No way back

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

summary: you and natasha joined S.H.I.E.L.D. at the same time, but you're the only one who feels truly at home. while you find your footing, natasha struggles with the unfamiliarity of it all - new people, new rules, and the overwhelming sense that she doesn’t quite belong, but you try your best to make her feel like she´s at home

warnings: slow burn, teasing, kissing, fighting, swearing, light angst, overthinking, Natasha feeling out of place, mentions of a brother's passing, emotional vulnerability

word count: 9.6k

an: thank you for the request!! i had fun writing it, once again sorry it took me forever, the next two parts will be even more angsty!!

part one I part two I part three

The air in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility was thick with unspoken words. Conversations lowered to hushed tones whenever she walked past. The few who didn’t bother whispering let their disapproval show in glances, in the way their shoulders stiffened when she entered a room.

Natasha Romanoff was used to isolation. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just suspicion, it was hatred.

The KGB had collapsed, and the Red Room along with it. She was one of the lucky few who got a second chance, but the agents here didn’t see it that way. To them, she wasn’t just a recruit, she was an enemy, a traitor, a remnant of something they wanted erased. They didn’t see a woman trying to rebuild herself, only the ghost of something they despised.

And yet, there was you.

Bright-eyed and eager, just another fresh recruit with no bloodstained history weighing you down. You weren’t a Widow. You weren’t special. But you were kind. And unlike everyone else, you didn’t look at her like she was something vile.

Natasha noticed it from the start, the way your gaze didn’t linger with wariness, the way your voice didn’t lower when she was near. And when she entered the training room that afternoon, she noticed you again.

The training mats were filled with recruits testing their combat skills. You were off to the side, holding pads for another agent, excitement lighting up your features as you explained something with your hands moving animatedly.

Natasha didn’t care for small talk, but something about the way you smiled… so open, so easy, made her pause.

Moments later, she was called up for testing. Evaluating abilities, strengths, weaknesses. Seeing where she fit. She knew how they expected her to perform, like a ruthless machine. So she did. She made quick work of her opponents, every strike precise, efficient. No wasted movement. No hesitation. When she finally stepped off the mat, there was silence. Not admiration, not respect, just discomfort. A reminder that she wasn’t one of them.

And then you spoke.

"That was insane." Your voice cut through the tension, bright and impressed, not a hint of unease. "How the hell did you move like that?"

Natasha blinked. People didn’t usually direct questions at her unless they had to.

You took her silence as an invitation to continue, unfazed. "I mean, I know it’s years of training and all, but-" you gestured vaguely, still catching your breath from your own sparring match. "That was like some ninja stuff ."

She just stared, unsure what to do with the unexpected enthusiasm directed her way. You were still looking at her, waiting, expecting an answer. No hostility, no apprehension.

She exhaled sharply. "Practice."

You grinned. "Yeah? Guess I should be practicing a hell of a lot more, then." You chuckle. You are not a bad at this, no. You are fast and quick, but these moves, that Natasha made… they were something else.

Natasha almost smirked, but before she could respond, your instructor called for a break. The recruits scattered, finding their usual groups.

She didn’t have one. She was used to sitting alone. It didn’t bother her.

But then-

"Hey, uh, you good?" Your voice again. You were standing in front of her now, holding two water bottles, offering one out. "You kinda just wrecked everyone, figured you might need this."

She eyed the bottle warily before taking it. "Thanks."

You sat down beside her without invitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Natasha waited for the hesitation, the awkward excuse to leave, but it didn’t come.

After many days of training, it became more harsher and more exhausting, you knew it was S.H.I.E.L.D. testing you, trying to sort just the best one, but it was a lot, but not for her, at least it didn´t look like it.

Natasha sat in the corner of the training room, carefully adjusting the bandages wrapped around her hand. It wasn’t a bad injury, just a scrape from earlier drills, but the fabric had stuck to the wound. She barely reacted to the discomfort, her expression cold as ever.

You noticed, though. "Hey, looks like that’s stuck. You need help?" you asked, crouching beside her.

Natasha didn’t even look up. "No."

You grinned, undeterred. "I wasn’t really asking." Before she could pull away, you were already untying the bandages with quick, precise fingers. The fabric peeled away from her skin, and Natasha finally looked at you, her sharp green eyes studying you, not with anger, but with something closer to surprise. She didn’t say anything. Just watched.

"There," you said, satisfied. "That’s better, right?"

Natasha flexed her fingers slightly, testing. "I suppose."

You took that as a win.

From that moment, you made it your mission to include Natasha, whether she wanted it or not. It wasn’t hard, everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. liked you. You were warm, helpful, and easy to talk to. Even the most hardened agents softened in your presence. But when it came to Natasha, people kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones when she passed by, leaving her to sit alone during briefings.

You weren’t having it.

Every conversation, every briefing, every group training, if you were there, you made sure Natasha was a part of it. When you laughed at a joke, you turned to see if she was listening. When you partnered up for drills, you dragged her into the mix. If she tried to stay in the background, you pulled her forward. At first, people didn’t know what to do with it. Some just stared. Some whispered. But you? You smiled at Natasha like she was just another teammate, not the ex-KGB assassin everyone was afraid of. And eventually, even if she didn’t say it, you could tell, she appraciated it.

She appraciate you.

You weren’t exactly sure when things started to shift. Maybe it was during that one mission, the first time you and Natasha had to rely on each other for real. A simple recon op that went sideways, forcing you and her to fight back-to-back. It was the first time she saw you as more than just the kind recruit who wouldn’t leave her alone. The first time she saw that you could handle yourself.

By the time you both got back to base, bruised but victorious, something had changed. It wasn’t big, not yet. Just small moments.

The way Natasha sat closer during briefings, the way her gaze lingered when you spoke. Like she was watching, waiting, trying to figure you out.

So you decided to push things a little further, trying to make her feel more… comfortable and safe. Make her feel more like she belongs here.

"Come with me," you said one evening, right after dinner.

Natasha raised a brow. "Where?"

"The shooting range." You said simply.

She studied you for a long moment. "At this hour? There won’t be anyone else."

"Nope," you grinned. "Just us. I wanted to see the real things you can do with a gun. And I want you to teach me."

Natasha folded her arms, the corner of her lips twitching. "You don’t think it’s- "

"Scary?" you interrupted. "No. Badass? Yup."

She blinked, surprised, before shaking her head with something dangerously close to amusement. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re avoiding the question." You smiled at her, knowing she will say yes, but won´t go down without looking like a scary person.

Which is funny, because not even after bunch of stories you heard, not a single time did you think she was scary. Interesting and strong, definetly, but never scary.

Natasha sighed, but there was no real resistance. She stood up, rolling her shoulders. "Fine. But don’t embarrass yourself."

You grinned. "No promises."

The range was quiet at night, the fluorescent lights casting a cool glow over the empty stalls. You handed Natasha a pistol, watching as she inspected it with the kind of precision that could only come from years of training.

"So, what do you wanna learn?" she asked, slipping into that calm, focused state that made her so lethal in the field.

You thought about it for a second. "Everything."

Natasha let out a short laugh, a real one. "That’s ambitious."

"You´re good with guns, so…"

Her expression faltered, just for a second. She wasn’t used to compliments. Not the genuine kind. But she recovered quickly, loading the gun and placing it in your hands.

"Alright then," she murmured, stepping behind you. "Let’s start with your grip."

Her hands covered yours, adjusting your fingers, pressing against your back to fix your stance. Her touch was careful but firm, her voice smooth as she explained each movement. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth of her body so close or the sheer focus in her tone, but your pulse quickened.

And when you fired the first shot, dead center on the target, you swore you heard a quiet hum of approval.

"Not bad," Natasha admitted.

You smirked. "Told you I wouldn’t embarrass myself. But why is the grip so important? It´s just the shot, no?"

She rolled her eyes, but this time, she didn’t pull away so fast. "Is your gun loaded?"

"No. I had only one bullet in-" before you could finish that sentence, Natasha not so harshly bumped into your wrist and the gun you were holding fell easily down. "Oh… I see now." You turned your head so you can look at her, you smiled a bit, even though you can feel your heart in your throat.

After that bonding the smiles started. They weren’t much at first - hesitant, uncertain - but they were there. Agents who once ignored her were now nodding in acknowledgment. Some even started greeting her by name. It wasn’t lost on Natasha that this shift had everything to do with you.

You had always been easy to like, weaving yourself effortlessly into the cracks of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cold walls. You helped agents with their reports, sparred with them without making it a competition, and always - always - made sure Natasha was included.

At first, people didn’t know how to react. They weren’t sure if you were just being polite or if you really meant it. But then, in the middle of a late-night training session, you made sure to give Natasha the credit, she didn´t think was even there.

"Damn, how did you pull that off?" one of the agents asked after you had effortlessly flipped them onto the mat.

You grinned, wiping sweat from your forehead. "Natasha taught me." Silence. A few skeptical glances were exchanged. "…Romanoff?" someone finally muttered.

"Yeah," you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

For a moment, no one knew what to say. But then, one of the agents turned to Natasha, hesitant but genuinely curious. "Wait… you actualy train others?"

Natasha, who had been leaning against the wall watching the interaction unfold, tilted her head slightly. "When I feel like it."

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t listen to her. She does and she’s actually great at it."

A few agents exchanged glances before someone hesitantly asked, "Can you show us?"

Natasha hesitated. It wasn’t fear. It was just… unfamiliar. People looking at her with interest instead of distrust.

You gave her a little nudge. "C’mon, show off a little." And once again you chuckle, pushing Natasha´s buttons a bit more. Making her open more and show others, that she´s not so cold and scary looking lady.

A beat passed. Then, Natasha sighed and stepped forward. "Fine."

That was the moment everything truly changed. The next few weeks, more agents started joining in. What started as casual observations turned into genuine respect. They saw how skilled she was, how efficient her movements were.

"Oh my god, who taught you that?" someone asked you after another sparring session.

"Natasha did," you answered with a smirk.

And instead of the usual shock or discomfort, the response was different this time. "Damn," one agent muttered. "She’s really good."

"She really is," another admitted.

It was subtle, but Natasha noticed it. The way people started sitting next to her in meetings. The way conversations didn’t immediately die when she entered a room. The way people started listening. For the first time since joining S.H.I.E.L.D., she didn’t feel like an outsider, at least not that much, she felt like this could really be a new beggining for her.

As the days comes by Natasha finally catch you after a training, finally being able to talk to you properly. The gym was empty now, except for the two of you. Sweat clung to your skin, muscles sore from sparring, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave today. Natasha had been improving fast, not just physically, but in how she carried herself around the others. She was more comfortable now, less guarded. It was something you had noticed gradually, and honestly, you were proud of her.

That’s why it caught you off guard when she suddenly said, "Thanks."

You blinked. "For what?"

Natasha exhaled, running a hand through her damp hair before leaning against the wall. "For making me look friendly. Helping me fit in."

You shook your head with a small smile. "Zero idea what you’re talking about."

She shot you a dry look. "Oh, shut up."

You chuckled. "That was all you, Nat. They just needed a little push. So did you."

Natasha didn’t argue with that. She let the words settle between you before glancing down at her hands, quiet for a long moment. Then, almost hesitantly, she said, "I don’t blame them, you know."

You frowned at her, letting her speak.

"The others. For being wary of me." She sighed. "I was trained in the Red Room. Worked for the KGB. I know what people like me have done." She hesitated, then her voice dropped slightly. "I know what I’ve done, I know who I am..."

She didn’t say it, but you heard the word she left unsaid.

Monster.

Your chest ached for her.

"We all make mistakes," you said softly. "But you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? You want to change. To do something good. What happened… happened. You can’t change the past, but you can choose who you want to be."

Natasha let out a breath, something shifting in her expression. "You ate a wisdom, hm?" she muttered.

You grinned, "that’s my daily bread."

A small chuckle escaped her lips, quiet but real. It was rare to hear her laugh, but when she did, it was worth it.

After that, things between you and Natasha just… clicked. Wherever she was, you weren’t far behind. And wherever you were, she was right there with you. People started joking about it. "If we need to find Romanoff, just look for (Y/N)."

"I swear, they come as a set," another agent laughed at that.

You started doing things together outside of training. Natasha would drag you to the shooting range at odd hours, testing out different weapons while you tried (and often failed) to match her skill. In return, you convinced her to join you in normal, non-mission-related activities - grabbing coffee, watching movies, playing pool in the rec room.

And then there were the missions. You worked better together than anyone expected. It was seamless, almost instinctive. The way you covered each other’s backs, how one glance was enough to understand what the other was thinking. You weren’t just teammates. You were a duo.

Time goes by, and it was the one-year celebration of you being in S.H.I.E.L.D. The same goes for Natasha. The party was in full swing, the usually serious S.H.I.E.L.D agents actually let loose, drinks in hand, music a little too loud for a facility, and even the higher-ups seem to have abandoned their usual stiff posture. For once, the atmosphere was light, warm. You had a good time, chatting with everyone, laughing at dumb jokes, even letting yourself get a little tipsy.

But even you had limits, your social battery is wearing thin, and the heat of the crowded room got to you. So, without much thought, you slipped out of the main hall and made your way up the stairs, pushing open the door to the training center’s rooftop. The night air was cool against your skin, refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the party. The city lights stretched out in the distance, flickering like a thousand little stars, and you sighed, leaning against the railing.

Peace. At least for a moment.

Because not long after, the door creaked open again. You didn´t have to turn around to know who it was. Natasha stepped forward, her footsteps light, almost silent. She stopped beside you, resting her arms on the railing. You glanced at her, she looked the same as always, calm, composed.

"You’re not drunk," you observed.

She huffed out something like a chuckle. "Of course not."

"Why? Afraid of letting loose?" you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

She didn´t respond immediately, just watched the city below. Then, with a small shrug, she said, "I grew up in Russia. Tolerance to alcohol is kind of in my blood."

You raised an eyebrow. "Then why you’re not even slightly tipsy?"

"Would take a hell of a lot more than what they’re serving in there," she said, nodding towards the party. "It’s a little pathetic, honestly."

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

"Maybe I should teach you... you look like you would need it," she teased.

"Excuse you, I have some tolerance." You glanced at her, "besides I did have my own growing up experience with drinking."

Natasha looked at you, silent, waiting.

"My brother taught me how to drink," you chuckled, "at least tried to." You exhaled, looking down at your hands. “His names is Thomas.” A pause. “Was.”

She didn´t say anything, but she turned fully toward you, giving you her full attention.

"He was in the Navy," you continued. "One of the best. Smart, strong… better than me in everything, really. But he was also the kind of guy who couldn’t sit back if someone needed help." You took a breath. "There was an accident. A mission gone wrong. He saved his teammate… but he didn’t make it."

You swallowed, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. Even after all this time, it didn´t go away. It´s the alcohol that made your shiny personality, to get a little cloudy.

Natasha was still quiet, but she watched you with something soft in her expression. Understanding.

"That’s why I trained," you said finally. "Why I kept pushing myself. My biggest dream was to work for the CIA, actually." You chuckled, shaking your head. "And I almost made it. Passed all the tests, was about to get in, until a guy with one eye came in and basically stole me."

Natasha’s lips quirked. "Fury?"

You nodded, "Fury."

There was a comfortable silence between you after that. Just the sound of the wind, the faint music from the party below, and the distant hum of the city.

Then, quietly, Natasha said, "I’m sorry about your brother."

You glanced at her, giving her a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Another beat of silence. Then, in a rare, quiet admission, she added, "He sounds like a nice guy."

You chuckled, tilting your head. "He would’ve liked you."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "even though I’m Russian?"

You nudged her shoulder. "Even though you’re Russian." It was very easy to talk to you, to joke with you and to let her guards down, she liked this... she liked spending time with you.

You let out a soft chuckle, leaning your elbows on the railing as you gaze out over the cityscape. The cool night air does little to sober you up, but you didn´t mind the warmth in your cheeks. It was a nice buzz, one that made you loosen up, talk more freely.

"He actually was really into women who could take care of themselves," you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between you and Natasha. "His captain was a woman. I remember how head over heels he was for her… it was crazy. He was thirteen again, having a crush like a little boy."

You laughed at the memory, shaking your head. "I swear, he would talk about her like she walked on water. All serious and professional when she was around, but then the second she left? He’d go on and on about how badass she was."

Natasha chuckled at your rambling, a rare amusement flickering in her expression. You were slightly tipsy, your words a little looser than usual, but she didn´t mind. There was something… nice about it. About you just talking, sharing pieces of your life like they were meant to be told.

She watched as you grin to yourself, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the railing. There was a soft flush to your cheeks, not just from the alcohol, but from the warmth of the memory. It made her hesitate, just for a moment, before she spoke.

"I get it," Natasha finally said, exhaling softly. "Having someone you admire like that."

You glanced at her, intrigued. "Yeah?" And Natasha just hummed.

After few minutes of just silence once again, her gaze fell back on the city. “I had a sister.” A pause. "Have a sister."

Your head tilted slightly, your attention sharpening. "You do?"

Natasha nodded again. "Yelena. She’s younger than me. Stubborn as hell, always had something to prove." A small, almost fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "We grew up together… well, as much as we could. The Red Room didn’t exactly allow for normal childhoods."

You didn´t push, just let her talk, sensing the weight of her words.

"I haven’t seen her in years," Natasha continued, fingers flexing slightly against the railing. "Not since I left." There’s a flicker of something in her expression - guilt, longing. "I don’t even know where she is. If she’s okay. But I still think about her."

You were quiet for a moment, letting her words settle between you. Then, gently, you asked, "What was she like? Back then?"

Natasha exhaled a short laugh. "A menace."

You grined at that. "Sounds about right for a younger sibling."

"She always had this way of getting under my skin," Natasha admited, shaking her head slightly. "Always trying to prove she could be better, faster, stronger. But she was also… kind. Not in the traditional way, but in the way that mattered. She cared… deeply. Even when she tried to hide it."

You watched Natasha’s expression shift, soft in a way you don’t see often. It was different from her usual guarded demeanor, there was something raw in it. Something real.

"I hope she’s okay," Natasha murmured.

You reached out, hesitating for only a second before gently placing your hand on hers. "If she’s anything like you, I’d bet she is."

Natasha looked at you then, her green eyes flickering at your hand on hers, then back at you. But after a moment, she just huffed out a quiet breath, shaking her head. "You’re really bad at this whole tough S.H.I.E.L.D. agent thing, you know?" she said.

You grined, "yeah, well. Someone’s gotta balance you out."

She didn´t argue. Instead, she just let out another soft chuckle, turning her gaze back toward the city. And for a while, the two of you just stayed like that. Side by side, watching the world move below, the weight of past and present settling comfortably between you.

One second, you were just standing there, glancing at Natasha, enjoying her presence - the next, her lips were on yours. Soft. Warm.

A little hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she should be doing this, but then firmer, more certain.

Your breath hitched, heart slamming against your ribs as your brain caught up with what was happening. Natasha Romanoff - Natasha - was kissing you.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, she pulled away, eyes wide, looking more startled than you felt. "Oh, shit," she breathed. "I- I didn’t mean to-"

You blinked at her, still processing, still feeling the ghost of her lips on yours. Butteflies flying everywhere.

"I mean, I did, but I- I don’t know why I-" She took a half-step back, running a hand over her face. "That was- I wasn’t thinking, I just-"

She was spiraling. Natasha Romanoff was spiraling. And honestly? It was kind of adorable.

You grinned, heart still racing, but in the best way. "Nat."

"I shouldn’t have-"

"Natasha."

She shut up, blinking at you.

"Don’t apologize," you said softly, still feeling the warmth of her lips lingering on yours. "That was nice."

She blinked again. "Nice?"

"Very nice." You nodded and as Natasha looked at you fully so she could notice the blush on your cheeks. Knowing very well it wasn´t from the alcohol.

Her brows furrowed, like her brain was still struggling to process the fact that you weren’t mad, weren’t pulling away. "But I just- I didn’t even ask, I just-"

"Yeah, I noticed," you teased, a giddy little laugh bubbling up. "Not that I’m complaining."

Natasha groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is not how I wanted to do this."

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. "Oh? So you wanted to kiss me?"

Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. "I- That’s not- I mean-"

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. A bright, breathless, happy sound.

"I knew it," you teased, poking her arm.

Natasha scowled, but the way her ears were turning pink betrayed her, "you did?"

"Nope, but I wanted you to do it so badly, so… manifestation." You smiled widely at her.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

"And you just kissed me," you pointed out, grinning.

She groaned again, looking up at the sky like it might save her. You just smiled, reaching for her hand and giving it a small squeeze.

"Hey," you said softly. She looked at you, and there was still a little hesitation there, a little uncertainty.

You squeezed her hand again. "This is nice," you repeated, gentler this time. "You are nice. To me. And that’s all that matters."

Natasha stared at you for a long moment, like she was still trying to find a way out of this. But then, finally, finally, she let out a breath. "You’re really something else," she murmured, shaking her head.

You grinned. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of your hand.

…

From the moment that kiss happened on the rooftop, something between you and Natasha changed.

Not in a way that was overwhelming or scary - no, it was easy, like flipping a switch that was waiting to be turned on. You still trained together, ate lunch at the same table, sat beside each other in meetings, but now there was an added something to it all. A kind of warmth, a softness.

Like how Natasha would nudge your arm when she passed by, or how she’d steal your drink without asking, giving you a smirk when you huffed at her. Or how she’d lean into your side when you sat next to each other, casually draping her arm over the back of your chair, fingers sometimes brushing your shoulder absentmindedly.

Little things. Easy things.

Dating Natasha Romanoff was surprisingly not some impossible, larger-than-life thing. It was waking up and getting coffee together before morning drills, where she’d always roll her eyes but still make sure you had your favorite one.

It was stealing quick, hidden moments in hallways when no one was looking, Natasha rolling her eyes at how obvious you were, only to pull you in for a kiss when she thought no one was around. It was training together, still pushing each other, but now with teasing smirks and stolen kisses. It was, you had to admit, kind of perfect.

Natasha was perfect. And everyone was noticing.

Once word got out, because of course it got out, that you, arguably the kindest person in S.H.I.E.L.D., chose Natasha, something shifted in how people treated her.

Not in a bad way, though.

Before, people had been friendly enough, mostly because you kept bringing Natasha into group activities and conversations, but there had always been a kind of caution. A distance. They still saw her as Black Widow, the woman who had red in her ledger, who had a history drenched in violence.

But now?

Now, people looked at her differently.

If you, the person who always went out of their way to help others, who saw the best in everyone, liked Natasha, then maybe she wasn’t someone to be feared. Maybe she deserved a second chance. And Natasha? Oh, she noticed.

People started smiling at her more in the hallways.

They started asking for her help with things - small tasks, not only minor training exercises, more little things they never would have approached her for before.

And the flirting?

The flirting was insane.

It was like the moment people saw Natasha through your eyes, they realized she wasn’t just a deadly assassin… she was hot.

You’d never seen her ego this big before. Training days became something else entirely.

"Alright, everyone, partner up." Maria Hill, Fury´s right hand yelled, so everyone can hear her.

Immediately, half the room turned to Natasha. You watched as agents practically scrambled to be the first to get to her, some subtly and not so subtly bumping into each other in their rush. Natasha smirked.

"Oh," she mused, glancing at you from across the room. "Guess I’m popular now."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "You’re impossible." Not thinking about it as a big deal.

She gave you a smug little smile, tilting her head. "Jealous?" You scoffed, trying not to let her entirely correct assumption show on your face.

She chuckled, then turns to some random rookie, “sorry, but I already have a partner," she said simply, jerking her head toward you.

The rookie looked both disappointed and terrified.

You, however, were fighting back a grin. She is yours and you are hers.

Natasha made her way over, stopping just in front of you. "You don’t mind, do you?"

You huffed, "like you’d let me say no."

She smirked, leaning in just enough for her voice to drop, “exactly."

You swallowed, because god, she knew what she was doing.

"Alright, alright," Maria called, clapping her hands. "Let’s get started."

You were going to kill her.

Or kiss her.

Possibly both.

And Natasha? She knew exactly what she was doing.

After training wrapped up, you and Natasha made your way to the locker room. The adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins, your body buzzing with the remnants of sparring.

Or maybe it was just her. Who knows?

Natasha was grinning, that signature, smug little smirk plastered on her lips as she leaned against the lockers with her arms crossed. "See how much people wanted to spar with me today?" she teased, tilting her head as she looked at you.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please. It was a little desperate if you ask me."

Natasha gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Desperate? They chose me.”

You huffed, turning away to open your locker. "Yeah, well, I think I’m gonna have to start charging them if they want to breathe the same air as my girlfriend." There was a tiny hint of jealousy and of course she noticed it.

Natasha let out a delighted laugh. "Oh? So I’m yours now?"

You turned to her, lifting a brow. "You were always mine."

That shut her up, momentarily.

Then, she grinned, stepping closer. "Oh, is someone turning green?"

You turned away quickly, but Natasha was faster. Before you could even think of hiding, she had you pinned against the lockers, her hands firm on either side of your head as she leaned in.

"I think you are," she murmured, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke.

"I am not," you mumbled, though your resolve was very quickly dissolving.

Natasha chuckled. "Mhm." And then she kissed you. It was soft at first, just a slow, teasing press of her lips against yours. Then, it grew deeper, her hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. You sighed against her mouth, your hands moving to cup her face, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

She was being so affectionate. Touching you like she needed to, kissing you like she wanted to pour everything she felt into you. When she pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, you found yourself whispering, "We’re together… together."

She smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. "We are…" Another kiss to your cheek, "…together." Another to your jaw, "…which is why you should move in with me."

You blinked, your mind short-circuiting. "Wait. What?"

She pulled back slightly, her hands still on your waist. "Move in with me."

You stared at her.

She tilted her head. "What?"

You blinked again. "You just said- wait. Are you serious?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Of course I’m serious. We basically spend all our time together anyway."

You hesitated, your heart pounding. "But we-"

"You want to." She grinned, leaning in again, her lips brushing over yours. "I know you do."

You huffed, narrowing your eyes at her. "…I hate how well you know me."

She smirked, "so?"

You sighed, dramatically, "fine."

"Fine? Just fine?" She can´t help, but chuckle again.

You chuckled as well, "fine, I’ll move in."

Natasha grinned, "good," and then she kissed you again.

The only thing left to do was tell Fury. So you did the next day, since the word travels fast in this facility. You weren’t nervous, per se, but still… this was Fury. You stood in front of his desk, back straight, hands clasped behind you. Natasha was waiting outside, mostly because she didn’t want to hear Fury’s inevitable sarcasm firsthand.

Fury looked at you over the rim of his coffee cup, unimpressed. "You want to what?"

"Move in with agent Romanoff, sir."

He blinked, setting his cup down, "you’re already living in headquarters."

"Yes, sir."

"And now you want to live together?"

"…Yes, sir."

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "I’m happy for you." He said that with total blank expression, so it was hard to tell if he meant it or not.

You blinked, "wait, really?"

"But," Fury continued, leveling you with a look, "don’t you dare let it affect your work."

You swallowed, “it won’t, sir."

"You and Romanoff are my top agents," he said firmly. "I don’t have time for relationship drama messing with my missions. So don’t you dare."

You straightened, "I understand. Don’t worry, sir."

Fury eyed you for a moment before sighing. "Good. Now get out of my office."

You tried not to smile as you turned on your heel and walked out.

Natasha was waiting in the hallway, arms crossed. "Well?"

You grinned. "He said yes."

"Told you he would" Natasha smirked.

You rolled your eyes, nudging her. "Come on, roomie."

She chuckled, draping an arm over your shoulders as you walked away together. Words can´t describe how happy you felt, in this moment… there is nothing more you wish for, maybe more free time, but you´re not gonna push Fury´s buttons. Not yet at least

Each morning from that moment the first thing you registered was warmth. The second was the scent of Natasha, something sweet and faintly floral, mixed with the crispness of freshly washed sheets. The third was movement. Something was shifting beside you, and before you could even react, a hand brushed over your hair, fingers lightly threading through it.

"Mhm," you grumbled, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

A chuckle, "good morning, sweetheart."

You groaned in response, curling further into the blankets.

"Come on, wake up." Natasha’s voice was far too cheerful for this time of day.

You pried one eye open, glaring at her, or at least, attempting to. It probably looked more like a squint. "It’s six in the morning."

"It is."

"Six, Natasha." Ugh. How you hated mornings, early mornings to be exact.

"I heard you the first time."

You groaned again, flopping onto your back and rubbing your face. "This is cruel. I thought you liked me."

Natasha laughed, stretching her arms above her head, the muscles in her back flexing beneath the soft fabric of her tank top. "I do like you."

You pouted up at her. "Then why are you waking me up at an ungodly hour?"

She grinned, leaning on her elbow beside you. "Because you’re adorable when you’re grumpy."

You narrowed your eyes at her, "I hate you." And you mumble something else.

"No, you don’t," she poked your cheek. "But everyone should see this. Our lovely, happy, kind little sunshine is currently wishing me all the worst just because I woke her up."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "That is not true," maybe it was… a little.

"Oh?" Natasha teased, nudging you playfully. "What was it you just mumbled? Something about me rotting in hell?"

You peeked at her through your fingers, "…maybe."

She laughed, and God, it was the best sound in the world. Even though it´s six in the morning, you don´t really mind the reason you´re awake now.

"You’re an agent, baby," she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Not in the next five minutes," you mumbled, reaching for her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers, "Cuddles?"

Natasha let out a dramatic sigh, "fine, but only for five minutes."

You grinned sleepily, tugging her down into your arms. She didn’t resist, in fact, she melted into you, resting her head against your chest, her fingers idly tracing shapes against your arm.

"This is nice," she murmured.

You hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head, "told you."

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Alright, I’ll admit it. You might have been right."

"Might have been?" You smirked at her.

She sighed, "alright, fine, you were right."

You grinned triumphantly, hugging her tighter. Natasha chuckled, tilting her head up to look at you. Her green eyes softened, and she reached up to brush her thumb over your cheek.

"I love you," she murmured.

Oh my god.

For a moment, all you could do was stare. Your sleep-addled brain scrambled to catch up, to process that Natasha Romanoff had just said I love you for the first time. The room was still, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of the sheets as Natasha shifted slightly beside you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, like it knew the weight of those words before your brain could fully register them. She had said it so softly, so easily, like she wasn’t even afraid of it. Like it wasn’t some impossible, unreachable thing.

Natasha looked at you, her green eyes searching yours, and for the second time ever, she looked nervous. Like she thought maybe she had messed up. Like she thought maybe you wouldn’t say it back. Which was insane, because of course you would.

Of course, you did.

"Say it again," you whispered, barely realizing the words had left your mouth.

Natasha blinked. "What?"

"Say it again." Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still breathless, like you’d just been hit with a wave of something so big it knocked the air from your lungs.

Natasha's lips twitched into the faintest smile. And then quieter, but with no less certainty-

"I love you."

Something in your chest burst. You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, before grabbing her face and kissing her senseless. Natasha let out a surprised sound but melted into it instantly, her arms winding around your waist as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. When you finally pulled back, just enough to look at her, you were grinning like an absolute fool.

"You-" You shook your head, pressing another quick kiss to her lips, "you love me."

"I do." Natasha’s voice was amused now, a little lighter, a little happier.

"You love me," you repeated, as if testing the words in your mouth.

Natasha chuckled. "Is that really so surprising?"

"Yes! No! I mean-" You laughed again, completely overwhelmed, "I just- God, I love you so much."

Natasha's expression softened, and you swore you saw her eyes shine just a little. "Yeah?" she murmured.

"Yeah," you breathed. "So much."

She smiled, the kind of smile that made your knees weak, even though you were already lying down.

Since Natasha had told you she loved you, everything had been amazing. She had never been an overly affectionate person before, but now? Now she was. She kissed you in the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.. She pulled you into her lap when you both sat on the couch, arms wrapped around you like she needed to physically anchor herself to you. She always, always held your hand whenever you were walking together.

She made you feel loved. And in return, you loved her hard. You loved her with your touch, with the way you reached for her first thing in the morning, still groggy but always needing her close. You loved her with your words, whispering soft things against her skin late at night, telling her all the reasons she was good, she was worthy. You loved her with your patience, never pushing when she got quiet, never demanding more than she was ready to give.

But still…

Still, something lingered in her.

Although things were better, although she had you and people were being nicer, there was something inside her that just wouldn't settle. A restlessness. Some nights, when you were fast asleep, Natasha would sit at the edge of the bed and just watch you. She would grip the blanket tight in her fists, pressing the fabric to her face just so she could smell you, so she could drown herself in something warm, something real.

She didn’t know why she did it. Or maybe she did.

Maybe it was because she was still trying to believe it.

Trying to believe that this was real. That you were real. That the love you gave her wasn’t something temporary, wasn’t something that would be ripped away the moment she blinked too long. She wanted to believe she belonged here. That this - this bed, this warmth, this person - was home.

But… what was home, really?

The Red Room? Moscow? The cold walls of S.H.I.E.L.D.? The battlefield?

Was she the assassin, the spy, the Black Widow capable of having a home?

Sometimes, she would stare at you, watching the way your lips would part slightly when you slept, the way your brows would furrow if she shifted too much.

And she would wonder… does she love the real me?

The real her. The one with blood-stained hands. The one who had taken lives, who had done horrible things. The one who, despite everything, still questioned whether she was anything more than a killer. Maybe you loved the version of her that you saw. The one who teased you in the mornings, who kissed you breathless in empty hallways, who pulled you into her arms without hesitation.

Maybe you loved that Natasha.

But what about the other one?

What about the Natasha who had once followed orders without question? The Natasha who had ended lives with a steady hand and an empty heart? The Natasha who still, even now, sometimes felt like she was nothing more than a weapon?

Did you love her, too?

Would you still love her if you knew, if you really knew, what she had done?

She didn't know. And she was scared to find out.

So after some time she just thought that faking till you make it sounded like a great idea. It started small. The lingering glances. The playful smirks. The way Natasha would lean in just a little too close when someone was talking to her, her eyes sharp and inviting in a way that made people stumble over their words.

At first, you brushed it off.

You knew Natasha. You knew she wasn’t the type to cheat, not even close. But it was hard to ignore how much she entertained it. The winks she threw back. The way she’d chuckle at comments that were a little too flirtatious. The way she let people’s hands linger on her arm or shoulder when they spoke.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just her way of fitting in, showing people she wasn’t the cold, untouchable Black Widow they once thought she was.

And you got it. You did. For so long, she had felt unwanted, feared, alone.

And now, for the first time, people were seeing her differently. They were choosing her. Not because she was a weapon or a threat, but because they liked her.

And it made her feel… valued.

So you let it go.

Until you couldn’t.

It was one night in your shared room, Natasha sitting at the small desk while cleaning one of her knives, humming softly to herself. You sat on the bed, playing with the hem of your shirt, thoughts swirling too fast in your mind.

"Nat?"

She hummed in response but didn’t look up.

You took a breath. "I love you."

That made her pause. Her hands stilled, and she turned her head to look at you, brows furrowing slightly. "I know," she said softly with a small smile.

But you weren’t really saying it to her. You were saying it to yourself. Like some kind of reassurance. A desperate attempt to convince yourself that everything was okay. That she loved you… that she wanted you.

That this didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t, right? But still, something gnawed at you. Something bitter and heavy, curling in your stomach, whispering thoughts you didn’t want to listen to.

Am I enough?

Maybe the others were more fun. Maybe they weren’t as serious. Maybe they made her laugh more.Maybe they didn’t come with the weight of whispered confessions in the dark, the burden of knowing all her scars, inside and out. Maybe it was easier with them.

Maybe-

"Hey," Natasha’s voice pulled you back, soft but firm. She was kneeling in front of you now, her hands gently resting on your thighs, brows drawn together in concern, "what’s wrong?”

You swallowed, shaking your head, "nothing."

She didn’t believe you. Of course, she didn’t. She tilted her head slightly, studying you the way she did when analyzing an opponent in a fight, like she was picking apart every little movement, every hesitation, every weakness. "Talk to me," she said quietly.

And you wanted to. You really wanted to.

But how could you?

How could you tell her that while she was struggling with believing she belonged, you were struggling with believing you were enough? You sighed, rubbing your palms over your face. "It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been overthinking a lot."

Natasha didn’t move from her spot in front of you, still kneeling, her hands now tracing slow circles over your thighs. "Overthinking what?"

You hesitated. You weren’t lying, not really. But you weren’t saying everything either. Because if you did, if you voiced all the thoughts racing through your mind it might make them real.

So instead, you forced a small smile, shaking your head. "Just… if what I’m doing now is enough."

Natasha’s brows furrowed. "Enough?"

You exhaled, "like… as an agent, as a person, in-" Your voice wavered. "In us." It slipped out.

Her grip on you tightened slightly. "Of course, you’re enough." And the way she said it, so fiercely, so certainly, made your chest ache. She shifted, lifting herself up to sit beside you on the bed, her hand finding yours. "What’s making you feel this way?"

You shrugged, staring down at your intertwined fingers. "I don’t know. I think it’s just… everything."

Natasha was quiet for a moment, and you could almost see the gears turning in her head, the way her mind dissected every little piece of information you gave her. Finally, she sighed, leaning in and pressing her lips softly to your temple. "I love you," she murmured against your skin.

It sent a warmth through your chest, but it didn’t erase the lingering thoughts completely.

And maybe Natasha knew that.

Maybe that’s why, as she pulled back, she searched your face so intently, as if trying to see past whatever walls you were keeping up.

But then something shifted in her own expression. Something almost unreadable. She glanced away, exhaling slowly.

And that’s when you realized-

She was thinking, too.

Overthinking.

You squeezed her hand. "Nat?"

She didn’t answer right away, staring at a spot on the floor like it had the answers to something she didn’t even know how to ask. "I just…" she started, but then shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh that lacked any humor.

"Now you’re overthinking," you pointed out gently.

Natasha exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, well… you’re not the only one who does it."

Your brows knit together. "What are you overthinking?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. And for the first time in a while, Natasha looked uncertain. She was always so sure, so sharp, so steady. But now, there was something hesitant in the way she held herself. Like she wasn’t sure if she was standing on solid ground anymore.

You turned to face her fully, giving her the same patience she had given you. "Talk to me."

She scoffed softly, "that’s my line."

You smiled, nudging her lightly, "it can be mine, too."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I just…” She swallowed, "I´m not sure if I fit in."

Your breath hitched. "What?"

She ran a hand through her hair, her voice quieter now. “I mean, what if people like the fun me, not the weird killer one, but the one that´s…” she gestured vaguely, "normal."

Your chest tightened. "Nat-" You stared at her, heart aching. Because you understood. You understood the weight she carried, the doubt that gnawed at her, the fear of being seen as something she wasn’t sure she could escape. "People like you for who you are, right now. They enjoy your presence, I enjoy your presence. All the time."

To you, there was no version of Natasha to love. There was just her. And maybe… maybe you both needed to figure that out together. So after your talk you just spend cuddling tighter than usual, not talking at all, just enjoying your time together.

Over the days, Natasha had been even more open to others, for some reason, which didn´t help you with the "overthinking" part. It wasn’t just the occasional banter anymore, it was something more. The teasing smirks, the way she leaned in just a little too close when speaking, the way her fingers ghosted over arms, her laugh coming a little softer, a little sweeter.

You wanted to understand this, but the only think you could do was to stend back and watch. She joked with Maria Hill in the training center, standing a little too close, her fingers lingering on Maria’s wrist just a beat longer than necessary as they laughed about something. You weren’t even sure what had been said, but it didn’t really matter. It was the pattern that was beginning to form. It wasn’t just Maria. Natasha was always surrounded by someone now, their attention drawn to her like moths to a flame. And she let them. Agents who barely looked at her months ago now jumped at the chance to train with her, to sit with her in the cafeteria, to find excuses to be near her.

And Natasha? She basked in it.

You didn´t said anything… but days turned to weeks, and it never stopped. If anything it got worse.

It was after training when you finally said something. The adrenaline still thrummed in your veins from sparring, your muscles sore in the best way, but all of it was overshadowed by the tight knot in your chest.

Natasha was drinking from her water bottle, wiping sweat from her forehead when you finally broke the silence.

"The flirting is too much."

She froze mid-motion, brow raising slightly as she looked at you, "wha- baby, you know I would never"

"I know," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I know you wouldn’t do anything, but… I just don’t like them thinking they have a chance, you know?"

For a second, something flickered in Natasha’s expression, something uncertain, but then it was gone, replaced with that easy, confident smirk that had charmed so many people lately.

"You’re the only girl in my sight," she murmured, stepping closer, her voice dropping into something lower, something smoother. Your lips pressed into a thin line. She was doing it again. The charming words, the flirtation, the teasing little game she played when things got too close, too real. And then her fingers traced down your arm, light, deliberate, the heat of her touch sending shivers up your spine.

"You don’t need to worry," she whispered, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "I only want you."

You wanted to stay firm. You wanted to keep pushing, to tell her that wasn’t the point. But then her hands were on you, guiding, coaxing, pulling you into her orbit like she always did. Natasha had always been a master of control, of knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to pull someone under. And she knew exactly how to make you forget.

Natasha led you through the hallways of the compound, her fingers interlaced with yours, her touch grounding, magnetic. You weren’t fighting it anymore. Maybe you should have. Maybe you should have pressed harder, but right now, in this moment, you just wanted her.

"Our room," she murmured, glancing at you from the corner of her eye, a small smirk playing at her lips, "we can shower together." Her voice was low, inviting, and there was no point in pretending you didn’t want that too.

By the time you reached her room, Natasha was already peeling off her shirt, throwing it onto the chair in the corner without care. She turned back to you, stepping close, her fingers immediately finding your waist, tracing over your skin like she needed to remind herself you were real.

She kissed you - slow, deliberate, her lips moving over yours like she had all the time in the world. And then she whispered against your lips, "You’re mine." Her hands slid up, her palms warm against your skin.

"I’m yours," she murmured, pressing another kiss just beneath your jaw. "You’re amazing." The words kept coming, soft and steady, an anchor against the storm of thoughts that had been brewing in your mind for weeks. "You’re everything," she breathed.

Your fingers curled against her back, holding onto her, feeling the way her muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto these words and let them fill the cracks that had started to form inside you.

Natasha rested her forehead against yours, her hands still tracing slow, soothing patterns against your sides. "No overthinking. Not right now," she whispered. "Just me and you."

She kissed you again, and for a little while, you let yourself believe her.

The steam curled around both of you, thick and warm, as the water cascaded down, soaking into your skin. Natasha’s hands never left you, not for a second. They traced along your arms, your waist, the curve of your back, as if she was mapping you out, committing you to memory, ensuring you were still here, still hers.

The shower wasn’t just a shower… it was something else entirely. A quiet space where the world didn’t exist, where doubts couldn’t reach, where words weren’t needed because her touch spoke louder than anything she could say.

Her forehead pressed against yours, water dripping between you, and she whispered it again, "I love you". Over and over again. It was reverent, almost fragile, like she was convincing herself just as much as she was convincing you.

Your hands found her, fingers threading through damp strands of red as she kissed you, deep and slow, like she was breathing you in. Every touch, every movement, felt like a plea - don’t doubt me, don’t doubt this, don’t leave.

She held you like you were something precious. Like you were something she wasn’t sure she deserved but was too afraid to let go of. Her lips brushed over your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin as she murmured, "you´re everything to me."

The weight of those words settled deep in your chest. She didn’t say it often, definetly not like this. Not stripped down to its rawest form, with no teasing, no distractions. Just her, open and vulnerable, asking for something she didn’t quite know how to name. So you gave it to her.

Your fingers trailed along her spine, tracing invisible lines over old scars, new ones, the history of everything she had endured and survived. "I love you too, so much," you whispered, barely audible over the steady rush of water.

Natasha exhaled, a shaky breath against your skin, and then she held you tighter, as if grounding herself in your warmth. She kissed you again, not rushed, not desperate. Just deep. Meaningful. Like she was pouring everything into it, everything she didn’t know how to say.

taglist: @starrycherie, @esposadejoyhuerta

643 notes · View notes

rainix13 · 2 days ago

Text

Don't Forget

Doubt by Twentyone Pilots

masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

words: 4,2k

description: after Y/N gets rescued from Hydra she's not really herself but Natasha's determined to bring her back -

Genre: idk you tell me?? ._. hurt/comfort ig??

Warnings: legal age difference (Nat= 32, R = 22) split personality?, not proofread

I'm not overly happy with everything but overall it's okay i guess (also It's 3am idk what I'm saying anymore, any corrections probably in the next few days)

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩｡⋆｡✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You didn't know what was happening but you were sure something was.

There was a shift in the air. A tension lingering between the people around you. Something was off.

A red pop up on a monitor you could barely see blinking constantly but you couldn't read what it said.

You tried to hear the guards whisper but they were too far away. But even their usual composed, ice cold appearance seemed to crack a little. At least the three that seemed to be in their mind.

The fourth was a mystery to you. He barely moved all day, you never saw him even blink just once.

If such a thing was possible he didn't even hold any body language.

Scientists were packing a ton of stuff up.

Vials, some empty, some still filled.

Two of three monitors.

Tools, syringes, notes, official paperwork.

The door opened for a short moment. The blaring of people shouting, shots being fired, more people running around, a faint explosion filled the whole room for the mere two seconds, then it fell shut again.

Two more agents entered the room shouting some things you couldn't understand but next thing the whole scientist team got escorted through the backdoor.

Ok, so at least your instincts still work. Still you felt off. As if you were there but more as a watcher than on actual control of yourself. That feeling was new. It only came up a few minutes ago but you couldn't shake it. Something definitely was fundamentally off. Maybe-

You didn't get to finish that thought when suddenly the door got broken down. Three people stormed in, followed by a whole bunch of agents.

This time the door wasn't closed again and the blaring of a battle filled the room, accompanied with the smell of smoke and a cloud of dust.

Your eye caught a wave of red and your heart jumped. You didn't exactly know why. But it felt familiar. It felt right. You felt slipping deeper in the part of your mind that was only able to watch. Observe something but not work through it. The presence that formed normality for your time being here kept you from understanding.

One of the agents tore the straps open, which until now, you didn't even realize held you in place. Why were you strapped in a chair again?

It oddly looked like one of those dentist chairs...

"Don't just stand there, do something bitch!" He spoke with a hard accent.

Do something...? What exactly should you...do? Why would you fight these people? Who even are they? Being trapped between what seemed to be two independent minds you didn't know how to function.

And for a while you just stood there, in the middle of the room. Everything still felt like a movie, chaos all around you, agents coughing, some dying slower than others, new agents rushing in. And in the middle of it all? You.

That was until someone pulled on your arm, in the direction of the back door the scientist fled through.

Without realizing how you freed yourself, fighting the agent off.

"Let go of me", you hiss. "Y/N!!" the voice felt familiar but you couldn't put a face to it. Nonetheless it switched something inside you. You pushed the guy and he stayed still on the ground.

Another hand grabbed your arm and on instinct - even tho not sure from which side of your mind - you fought them off but this time it was harder.

You got countered more often, hits were harder to land. You kept fighting them, trying to escape their grip until suddenly everything went black.

Back at the compound Nick Fury was waiting for everyone to bring the youngest avenger back. And he wouldn't admit it openly but when they rolled out a stretcher some tension fell off him. It meant that at least you were alive.

"What happened?", he asked, not a single trace of emotions in his voice.

When Natasha didn't answer right away Steve did.

"We're not sure. She didn't seem quite like herself."

The Shield director raised an eyebrow "and that means?"

"It means she fought me when we tried to get her out. We had to hit her unconscious", Natasha snapped.

"But she fought them too. She's still there." Steve tried to soothe her but only received a more desperate than annoyed.

To add to Steve's resignation Fury chimed in "She's been there three weeks and we have no idea who of us she's gonna try and kill and who not."

"What are you trying to say?" Clint asked defensively.

"None of you will visit her until we're sure she's back." Without any further explanation he gave a sign to the two medics that stood at the stretcher to follow him with you.

For the Avengers? No other choice but to watch after you. They just stood there in silence, no one quite sure what to do with themselves.

The past three weeks were relentless work, trying to trace every detail that might give away your position. Now you were found. And they weren't even allowed near you anymore.

Tony stepped out of his suit and carefully put an arm around Nat's shoulder, pulling her into a side-hug.

With you and Natasha some tension always was in the air. Flirty but neither of you acted on it for a long time. You weren't dating for long but it made you happy. You, just living in your perfect little world, until it got ripped apart when they caught you.

Tony was the one who got you to join the team. Convinced you, welcomed you, comforted you when things got hard. He became a safe constant and over the course of four years he became a father figure to you.

With a deep sigh, again Steve broke the silence "When even Tony doesn't have some sarcastic remark or a joke to ease the tension..."

No trace of humor in his voice, not a glint of joy, just stating a fact.

Maria Hill stepped outside, clearly not happy, after what was probably a disagreement with her boss.

"There's nothing I can do for you. Go get some sleep, you all need it."

Short and to the point. Like everything that's been said.

Nonetheless she was right. Nobody has slept much, especially not Tony and Natasha so now that everything seemed to be done this was the only logical consequence and with that everyone slowly made their way to their room.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩

The next few days went in a blur for Natasha. She tried to stick to her old routine. Getting up, going on a run, breakfast, training, lunch. That's how far her routine went. After that she just didn't know what to do. Wherever she went something reminded her of you. She tried to convince Fury to change his mind about seeing you.

What she hated most was how everyone looked at her. How everyone seemed to see through her. As if her walls were made out of glass. As if they could see how worked up she was even though she made a point in acting normal. In giving the training courses she usually does, being as harsh and demanding as she always is. In the way she walked through the hallways, cold, calculated. Purposely avoiding the wing she wasn't allowed in right now.

Still they looked. As if they could see everything.

As if they could see how she still barely could sleep, how she couldn't look at anything without thinking of you, how every time she passes Fury in the hallway a passive anger boils up.

As if they could see how much she cares. How much she misses you.

As if they could see how scared she was to lose you forever.

The private area for just the avengers wasn't any more comfortable. Everyone tried to have normal days. Doing the things they usually do. But still everyone noticed the tension that didn't seem to fade.

The unknowing of how you are, the awareness of your missing laughter and your own sarcastic remarks. Everyone notices Natasha's bad mood and how she's being more reserved around them. Even Steve misses Tony's biting and teasing comments and while he throws one every once in a while, it just doesn't feel the same without someone who counters him just as sharply.

Right now Natasha was laying awake once again. Another evening. She excused herself from watching some movie and went to bed, so now she was staring at her ceiling. It was only 9 pm.

But laying there and having her thoughts running in circles wasn't an option tonight. With a sigh she put her sweatshirt over her sleep-shirt and made her way to the medical wing, avoiding the busy hallways.

The first thing she saw were mostly empty beds. The second was Dr. Cho.

"Where's Y/N?", Natasha asked. Her voice didn't hint at the emotional chaos in her head but it didn't need to. Dr. Cho was well aware of the flirting going on between you and even was rather surprised when she found out that the two of you weren't already dating for longer.

"Y/N is currently being held in cell 1.4 in this wing" Jarvis responded before the doctor could.

"Director's orders", was all she added clearly being uncomfortable with the situation.

"How is she?" Natasha's voice dropped to a dangerous level. She was furious and it brimmed just beneath the surface but she chose to prioritize you over Fury's bad decision making.

"She's doing ok so far. Vitals are stable but her mind isn't. Sometimes she speaks with us as herself but then suddenly she doesn't recognize us. We gave her some things that should help her gain stability and fight of who or whatever they implanted in her brain but it's going rough. Up until now she's the most stable when I or Agent Phil Coulson are around, he leaves only when he has to."

The redhead let out a humorless laugh.

"And did any of you think that maybe someone she's closer with might help her?"

Of course you were close with Phil. But she and her teammates were the people you spent every day with after all.

To her annoyance Dr. Cho shook her head.

"That's still out of question. Director's orders...again."

With a scoff Natasha left. Director's orders.

There was a point reached where she was done with her director's orders. Point reached.

And without another thought Natasha stood in front of the door that led to cells 1.3-1.6, guarded by two agents when the doors just opened and Coulson's stepped out.

"Natasha?"

"Phil."

"I guess it was only a matter of time until you show up here" the older agent sighed.

"I need to see her, Phil" It was a statement. Nothing more. No emotion, no arguments, just a statement.

"Why? You know the Director's orders."

God if she had to hear those words one more time she might go insane.

"I need to see her alive." Now this was beginning to sound like the negotiations of a kidnapping.

"She is alive, Natasha. You know that. Why do you think you can just walk in there if you have clear orders not to?" He wasn't backing down easily.

And the answer to that question laid on Natasha's tongue. It was simple. But she didn't want to say it out loud. But maybe she needed to sacrifice that at least towards Phil, if she wanted a real chance of convincing him to let her in.

"Go." The redhead orders the two agents watching the door. After a short nod of approval from Phil they did.

"Why?" Phil asked again now.

Natasha thought for a second before answering "They say she's unstable-" her voice broke off, eyes glued to the door.

And for a moment Phil got caught off guard. In all years of working with Natasha he'd only ever seen her facade crack a handful of times.

He sighed. "She's fighting, Natasha. Every minute. She's tired, barely sleeps but she's getting better. Slowly. Helen finished all possible tests and thinks we have now the right medication to help her as much as we can."

"I want to see her."

"Do you?", Phil finally met her eyes, "or do you want to know if she sees you? If she recognizes you?"

"Phil, please", Natasha pleaded. And at last he gave in. He stepped aside, opening the door. "Just be careful. You can see when she remembers you but the conversations don't last long. She's fighting."

With a nod Natasha walked past him and only stopped a second before the door could fall shut. "Thank you."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩

Carefully Natasha walked up to the only occupied glass cell and there you sat. Back towards her, crouched down in a corner. Your hands were behind your head, legs pulled up to your chest and she could see you picking your nails to a point where almost all were bloody and damaged.

Natasha's chest tightened and she barely kept herself from gasping audibly. You looked so small, so lost. Every few seconds your whole body flinched, causing you to shift just so slightly.

"Y/N...", the redhead whispered. She didn't know what to expect, she didn't even know what else to say.

But the moment your name left her mouth you completely stilled as if you were waiting for something. Natasha took that as a sign to try again.

"Y/N?"

You breath caught in your throat and you raised your head, your eyes finally leaving the ground beneath your legs.

And after what felt like eternity your eyes finally met hers. Looking up at her, your greyish green met her clear emerald eyes. "N-natasha?"

"Heyy", the older woman still whispered and got knelt down to be at your level. Her hand pressed against the glass as if she could touch you through it. Anything to feel closer to you.

"How are you keeping up? You remember me? And the team?" Maybe it was selfish to ask that but she already knew how you were doing aside from that and she didn't want to remind you.

But that seemed to only partially succeed as you subconsciously shifted a bit to the side, bringing only very few more centimeters of space between you and the glass, you and Natasha.

"I-I'm afraid I can't tell you that" your voice was shaky, hands trembling just enough for Natasha to notice. "I'm just not sure", you added shamefully.

"It's okay, don't worry about that", Natasha tried to soothe you.

Quiet whispers come up in the back of your mind. 'natasha, natasha, you need to forget her, natasha'

Those thoughts come and go, the voices never stop forever but right now you tried to focus on her. Because for once she seemed to be actually there. Not just a voice that will belong to no one once you open your eyes. Now, she was there, in person. And maybe you could remember her. You need to. You have a feeling that she's important to remember.

"I remember some things. Names, memories come and go like guests. But only fragments, not enough to create the whole picture"

'you will forget her, natasha-'

"Anything I can do to help you?"

"No...when I saw you a few memories swept into my mind, all together with your name...I don't think you can do much more" You sigh, the voices in the back of your head growing stronger. You know you need to fight them. That's what Hydra anchored in your brain and you need it gone. But the louder the voices get, the more you feel your control slipping.

'Black Widow, need to kill'

The endless cycle of the last few days and even though you're starting to be in control of your mind and yourself longer and longer, you start to grow tired. You just want it to finally end. But they grow louder and louder and you already know that you'll crash eventually.

Natasha noticed the sudden change as well. Your hands started trembling again, your breath became shorter.

'Betrayal, Forget, The End, Natasha'

"I could come in. Let you take my hands or braid my hair. You do that sometimes. Maybe it would-", she starts, wanting to calm you down but you interrupted her

"Natasha, no!" Your voice was low, dangerous and your eyes suddenly held something darker. You tried to keep up with yourself, tried to shut down the voices but with every second it got harder to dominate over Hydra's part of your mind.

"I'm not afraid of you", the redhead tried again. She already got up, walking to the numpad that unlocked your cell.

"BUT I AM!" You cried out. The voices grew louder and all you could do was grasping on the very last bit of being there. Like an almost invisible string that kept you in touch.

'Forget Black Widow, Betrayal, Kill, End'

You jumped up backing away from her.

Voices overlapped, so loud you couldn't bear it.

Someone was talking to you, you couldn't even tell the difference if it was the real Natasha or just another voice.

'Forget, Betrayal, Kill, End'

Natasha watched you pacing, your breath was ragged, hands in your hair. Your whole body was shaking and it broke Natasha's heart.

"Y/N please, listen to me. I'm here", tears filled her eyes. It physically hurt her to see you like that. So torn apart.

Your head was pounding against the palm of your hands, heart racing. You didn't even know where you were anymore and only felt slipping. Slipping away into the darkness. Where you could only watch yourself, screaming at your body without getting a reaction.

"Y/N, please...",

"STOP IT" your hand clashes into the glass wall.

Your eyes met the person who said something. Red hair, green eyes.

'Don't just stand there, do something'

Something seemed familiar.

You need to kill her. She's not supposed to be here.

'Don't just stand there, do something'

No, you don't want to kill her.

"Y/N..."

'Don't just stand there, do something'

And then everything went black.

Natasha could only watch as your body hit the ground with a loud thud. You didn't move, just laid in the middle of the cell.

The conversations never last long. That's what Coulson told her. She should've been prepared.

She needs to get out.

With that she left, the image of you losing the battle in your mind, collapsing, laying on the ground. All of it was burned in her brain.

She left the room, tried to sleep, went on her morning run. All she could think about was you. Everything she saw was a replay of the night. The fear in your eyes just before you lost, your scratched fingers. Nothing would make it go away.

Her own fear of you losing against Hydra's work, fear of you forgetting about her, about yourself, the fear of losing you entirely gnawed at her relentlessly.

And all she could do was watch herself. Force herself to go through her day and come back at night. She needed to see you again. The real you. And she would do anything to achieve that.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩

When she entered the room you were still asleep on the small bed in your cell.

As quiet as possible she unlocked the door and stepped inside, sitting down on the floor, right next to your head.

Groaning you opened your eyes. You don't even remember falling asleep after your last talk with Phil.

When you saw a familiar face next to you suddenly you were wide awake.

"Why are you in here??" Immediately you scooted to the other end of the bed, as far away from Natasha as possible.

The panic in your voice was unmistakable.

But this time Natasha didn't give in, this time she went after you, moving on your bed until she sat right in front of you.

"Hey, hey listen to me, okay? Just breathe, deep breaths", she took a deep breath in, clearly wanting you to follow her. And you did.

You repeated this a couple more times until you calmed down a bit. You gaze dropped down to see your hands in Natasha's and give it a gentle squeeze. An unspoken thanks.

"There she is. There's my favorite girl", Natasha says with a smile playing around here lips.

"I'm your favorite?" You asked, a careful smile playing around your lips as well. You knew the answer. Right now you did.

"Always been that way" she replied with a cheeky smile and you let out a small chuckle.

After a short pause the redhead added "I've missed you"

You didn't miss the vulnerability hidden behind those words. You didn't miss how she avoided your gaze for a second.

You just lean on her shoulder. "I've missed you too...but you can't be here Nat", you sighed.

"But I wanna be here. I'm not afraid of you"

"But I am, Nat." You argue softly, your eyes already filling up with tears.

Before she can interrupt you, you continue.

"You-you don't understand I-", Natasha squeezes your hands softly, encouraging you to continue.

"I- I'm scared of hurting you. When I'm not in control of...me the other part wants to kill you. I just don't know if I'll be able to hold back if I lose that control again."

Your tears start falling but you don't even care anymore.

"Every time I see my reflection in the glass I see what they did. I can practically see myself slipping away into that...space and I can't control it. And that scares me shitless. I'm laying here, staring at the ceiling and I don't know anything. I keep remembering more everyday but then at some point I spiral down in that fear and-and then I lose it again and that thing is back in control"

Now Natasha was actually speechless. She hates to see you so broken, so scared. So she just hugged you, choosing silence until you broke it once again.

"The uncertainty just kills me. The uncertainty of maybe I'll forget everything again. The uncertainty of when I might crash again or rather when it'll stop. Helen said it today should've been the last day but I just don't know. I'm afraid I'll forget you..."

Gently she reaches up to your face, tilting it so you have to look at her. "You won't forget me. You can doubt yourself all you want but I won't. Tony won't. He's upstairs, waiting for you to come back. Everyone is. And look at you. At us. You recognized me immediately when you saw me. You became more stable, right? That's what Helen told me this afternoon"

You nod carefully, letting her continue. "Maybe you just need to see the rest again. To ground you. Please. Come back to us"

You look at her hesitantly "What happens when I'm not me again?" You wanted to believe her that everything will turn out fine. But you don't want to hurt your family. Especially Nat.

"Please Y/N, trust yourself. And if you don't trust yourself, then trust me. I know we can manage this. You're not alone. And if you slip, I can protect us. Even if you can't stop yourself, you know that I can stop you."

Her eyes held nothing but honesty. Pure faith in you, full on trust.

"You guys are no good without me anyway, right?" you joke. Your voice was still hoarse from crying.

"Damn right, we aren't"

✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩

You didn't move back to normality instantly. But small steps are progress nonetheless.

So the next morning you went upstairs with Natasha for breakfast.

"You okay?" she asked, your hand in hers as she stood right in front of you.

You took a deep breath and nodded. "I am."

Just before she moved away you caught her wrist again "Tasha?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. I love you"

She chuckled pulling you in by your waist. "Of course. I love you too, princess"

You stood on tiptoes, giving her a quick kiss before pulling her gently towards the door.

It was early enough that no one would be around, Steve out on his run, the rest still asleep.

You didn't meet anyone except for Phil but it was a start. Familiarity. The feeling of another thing that could keep you grounded.

Next thing was dinner in the evening. Still unusual late but Tony ran into you.

He full on walked in on you and Natasha having pizza and for a second he just watched you. You, sitting there like teenagers having late-night pizza on a gaming night.

The moment you noticed him he full on launched on you, pulling you in the biggest dad-hug you ever received. "I missed you, kiddo"

And all you could do was cry and laugh, burying your face in his shoulder "I'm no kid, old man"

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩｡⋆｡✮ ⋆ ˚｡⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x fem!reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #avengers #marvel #mcu #lesbian #wlw

59 notes · View notes

wandascrush · 14 hours ago

Text

The Aftermath

Part 12 of the DIWK series

Pairings: Sharon Carter x f!reader, Phil Coulson x f!reader, Avenegrs x f!reader, Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

tag list: @ayrtonwilbury @esposadejoyhuerta @kissesfornat @caffeine-pup @seventeen-x @heliotropeheart @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic @womenarehotsstuff @nuianced-tck-enby

A/N: thank you for the continuous support <3 Summary: Sharon finally brings you some place safe- some place… familiar. The Avengers get the shock of their life.

You didn’t trust her at first. Even after the escape. Even after she dragged you through the forests of Eastern Europe, evading HYDRA pursuit for four days straight. Even after she stitched up the wound on your shoulder and fed you with her own goddamn hands because your body still wasn’t yours yet.

You didn’t trust anyone.

But Sharon didn’t flinch.

She took your coldness, your silence, your empty stares, and never once hesitated. She talked to you like you were still you. Like you weren’t just some broken piece of a past life.

Because she remembered—even when you didn’t.

And for the first time since HYDRA carved you open and filled your veins with their poison—

You wanted to remember who you were. Desperately.

You sat in the backseat of a SHIELD suv, arms crossed tightly over your chest, Sharon’s jacket draped around you. Silent. Unreadable. Your friend drives without pushing. Not one question. Not one word out of place.

Something funny happens as soon as you cross the Brooklyn bridge. The city goes dark- the car radio turns off and lights vanish all across the city. They come back a moment later.

Only Sharon notices.

Your tired eyes meet her blue ones in the rearview mirror.

“Do you remember anything?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head.

A long pause.

Then: “Do you trust me?”

A beat.

“With my life,” she replies.

Silence again.

But something softens in your face.

———————-

Sharon Carters Apt. - Bronxville, NY

The door creaks open. Sharon supports you gently, her arm a steady presence as you limp inside. You’re walking now, barely—but it’s enough.

The apartment smells like cedar and lemon. Lived in. Safe. Something tugs at your chest.

Your gaze sweeps across the space.

Bookshelves. A worn couch. A coffee mug left by the sink. Papers scattered on the floor.

“Is this…your place?” you ask quietly.

Sharon hesitates.

“It’s ours,” she almost says. She wants to remind you that your bedroom is just down the hall from hers.

Instead, softly, “Yeah. It’s mine.”

You touch the edge of a photo frame. You don’t see what it holds—two girls, 16, arms slung around each other, laughing against a skyline. You and Sharon. You- your memories.

You remember your childhood. SHIELD. The training. The cold discipline of survival. You remember your trauma.

But love? Connection? The happy memories?

Those were so hard to remember. So…fuzzy?

And everything with the Avengers, Natasha, Wanda- that’s what HYDRA rewired. Dipped in poison. Corrupted to its core.

——————————

Avengers Tower - NY, NY

The tower feels cavernous now. Hollow. A ghost of what it used to be.

Natasha sits in a corner chair by the window, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey, her gaze distant. Wanda curls into the opposite side of the room, hugging her knees, staring at the muted flicker of the television like it might tell her something she doesn’t already know.

The TV hums low, late-night news providing static comfort. Nobody listens—until a headline cuts through the white noise:

“BLACKOUT INCIDENT ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE”

Wanda glances up, blinking slowly. The footage begins to roll—grainy, jerky. A black SUV merges onto the bridge. Nondescript. Harmless.

Until it isn’t.

A flicker through the tinted glass. A profile. A shape. A face. The camera zooms in clumsily, but it’s enough.

That shape.

That familiar tilt of a head.

The sharp jawline.

The haunted eyes, staring out at a world that had long since forgotten her.

“It can’t be,” Steve says from behind them, stepping into the room, drawn by the sudden energy. “She’s…we looked for months. She’s dead.”

But he doesn’t sound convinced. Not a fucking bit.

Wanda feels bile pool into her mouth and she knows she’s going to be sick all night.

Tony appears a second later, phone in hand, already trying to track traffic footage. “Cross-check every camera in a fifteen-mile radius,” he mutters. “If that’s her—”

“If?” Natasha snaps, spinning on him. Her voice is razor sharp. “That was her.”

———————-

A dim glow spills from her desk lamp. Papers scatter across the table—HYDRA files, maps, decrypted intel. A mission board, red string crisscrossing in patterns only Sharon understands.

She’s hunched over her laptop, eyes burning, hands trembling. Exhaustion clings to her skin like a second layer. The adrenaline of what she’s done has finally hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Across the room, you toss fitfully on the couch, a blanket half-slid to the floor, breath shallow. Your sleep is never peaceful.

The news murmurs in the background.

Another headline.

“UNMARKED VEHICLE LINKED TO BRIDGE BLACKOUT”

Sharon’s eyes snap to the screen.

She sees it before they say it.

That SUV. A discontinued model famously assigned to Agent Coulson. The shimmer of light on tinted glass. The faint silhouette of a familiar jawline. Her stomach lurches.

It’s you.

She doesn’t move at first. Just watches.

Still breathing. Still alive. Clearly.

But the rest of the world would see this too.

The Avengers.

SHIELD.

Ross.

They’d be coming. But they can’t come yet- not before you’re well enough to decide what happens next on your own.

Her hand fumbles for the burner phone.

You shift on the couch but don’t wake. She dials fast.

“They’re coming,” she whispers, almost to herself.

A voice answers immediately: “I’m already on my way, kid.”

#the diwk series #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #sharon carter #sharon carter x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #wlw #nick fury #avengers #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fluff

61 notes · View notes

talesofesther · 5 days ago

Text

ten reasons not to kiss her

➥ Ch two: The second reason

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: Natasha slowly adapts to a life by your side, all the while thinking of all the reasons why she shouldn't kiss you.

A/N: Natasha is a lil awkward, and we love her for it. <3

Masterlist | Previous chapter

Weeks turned into months. Each time Natasha was able to stay at her apartment, she quietly hoped to see you.

Sometimes, you would notice first that she was home, and Natasha would hear three gentle knocks on her door. The first time you showed up with a plate of freshly baked cookies, Natasha thought you were looking to ask for a favor. She was caught off guard when you simply wanted to share the sweets with the neighbor who spent more time away from home than in it.

Natasha had no way of knowing that you had become enraptured by her melancholic eyes. She had no way of knowing her mask fell more easily when it was just the two of you in the empty hallway, and you came to adore the real her.

During Friday mornings, Natasha knew you left for work a little later than usual. If she were home, she'd take the elevator ride down with you and then the short walk to the coffee shop. Natasha had nowhere to be, but you didn't need to know that. A routine formed, because she liked the weight of your presence beside her.

Today, the sound of the elevator wires wasn't the only thing humming in her ears. Natasha stood beside you, hands in the pockets of her jacket as she rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet. You had a backpack on your shoulders. Fidgeting with the straps of it, your restlessness was quite loud, too.

Natasha thought you to be endearingly normal in a life that was anything but.

The ding of the elevator announced the arrival at the ground floor. Neither of you made a move to leave. A beat passed, and Natasha bit back a smirk as she looked at you with narrowed eyes.

Your lips were pursed and your eyes big and bright when you turned to her. You felt like an old friend. Natasha had never felt her chest so light.

"Do you want to have a sleepover?"

The words that fell from your mouth made Natasha's smile stumble. She blinked slowly, buying herself time. "What?"

Your gaze shifted to your converse sneakers sheepishly. You grabbed the straps of your backpack tightly. "A sleepover," you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. "You know, girls' night. Movies, snacks?"

No, Natasha didn't know. The idea was novel to her, and she felt a little out of place in her own skin. The only idea of a girls' night that Natasha knew involved brutal training that could end with someone being killed.

But you didn't have to know that; you were the unstained part of her life, and she wanted to keep it that way. Natasha cleared her throat, hands closing into fists inside her pockets. She had trouble finding her voice, not used to feeling this nervous about something so simple.

From the corner of her eye, Natasha spotted the old lady, who lived across the hallway from you two, making her way to the elevator. Natasha blamed it on instinct when she reached for your lower waist and guided you out and to the side, fingers pressing gently against your spine. She pulled away as soon as you stopped walking.

"You and… Me?"

"Yeah." You nodded, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Okay." Maybe Natasha should've known better. But you made her soft.

Later, the red numbers on her clock read 8 pm when Natasha walked out her door to knock on yours. She wouldn't tell you she had been silently sitting on her couch since 6, observing her little potted plant by the window—now not so little anymore—sway softly with the breeze, and wishing time would go by faster.

Natasha didn't know what the attire should be for a girls' night, but she settled on grey sweatpants and a white tank top. You opened your door for her, and the smile on your face was the biggest Natasha had seen. It made her heart pump blood much faster than it should.

You wore a light blue shirt and pants, with drawings of little sheep on them. Something as ordinary as this shouldn't be making Natasha bite back tears.

You had it all ready; snacks, soda, and a fuzzy blanket on the couch for you and her to share. Natasha walked into your apartment with the caution of a stray cat. She looked around and saw telltales of you everywhere, on each portrait hung on the walls and each book on the shelves. There was a warmth to your home that mimicked your own.

The lights were out, save for a lamp in one corner and the bright screen of the TV waiting to play a movie. In the back of her mind, Natasha thought about the steps that were skipped. She found herself wanting to take you out to dinner first.

You handed her the bowl of popcorn, brimming with excitement. "Is there a movie you'd like to watch?"

The fantasy shattered just a little more. Natasha avoided your gaze, her nails tapping the bowl rhythmically.

"I don't have a preference." Her voice sounded small, and she stood awkwardly in the middle of your living room. In truth, she wasn't too well-versed in the recent movies. Because while you were going out with friends, she was going out for a job that would make her take people's lives.

You two were so different. Natasha feared she would taint you.

But you sat down on your couch and patted the space beside you, and Natasha felt like a satellite unable to deny your orbit. She sat beside you, pulling her knees up to her chest as you draped the blanket over both of you.

The movie you chose seemed to be one you liked, because you talked almost as much as the characters on the screen.

Natasha didn't mind, she liked your voice better anyway.

Natasha felt a shiver go up her spine when you reached for popcorn at the same time, and your hands tangled together for a fleeting moment. You chuckled then, a soft sound under your breath, all shy and gentle.

The light from the TV shaped your features like something from a dream. Natasha's gaze mapped each curve, staying longer on your lips. She sighed, full of want, but also fear.

By the middle of the second movie, the bowl of popcorn was almost empty, and the cans of soda were forgotten on your coffee table. You weren't talking as much, and Natasha observed how your eyes became sleepy. She found herself doing that a lot, just looking at you. Committing every detail to memory for when she had to leave the apartment for the last time, and not return.

Your body shifted as you hugged the blanket closer. Your shoulder came to rest against Natasha's, and your head soon followed. It was a warm and constant presence. You were so close.

Natasha had tensed up immediately, nails digging into the fabric of her pants and shoulders going stiff. She hardly dared to breathe, stuck between the instinct to protect herself and the want to lean closer.

Even with a tired mind, you felt it. And combined with how quiet Natasha had been for most of the night, you pulled away. You didn't know that you were the first to give Natasha a taste of the ordinary life she'd secretly wished for.

She was good at being a spy, she was good at being an assassin. She wasn't too good at being a person.

No one ever taught Natasha how to love. Her war paint and scarred hands could never hold you like you deserved. This was the second reason why she shouldn't want to kiss you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

Natasha’s taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #marvel #black widow #marveledit #mcu #black widow imagine #fluff #imagine #fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasharomanoffedit #my story

210 notes · View notes

bellaveux · 8 months ago

Note

Helloo!! can i ask you a fic where reader is obssesed with cooking/baking and is really good at it and nat loves to eat whatever reader gives to her, super fluff! I just love the way someone can mix some things together and make it taste good tho i'm not able to :P

taste of home | n. romanoff x fem!reader

genre: fluff

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: natasha loves your cooking, especially when it’s made just for her. after being away on a mission, she finds herself missing not just your food, but you in general—and everything that comes with being home.

content warnings: fluff, kissing, soft!natasha, reader is good at cooking but nat will probably start a fire lol

word count: 2.4k

Natasha was never really one for cooking. She was great at a lot of things—following orders, handling high-pressure situations, even outsmarting some of the most dangerous people in the world—but somehow, cooking always felt like it required a kind of patience she didn’t have. Following instructions? Sure. That part was easy. But there was something about the process, the time it took, the attention to detail that seemed to escape her. It wasn’t that she didn’t try, but everything she made always came out either too bland or a little burnt. Even the simplest meals seemed to mock her, reminding her that not everything could be solved with precision and efficiency. She found herself more often than not reaching for a jar of peanut butter, slathering it on some bread, and then calling it dinner. It was easier that way—quick, no mess, no stress.

But then there was you. You made cooking look like second nature, your hands moving with a kind of ease Natasha envied. Your meals were homemade, warm, and full of flavor, and every bite left Natasha wondering how something so simple could taste so perfect. It was one of the many things she loved about coming home—knowing that you would have something on the stove or in the oven, filling the apartment with a warmth that Natasha had never really known before.

She had long grown accustomed to the food she encountered on missions or during her travels—unremarkable meals in sterile hotels or bland, quickly prepared rations. The food rarely satisfied her; it was functional at best, a means to an end rather than something to be enjoyed. She could eat it, of course, but it never brought her the kind of comfort she craved. It was always your cooking that had spoiled her palate for anything else.

When Natasha found herself hungry and miles away from home, away from the large apartment you shared with her, she would think of you, and it was like a switch would flip. The image of you standing by the stove, a warm promise of something delicious, would fill her with an eager joy that made the waiting almost unbearable. In those moments, she would dream of coming home, of the way you would smile at her, greeting her with a gentle kiss, as you stirred a pot or slid a dish into the oven, the kitchen filling with the rich, inviting aromas of a meal made with love. It was a small, comforting certainty that awaited her after each mission.

Natasha found something inexplicably thrilling about watching you cook. It wasn’t just the delicious meal you made for her that excited her—it was the sight of you looking so beautiful, the way you moved effortlessly around the kitchen, lost in your own world. It was endearing. She’d often stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small smile, just observing, feeling a flutter of warmth in her chest. Your delicate brow furrowed as you tasted and adjusted seasonings, your hands deftly working with ingredients. She always finds it hard to resist the urge to come up behind you, wrap her arms around your waist, litter kisses against your shoulders, listening to your laugh.

Steve glanced over at Natasha, noticing the faint, almost imperceptible smile playing at her lips. They were both sitting in the Quinjet, the low hum of the engines filling the quiet space as they cruised back home after a grueling two-week mission overseas. He hadn’t seen Natasha this relaxed in a while, and he certainly didn’t expect to catch her lost in thought, eyes soft, her usual sharp focus dulled into something more distant.

“What’s got you smiling?” Steve asked, his voice breaking the silence.

Natasha blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, her smile fading just slightly as she looked over at him. She shrugged, trying to play it off, but Steve knew her better than that.

“Nothing,” she said, but there was a lightness in her voice that didn’t match her usual tone after missions.

Steve raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. “Right. I’ve never seen you smile after two weeks of dealing with mercenaries and sleeping in freezing bunkers.”

Natasha couldn’t help but smile a little wider at that, shaking her head. She glanced down at her hands, fingers brushing the edge of the seat. Her mind was drifting to you, as always. Just the thought of walking into their apartment and seeing you there, warm and welcoming, was enough to make her feel like she could breathe again. She thought about you standing in the kitchen, an apron tied loosely around your waist, cooking something that would inevitably taste better than anything Natasha had eaten on the mission.

“I’m just... thinking about home,” Natasha finally said, her voice softer now, a warmth spreading in her chest at the thought of you waiting for her.

He grinned knowingly at Natasha’s response, his tone teasing as he leaned forward a little. “Yeah? Got someone waiting for you?”

A faint heat rose to her cheeks, though she masked it quickly, rolling her eyes at his question. “Something like that,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward again.

Steve laughed softly. “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I think it’s nice. You deserve something—someone—good to come home to.” His voice was genuine, and when she looked up at him, she could see the sincerity in his eyes. It meant a lot coming from Steve.

“Yeah,” Natasha murmured, her mind drifting back to the image of you back in the apartment. There was something grounding about knowing she had someone to come home to, someone who made the hard world that surrounded her a little softer. Her smile deepened at the thought, her fingers tapping lightly on her knee. “I guess I’m pretty lucky.”

Steve glanced at Natasha, his smile lingering for a moment before his gaze shifted out the window. The horizon stretched before them, the compound slowly coming into view, nestled miles away. He watched it quietly for a moment, the soft hum of the Quinjet filling the air.

Natasha leaned back in her seat, stretching her arms above her head with a sigh. "I’m also pretty excited to eat something that’s not the stale food they pack us for these missions." She wrinkled her nose, thinking about the bland, vacuum-sealed meals they'd had for the past two weeks. "If I have to eat another energy bar, I might lose it."

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, nothing like field rations to make you appreciate real food." He took a sip from his water bottle, glancing at her with a teasing grin.

Natasha was never a picky eater. But throughout the two weeks away from you, she didn’t eat as much. The food they had packed was functional—protein bars, dehydrated meals, and tasteless energy snacks meant to keep them going. But Natasha could only force herself to eat the bare minimum, just enough to keep her energy up for the task at hand. Meals usually felt like a routine, not something to enjoy, and as the days dragged on, her appetite shrank even more. She ate just enough to keep herself going, but it never felt satisfying.

And she was grateful to have something, of course—yet each bite only reminded her of what she was missing. But out in the field, food was just fuel, but at home, when you cooked, it was more than that. It was comfort. It was love. And as much as Natasha needed sustenance, she craved that feeling more.

After what felt like the longest mission in months, Natasha finally stepped off the Quinjet and into the compound, exhaustion clinging to her bones. The familiar hum of the base was a strange kind of comfort, but all she could think about was getting back home. Back to you. After sending you a quick text, she moved quickly, her mind already half out the door as she peeled off her tactical suit and threw on something more casual. Her simple black leather, jeans—nothing special. Her body was sore, her muscles tight from the mission, but the thought of seeing you made everything easier to bear.

Natasha sped through the dimly lit streets of New York in her sleek black car, the city blurring past in streaks of neon and headlights. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, excitement building in her chest. She could feel the familiar hum of the engine beneath her, but her mind was already miles ahead, picturing you waiting for her at home. The drive felt agonizingly slow, even though she was pushing the speed limits, navigating the familiar route with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. Every red light felt like an eternity, every stop a moment too long. She wasn’t one to rush, usually careful and calculated, but tonight she wanted nothing more than to be home, to see you.

Finally, her building came into view, and Natasha parked quickly, barely able to contain the smile that tugged at her lips as she made her way inside.

You always missed her when she was away on longer missions. And you tried not to think about it too much, but every night, you’d catch yourself making enough food for two, even though you were the only one there to eat it. Tonight was no different. You made enough for two, like always, as if some part of you knew Natasha would be back soon. As you reached for a spice jar, the soft click of the front door unlocking echoed through the apartment. You paused, your heart skipping, your hand stilling over the stove.

The door creaked open, and you felt a familiar flutter in her chest. You heard the soft jingle of car keys and the faint click of the front door closing from the kitchen. The footsteps that followed were gentle, and you could almost picture Natasha’s careful movements—the way she set down her bag and slipped off her shoes.

You continued to stir the pasta, your smile remained soft. After a beat, you felt Natasha’s strong arms wrap around your waist, sending a shiver of delight down your spine. Your breath hitched slightly, a contented sigh escaping your mouth as you leaned back into Natasha’s body.

“Hi,” you let out a soft laugh as Natasha’s lips brushed softly against your shoulders, trailing delicate kisses along the curve of your neck. Each touch was light, almost hesitant, but full of love. You laughed softly, the gentle tickling sensation making your shoulders shake as you tried to stifle her giggles.

Natasha mumbled quietly back against your skin, the vibrations from her voice causing a shiver of delight. The sound was barely audible, but it was filled with tenderness. Natasha’s kisses continued, mingling with the soft laughter that filled the kitchen.

“Hi, baby,” she repeated, her chin now resting atop your shoulder, looking down at the stove where your hand mixed the pasta gently. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you said, turning the stove off, the sizzle of the pasta fading as you gently moved to turn in Natasha’s hands.

Her arms kept you close to her body, and before you could fully turn around, Natasha’s lips found yours. She sighed against them, feeling you smile softly against hers. Your hands found their way to her face as her hands squeezed your hips firmly.

You pulled away from the kiss, your hands moving up to cradle Natasha’s face gently. You studied her for a moment, your brow furrowing as you took in every little detail—the slight hollowness in her cheeks, the way her body felt just a tad bit thinner against yours. Your thumb brushed softly along Natasha’s jawline, your voice soft with concern.

“How was the mission?” You asked, using your middle finger to brush a couple strands away from her face to tuck it behind her ear.

“Long,” she sighed, leaning in closer to your touch.

“You look a little skinnier,” you murmured, your eyes searching Natasha’s. “Have you been eating?”

Natasha gave a small nod, but it wasn’t convincing. You knew her too well. Knew how missions drained her, how she barely ate more than she had to, always brushing it off like it didn’t matter.

“You should eat more, Natasha,” you said quietly, your hands still holding her face as if you could protect her from the world, if only for a moment.

“I’ll eat when you cook for me,” Natasha’s eyes softened as she stared down at your lips, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. “I like it when you cook for me.”

You exhaled softly, your lips curving into a gentle smile as Natasha’s fingers lightly traced the edges of your waist. You could see the sincerity in her gaze, the way her tiredness seemed to melt away just being here, just being with you. It made your own heart swell.

"Let’s eat, then,” you replied, your smile widening as you brushed a thumb tenderly over her cheek.

Natasha pulled you closer, if it was even possible; her voice was a low murmur against your neck, her lips grazing the soft skin there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “What if… I had some dessert first before dinner?”

You let out a small laugh, rolling your eyes even as a coy smile tugged at your lips. “Very funny, Romanoff,” you replied, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when your fingers tightened in Natasha’s shirt. You gently nudged her back with a soft, playful push. “Go get the plates.”

Natasha chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. She quick kiss to your lips again, lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more before finally pulling away. Her hands trailed down your sides as she stepped back, a grin still playing on her face.

"Fine," she said, her voice light as she moved toward the cabinets.

She set the plates on the table, her movements slower than usual, as though savoring the moment. When she finally sat down and took her first bite, the rich, creamy taste of your truffle pasta hit her immediately. It was delicious—better than anything she could’ve imagined after two weeks of bland mission rations. She let out a contented sigh, her shoulders relaxing, the tension of the last few days melting away. You sat across from her, watching with that soft, knowing smile, and all Natasha could think was how much she loved this—loved you. She loved the way you took care of her without even trying, loved the way you made coming home feel like a blessing. For the first time in weeks, Natasha felt truly at peace, and as she took another bite, she couldn’t help but think that there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

navigation! (natasha’s masterlist is still in progress lol)

#bellaveux writes!#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #fluff #avengers x reader

548 notes · View notes

marvelfilth · 2 years ago

Text

Jealous girl (18+)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

Warnings: secret relationship, smut, jealousy, possessiveness, daddy kink, fingering, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Natasha's in her 30s), praise, pet names, orgasm denial

Summary: your best friend Peter needs help, Natasha's not happy about it at all.

Masterlist

You're standing in the kitchen when it happens.

Peter barges in, his hair a tangled mess, his sweatshirt inside out. You jump away from Natasha's arms, making her spill her protein shake. She shoots him a dirty look, her lips curling up upon registering his disheveled state.

You try to keep the annoyance from showing on your face, but you know you're doing a terrible job when Peter winces apologetically, throwing a bag full of Ben and Jerry's on the counter.

"Code red," he pants.

You straighten immediately, trying to shoo Natasha away with a look, but, instead of leaving, she makes herself comfortable on the counter with an excited glint in her eyes.

You've been friends with Peter ever since he ran you over with his bike in kindergarten, leaving you with a tiny scar on your shin, and a fear of any two-wheeled object. Your friendship grew over the years, and soon enough you were joined at hip, going to the same school and college, tagging along on his patrols, mainly to keep him out of the police radars.

"What's wrong?" You ask, fearing the worst. "Is Venom acting up again? Is it Felicia? I swear to God, if it's her again I'm gonna-"

That's when you decided to make a secret code to help you stay under the radar. In hindsight, you could've thought of something more elaborate than code red, code green and code yellow, but neither of you had enough brain power for that.

"It's MJ!" He cuts you off, shifting on his feet.

You stammer, looking at Natasha for help, but she appears equally puzzled. "I didn't think she had it in her, to be honest," she says, taking a sip of her shake.

"What?" Peter yelps, before jumping up, his hands flying up in an X motion. "No! She's not- No! She's not a villain, or a criminal, or anything like that."

You decide you've had enough of his blabbering, so you take hold of his shoulders and corner him against the counter. "What is it, Peter?"

He takes a deep breath, his cheeks painted crimson, and blurts out, "I really need you to kiss me."

You jump away like you've been burned, shooting an alarmed look to Natasha, but she doesn't register it, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, her knuckles white from the grip she has on her protein shake. You think you can hear it creak.

You turn back to look at your best friend, who's blissfully unaware of your relationship with the most dangerous person in this building, just like everyone else on the team.

Natasha's reluctance to share her love life with her teammates came to bite her in the ass.

"No, wait. That came out wrong." He winces, his eyes darting to Natasha. You can hear him gulp when their eyes meet.

"I think you were pretty clear, Parker," she gritts, jumping off the counter, and comes to stand behind you, hovering over your shoulder.

You send him an encouraging look, taking hold of Natasha's hand behind your back.

"I have a date with MJ-"

"Doesn't explain why you need my- Y/n to kiss you."

You shoot her a warning look. "Let him finish."

Her jaw clenches, but she relents, nodding to the boy to continue.

He looks like he regrets every life choice that led him to this moment.

"Okay, so. I have a date with MJ, and I planned it all out, right? But… um… there's a problem." He clasps his hands, thumbs fiddling. You stay silent in fear of him closing off, and patiently wait for him to continue. "I've never had a girlfriend before, and I've been kissed twice, if you count that one time when Ned fell on top of me and kind of swallowed my face." Natasha snorts, and Peter blushes deep red, his eyes pleading. "I need practice because otherwise I'll just embarrass myself, and she'll hate me forever."

You feel Natasha tense up again, and you're ready to ask her to leave, but she beats you to it, speaking up before you could open your mouth. "I don't think MJ would like you kissing someone else right before your date." Her tone is even, carefully emotionless, but you feel the way her breathing shakes slightly, her grip on your hand tightening.

Peter looks at you, brows set in confusion. "But it's Y/n, she doesn't count as someone!" You huff, indignant. He winces, but goes on. "I could ask Ned, but I don't think he has any experience, so please, please do this for me?"

You turn around to face Natasha. "Can you leave us?"

Her eyes narrow, lips curled. "You're not kissing him." Her hands land on your waist possessively, and you're suddenly turned around. She lowers her chin to your shoulder, lips grazing the shell of your ear as she speaks, "Listen to me very carefully, Parker."

Peter gulps, and takes a step back, his eyes wide and alert.

"You're going to leave and find someone else to help with your little problem. We'll pretend this conversation never took place, and you'll never even think about kissing Y/n again. Am I being clear?" She almost growls, her eyes flashing.

Peter nods dumbly, before hurrying to the door. He stops halfway to shoot you a bewildered look over his shoulder. "Wait… Are you two-"

"Out, Parker," Natasha barks, her face half buried in the crook of your neck. You blush, and wave your friend goodbye, grateful when he disappears behind the door without any further questions.

"Tasha," you whine, turning in her hold. "That wasn't necessary."

She scoffs, and picks you up with practiced ease, settling you on the counter and taking place between your parted thighs. "Yes it was." She sucks at the tender skin just below your collarbone, leaving a stinging bruise. "I can't believe you wanted me to leave." She squeezes your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Her mouth is all over your neck - sucking, biting and licking, claiming. You're sure no amount of concealer will be enough to hide the marks.

"Natty," you whimper, "he's my friend, I wanted to talk some sense into him."

She hums, the skin on the underside of your jaw pulled between her teeth. "I did the same thing, no?" Her fingers sneak past the waistband of your shorts, but you're quick to catch her wrist.

"What are you doing?" You look around, panting heavily. "What if someone walks in?"

"Daddy," you moan, pushing her face lower. Her fingers feel so heavenly that you don't even care about anyone walking in - you need her tongue, now. "Please."

You're pushed flat against the counter then, your back on the cold marble, your ass hanging right off the edge. Your fingers disappear in her tresses when she bends down to place a kiss on your clothed cunt.

"Let them see who you belong to," she murmurs, entering your aching core. You bite back a moan, arching in her hold, your pussy clenching around her long digits. Fleeting kisses are placed all over your stomach, her fingers curling inside your heat.

She chuckles, gently biting on your hip bone. "So needy already? I barely started." She adjusts the angle, fastening the pace, but your shorts get in the way, making you huff impatiently.

"Take them off, please," you whimper, clenching around her.

"And when someone walks in, and sees you spread wide open, what then? You think I'd allow anyone to see this pretty pussy?" Her fingers scissor inside you, stretching your walls.

"N-no."

"That's right," she hums, "because it belongs to me." She pulls out to land a short slap on your slit. "Perfect little hole for daddy to play with."

She teases your folds, collecting wetness before pushing her fingers into your mouth. You eagerly suck them in, letting her fuck your mouth, tips of her fingers pushing against your throat. "Such an obedient girl," she murmurs, dark eyes fixated on your lips. You squirm, hips rocking against her abdomen with desperate need of release.

She pulls out her fingers, smearing your slick mixed with spit over your chin.

"I need you," you whine, catching her wrist and leading her hand lower, your panties sticking to your drenched cunt.

She takes the fabric in her fist, and tugs it up, making it press against your pulsing clit. You moan loudly, throwing your head back. She kneads your supple breast with her other hand, and you arch into her, pulling her closer to your aching core with your hips.

"We'll tell everyone tonight," she murmurs against your lips. "But right now you need to be a good girl and take everything daddy gives you."

You nod, feeling your pussy clench around nothing, begging for Natasha's fingers to return. She tugs on your lower lip with her teeth and plunges three fingers inside, hitting a spongy spot deep in your heat. You arch off the counter, pressing against her front, your legs clenched hard around her hips. She grunts lowly, setting a slow pace, making sure to explore your pussy with each thrust, collecting your wetness when she pulls out only to push it back inside. You bury your face in her shoulder, your fingers disappear in her hair, tugging at the tresses.

"Good?" She whispers against your ear, spreading her fingers inside, her thumb firm on your clit.

You gasp, and bite down on the muscle of her shoulder, nodding with your eyes clenched shut. "S-so good, daddy."

She hums, her full lips pulling in a smirk, and starts circling your pulsing nub. You throw your head back, moaning loudly, and she takes the opportunity to paint your neck purple, sucking on the tender skin hard enough to leave bruises.

"M'gonna… I'm gonna come," you whimper when she hits your sweet spot, making your toes curl.

"Did I say you could, babygirl?" She chuckles into your neck, making sure to hit the spot with each thrust. You shake your head, closing your eyes and furrowing your brows in effort to stop your approaching orgasm, your body as tense as a drawn bowstring. "That's right, baby," she cooes, kissing the corner of your mouth, "you're not allowed to."

Your heart drops to your stomach, torn between wanting to be Natasha's good girl and giving in to the pleasure. “Please, please let me…” you whine, buckling against her hand.

She pulls away, her eyes level with yours, and you want to sob from how good she feels inside you, your pussy clenching around her slender fingers.

“You’ll hold it for me,” she says, “and I'll make up for it later tonight.” You almost huff in frustration, knowing that you'll have to walk around the Compound painfully wet for the rest of the day.

She grabs your jaw, seemingly reading your thoughts. “And don't even think about touching yourself.”

She pulls away abruptly and tugs you off the counter before fixing your shorts and stepping away. You blink rapidly, disoriented by the sudden change, your pussy aching in the sweetest way.

Sam enters the kitchen a second later.

You subtly wipe your mouth clean, and even out your breathing while he rummages the upper shelves. Natasha's eyes glint with mischief as she slowly wipes her fingers with a paper towel.

"You up for a training session?" She asks Sam, and you shoot her a furious look. Your glare does nothing to the redhead, as she continues watching you silently, a teasing smirk pulling at her mouth.

Sam scoffs, looking between you two. "Like you weren't about to get nasty two seconds ago."

Natasha chuckles, her eyes flashing. "About to? You need to work on your observation skills, Wilson."

Sam stills, his eyes darting between you two, and you look away, knowing that nothing could hide your red cheeks and bruised lips.

He chokes on his water the moment he sees your neck. "Damn, Romanoff," he gasps, coughing. "Right here?! This is a sacred place! I cook here!"

Natasha hums, shrugging carelessly. "I eat here," she retorts, and you can tell by the crinkles near her eyes she's about to say something that's gonna make you want to bury yourself. "Actually, I was about to devour something really delic-"

"Natasha!" You shriek, tugging her away from the kitchen, but not before quietly apologizing to Sam.

She laughs quietly, following you to the bedroom. "I think we're banned from the kitchen now."

She thinks. You scoff, shaking your head. Trust Natasha to go from a full secrecy mode to telling every living soul about your sex life.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x reader #black widow smut #black widow x you #natasha romanoff x you

3K notes · View notes

downbadf0rficppl · 1 year ago

Text

love in the dark

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being Natasha's in the dark, where no one can see you, but what if all the hiding causes insecurities to rear their head and make you question if you are even good enough for this job?

Word Count: 12.5K (CRAZY IK)

AN: Maybe - definitely - OOC Natasha, but I wanted to get my annoyance out somewhere. It's been a long week *crying face*. Anyway, I can't write anything angsty (dk if I would classify this as angst angst but ya know) without a lil bit of fluff at the end so yh. Also sorry that the plot is a bit shit - I haven't reread this and it was a lil bit word-vomity?? Will reread and edit eventually haha. HEA, hurt/comfort vibes? :P

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me

The dim light of morning filters through the curtains as you quietly gather your things, your heart a tangled mess of emotions you’d rather not confront. Natasha’s apartment is always neat—pristine, even in its chaos—but today it feels colder than usual. The aftermath of the night lingers in the air: the weight of intimacy, of bodies pressed together, of shared moments that somehow don't leave a mark, yet always seem to hang over you.

You move with practiced ease, pulling on your clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the stillness. Natasha’s absence from the bed doesn’t surprise you; she’s already up, probably training or doing some task to keep herself distracted, to keep from thinking about the mission, about what happened, about anything. You don’t blame her. You’ve seen the way she handles it—how she compartmentalizes her emotions, how sex is the one thing she doesn’t keep in a box.

The door to her bathroom creaks open as you finish zipping your jacket. She doesn’t look at you, her hair damp from a quick shower, her expression unreadable, almost distant. She grabs her black leather jacket from the chair, pulls it on, and heads to the kitchen, the clink of mugs the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak, but the words always seem to hang on the tip of your tongue, trapped behind something you don’t know how to say. You're younger—years younger—and Natasha... well, Natasha never gives anything away. Not in the way you want her to. Her walls are solid, built from years of training, of being a weapon. And you? You’re just a moment, a fleeting thing in her life.

You find her standing by the window now, her back to you, her figure outlined against the early light. She’s always like this after missions, like she’s trying to rid herself of the weight, trying to get back to being Natasha again, instead of... whatever else she’s forced to be.

“Thanks for last night,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t even acknowledge your words immediately. Then, as if the silence is too much to bear, she speaks. “You should go. Goodnight, baby.” Her voice is low, steady, but there's an edge to it—something you can’t quite place.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

You turn to leave, but something inside you twists, a knot in your stomach that isn’t just from the awkwardness. It’s the realization that, for all the time you’ve spent together, nothing will ever change. This is just routine—an unspoken agreement between the two of you. She'll keep using you to forget, and you’ll keep pretending this isn’t affecting you.

But Natasha doesn’t ask you to stay, doesn’t even look at you as you make your way toward the door. When you reach the threshold, you steal one last glance at her. Her eyes are on the window again, her face set in that familiar, unreadable expression.

You leave without a word, the door clicking softly behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening.

This is never ending, we have been here before

But I can't stay this time, 'cause I don't love you anymore

The quiet hum of the helicarrier was almost calming, the steady vibrations of the engines beneath your feet grounding you after a chaotic mission. You’d never felt more alive than when you were out there—fighting, taking down the bad guys, doing what SHIELD trained you to do. But tonight, that adrenaline wasn’t enough to silence the nagging feeling inside of you. You kept replaying the moments from the mission—the moments with Natasha.

The mission had gone smoothly. You had worked well together, flowing seamlessly as a team, and Natasha had even given you a rare, approving glance when it was all over. It had been a high-stakes op, but everything had fallen into place. When the mission was debriefed, there had been laughter, light-hearted jokes exchanged between agents, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha.

Her touch had lingered, just a moment longer than necessary, when she passed you your gear. Her eyes had met yours once, a flicker of something in them. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make you wonder. Maybe she feels it too, you thought. The way she looked at you, the way she spoke—there was an intimacy in it, a spark you couldn’t quite ignore.

The night had unfolded with a casual invitation to meet in her room. No big deal, she’d said. Just to grab a drink, just to relax. But when you entered her room, it felt different. You both shed the weight of the mission in the space between words, the tension between you growing as the night went on. Her touch had been slow, almost gentle, when it first brushed against your skin. You’d been hesitant, unsure of what was happening, but she seemed so confident, so sure.

It wasn’t until later—after you were tangled up in each other, breathless, skin flushed—that you felt that spark you had hoped for. Maybe she was just as interested, just as real about this as you were. It wasn’t just a mission anymore, not just two agents getting the job done. There was a connection. There was something between you.

But when you stepped out of her room the next morning, something shifted in the air. The way she had casually kissed you on the cheek before you left, the way she didn’t ask you to stay, didn’t look at you the way you hoped—none of it was what you imagined.

Later, you passed a group of agents gathered in a corner of the mess hall, talking in low voices. You’d barely paid them any mind, too focused on your own thoughts, but then you heard it.

“I wonder who Nat picked this time,” one of them had said, laughing.

“Probably one of the newbies who doesn’t know any better. Gets what she wants, and moves on. No strings attached.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your heart sinking lower with every syllable. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. The woman you had admired from a distance, the one you had trusted and looked up to, had just used you. And maybe—maybe you had been just another mission for her.

You couldn’t help but feel the sting of that realization. You had wanted more. You had convinced yourself that there was something more to it—that the way she held you, the way she whispered your name had meant something. But no. This was who she was. A lone wolf. Cold. Detached.

You didn’t say anything, of course. You just nodded, forcing yourself to accept what you had heard, forcing yourself to forget what had happened the night before. The optimism you had clung to began to die right then and there. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t something that could grow or change.

You walked back to your quarters, the weight of the mission—and your heartache—settling in your chest. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier to be just one of the many in a string of forgettable faces. The night with Natasha had been a blip. No more, no less.

The next time you saw her, you kept your distance, smiled a little tighter, and allowed the walls to go up. There was no point in hoping for something more when you knew exactly how this worked. She was always a few steps ahead of you, always thinking of the next mission, the next fight, never lingering too long in one place.

And you? You learned to accept that. No strings attached. No expectations. Just the way things were.

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the training room as you and Natasha sparred. The fight was almost second nature now—quick jabs, swift dodges, and the occasional, playful taunt thrown into the mix. You'd gotten better at handling the pressure, but still, when it came to Natasha, it was hard not to feel like you were always playing catch-up. She was faster, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes, it seemed like she was born to fight.

You threw a punch, aiming for her midsection, but she dodged it with effortless grace, countering with a sharp jab to your ribs. You grunted, stumbling back a step, but you didn’t let it throw you off. You pressed forward, more determined now.

“Not bad,” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice light. “But you’re still weak. You need me to save you again, huh?” She laughed, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

It was a joke, you knew that, or at least, you thought you did. But something about her words hit you differently today. You weren’t in the mood to laugh. You had been pushing yourself hard in training, trying to prove that you could handle it on your own, that you weren’t just some rookie who was always under Natasha’s shadow.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the growing frustration that bubbled in your chest. You swung again, but this time, you missed her entirely. She dodged it effortlessly and caught your wrist in a hold that felt too tight.

“Still not enough,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you some more training lessons. You know, to make sure I don’t have to keep saving you.”

The joke, the lightness in her voice, it only made you more upset. “Maybe I don’t need saving,” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free from her grip, your temper flaring. “Maybe I can handle things on my own for once.”

Natasha’s smirk faltered, but she kept her hold firm. “Maybe I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Deep down you knew it was a joke, but it wasn’t funny to you—not today. Not when you already felt the weight of everyone’s whispers hanging over you like a shadow. She’s only here because she’s sleeping with Natasha. She’s nothing without her. Every agent seemed to think the same thing. Even some of your own teammates seemed to treat you like you were just an afterthought, a placeholder who only got the mission because of who you knew, not because of your skill.

You had always tried to prove them wrong. But when Natasha said things like that, it felt like all your efforts were for nothing. Like all of it was just... a joke.

You yanked your arm out of her grip and stepped back, glaring at her. “I don’t need you to save me, Natasha. I don’t need anyone.”

Her expression shifted, the playful edge in her eyes dimming. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t hear the things you heard, didn’t feel the weight of the judgment you carried every day. To her, this was just another training session, another moment of playful teasing. But to you? It was like being backed into a corner, your confidence slowly slipping away with every word.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Natasha said, her voice sharp now. “You know I’m just messing with you. Stop getting so moody.”

It stung more than it should’ve. You clenched your fists at your sides, holding back the urge to walk out of the room, to leave her there without another word.

But you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the walls close in around you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m just here for the fun of it. That I can’t do anything without you. You don’t even see it.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, and she let out a frustrated sigh, dropping her stance. “You’re being overly sensitive.”

You felt the words cut deep, the sting of her dismissal more painful than you wanted to admit. The last thing you wanted was for her to see you as some emotional mess. But it was too late. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the ache of being ignored, dismissed, and reduced to nothing more than a pawn in her world.

“Fine,” you snapped, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Maybe I should just go. You don’t need to deal with my mood anymore.”

Natasha didn’t even flinch at your outburst. Instead, she looked at you with a cold indifference. “Then fuck off,” she said bluntly, as if you were just another irritation, another moment she couldn’t be bothered with.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand why you were so angry, why you felt so small in that moment. And you realized, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that maybe she never would.

You turned and walked away without another word, your chest tight, your emotions a storm inside of you. You didn’t even know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay there, not with her. Not now.

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

The words hit like a slap in the face.

You hadn’t meant to overhear it. You had only walked into the SHIELD briefing room to check on some mission updates when Agent Ryder’s voice cut through the air, low but unmistakable.

You could feel the sting of his dismissive tone reverberating in your bones. Nepotism. The word had echoed in your head long after he’d left, taunting you. You knew the truth—your guardian wasn’t some high-ranking official, wasn’t some big shot with connections—but still, how could they say that? How could they reduce your hard work to just that? To nothing but the connections you didn’t even ask for?

You had always tried to prove yourself. Every mission, every task, every step forward was to show you deserved to be here, that you weren’t just some token agent or a pawn in a bigger game. You had trained harder than anyone. You had put in the hours, learned everything you could, sacrificed the same as everyone else. But still, every time you turned around, someone else was whispering behind your back, casting doubt on your worth.

And then there was Natasha. Her teasing had been the last straw. You had tried to laugh it off, to pretend it didn’t bother you, but you knew deep down that the way she dismissed you—it was just another reminder that you were expendable. You weren’t one of them. You were just... a mistake in the system.

So when you walked into the training room the next morning and saw Natasha leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking as relaxed and confident as ever, something inside you snapped.

You didn’t go to her like you usually did. You didn’t smile, didn’t offer the usual greeting. Instead, you simply nodded once, cold and distant.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped forward.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned away from her, grabbing your gear and adjusting it with deliberate care. The silence stretched between you both. You could feel her eyes on you, studying you, waiting for an explanation, but you didn’t owe her one. Not anymore. Not after everything.

“You’re still upset about yesterday, huh?” Natasha’s voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. A warning, maybe. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You ignored her, shoving your focus back into the task at hand, determined not to let her see the way your chest tightened. You didn’t want to feel weak. You didn’t want her to know how much her words hurt. You were done with this—done with pretending, done with leaning on her. You were going to prove yourself. You had to.

A few moments passed before Natasha stepped closer, frustration creeping into her tone. “If you don’t stop this, we’re going to have a problem.”

You turned to face her then, finally looking her in the eyes, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. We’re not going to have a problem. I’m done with this.” You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth. “I’m done with you. I’m tired of being treated like I’m some kind of charity case. Like I don’t belong here unless I’m under your shadow.”

Natasha’s face shifted, confusion flashing in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You took a step back, your voice rising in frustration. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? All of it. The way you make fun of me. Like it’s just a joke. Well, it’s not. I’ve been busting my ass here, and all you do is remind me that everyone thinks I’m just some charity case. Nepotism. You think that’s a joke? You think I need you to save me?”

Natasha’s expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the side, and then back to you. She crossed her arms, clearly trying to hold her composure. But there was something in her eyes—something tight, something hurt.

“Is this about yesterday?” she asked, her tone sharper now, but there was a hint of concern buried underneath. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting!” You shot back, unable to hold it in anymore. “You don’t get to dismiss me and then act like nothing happened. I’m not some... some... tool for you to use whenever you want. I’m not some kid you get to play with and forget about when it’s convenient.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, thick with tension. Natasha’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think this is about me using you? You think I’m using you? Is that what you really think?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with anger, her usual calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. She shook her head, disbelief and frustration written all over her face. “You’ve got it all wrong. But fine, if that’s how you feel, then go ahead. Go prove yourself, like you keep saying you will. But don’t come crawling back to me when you realize you can’t do it alone.”

The words stung, but it was the way she turned and walked away—cold, final—that hit you the hardest. You felt the knot in your chest tighten, but you didn’t call after her. You couldn’t.

You spent the rest of the day avoiding her, your mind racing with doubt and anger. It wasn’t about the mission, not really. It was about feeling like you were fighting a battle on your own, with no one in your corner. The more you tried to distance yourself, the more you realized how much you needed her, even if it hurt to admit it.

But you were stubborn. You had to prove to yourself that you weren’t just here because of someone else. You weren’t going to be Natasha’s shadow anymore.

You couldn’t.

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

The morning briefing had gone smoothly, the usual debriefing about mission parameters, objectives, and exit strategies. But there was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t shake. It was just a solo mission—nothing too difficult, Natasha had said, and you knew the protocol well. But the moment she had pulled out, just hours before takeoff, something in your gut twisted.

"It doesn't need to be a two-person mission," Natasha had said with her usual casual smile, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. "It’s easy. You’ve got this." Her voice had sounded almost dismissive, as if she hadn’t been training with you for months, as if she didn’t know how much you relied on her presence during missions. You knew Natasha wasn’t one for emotional goodbyes, but the absence of that small gesture—her usual good luck kiss before every mission—felt like a sign. You had never gone on a mission without one, and now, as you stood alone in the SHIELD hangar, you realized just how much you had come to rely on it.

She hadn’t even given you a heads-up, hadn’t said goodbye with her usual teasing smirk or reassuring look. It’s an easy mission, you told yourself. You don’t need her this time. But the unease in your chest told you otherwise.

You tugged the straps of your gear tighter, glancing once more at the aircraft. The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a small criminal syndicate operating out of a hidden base in the mountains, retrieve intel, and get out. You’d handled worse. But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was off. Your instincts were screaming at you, and for once, you weren’t willing to ignore them.

You checked your wristwatch again. The flight would take a few hours, leaving you with time to prepare mentally, but all you could think about was Natasha. The way she had waved you off with barely a second glance, as if you didn’t matter enough for a goodbye. You tried not to dwell on it. After all, Natasha didn’t do sentiment. But the emptiness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe she’s just focused on something else. But none of that helped. You were used to her being there with you, a reassuring presence by your side. You needed her, especially when the missions were dangerous—especially when you felt the weight of the world bearing down on you. But now, you were alone, and that felt heavier than you expected.

As the helicopter’s engines roared to life, you settled back into your seat, trying to center yourself. This mission wasn’t supposed to be difficult. You could do this alone, you kept telling yourself. But something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Natasha pulling out at the last minute. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't given you her usual kiss for luck, the one that always helped you steady your nerves before a mission. But whatever it was, it gnawed at you. Your instincts were telling you to watch your back. Something wasn’t adding up.

By the time you arrived at the drop zone, the helicopter had been quiet for too long. The mountainside stretched ahead, vast and intimidating, and the cold wind carried the promise of danger. You could see the hidden compound from the air—well-guarded, heavily fortified, and far from any backup. A simple mission, Natasha had called it.

You didn’t believe that for a second.

The drop was smooth, and you quickly moved into position, your boots crunching against the frozen ground. The area around the compound was still and eerily quiet. Too quiet. No guards on patrol. No sign of life. It didn’t make sense, but you pushed the unease aside. You had a job to do.

You made your way toward the compound, slipping into the shadows, the cold air biting at your skin. Every step felt calculated, but the tension in your shoulders refused to loosen. You kept glancing over your shoulder, as if expecting Natasha to appear and tell you everything was fine, that this was just another mission to add to the books.

But she wasn’t there.

You reached the compound’s perimeter and found the first guard’s post abandoned, his gear left behind but no sign of a struggle. There was no time to waste. You slipped inside, working quickly to disable the security systems and hack into the mainframe. The room you’d accessed was silent, save for the whir of the computers. As you pulled the intel from the servers, the cold feeling in your gut only grew.

Something wasn’t right. Your instincts had been spot-on—this mission had been a setup.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You froze, turning off the monitor and moving swiftly toward the exit. You didn’t have time to think. You just had to get out. The sudden realization hit you like a punch in the stomach—Natasha wasn’t here for a reason. She’d known this mission wasn’t as easy as it seemed. And now you were paying the price for going in blind, without her by your side.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted for cover, your mind racing. Every corner you turned felt like a trap. The compound was alive with activity now. You could hear voices, shouts, the sounds of boots hitting the concrete floor.

I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have trusted this mission without her.

You ducked into an alcove, pressing your back to the cold wall, your breath shallow. The door to the room you’d just vacated opened with a quiet click, and a group of armed men poured in, searching for you. The walls seemed to close in on you as the adrenaline kicked in. You had to move, had to get out, or you would be trapped.

Suddenly, your body started to droop, collapsing against the wall behind. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was long red hair tied into a bun.

But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine

The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

You woke to the sting of cold water splashing across your face, the shock of it making your body jerk awake, muscles aching with the memory of the fight. The pain was sharp, gnawing at your ribs and shoulders, each breath a struggle. The world around you was blurred, and all you could focus on was the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your eyes opened, blurry at first, and then the details started to sharpen: concrete walls, dim lighting, and the cold, oppressive silence that clung to the room. There were metal chairs around you, all empty but one. The leader of the enemy force, a tall man with a face carved from stone, stood before you, a smug look on his face as he held the bucket that had been your rude awakening.

He tossed the remaining ice water in your direction, a small slosh hitting your face as he watched you with cold, calculating eyes. “You’re a tough one,” he said in a low, mocking voice. “I didn’t think you’d last this long. But everyone cracks eventually, don’t they?”

Your throat was dry, and your tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper. You could feel the blood caked on your face, the bruises that were already starting to swell. But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming urge to break, you held your ground. You glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” the man sneered. “You SHIELD agents are all the same. So loyal. So stupid. You’re all just waiting for your little friends to come save you, aren’t you?”

Your lips pressed together tightly, and you refused to let a single word slip from them. You couldn’t afford to give him anything. Not a single piece of intel, not even a whimper. You knew that if you did, it would all be over.

He stepped closer, placing a booted foot against your thigh, forcing you back against the cold concrete. The pressure was almost unbearable, but you didn’t flinch. The silence between you both stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally gave a humorless laugh and straightened up. “I can wait. All of you are the same. Eventually, you’ll break.”

But you didn’t.

The next few days bled together in a haze of cold, pain, and isolation. The room was a blur of steel, concrete, and fluorescent lights. There were no windows, no sense of time. Your body was sore, covered in cuts and bruises, and the hunger gnawed at you. But you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not when you knew someone would come for you.

They’ll come. They have to.

Every time they came in, it was the same—questions, threats, taunts. And every time, you remained silent. You couldn’t let them know how desperate you were. You couldn’t let them see you break. Even if every part of you screamed for help, you stayed resolute, hoping that somehow, someone would find you, someone would come and end this.

But no one did.

It was only when the fourth day passed, when the darkness of the room had become your world, that you started to feel the weight of your own mind closing in. The silence, the isolation, the constant threat of pain—it started to take a toll on you. The hunger gnawed at your insides, and your thoughts drifted in and out. You could still hear his voice echoing in your head: They’ll come for you. They’ll come...

It was on the sixth day that it happened. A crack in the door. The low hum of voices. The sound of boots. You didn’t move at first, couldn’t. But then, just like that, the door swung open, and a small team of SHIELD agents burst in, guns drawn. They moved quickly, efficiently, sweeping the room and securing the area. You didn’t even have the energy to react as they cut through the restraints on your wrists and helped you to your feet.

"Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” one of them murmured, gently pulling you into their arms.

But the words didn’t register. You could hear them, but it was like they were coming from another world. You felt light-headed, your body numb, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

The next few days were a blur of recovery, of medical checks and debriefings that you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to. Every word felt like it was coming from a place far outside of you, and you couldn’t find the strength to answer.

In the quiet, isolated room they had put you in at the base, you sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. Every noise around you felt too loud. Every touch too much. They gave you time to recover, but you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. Your mind had shut down, your body running on autopilot.

There were no words. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The trauma, the isolation, everything that had happened—it left you feeling hollow. Broken.

You didn’t speak at all for days, your body recovering, but your mind still trapped in the darkness of that cold room. The cold man’s words echoed in your head. You’re all waiting for someone to come save you.

But even as the team tried to coax you into talking, even as they brought you your favorite food and gave you the space to recover, the silence remained.

Natasha didn’t come. She wasn’t there when you needed her, and the weight of that felt heavier than any physical wound. It wasn’t her fault. You knew that. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still alone.

Your recovery was slow. You weren’t the same person when you were finally cleared to leave the facility. There was a coldness in your eyes, a distance in your posture. The silence you had once embraced had become a shield, and now, it was all you had.

Natasha had visited you once during your recovery. She hadn’t said much, just sat in silence beside you. But even when she reached out to touch your hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The trauma had built walls too high, too thick to break. And no one, not even Natasha, could find their way through.

You were alive, yes. But the silence that followed felt like it would never end.

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

The sterile scent of the hospital room, the constant hum of machines, and the bright, white lights overhead did little to make you feel at ease. You stared at the ceiling, your gaze unfocused, your mind a swirling mess of everything that had happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You didn’t feel like you were living—just existing, going through the motions. Every movement felt like an effort, and the space around you felt too small, too suffocating.

You hadn’t spoken since the rescue. Not to anyone. The silence, once a comfort, had become a prison you couldn’t escape. Your throat was raw from the lack of words, and when you closed your eyes, you could still see the cold walls of that room, the mocking face of the enemy leader, and the weight of the isolation pressing down on you.

The door opened, and you didn’t look up. You knew who it was before the first words even registered.

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

The voice was sharp, familiar, cutting through the fog that had settled around your brain. Natasha.

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was screaming for you to stay quiet, to not let her in, because the moment you spoke, you knew it would shatter the wall you’d built to protect yourself. But Natasha didn’t wait for a response. She stormed into the room, her boots heavy on the floor, her expression tight with frustration.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” Natasha continued, her voice rising with every word. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s been weeks. You’re acting like a damn child, and I’m done with it. I don’t have time for this immature bullshit, especially from you.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of anger and confusion building inside you, but you refused to show it. You couldn’t. You knew better than to let her see the storm inside you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your schedule,” you said, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to add any more, any more than the words that barely scraped out. Sorry for being alive, sorry for failing.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she took a few steps closer, standing at the side of your bed. Her face was hard, her anger not hiding the concern that still flickered beneath. “You think this is easy for me, too? That I just get to pretend nothing happened? That I’m supposed to just let you wallow in here like—like this?” Her voice broke slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “This is fucking ridiculous, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you ruin everything you’ve worked for. Do you understand me? You’re going to lose everything.”

The sting of her words cut deep, but it was the accusation in her tone that truly hit you. The one that had been festering in your chest ever since you’d been dragged out of that hellhole. You weren’t who you thought you were. You weren’t the person who deserved this life. The dream job, the recognition, the chance to be someone worth a damn—none of it was meant for you. Not after everything that had happened. You weren’t strong enough to keep it all, to be who they thought you were. And Natasha—Natasha, who had always been a silent pillar of strength for you, was now reminding you how easily it could all be taken away.

Her words stung. Immature... Ruin everything... You could feel the weight of her disappointment settle into your chest like a stone, heavier than anything you had ever felt.

And then, it clicked.

The final straw broke. Natasha didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the extent of what had happened to you—the isolation, the pain, the days spent waiting for someone to find you, and the crushing feeling that no one would. You were broken, and she was treating it like it was just a phase. That you just needed to snap out of it.

But you couldn’t.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the pain from your injuries flaring in protest, but you pushed through. You weren’t sure where you were going, but you couldn’t stay here any longer. You had to leave. You had to escape the judgment, the expectations. You couldn’t pretend to be strong anymore.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Natasha snapped, but you were already moving. You couldn’t be near her right now. The anger, the betrayal—it was all too much.

Ignoring her calls, you grabbed the nearest coat, not caring that it didn’t quite fit right, and you made your way out of the room. You could hear her following you, her footsteps echoing behind you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t owe her anything anymore.

You didn’t owe anyone anything.

It didn’t take long to get to the secure office where you had to sign a few papers before they cleared your discharge. You barely registered the words the agent at the desk was saying. You barely noticed the fact that your fingers were trembling. You only had one thing on your mind—the resignation letter you had been drafting in your head for days.

You placed it on the desk in front of the agent, your hands shaking slightly as you slid the paper over to them. The words were short and to the point, and they made everything feel so final. So irreversible.

“I’m resigning,” you said, voice hoarse. “Effective immediately.”

The agent didn’t ask questions. They just nodded, their face unreadable, and then went about processing the paperwork. You watched, numb, as the reality of it all settled over you like a weight that you could never lift. You had dreamed of this job for so long, had worked so hard to get here, only to throw it all away because you didn’t deserve it anymore.

And in that moment, you felt everything you’d been holding in for weeks. The grief. The betrayal. The isolation. It all came rushing back, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t cry. The numbness, the emptiness, it was all you had now.

You stood up, turning away from the desk, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of finality wash over you. No turning back.

It wasn’t until you were almost out the door that you heard Natasha’s voice again, this time softer, more desperate. “Wait.”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and the world outside felt both too big and too small at the same time. You were alone now. Completely, irrevocably alone.

And somehow, that felt like the only truth you could rely on anymore.

I'm trying to be brave

Stop asking me to stay

Clint’s sharp eyes caught you before you could make it out of the door, his footsteps quick as he crossed the hallway. He was dressed in his usual casual gear, a quiver slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“Hey, wait,” Clint said, his voice softer than it usually was when he called someone out. You didn’t stop. Your feet kept moving, your heart hammering as you tried to escape. But Clint was relentless. He grabbed your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice laced with something like disappointment. “You can’t just walk out on everything. Nat’s worried sick.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, exhausted. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” you muttered, your voice strained. “Not hers, not anyone's. Just... just leave me alone.”

Clint studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing with understanding. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a quieter corner, away from the main corridors, where he knew you wouldn’t be overheard.

"Look," Clint said, his voice lower now, softer but still firm, "I don’t know what kind of crap Nat's been feeding you, but I can tell you're hurting. You think you can just walk away from everything, like it’ll make things better? You think that's gonna fix anything?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to. But Clint didn’t need an answer.

“I hear things,” Clint went on. “I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s trying to hide something. And I’ve been in the rafters during most of those 'training' sessions with Nat. You think you’re the only one who feels small, huh?” His voice turned bitter, a subtle edge to it. “You think you’re the only one she’s pushed away?”

You stared at him, shocked, unable to respond. Clint saw right through you. He knew what was happening, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“She’s been messing with your head, hasn’t she?” Clint said. “Somehow, you think you’re not good enough, that you don’t belong here. You think everything you’ve done has been handed to you on a silver platter because of her. Well, let me tell you something—that’s not true.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you still didn’t speak. It was like you couldn’t find the words. The guilt, the shame, the feeling of never measuring up to the expectations—they all churned in your stomach.

Clint let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes softening. “You’re good enough,” he said, his tone firm, but there was an understanding there that made your throat tighten. “You’ve earned every bit of your place here. And if she can't see that, then she's the one who’s in the wrong. It’s not about who you know or who you're sleeping with. You’re here because of you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You felt the tears welling up, but you forced them back, swallowing the lump in your throat. Clint’s words had landed hard, and it was like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding was finally being released. But before you could say anything, Clint stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“Natasha…” Clint trailed off, his jaw tightening. “She’s been a mess lately. She’s scared—scared of losing you, scared of messing things up. But she doesn’t know how to apologize for anything. She’s been pushing you away because she’s too afraid to admit what she’s done. So yeah, she's been selfish. But you can’t just run away from everything. You deserve better than that."

Your heart twisted at his words, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of wanting to believe everything he said. But the hurt was still there, the feeling of being abandoned in your most vulnerable moment. You didn’t trust yourself enough to believe that you were the one who mattered.

Clint left you with a small pat on your shoulder - he couldn’t blame you for wanting to leave, he just wanted you to know the truth that Nat definitely wasn’t going to tell you. Now to chew her out. It didn’t take long for Clint to find her. Natasha was pacing the hall just outside, her face etched with frustration. The second Clint approached her, she shot him a glare.

“Where the hell is she?” Natasha demanded, her voice tight with anxiety. “You didn’t—”

Clint held up a hand to stop her. “Sit down,” he ordered. “And listen. I’m done with you thinking you can just brush this off like it’s nothing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, but she stood still. Clint’s eyes were hard, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t holding back.

“You’ve been treating her like shit, Natasha,” Clint continued, his voice rising just enough to get her attention. “You think she’s the problem? That she’s just acting ‘immature’ or ‘childish’? Look around you for two seconds. You’ve been pushing her away, making her feel like she’s not good enough, like she doesn’t deserve anything she’s worked for. You’ve been feeding her insecurities—her real ones—with your own mess. And, she’s traumatised. Those guys out there, the ones that tortured her for six days because she went in without an extraction plan”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Clint cut her off with a sharp motion.

“I hear things,” Clint said. “I’m up in the rafters sometimes. I hear the crap that other people say about her when they think no one’s listening. They question her place on the team because her dad was an officer in Fury’s good graces, or because they think you play favourites with her. They don’t realise that you’ve got something else going on, but all that shit compounded. You’ve made one of our best agents question everything about herself.”

Natasha’s face went pale, her expression shifting from anger to guilt in an instant. “Clint, I—”

“You’re lucky she didn’t quit sooner, Natasha. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you didn’t see how bad she was hurting.” Clint’s words hit like a slap. “Now go find her. And you better make this right, because if you don’t Fury is gonna be pissed.” The ‘and I’ went unspoken.

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean

Natasha stopped at the entrance of Tony’s stupid ‘serenity garden’. It was the last place she had left to look, and it looked like luck was on her side. You were sitting on one of the benches in the corner, your back to her as you stared into the depths of the Koi pond. It was like you were a part of the landscape now, blending into the tranquility of the place. Natasha felt her throat tighten at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, so distant. She had never seen you like this—not once. It was always her who had the walls up, not you.

She took a cautious step forward, the grass underfoot crunching softly as she neared you.

Natasha called your name softly, her voice hesitant, like she was testing the waters. You didn’t respond immediately, and for a brief second, Natasha was unsure if you had even heard her. The silence between you felt thick, almost unbearable. She sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough that she hoped you could feel her presence.

It wasn’t the same as before—when she had always known what to say to you, when her words had always been sure, always laced with a confidence that kept her safe. But now? Now she had no idea how to begin. Her usual sharp tongue had failed her. There were no easy words to break the ice this time, no snarky jokes to hide behind. Only you—and the wreckage she had left in her wake.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see her. The surprise in your eyes caught her off guard. You’re surprised to see me here, Natasha realized. You didn’t expect her to come. You didn’t expect her to care enough to seek you out.

And for the first time ever, Natasha didn’t know what to say.

Her mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced at you, her expression filled with uncertainty. She could feel the weight of everything she had said, everything she had done, everything she had failed to do. The words that had always come so easily to her were nowhere to be found now. It was as if the depth of your hurt had trapped her, left her speechless, helpless.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned to face her entirely, but your gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. You could sense her struggle—Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, speechless for the first time in your memory.

“Nat?” you finally said, the question carrying more weight than it should. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, hoarse and small, like the person you had been before all of this had come crashing down.

She looked at you, the smallest glimmer of relief flickering in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the same guilt she had been carrying for days now.

“I…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

You blinked at her, surprised. This was the first time you’d ever seen Natasha lost for words. You’d always been the one fumbling for the right thing to say, the one who couldn’t figure out how to get past the pain. But she—Natasha Romanoff, the one who always had control, always knew how to navigate even the most dangerous situations—she was the one who was struggling now.

It was like the world had shifted, and the unshakable woman you had always known had suddenly become... human.

It is the world to me that you are in my life

But I want to live and not just survive

Her voice was soft, as if the weight of everything she had been holding was finally catching up with her. “I messed up,” she said quietly. “I messed up, baby. And I... I don’t know how to make it right.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you. The vulnerability in her eyes was raw, and it took everything in you to keep the tears from falling.

“I’ve been a mess,” Natasha continued, her eyes looking straight ahead, not daring to meet yours. “I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting you... And I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I just—I pushed you away. I thought you’d be fine. I thought you’d understand. But I see now that I made everything worse.”

You swallowed, the words feeling like they weighed a ton in your chest. You couldn’t speak, not yet. But you turned your head slightly to face her, your gaze still unreadable.

“I never wanted to make you feel like you don’t belong here,” Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. “I never wanted you to think that you were here because of me, or that you weren’t good enough.” Her lips tightened, frustration and regret flooding her features. “I just—I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And I made you think I didn’t care. But I do. I care. I care about you more than you could ever know.”

The silence stretched out between you both, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha felt small. Her pride, her strength—all the things that had always defined her—were gone, stripped away by the vulnerability of this moment.

You glanced at her, studying her face. It was like you were seeing her for the first time—broken, fragile, and unsure.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the smallest sliver of hope.

“I don’t know if you can fix this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I need you to know something, Natasha. I needed you. And you—you—were the one who turned away.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of your words, but she didn’t flinch. She nodded slowly, accepting the truth, knowing it wasn’t something that could be undone in a moment. The air between you and Natasha felt heavy with words you couldn’t articulate. You had remained silent for so long, allowing her apology to linger in the air like a fragile thing—something too delicate to touch, to hold onto. But now, with the weight of her words pressing down on you, you couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“I’m leaving,” you said, the words steady, though they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds in your chest. You weren’t sure why you were telling her this now, but you had to. You had to make it real, to take control of something in your life again.

“I’m transferring,” you added, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m going to Quantico. I’ll be working with the FBI as a consultant. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing, but... I don’t deserve to be here anymore. I got the hint.”

The words felt like a confession, a goodbye you hadn’t yet found the courage to say. There had been so many dreams—so many things you’d imagined for yourself at SHIELD. You had fought for them, worked tirelessly, sacrificed for them. But now, they felt like they were slipping away.

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t even look at you. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, like she was trying to find the words. You knew what she’d say. She’d tell you that you were making a mistake, that you had so much potential. But it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would fix what had been broken.

You could feel the emotions swirling inside of you, but you had already made your decision. It was easier to walk away, easier than confronting everything that had gone wrong.

But then, she spoke. And it was different from anything you’d expected.

“You’re the best SHIELD has to offer,” Natasha said, her voice steady, though there was an underlying urgency in it. “You’re the best agent we’ve got, baby. I... I don’t think you see it. You’ve done things that people can’t even dream of. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You’ve earned your place here. And I know I haven’t made it easy for you, but you belong here.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. Her voice was fierce now, insistent, and you could hear the raw sincerity in it. But none of it felt real. None of it felt true, not in the way you needed it to.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost lost in the distance between you. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly belonged here. Not in the way you think. I’m not you, Nat. I’m not cut from the same cloth. I’m just—me. And I’ve been holding on to a dream that doesn’t fit. Not anymore.”

Natasha’s expression faltered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died on her tongue. She could feel your resolve, could see how broken you were, how done you seemed. It was like you had already left—mentally, emotionally, even before physically walking away.

Her chest tightened. ��Baby, listen—"

But you shook your head, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re going to say, Nat, I’ve heard it all.” You inhaled sharply, the words rushing out. “And I’ve finally started hearing what’s been said. And now I’m seeing what’s been true all along. I’m not enough, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I give. And you... you’ve made it clear that I’ll never be anything but a second choice. I was just a comfort to you, a distraction. You made me feel like I needed to prove myself—like I needed to earn my place, but I did. I did, and it never mattered.”

There was a pause. Natasha’s lips trembled, the harshness of your words sinking in. She knew she had been wrong, knew she had made everything worse. But hearing you speak this way—so broken, so defeated—it shattered something deep inside her.

"Please..." Natasha's voice faltered, her tough exterior cracking. She reached out toward you, but the gesture was hesitant, unsure. “I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel—”

You pulled away, standing up slowly, the decision final in your mind. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve made my choice. I’m leaving. And I don’t think you’ll miss me that much anyway. It’s easier to pretend like you don’t need anyone than to admit you might be wrong about something.”

That's why I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

Before you could take another step, you felt a hand grip yours. Warm, strong, and unyielding. Natasha had caught up with you, her fingers laced around yours, holding you in place. You didn’t turn around. You weren’t sure you wanted to face her again, not after everything that had been said, not after the rawness that she had exposed.

Natasha’s voice was softer now as she called your name, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “Please, just—don’t walk away yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse, but it was hard when every part of you wanted to run. You didn’t stop, but neither did she.

Her grip tightened, pulling you back just a little, her touch sending a mix of warmth and tension straight through you. When she spoke again, her voice wasn’t the confident agent you were used to, the one who had always kept her emotions under lock and key. There was something different now, something uncertain, almost as if she wasn’t sure of her place in your world anymore.

“I’ve messed up,” Natasha continued, her voice shaking with emotion. “I know I pushed you too hard. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough, like you didn’t belong here, and... I did that because I wanted you to be the best. I wanted you to be safe. I was afraid that if anything happened to you—if I lost you on a mission, I—I don’t think I could survive it.”

You could feel her breath, the rise and fall of her chest close behind you, but you didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her words hit you like a wave crashing into the shore, raw and jagged, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to process them.

“I pushed you because I was scared. And in trying to protect you... I ended up pushing you away,” she whispered, the confession hanging in the air, the depth of it too much to ignore. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I was so so wrong.”

The air between you both was thick with everything she had just said, and you stood there for a long moment, processing it all. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to face her—not yet.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for this, Natasha,” you said, your voice a mixture of anger and hurt. It wasn’t snark this time, no biting sarcasm, just raw emotion. "The only time something terrible happened to me, something that almost killed me, was when you abandoned me. You made the call. You didn’t show up. I was out there, all alone, and you weren’t there when I needed you most.”

Your chest tightened as you spoke, the hurt pouring out like it always had, but now it was different. Now, it wasn’t just anger. It was a deep, aching sadness that threatened to drown you. And despite yourself, you couldn’t stop the words from coming. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth it. Like I wasn’t worth anything.”

You could feel Natasha’s breath hitch behind you, the weight of your words striking her deep. She didn’t say anything at first, and when you finally turned around, you saw the truth in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, and a pain you hadn’t expected. The sight of it, the way her face crumpled in on itself, broke something inside you.

Her hand fell away from yours, but it wasn’t because she wanted to let go. It was because she was shaking, trembling with emotion that she could no longer hold in. And then you saw it—tears. Two, maybe three, glistening on her cheeks. Natasha Romanoff, the unshakable Black Widow, was crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel abandoned. I... I couldn’t bear the thought of you in danger. But... I hurt you worse by pushing you away.”

For the first time in all the years you’d known her, you saw Natasha unraveling in front of you, breaking apart piece by piece. It felt almost cruel, to see her like this after everything you’d been through. But as much as your heart ached for her, you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Nat,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You hurt me. You made me feel worthless, like I wasn’t enough. And when it mattered the most... when I was out there fighting to survive, you turned your back on me.”

Natasha flinched at the force of your words. They were like a punch to the gut, and you saw how much it hurt her to hear them. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep pretending that everything would just magically be okay.

“I know,” Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know. And I can’t take that back. I can’t make up for it. But... I just need you to know, I care. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you care,” you said softly, but your voice still carried that edge of distance. “But that’s not enough anymore. I don’t know how to keep going back to the way things were. I can’t keep coming back to you only to be left in the dark again.”

There was a long silence, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever, and Natasha stood there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She was broken, but that didn’t change the fact that what she’d done had hurt you in ways you weren’t sure could ever heal.

“You’re right,” she said finally, voice cracked. “You deserve more than this. You deserve better. Someone who won’t make you feel like you have to earn their care, someone who won’t turn their back when things get hard.”

You stood there, feeling the weight of the finality in her words, and for a long time, you didn’t know what to say. You looked at her—the broken woman in front of you—and you realized that, despite everything, despite all the hurt, you didn’t want to stay. You needed to walk away. For yourself.

“I need to walk away, Natasha,” you said quietly, your voice steady but firm. “I don’t know what we were, what we are anymore. But I can’t do this anymore.”

You turned towards the exit, your steps unfaltering as you walked away. Natasha half expected - hoped - you’d turn around and run to her. But you didn’t. You walked away, slowly, your footsteps fading into the distance, away from SHIELD and away from her.

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

A year later…

It was a quiet evening when you walked into the bar after a long day, your mind still buzzing with the details of your latest case. Quantico was different to SHIELD in almost every way. The people were different, the procedures were different, but you found that - after getting into the swing of things - it wasn’t worse. Just different.

The dim lighting of the bar, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses—it was a familiar comfort now, one that made you feel grounded after the chaos of your job. You ordered a drink and leaned against the bar, letting your shoulders drop, the weight of the day lifting slowly.

That was when you saw her.

Natasha Romanoff, standing across the room, her back slightly to you as she talked to a stranger at the bar. But even from behind, something about her caught your attention. She looked different. Older, somehow. More... mature. The woman you had known was always poised, confident, and untouchable—but there was something in the way she held herself now that made her feel more human. Vulnerable, even.

Her hair was different too—shorter, sleek, straight, a stark contrast to the wavy red that had once framed her face. She had always been beautiful, but now she seemed to radiate something else—something quieter, more grounded.

You stared for a moment, unsure if you were seeing things right, but as she turned to glance around the bar, her eyes met yours. Recognition hit her almost immediately, and she froze for a second, her expression flickering with surprise. Then, just as quickly, it softened.

Her voice was a little hoarse as she whispered your name, almost like she hadn’t expected to see you here, or maybe she hadn’t heard your name in so long that saying it felt foreign.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched her—really looked at her—before taking a slow step forward. “Natasha.” Your voice was calm, composed. Different from the way you used to say her name with that sense of longing, of wanting something that wasn’t ever going to be.

She gave a small, tentative smile, the kind that spoke volumes about how much time had passed, about how many things had been left unsaid between you. "You look... good," she said, her eyes flickering over you.

It was an understatement. You felt good. You felt like you were finally living a life that wasn’t defined by the weight of the past, by the mistakes you’d made and the ones others had made for you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, with a small smile of your own. “You look different. I like it.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her new, shorter hair, a nervous habit, before looking back at you. “A lot’s changed.”

“Clearly,” you said, glancing around. You couldn’t help but take in the way she stood—so different from the woman who had always been so self-assured, so used to being in control of every situation. But in a way, it made her more real, more approachable.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you awkward but not uncomfortable, as if neither of you knew where to start. It was Natasha who broke the silence first.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice softer than you remembered it. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, unsure if she even knew what really meant anymore, after everything. But it was a simple enough question. And you’d spent the last year being honest with yourself, so why not? “I’m doing alright. Different. Moving on. Got a new job at Quantico. Therapy’s been helping. I’m in a better place now.”

Natasha nodded, though you saw the flicker of something behind her eyes—a mix of regret, of longing, maybe. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve... I’ve been trying to do the same. It’s been a long year. Things haven’t been easy, but I think I’m getting there.”

You studied her for a moment, your expression unreadable. The quiet honesty in her voice made you want to believe that she was trying. You could see it now. She had changed too.

“You’re still working for SHIELD?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation casual, as if the past didn’t hang over both of you like a thick, invisible cloud.

She nodded, but there was a hesitation in her movements. “Sort of. I’ve been taking a step back, working in a different capacity now. More... behind the scenes. I guess I’m trying to figure out who I am, outside of all the missions, the work.”

It hit you—she was no longer the same person either. The intensity in her eyes had softened, and there was a certain sadness to her that you hadn’t seen before. She seemed tired in a way that wasn’t physical—tired of running, of hiding behind the façade she had built. You hadn’t seen this version of her before, and in some ways, you almost didn’t know how to react.

“So... what now?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it should. “Now that we’re both here, like this.”

Natasha’s eyes met yours, and there was a long pause, the weight of everything that had passed between you hanging heavily in the air. And then, almost as if on instinct, you spoke.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” You offered the invitation like it was just a reflex—like things could go back to the way they were, the comfort of those old habits, the way things had felt when it was just the two of you, before everything had gone sideways.

She looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the conflict in her eyes. She was torn, and you could see in her eyes, that something was playing on her mind.

“No.”

Everything changed me

And I don't think you can save me

The words hit you like a jolt, a shock of electricity shooting through your chest. Natasha’s eyes were steady on yours now, no longer hesitant, no longer uncertain. There was a firmness in her voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time—a quiet confidence that seemed to say she’d finally found something worth fighting for. And for the first time in a long time, you saw Natasha Romanoff not as the untouchable spy, not as the woman who had left you behind, but as someone real, someone who had learned from her mistakes.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” she said, her voice low but with an undeniable certainty. “If you want me, I’m going to do it properly this time. No more running, no more half-heartedness. I’ve hurt you, and I won’t do it again. But this time, it’s going to be on our terms. If that’s okay with you.”

You stared at her for a long moment, taking in the gravity of what she was saying, the weight of the promise she was offering. For so long, you’d wondered if this day would ever come. The idea of this—of her asking—had seemed impossible, a distant dream you never thought you’d reach.

And yet, here she was, standing before you, offering a chance to try again. A real chance.

“Dinner tomorrow?” she asked, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “If you're free?”

You didn’t have to think long. The question felt so simple, so natural, in a way that almost made you want to laugh at how easy it seemed compared to everything that had come before.

"Yeah," you said, the answer escaping your lips before your mind had fully processed it. "I’m free."

Natasha’s smile deepened, the corners of her eyes softening as she took in your response. It was a quiet victory for her—one that meant more than words could convey. She wasn’t expecting you to forgive her immediately, or to trust her completely. But she was willing to try, and that was more than she had ever given before.

“I’ll pick you up,” she said softly, her voice almost shy now. “I’ll make sure it’s a good night.”

You nodded, still processing the fact that she was here, still standing in front of you, willing to do what she hadn’t done before. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving between the two of you.

“Sounds good,” you replied, a quiet confidence settling in your own chest. “Tomorrow then.”

With that, Natasha gave you one last look, a small, genuine smile gracing her face, before she turned and walked out of the bar. You stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two, and then, for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to feel something else—hope.

Tomorrow. You were willing to see where it could go. And maybe, just maybe, Natasha Romanoff was going to do it right this time.

You saved me.

The evening had been everything and nothing like you expected.

Dinner was at a beautiful, upscale restaurant with soft candlelight flickering across polished wood tables, glasses of wine that felt far too expensive, and Natasha—sitting across from you, more present than she had ever been. She wasn’t the untouchable agent, the mysterious woman who kept her emotions locked away. She was Natasha, just Natasha, in the soft glow of the candlelight, her laughter filling the space between the two of you, the lightness in her eyes almost enough to make you forget the weight of the years spent apart.

The night had been filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed without effort, as though the years of silence hadn’t really existed. But it had. They had.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from her in a place that made your own paycheck look laughable, eating food that was far too rich for your taste, and all you could think about was how right this felt. You hadn’t expected it to be this natural, this easy to fall back into old rhythms, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And by the time you were back at your apartment, after a night of shared glances and a warmth between you that neither of you had ever truly experienced before, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You wanted her. You needed her. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to give her another chance, to let her love you, to let yourself love her again.

The moment your door clicked shut behind you both, Natasha pulled you into her, her lips capturing yours with an urgency that felt foreign, yet so familiar. There was no hesitation this time, no walls between you. Her hands roamed to your sides, pulling you closer, as though she couldn’t get enough. You met her halfway, losing yourself in the kiss, in the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel like everything would be okay.

It wasn’t just the kiss though. It was what she said in between—her voice breaking the quiet with a rawness you hadn’t expected.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered against your lips, her hands tender as they traced over the curve of your jaw, as though she was afraid to let go. “I love you. And I never want to keep you hidden again. I’m done pretending I don’t need you. You’re everything.”

Her words hit you like a wave. They didn’t come with the weight of shame or regret this time. They were just the truth—simple, honest, and real. She loved you. After everything, after all the mistakes, she still loved you.

You breathed out a soft laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She reached up, brushing it away with her thumb, as if she could erase the past for you, make everything better with that one gentle gesture.

“I’ve missed you,” you said quietly, your voice catching in your throat. “I’ve missed this.”

Natasha smiled, a single finger running down your cheek. "I don't want to hide you anymore. Let me love you in the light."

fin.

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x female reader

766 notes · View notes

mommyslittlebird · 2 months ago

Text

Their Girl

WandaNat x Reader

Summary: Wanda and Natasha invite you to a party where you meet their friends for the first time.

CW: Alcohol

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: Sorry, this took so long! This story has given me such bad writer's block over the past week. But I think it turned out cute, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter 5 of A Room of Your Own

The end of the summer came quicker than you expected. It seemed like the semester had just begun when the leaves started to yellow and fall off the trees. Wanda was now insisting she drive you to school because your car didn’t have any heat, and, even in mid-September, the New Jersey mornings were getting nippy.

One afternoon, Wanda and Natasha mentioned a party they were attending. It would be hosted by the CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts, for all the women who had a senior position with the company. The men, they explained, got a different party after an incident a few years back where Tony, her husband, got so drunk he almost blew up an entire gala. The men thought it was hilarious. Pepper and the rest of the women were less amused. You thought it was a bit of archaic practice, but you certainly weren’t going to complain about having a party with no men.

Apparently, it was an annual thing. Pepper had always said there were too few women in at least the senior positions of Stark Industries, so she worked hard to make sure it was a tight-knit community. The end of the summer pool party was, allegedly, a fan favorite. Wanda and Natasha both described it fondly. The pool was big, and Pepper always had an open bar. After swimming, the party continued inside with more drinks and some chill wind down time. Natasha said it was pretty much exactly as you’d imagine a sleepover where everyone is over the age of 30 and also rich.

You were unreasonably nervous to go, so much so you almost decided to stay home. You had never met Wanda and Natasha’s friends before, and you wanted so badly to impress them. You would certainly be the youngest person there by a wide margin. You weren’t necessarily ashamed of your age but meeting a group of women 15+ years older than you was a daunting task.

But when you saw the excited smiles on Wanda and Natasha’s faces at the prospect of introducing you to their friends, you couldn’t bring yourself to let them down. It didn’t hurt that they both looked stunning in their bathing suits, either.

Natasha wore a relatively plain black two piece under a translucent extra-large white t-shirt. That didn’t, however, keep her from looking absolutely breathtaking. The suit left little to the imagination, showing off her toned arms and stomach. The tape you had just applied to her shoulder that morning was fully displayed just above her bicep, despite the injury being mostly healed. You could see every muscle tensing and moving as she picked up everyone’s bags and carried them down to the car.

Wanda came down just behind her in a slightly more modest one-piece that wrapped up around her torso, leaving her sides on display. Her soft, pale skin poked out from underneath the wine fabric. You licked your lips subconsciously.

“Are you ready?” she asked, beaming from excitement. She was so caught up in her excitement, she didn’t even seem to notice the slight way your face reddened. You were grateful.

You swallowed anxiously but nodded. “Yeah.”

“Nervous?” She raised her eyebrows.

Of course, you couldn’t even hope to hide your nerves from her as well. You didn’t respond.

“Don’t be. They’re going to love you,” she reassured with a smile. She held out her hand, grabbing yours and leading you to the car.

Wanda’s excitement melted away your nerves rather quickly. She was practically skipping to the car, humming to herself. She seemed so light and carefree in a way that was infectious. You could tell even Natasha was surprised to see her wife in such a jovial mood, but it quickly spread to her as well. The three of you spent the entirety of the car ride singing what Wanda called “summertime songs,” but it really just seemed to be Fleetwood Mac’s greatest hits.

When you finally arrived at the Stark residence, you were in shock. It was most certainly the biggest house you’d ever seen by a pretty wide margin. In fact, it couldn’t really be described as a “house” at all. It was a giant, towering building in the middle of the city. When Natasha pulled up, a door opened to what appeared to be a private parking garage. You were shocked. You’d never seen anything like it.

Wanda opened the door to the backseat and helped you out of the car, resting her hand on your shoulder to reassure you as she ushered you into the house. You were first met by an older woman with blonde hair. You assumed it was Pepper. Wanda and Natasha both greeted her with a hug.

“And is this the Y/N I’ve heard so much about?” she asked, turning to you with her hand out for you to shake.

Wanda put both her hands on your shoulders, smiling from ear to ear while you shook her hand. “This is her!”

The way Wanda spoke of you took you off guard. It was almost like she was proud of just simply knowing you and having you in her life. She wanted her friends to know you. It wasn’t a phenomenon you were used to by any stretch. You would’ve thought the only exciting thing about you was that you knew them. But the way Wanda presented you implied she thought differently. It was as if she was saying “look at this beautiful, wonderful thing I found.”

You shook Pepper's hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Potts.”

She chuckled. “Oh, please, just Pepper is fine.” She took a step back, addressing the three of you now. “Can I get you all anything to drink? Carol and Maria are already setting up downstairs by the pool. We’ve got an open bar down there. We’ve got pretty much anything you can think of.”

She led you, Wanda, and Natasha, down a hallway to an elevator. You were shocked to find that the pool you were meant to swim in was actually indoors. You thought that kind of defeated the purpose of having an “end of summer” celebration, as the pool would likely be available all year round, but at least it would be warm.

Intimidated by the other women in the room, you stuck close by Wanda, following so close behind her you accidentally made her trip on her flip flop. Thankfully, she noticed your nerves and took them in stride, putting her arm around your waist and leading you to the bar while she made conversation with Pepper. You were happy to stick silently by her side, watching her talk rather than being prompted to make conversation yourself.

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip as Pepper asked for your drink order. You were old enough to drink, but just barely. You had been to bars and ordered drinks, but you still weren’t exactly sure what you liked or how to order it.

Luckily, Wanda seemed to pick up on your struggle rather quickly. “Do you like the taste of alcohol, or would you prefer something fruity to cover it? Like a juice.”

“Juice, I think,” you answered.

“What kind of liquor do you want? Vodka? Tequila? Gin?”

You shrugged. You really had no idea what you wanted.

“How do you feel about starbursts?” Pepper chimed in, stepping behind the bar. “I’ve got a drink that tastes just like them.”

“O-okay,” you nodded.

She quickly mixed up a sparkling pink liquid, pouring it into a cocktail glass and sliding it to you across the bar. “See if you like that.”

You took a sip. It was delicious, tasting of strawberries and lemonade without even a hint of alcohol. You smiled and nodded. “This is perfect. Thank you, miss- I mean Pepper.”

Wanda gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze and shot Pepper a wink that you didn’t see.

“A rum and coke for Nat?” Pepper asked, not even waiting for a response before popping open a can of coke.

“Mhm,” Wanda nodded. Pepper slid the small glass across the bar after stirring it with a long metal spoon. Wanda handed it to you, pointing to where Natasha was standing with two other women across the room. “Would you bring that to Tasha, love?”

You nodded, striding carefully across the room, trying not to spill either of the drinks.

Pepper leaned over the bar, resting on her elbows. “She’s a mama’s girl,” she teased, smirking at Wanda.

Wanda turned around and playfully punched her arm. “Shhh. Shut up.”

Across the room, you handed Natasha her drink. She smiled. “Thank you, y/n.” She took a long sip of the dark liquid before realizing she hadn’t introduced you. Carol and Maria already knew about you, but you didn’t have a clue who they were. “Y/n, meet Carol and Maria.” She gestured at both of them respectively. “Carol and Maria, meet y/n.”

Carol reached out to shake your hand and you all three whispered awkward “nice to meet you”s.

Natasha smiled devilishly, gently taking your drink from you and setting it next to hers on a table. “Where’s your phone?” she asked randomly.

“In Wanda’s bag. Why?” you asked, confused.

Before you could even process what was happening, she ran towards you and picked you up in a fireman carry before jumping into the pool.

You squealed just before you hit the water. She quickly resurfaced with you in her arms, carrying you bridal style. “We did verify that you can swim, right?”

You laughed. It was a little late to be asking that question. “That’s a hell of a thing to ask me now, but yes, I can swim.”

She took your response as permission to flip you backwards, throwing your legs over your head. You straightened out under the water, torpedoing off the bottom of the pool to grab her by the ankles and pull her down. The two of you wrestled in a frenzy before you both swam to the shallow end, breathless and exhausted. By the time you caught your breath, you saw the one Natasha called Carol sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water.

She was leaning back causally on her hands, laughing at you and Natasha. “Do you know how to play chicken?”

You waded over, resting your arms on the side of the pool. “Is that the one where you get on someone’s shoulders and try to knock each other down?”

Carol nodded. “Do you wanna play? You and Nat and Me and Maria?”

You turned around to look at Natasha, who was clearly waiting on an answer from you as well. It honestly did sound like a good time. And it would be an easy way to bond with Wanda and Natasha’s friends. You nodded.

Carol slid into the water. “Maria, get in here! We’re playing chicken and you’re my attacker!”

Maria was at the bar, but she eagerly made her way over to the pool at the proposal. “Fuck no, I’m the base.” She got into in the water, putting her hair up with a clip.

Carol rolled her eyes, but agreed, climbing onto Maria’s shoulders. Natasha bent down, so you could climb up on her shoulders. She easily hoisted you up out of the water. It took Maria a minute to get her footing, but they eventually balanced out.

Natasha and Maria circled each other for a minute before Natasha charged towards them. You hardly even got your hands on Carol before Natasha was sliding Maria legs out from under her, sending them both into the water.

Wanda cheered from the bar, then she and Pepper made their way to the pool side, dipping their legs in the water while carefully trying to avoid the splash zone.

Natasha didn’t even wait for Carol and Maria to get fully prepared before she charged in for a second time. She took their fumbling as an opportunity to let you get a push in. It only took one sharp push to Carol’s shoulder to send them back into the water again.

Wanda cheered again, beaming with pride and excitement to see you getting along well with her friends. You were clearly coming out of your shell already, giggling and squealing as you got more and more competitive. She loved watching Natasha have a good time too. It was her two favorite people playing with some of her other favorite people and having the time of their lives doing it. She and Pepper clicked their glasses together, thrilled to watch everyone having so much fun.

After a few rounds of losing, Maria finally agreed to let Carol be the base. Carol was much sturdier, making it harder for Natasha to knock her down. Maria was a lot stronger than you, and, without Natasha being able to easily sweep them off their feet, she had you off Natasha's shoulders in seconds.

Wanda and Pepper continued to make commentary from the sidelines, trash talking both teams, but as soon as Carol suggested they join in, both women backed off a bit.

Natasha was a stone pillar, never once falling to Carol, but Maria very much outmatched you. In the end, they ended up winning, successfully sending you into the water more often than not.

When you finally got out of the water, Wanda was there with a towel held open to dry you off. Pepper watched with a smug grin as Wanda doted on you, drying your body and hair and sending you to the bathroom with warm, dry clothes.

The ice in your drink had melted, making it watery and unpleasant. Wanda insisted she would make you a new one as soon as you got up to the lounge. She didn’t want anyone getting too drunk while they were still by the pool, especially not you.

The lounge was as nice as you had come to expect from the Stark tower. It was a comfortable room with another bar and nice white couches. There were even some beanbags and cushions scattered around the room to make it even more cozy. You picked out a bean bag close by the edge of the couch where Wanda was sitting.

Pepper mixed you another drink, and you listened in pleased silence while all the women joked with one another and caught up about their lives. Maria had gotten a new dog, Carol had spent a few months away in Scandinavia, Pepper had recently taken over the management for Stark Enterprises, replacing her husband Tony as CEO. You were pulled into the conversation a few times to talk about your experience at school or your plans for the future, but mostly you just sat back with your drink, enjoying the chatter.

By your second drink (or second and a half if you count the one you drank before swimming) you started to feel a warmth spread across your chest. Your eyes started to flutter, and your thoughts became slow and distant. It was a nice feeling, but slightly exposing and vulnerable as well.

You had, of course, gotten increasingly more cuddly over the past several weeks of living with Wanda and Natasha. However, to no one’s surprise but your own, alcohol increased your clinginess tenfold. The feeling of vulnerability had made you seek out safety in all the ways you knew how.

Over the course of an hour, the conversation between the older women became background noise and you “subtly” made your way onto Wanda’s lap.

First, you sat on a cushion on the floor by her feet, laying your head on your knees while she ran her fingers through your hair. Then, you climbed up her legs and sat on her lap, pressing your ear to her chest and listening to the steady beat of her heart. She wrapped her arms loosely around your waist and gently rocked back and forth. Finally, you adjusted to straddle her lap, pressing your entire chest to hers and resting your head on her shoulder. Your limbs were limp on either side of her, and she could only tell you were awake by the occasional rustle and turn of your head. She ran her nails up your back, soothing you into a trance.

Pepper leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smirk. She crossed her legs, smugly gesturing towards you with her half full wine glass. She mouthed “mama’s girl”, earning her a snap and sharp glare from Wanda.

As the hour grew later, Maria regarded you with a small chuckle. “Wanda, it looks like your girl is ready for bed.”

Natasha set down her drink and stood up, gesturing for Wanda to let her take you. Wanda gently guided you upright, allowing Natasha to lift your limp body out of her lap. She was pretty certain you were asleep by now. You only grumbled as Natasha rested your head on her shoulder, cradling you to her chest under your butt.

She carried you to the elevator, then up to one of the Stark towers' many spare bedrooms. She laid you gently against the pillows, tucking you under the soft comforter. You hummed with delight. Before Natasha could leave the room, she heard your sleepy, slurred voice call out to her.

“Tasha?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned around, sitting beside you on the bed. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Am I Wanda’s girl?” you slurred.

Natasha furrowed her brow and chuckled. “What?”

“Downstairs just now. Maria called me Wanda’s girl. Am I Wanda’s girl?”

“Do you want to be Wanda’s girl?” Natasha asked, tucking your hair behind your ears and praying you wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.

You furrowed your brow, trying very hard to form a coherent thought. “Can I be Tasha’s girl too?”

Natasha smiled. “You can be Tasha’s girl too, if you want.”

You nodded clumsily. “Yeah. That’s what I want,” you mumbled, satisfied. “Wanda and Tasha’s girl.” You rubbed your cheek against the pillows sleepily.

Natasha chuckled. “That’s what I want too, princess.” She leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Tasha. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Natasha said before she turned out the light and closed the door, silently heading back downstairs.

586 notes · View notes

waayoutofline · 5 months ago

Text

Avoiding every mistletoe (Until I know It’s true love)

Marvel Masterlist

PROMPTS: Shy Natasha Romanoff and Lab Assitant!Reader

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, awkward and clumsy Nat, Tony's lab asistant reader, christmas fun! ( posting this during actual christmas), meddeling avengers, a sprinkle of hurt/comfort.

Summary —> Ever since Natasha met you, Tony's new brilliant assistant, she has been down bad. But her sudden lack of confidence around you banishes every hope for her to make a move. Christmas is around the corner, and the team knows about your superstitious nature. There seems to be a clear answer: Mistletoes.

WC: 5473

Warnings: Descriptions of making out, but not explicit sexual content.

***

November was in full swing at the Avengers Tower, which meant sophisticated red, green, and gold decorations adorned every surface, Christmas songs played on an endless loop through the speakers, and the unmistakable aroma of gingerbread wafted (somehow) through the air.

As was classic Tony Stark fashion, a lineup of extravagant holiday parties had already been scheduled and meticulously planned for execution. Natasha Romanoff though was already dreading it.

Hoping to avoid any unnecessary interaction, she quietly sneaked into the communal kitchen, intent on grabbing a couple of waffles Wanda had made earlier. But as soon as she stepped in, she felt the weight of several pairs of eyes on her back.

“Ah, Miss Romanoff, there you are!” Tony’s voice rang out, cheerful and full of purpose. He was already decked out in one of his newest suits—sharp, festive, and annoyingly ostentatious.

Sighing, Natasha turned around, realizing it was too late to make a run for it. She was greeted by the sight of her team sprawled across the couches and armchairs in the lounge, each of them absorbed in their own activity, but now casually watching Tony’s sudden commotion with mild interest.

“Morning,” Natasha grunted, reluctantly moving to join them, plate in hand.

“Just the person I was looking for!” Tony said, flashing a shit-eating grin as he patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Instead of humoring him, Natasha settled herself on the fluffy rug in front of the coffee table, placing her plate down without a word.

“You are officially invited to the pre-Christmas party hosted by moi,” Tony declared dramatically.

“Tony, you literally held us hostage at one last week. I still have a hangover,” she deadpanned, recalling flashes of the chaos where even she had gone overboard with the alcohol, thanks to Sam Wilson’s stupid drinking games.

“Oh, come on! This one’s different. It’s intimate—just for us heroes and co,” Tony countered, undeterred. Then, leaning back smugly, he added, “I even got the space lady to come. How awesome is that?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Oh don’t be boring. Where’s the wild Natasha Romanoff we all love?” Tony teased, grinning as if to provoke her.

“Easy. She doesn’t exist,” Natasha replied flatly, cutting into her first waffle. She let out a satisfied hum at the sweet taste.

“These are amazing, Wanda,” she said, looking over at the young witch.

Wanda, sitting comfortably on a loveseat, smiled warmly at the compliment. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Is it a new recipe?” Natasha asked, curious.

“Yes, actually. I added a bit of cinnamon and—”

“Okay, okay!” Tony interrupted, baffled by the lack of attention he was receiving, looking bewildered between them two. “Let’s get back to the main thing here. Are you coming?”

At Natasha’s reluctant silence, Steve stepped in with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Natasha. I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior.”

“Ugh, boring—” Tony groaned, dragging the word out in sing-song. But under Steve’s hardened stare, he sighed in defeat. “Fine. It’ll be a cozy hangout. No traces of fun or whatever,” he relented, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Taking another bite of her waffles, she carfulkly took a sip of her coffe, trying to hide her smirk as she sees Tony waiting in anticipation fo her response. “Fine.”

Tony threw a punch onto the air, clapping in victory. “Carol is coming you said?”

He nodded proudly. “Yeah I managed to rope her and her little sidekick in. There is also the kid, Clint and his family…”

”Dont forget Strange.” Bruce, who just entered the living room reminded. Tony grumbled a bit at that.

“Yeah, Houdini too. Scary lady and Patch eye…god were those hard to convince— Oh and my lab assistant too.” Nathasa choked at that.

”Assistant? She practically takes over your lab.” Bruce chuckled.

Tony rolled his eyes, but there was no hint of malice. If anything, a spark of pride made his eyes a bit brighter. “Yeah well, I taught her well. Did you knowl that last week she-“

Nathan’s brain disconnected at a scary speed after those words. Images of you hit her hard, and she could already start to feel her heart race a bit.

Y/N Y/L/N was Tony Stark’s most recent lab and tech assistant, and to say he was impressed would be an understatement. After reviewing your résumé, Tony had practically declared you a godsend. You were one of the rare people who could keep up with his eccentricities, effortlessly managing the stream of tasks he threw your way. It didn’t take long for you to earn a permanent spot at the Avengers Tower.

Natasha remembered the first time she saw you as if it were yesterday. She had been on her way to ask Tony for a replacement for her gauntlets after a particularly rough mission. When she stepped into the lab, though, she was surprised to find someone else hunched over the workbench.

Frowning, Natasha set her hand on the fingerprint scanner, the door sliding open with a soft whoosh. At the sound, the stranger turned around, and Natasha froze in place.

For her, the world seemed to stop spinning, settling into an almost unnatural silence. You were… ethereal.

In her life, Natasha had faced aliens, wizards, and even sentient robots. So how far-fetched was it to assume she was now standing face to face with an angel?

Even though you didn’t know her, a gentle smile settled on your lips, your gorgeous eyes peering at her with almost childlike curiosity. Natasha stood there, frozen in place, unable to move. It wasn’t until something shifted in the silence that she remembered to breathe again.

Startled, she realized she hadn’t moved from the doorway. The door had automatically closed where she stood, trapping her. Embarrassed, she quickly stepped forward, pushing herself to snap out of it.

And, of course, she had to stumble. The gauntlets she was holding slipped from her grip and fell to the floor with an unforgivable thud. Cringing, she immediately knelt down to retrieve them. What she didn't expect was for you to do the same, even if your movement were more calm.

She flustered when she dared to look up, finding your own awaiting gaze. “Well, if they weren't broken before, they sure are now.” You joked with a smile, tone teasing but not judging.

Blinking, Natasha started sputtering, not really knowing what to say. Or how. “Yes.”

“Yes” is what her stupid brain decided to go for. Even thinking about it even now, her face scrunch with self embarrassment. What was even happening? Taking a breath, she redirected her eyes to the ground. Right, the gauntlets. They are broken. Need them fixed.

Finally standing up, she forced her body not to fidget. As if sensing this, you offered a hand to her. “Y/N Y/L/N, Mr.Starks new hire here in the lab.”

Tentatively, she accepted the shake. Her mind hanging on how your hand seemed to fit into hers. “Natasha Romanoff. Um, avenger.”

God what’s wrong with her? You giggle at that, and the sound is enough to get her out of her head. Of course that the sound is also beautiful. Was there anything about you that wasn’t? Why is she even think that?

“I know. Pleasure to meet you, Ms.Romanoff. So…may I help you with those?” You ask, your hand still being held by hers. Noticing this, Natasha removed her grip as if you were burning.

“Please.” She ended up saying, utterly embarrassed by her behaviour. Still, you gave no sense of judgment, only nodding and taking her over the workbench.

She stayed with you all that evening. And most of the next ones after that.

***

Her infatuation with you only seemed to grow since that first meeting, and the others quickly picked up on it. They saw it in the way Natasha—the most grounded person they knew—started sputtering and flustering whenever she talked to you. The unshakable confidence she was known for seemed to melt under the warmth of your sunshine smile and the twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

And as much as they insisted for her to make an actual move, Natasha refused.

“Uh-oh, I know that look.” Wanda sang, like a high school girl teasing her friend in high school when they listened the name of their crush. Rolling her eyes, Natasha scoffed.

”There is no look.”

”Oh, but there is.” Clint, who was watching Sam and a struggling Bucky play Mortal Combat added, not even looking away from the screen. “Your pupils practically shape into hearts— likes a lovesick puppy. It’s almost painful to watch.

”Shut it Barton.”

You were too good for her, Natasha decided on her own. You were like the sun, kind and warm, gentle in a way that it was entirely selfless. Natasha's life was one of dangers and precautions, she didn’t want to expose you to any of the threats that surrounded her lifestyle.

Even if she ached to be close to you, call you her own.

“Now it’s the time to make a move. Who knows? Maybe you will find each other under the mistletoe.” He adds with a wink.

Tony hummed. “Hm, that’s actually a good idea.”

Her head whipped toward him. “Don’t even think about it, Stark. Besides, that’s a stupid tradition. How do you even know that Y/N would willingly kiss someone just because a stupid parasitic plant is above her?”

They all laughed at that.

“Our Y/N? Please. She practically had a mental breakdown when I broke a mirror in the lab the other day,” Tony quipped, grinning.

Wanda nodded in agreement, casually flipping through the pages of her book. “Yeah, once she made me search the entire tower for something made of wood to touch, just so I wouldn’t jinx the next mission after I mentioned a hypothetical worst-case scenario. Still don’t get that one.”

Natasha’s face went pale at that, remembering a conversation she’d once had with you. You had mentioned that, while you didn’t fully believe in superstitions yourself, your family did, and it had resulted in some strange and unshakable habits for you. “Better safe than sorry,” you had said with a shrug.

A cold sweat made her tremble slightly, worsening by all of a sudden interested and sneaky grins on her friends faces.

Whatever, she still can not go.

***

She still had to go.

When you confirmed your attendance, you clapped excitedly, rambling about how fun it would be to spend your first Christmas together. You even brought it up when she bought you lunch—a frequent occurrence, since you often got so engrossed in your work that you forgot to eat. Natasha would be lying if she said your words didn’t tug relentlessly at her heart.

And so, there she was, surrounded by the thrumming chaos of an all-together gathering, overwhelming decorations, and overly festive arrangements at every turn. Anxiety prickled at her as she glanced toward the newly decorated attic. They couldn’t possibly have infested the entire place with mistletoe, right?

Wrong.

They were everywhere.

On every doorway, on the stairs, in the high columns and ceilings, even on top of the Christmas tree, scattered around—everywhere she looked, there it was. Mistletoe.

Trying to shake it off, Natasha focused her attention on the ground, her sharp gaze scanning for the culprit behind this festive ambush.

“Tony!” she half-yelled, her steps quick and deliberate as she marched toward the eccentric billionaire, who was in the middle of a conversation with Pepper.

His head whipped toward her, a flicker of fear flashing across his face before his usual smug smirk returned.

“Care to explain?” she demanded.

“Explain what, exactly? My fantastical abilities to host, or…?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

She glared furiously. “Aw, c’mon, don’t look so grumpy, Grinch! This is a time of tradition, joy—”

“And manipulation?” she interrupted through gritted teeth. “This is way too much.”

Despite her glare and the unmistakable edge in her voice, Tony remained unfazed. If anything, his amusement only grew. He glanced over her shoulder, his expression brightening as he perked up.

“Well, complaints are non-refundable. Sorry, it’s the new policy. If you’ll excuse me, Pepper needs me to sign some super high-confidence document, right, dear?”

Pepper frowned. “What are you talking ab—”

Before she could finish, Tony gently grabbed her hand and began steering her away, the two trailing off into the crowd.

Natasha was about to follow and press him further, but a voice behind her made her freeze.

“Nat, hey!”

She turned around, and suddenly, everything seemed to slow down for her. There you were, wearing a comfy red sweater, black jeans, and a pair of Mary Janes. Your hair, usually tied back for work, was flowing freely, framing your face. It was a simple, casual look, but Natasha felt her face heat up at the sight of you.

As you got closer, alarm bells blared in her mind. Her eyes darted upward, and her stomach dropped. One of those dreaded mistletoe clusters hung right above where you were heading.

Panicking, she practically sprinted toward you, desperate to avoid both of you standing under it. But she miscalculated her speed, and before she knew it, she was barrelling straight into you.

You let out a startled huff as her momentum almost knocked you over, but her quick reflexes kicked in, and she steadied you before you could stumble.

“Geez, Romanoff,” you joked, brushing yourself off as you smiled up at her. “We just saw each other this morning. Did you miss me that much?”

Your teasing tone and warm voice snapped her out of her panic, but the damage was done. Natasha’s heart was hammering in her chest, her senses overloaded as she became acutely aware of how close you were. The soft warmth of your body pressed lightly against hers, the delicate scent of cocoa beans, coconut, and something distinctly you filling the air around her.

Her cheeks burned as her mind scrambled for something—anything—to say as she looked down at you, mortified. Luckily for her, your attention diverged when someone from the staff (who even brings staff in closed up parties?) bough a chocolate fountain in a rolling chair. “No. Way.— I thought he was kidding!”

And just like that you went off excitedly, a silhouette of dust being the only trace of you left. Sighing, Natasha brought her hand to her racing heart, trying to figure out a way to survive this evening.

Her eyes opened again in determination, she was going to take off these damned things, starting with the one right on top of her.

***

This task, however, grew increasingly difficult as the evening wore on. Between being roped into endless conversations, you constantly looking out for her (and her desperately trying to avoid you), and the absurd number of mistletoes everywhere, Natasha felt like she was fighting a losing battle. It was as if they were multiplying before her very eyes.

Her frustration peaked during a particularly embarrassing moment—one where, of course, you were the witness.

After listening to Peter and Kamala endlessly gossip about high school drama, Natasha had collapsed onto the sofa, her patience hanging by a thread. As her gaze wandered across the room, her eyes landed on the ceiling—and there it was. Another mistletoe. This one was perched slightly higher than the others, hanging right above the beanbag chair where you often sat. Of course.

Those strategic bastards.

Taking advantage of everyone being distracted in the kitchen, she sprang into action. With no ladder in sight, she grabbed a nearby chair and carefully climbed onto it. Still too short to reach, she braced herself against the shelves, stretching precariously as she balanced. Every slight wobble of the chair made her heart lurch, but she pressed on, determined to remove the offending decoration before anyone noticed.

But of course, that was the moment you walked in, calling for her.

“Nat? Aren’t you hungry? I saved you some of those little pies you like so much—”

Your voice startled her, and she immediately looks down at you. Her grip slipped briefly, the chair wobbling dangerously beneath her.

“Y/N! Shit—” she hissed, her heart leaping into her throat. Scrambling to steady herself, she clung to the edge of the shelf and managed to avoid completely losing her balance. She froze, her cheeks heating as she realized you were staring at her, bewildered.

��What… are you doing?” you asked, the corners of your lips quirking up in confusion and slight amusement.

Blushing furiously, Natasha’s mind scrambled for a reasonable explanation. “Um… I was just… looking for Clint? You know how much he loves to hide up here.” she said with a nervous laugh, trying to sound nonchalant.

Before you could respond, someone brushed past you, momentarily breaking the tension.

It was Clint, holding a bottle of rosé wine, with the kids trailing behind him. “No alcohol until you’re 21,” he announced, his tone firm but playful.

“But I am 22!” Kate argued.

Clint snorted. “Sure you are.”

As they disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your attention back to Natasha. Arching an eyebrow, you crossed your arms, your curiosity clearly not satisfied.

“Oh, great! There he is!” Natasha blurted, clinging to her flimsy excuse. She waved awkwardly in Clint’s general direction, desperate to change the subject. “Let me just—”

But as she began stepping down, her foot slipped on the edge of the chair. She let out a startled gasp as she lost her footing entirely.

”Oh my- Natasha!”

***

She even tried to gain support in enemy territory.

“Steve!” she called out. The man looked over at her and clearly tried to sneak off, but it was too late. “Just how many are there?” she asked, her desperation evident. So far, she’d removed eight mistletoes and had endured three risky situations where she’d practically had to run away from you.

“Of what?” Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink, feigning ignorance.

Natasha huffed, crossing her arms. “Please, let’s skip the act. I know you also took part in this.”

Steve remained silent, his expression unreadable but gullible. Natasha sighed in exasperation. “Come on, Steve, you’re the most reasonable one out of all of them. Just tell me where the rest of the mistletoes are!”

She could see the guilt on his face—he was clearly uncomfortable. Steve Rogers wasn’t a man who lied easily. As he opened his mouth, clearly about to crack, Sam and Wanda swooped in.

“What are we talking about?” Sam asked with a goofy smile, casually draping his arm around Steve’s shoulders as if shielding him from her interrogation.

Natasha’s left eye twitched. “You know exactly what, Wilson.”

“Hmm, do I?” Sam teased, his grin widening.

Natasha ignored him, focusing on her second-best shot, since it was clear Steve wouldn’t be of much use now.

“Wanda,” she said, turning to the witch, “how many mistletoes are there?”

Wanda shrugged, playing innocent.

“If you tell me…,” Natasha added, her voice turning sly, “I’ll lend you those boots of mine you like so much.”

Wanda hesitated at that, her composure faltering slightly. “… The ones with the metal buckles?”

“The ones with the metal buckles.”

Wanda’s eyes glinted with temptation as she weighed her options. But after a brief internal debate, she furrowed her brow and firmly shook her head and crossed her arms. “No. We’re doing this for your own good, Natasha.”

Natasha laughed forcefully, her expression taut with frustration. “For my own good? I’m losing my sanity over here, Wands.” Her tone was sharp, but her forced smile remained plastered on her face.

Just then, a voice cut through the air, making Natasha freeze.

“Have you guys seen Natasha? I swear I just keep losing track of her today,” you said, your voice light-hearted as you spoke to Bruce and Tony.

The group perked up at your words, and Natasha’s head snapped toward the sound of your voice. There you were, standing across the room, looking as radiant as ever as you chatted with the two men.

As Tony and Bruce were about to point in her direction, Natasha didn’t waste another second—she quickly ducked behind the rolling chocolate fountain cart, slipping out of sight just in the nick of time.

***

It all came down to the climax of the party. Most of the children were asleep by now, and only the closest circle remained. Natasha was exhausted but relieved. She had finally managed to get rid of all the mistletoes, even if, in doing so, she had humiliated herself in ways she hadn’t thought possible.

Now, she could finally relax and hang out with you. Or at least, that’s what she thought. A wolf whistle and cheers erupted from her friends, who had formed a circle outside on the terrace. Curious, she approached, only to regret it immediately as she was squashed between Steve and Bucky.

Her face went pale as she saw the final mistletoe, hanging right above you and a smug Carol Danvers. In her frantic pursuit of avoiding standing under a mistletoe with you, someone else had managed to get there before her. This outcome was far worse, and dread filled her as she watched the scene unfold.

She couldn’t stand it. The way Carol got closer with bravado and you, with a smile (it was more polite and friendly than anything, but at that moment she didn’t see it like that), made her heart drop.

The world once again slowed down, but this time it was for her and you. And she just couldn’t stand it. Shattering the slow-motion moment, her mouth and body moved faster than her mind.

“Wait! You’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe, not near it! I mean—look at that angle, it’s tilted and all wrong. Besides, is it me or are the leaves…wait, let me just scoot over here—” she muttered, pushing her way through the onlookers to get to the mistletoe. Everyone went quiet in surprise as she reached it and caressed the leaves. You just stared at her, but she seemed to pay no mind. “Ah, as I thought! These leaves are all dried. How about we replace it? Here, I know where we can find a suitable one. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

Without thinking, she took your hand and practically dragged you away, turning back toward the group. “We’ll be right back.”

Everyone remained quiet as they watched the two of you disappear.

***

“Here, let me just…” Natasha started, trying to find her card in her pockets. “Where did I—ah, here.”

With quick motions, she attempted to swipe the card to unlock her room. You stood behind her, watching her increasingly desperate attempts to open the door.

“Nat…” you started softly.

Chuckling awkwardly, she waited for the green light, but it still wasn’t processing for some reason. “These are so annoying. I keep insisting to Tony that he should just put in a code, but he doesn’t listen—”

“Nat.”

“Typical of him, I know. Let’s try again.” Waiting for the red light to turn off, she swiped again, and this time the light turned green. “There, finally.”

You tried calling her again, but she interrupted. “Sorry for the wait. There are some left in my room, let’s just pick one and…” She said, turning the handle and opening the door, knowing that all the stolen mistletoes were in the corner.

“Natasha!” You finally yelled, making her turn around with wild eyes. Uh oh, you almost called her Natasha.

Your face held no negative feelings, only the patience you were known for. “Nat.” Slowly, you grabbed her trembling hand and got a bit closer. Your worry made her squirm.

“What’s going on?” you started softly, as if trying not to scare her. The consideration and gentleness in your voice made her almost burst into tears. “You’ve been behaving… strange this entire party. Running around all over the place… avoiding me.” You whispered the last words, clearly pained, and her heart shattered.

The last thing she wanted was to make you feel bad. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your question was so raw, your expression vulnerable, and Natasha wanted nothing more than to wrap you in her arms, kiss you gently, and reassure you that you didn’t—couldn’t—do anything to upset her. But she couldn’t, and the knowledge of it broke a little bit more.

“No, no, of course not. It’s just—” She started, her words getting stuck in her throat, unsure of how to put them together. “The others decided to put the place swarming with mistletoes.”

You looked at her in confusion. “Okay…why?”

Refusing eye contact, Natasha took a deep breath, her heart pounding so loudly that she thought you could hear it. Without dropping your hand, she stepped a little closer, her legs slightly trembling. She figured the best thing to do was to just say it and get it over with. She had already been making a fool of herself the entire day. But saying it was harder than she thought it would be. The fear of rejection was suffocating her.

“Because…” Finally daring to look at you, her neck reddening all up to the point of her ears, being suddenly conscious of the warmth radiating. “Because they know how serious you are about superstitions. And that if we got caught under one, then I… then I would finally dare to kiss you.”

The admission came as a whisper, shame and embarrassment hitting her like never before. It was as if she was going to combust from the inside. A pause hung between the two of you, each second of it feeling like a stab straight to her chest.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine losing you. You had become so close this year, and to think that just a couple of silly words could ruin everything was killing her. Her eyes closed tightly, waiting for the worst—a rejection, disgust, or just pity. Any of these would shatter her.

But it never came. Instead, she felt warmth—a gentle caress on her cheek, you softly urging her to open her eyes and look at you. Your face was far from the rejecting one that Natasha’s brain had conjured. Instead, it was a reassuring one, with a bright smile like the one you first gave her the day you met, your eyes soft and bright under the lights.

She blinked, as if the soft touch had pulled her back from her darkest places. Her heart seemed to stop, no longer beating out of fear but for hope. Because as she studied you, she saw nothing but kindness and happiness.

“You… you’re not upset?” she asked, as if it were too good to be true.

Your smile widened, laughing softly under your breath at her surprise. “Nat, how could I ever be upset? I—” This time it was you who searched for the right words, your cheeks flushed with a lovely rosy color that Natasha couldn’t help but find fascinating. “How could I, when I’ve been waiting for you to do this for quite some time?”

Your admission hung in the air, like a symphony. Natasha could feel the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. “You have?”

“Of course I have.” You confessed, as if the question were ridiculous to even ask. “You’ve been everything my heart has been yearning for, Natasha.”

Natasha sure wasn’t a poet, but right now she was seeing the world as one. The way in which your words embraced her, your slightly dilated eyes looking at her as if she was the only one on your mind.

Was this what the others saw? The look she has been too oblivious to see?

She wanted to hit her head in frustration, all the time wasted because of her doubts. But she was free of them now, having you as her savior.

Getting closer, she dared to pull you closer by your waist, marveling at how it felt in tandem with her movements, as if you two had done this a thousand times before, in different lives, before this one.

“So… you’re telling me I made that champagne pyramid fall all over Fury for nothing?” she asked, as if it were a secret.

You laughed loudly at that, remembering the moment when Natasha stumbled all over the table later on in the evening. Everything seemed to make sense now.

“You know…” you started, the laughter dying down as you softly tucked a piece of Natasha’s hair behind her ear, your touch lingering on her jaw. “For someone so intelligent and charismatic, you sure are clumsy at times.”

Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile. “Only because you…” she started, but caught herself, her eyes slightly widening.

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Only because of that? Do I make you nervous, Romanoff?” You grinned, adoring the way she seemed lost for words.

Sputtering, she tried to defend herself, but someone beat her to it.

“Very much so!” Tony yelled.

Your eyes snapped toward him, only to see the team huddled up behind the corner.

You snickered, Natasha flustered. “What are you…? Go away!” She hesitated.

Tony smirked. “Not so fast, Romanoff! You have to kiss.”

Confused, she followed his hand motion, only to see a mistletoe floating with surrounding red magic.

“Damn it, Wanda…” she muttered, but you just laughed at your friend’s antics, hiding your face in her shoulder.

Natasha’s attention shifted back to you, her smile filled with adoration. Finally, you peered up at her.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to…” she started shyly, not wanting to pressure you into doing anything. But you only got closer to her.

“I don’t know, I think you do owe me a kiss,” you replied with a grin. “You know, to balance the universe.”

“Yeah…” she muttered, eyes lowering. “To balance the universe.” She reaffirmed, leaning down. But before her lips touched yours, she gripped you and dragged you both into her room, slamming the door shut. She ignored the muffled complaints heard from the hallway as she pinned you against it, wanting to have you all to herself.

Connecting her eyes with yours, she searched for any trace of doubt, but found nothing but darkened irises. Hesitation left her once and for all as she leaned in, her lips meeting yours. She sighed, and everything else seemed to fade into the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle and tentative, giving you both time to discover each other. But the passion, held back for so long by insecurities and “what ifs,” broke free like a dam, intensifying everything tenfold. Her hand gripped your waist slightly harder, while one of your hands trailed up to her hair, tugging it just enough to make her shudder. Urgently, she pulled you even closer, as if afraid you might disappear.

Her breath quickened as she felt your body pressed against hers. The kiss deepened, turning frantic with all the pent-up desire. Suddenly, you tugged at her bottom lip, almost provocatively, as you looked up at her through your eyelashes. Natasha groaned, her heart racing. It was like seeing a whole new side of you, and she just couldn’t get enough.

Licking into your mouth, she hummed as your knees seemed to buckle, holding your hips to make sure you didn't fall. No, you weren’t going anywhere. Not when she finally had you in her arms.

You could feel the tension in her body as you traced her shoulders and back, her muscles tensing with every movement. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of you, kissing you—consuming you with everything she had.

It left you breathless. If anything, air became the only obstacle, the only force capable of separating you. Both gasping for breath, you didn’t dare to say anything for a moment, just taking in the overwhelming sensation of being so close, so lost in each other.

“You know, technically…” you started slowly, a playful smirk on your lips. “Technically, you interrupted my kiss with Carol before.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, her grip on you tightened, a small growl escaping her at the thought of anyone else getting the chance to do what you had just done. But you quickly calmed her, softly cupping the side of her face. “So, you owe me another kiss.”

She looked at you with darkened eyes, a mix of desire and challenge in her gaze. “I guess you’re right… We wouldn’t want to have bad luck.”

“Of course not,” you repeated, your lips brushing against hers as you gently guided her closer. “You know how superstitious I am.”

“Yes, I do,” she whispered, a teasing smile crossing her face as she closed the distance.

#mcu #natasha romanoff #fanfic #nat x reader #natasha x reader #fluff #oneshot #short prompt #christmas #reader insert #avengers #marvel blurb #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader

766 notes · View notes

kingdom-of-peace · 1 month ago

Text

Spotlight. | N.R

Older!News Anchor!Natasha x Younger!Female!Professor Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, one of the most recognized faces in television, finds herself under unexpected scrutiny when a young academic’s lecture on media ethics gains traction online — setting the stage for an unlikely rivalry that blurs the line between enemies and something else entirely.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (natasha late 30s, reader 27ish), language, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sex, Me not being familiar with the inner workings of network television.

Word Count: 5.6k+

A/N: Hey everyone! Long-time reader, first-time poster here. So I guess you could see this as a little thank-you for getting me through some tough times with your amazing stories. This chapter is a bit of a practice run - if you guys like it, I’ll probably be continuing this as a mini-series. The idea has been lingering in my mind for a while. FYI English isn’t my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes!

The clock ticked toward the seven-hour mark, numbers climbing up steadily as the seconds bled into each other. The studio hummed, a cacophony of voices layered on top of one another. Producers, directors, and assistants hustling between monitors, whispering instructions and updating cues. But through it all, Natasha Romanoff the pride of the network moved like a conductor of chaos. Every step, measured. Every glance, deliberate.

She made her way to the sleek glass desk, the papers for her notes already laid out in perfect alignment— black letters against white background. The desk, like everything else around her, was immaculate, designed to make the person behind it the centre of attention. As she sat, Betty, a new member of the makeup crew, approached with a kit. The girl was eager, almost too eager, hands slightly shaking as she opened her compact mirror. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she reached for the earpiece.

“Don’t put too much highlighter on my face,” Natasha said, her voice clipped, without a hint of softness. “Last week, your colleague made me look like a disco ball.” Betty froze eyes wide. Natasha could feel her anxiety before the words even left her mouth. “I-I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff. I’ll try my best...”. “Don’t try your best. Do as I say,” Natasha interjected sharply, her tone biting. “Y-Yes, Ms. Romanoff,” Betty stammered. “two minutes,” someone called out from the back of the studio.

As Betty moved to step back, she quickly wished Natasha good luck. Natasha didn’t respond, merely rolling her eyes before glancing toward the producers’ booth. She could already feel the inevitable irritation building. The earpiece clicked into place, and the familiar voice of Maria Hill, her producer, filled her ear. “Finally decided to grace us with your attention, huh?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked upward to the glass wall behind which the production room was located, her lips curling into a smirk. “Maybe you shouldn’t let Sharon take a holiday whenever she wants. I know you two had a thing back at university, but those doe-eyed makeup artists turn my pretty face into a caricature. Sharon is the only one, who knows what to do with a pretty face like mine.”

Maria’s laugh crackled through the earpiece, dry and sharp." They don’t stay doe-eyed for long. Give it two weeks, and Betty will be completely head over heels in love with you, especially once you start showing off your... bedroom charm." Natasha’s smirk only deepened. “What can I say? I know what a woman wants.”

“You mean intentionally creating potential workplace conflicts the moment they realize their feelings are not reciprocated. You know Agatha from HR told me, your file is by far the heaviest on her desk.” Maria replied with a slight edge to her voice. Natasha knew Maria was not a big fan of her sexual escapades at the network but once in a while the stress of the job caught up even to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but Maria’s voice came through again, cutting the conversation short: “All channels open. 15 seconds.” Signalling that the conversation was over and no longer private. Time to focus.

The tension in Natasha’s body shifted. Taking a moment to collect herself, every inch of her posture shifting from sharp banter to the cool, controlled persona she had perfected over the years. The camera would be on her in seconds, and there was no room for anything other than perfection. Repositioning herself in her chair—back straight, shoulders squared, the very picture of professionalism. As the last few seconds ticked away, Natasha’s eyes snapped to the teleprompter, locking into the script. It was all business now. Her world contracted into that single, glowing line of text. Her fingers twitched slightly, but otherwise, she remained still.

“We are live in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1,” Maria counted down, the words cutting through her thoughts.

The red recording light snapped on, and everything else—the noise, the chatter, the chaos—ceased to exist. The iconic newsroom music blaring through the speakers. The sound that had become synonymous with what Natasha had achieved. A few quiet clicks echoed in the room as cameras shifted into position. Natasha didn’t blink. Her face settled into its trademark calm, eyes piercing the lens like twin weapons. Showtime.

“Good evening. I’m Natasha Romanoff, and this is The Hour.”

Her voice, cool and steady, carried the weight of authority. As the camera zoomed in, her gaze never wavered, her presence filling every corner of the screen. “Tonight: disinformation, climate crisis, and the story the numbers won’t tell you.”

The graphics behind her came alive in choreographed rhythm—images of protests, wildfires and talking points sliced into headlines. She didn’t look at them. She didn’t need to.

The redhead had already memorized the arc of the story: crisis, confusion, control. Natasha told it backwards, starting from what the public feared and unravelling the mess with her usual signature—calm, vaguely unforgiving clarity. In her earpiece, someone was murmuring time cues. She ignored them. She always did.

“In five minutes, you’ll hear from a senior intelligence analyst. But first—what we aren’t talking about.” That was the trick. Tell them what they didn’t know they wanted to hear. Make it feel like truth. Deliver it with a stillness so complete, it silenced doubt before it could form.

----

The lights above Natasha dimmed for a second—an automatic adjustment to keep the focus on her. From the control room, Maria watched her like a hawk, fingers dancing over her tablet, the constant pulse of the broadcast in her veins.

"She’s on fire tonight," Maria murmured to Pepper the network president’s personal assistant, standing beside her, flipping through notes. Pepper didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. Natasha always delivered, always commanded the room. “She always is.” Pepper’s voice was dry, but there was a touch of admiration beneath it. She could feel the heat even through the glass. She paused, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly. “How much do you bet that his career is over after the interview?”

Maria shrugged, her sharp eyes never leaving Natasha, who was now in the midst of her segment. The current topic a prominent politician—someone who had recently come under fire for money fraudulence now being interviewed by her.

“Senator Rumlow, you’ve been under fire recently for a report that surfaced showing you used large portions of your campaign donations for luxury vacations. These funds, which were meant to support your ‘community welfare initiatives,’ were instead spent on lavish trips to the French Riviera and resorts in the Maldives. How do you justify that?”

The senator’s mouth twitched. A quick glance to the side, a nervous swipe of his hand across his brow. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Miss Romanoff, I... there’s been a misunderstanding. These funds were used to secure partnerships and build networks with international leaders. I was meeting with potential investors who could bring millions in funding to my community.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. Her eyes locked on his, a calculated silence hanging between them.

“So,” she leaned forward, voice cutting through the air like a blade, “you used funds intended to alleviate poverty and support struggling families for personal vacations to network? A trip to the Maldives to discuss ‘potential investors’—is that the kind of network we’re talking about?”

The senator's face flushed, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words. Natasha’s expression never shifted, while the senator on the other end of the interview appeared slightly uncomfortable. She leaned in just enough to suggest she was giving him a chance to speak, but also to control the pace of the conversation. He was about to make a mistake. Maria could feel it back in the production room.

"Yeah, she’s definitely on fire tonight." Maria allowed herself a slight smile, eyes sharp. “The way she’s making him squirm, you’d think they were old enemies.”

Pepper glanced over at the monitor. Natasha was listening intently, her gaze never leaving the senator, dissecting every word he said, her expression calculated but not unkind. She didn’t need to look at the teleprompter anymore. This was where Natasha was dangerous—the moment she stopped relying on the script and instead started using her own control over the conversation.

“I never—look, these trips were necessary for the larger cause. My team and I were—”

“Your team?” Natasha interrupted, her tone cold, unforgiving. She didn’t give him a second to recover. “You’re telling me that your ‘team’ thought it was acceptable to spend taxpayer and donor money on personal luxuries under the guise of ‘building international relationships’? And those relationships just happened to involve resorts, yachts, and five-star hotels?”

The senator’s face tightened, but Natasha’s sharp, relentless gaze showed no mercy. Her posture was perfect, the epitome of control—one hand lightly resting on the table, the other folded under her chin as she leaned forward, waiting for him to crack.

“Senator,” Natasha continued, her voice low but cutting, “you’ve used the public’s trust to fund personal indulgences. You’ve done nothing to benefit the very communities that donated their hard-earned money in good faith. You’ve used their trust as a shield for your personal gain.”

The senator shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but the sweat on his brow was the only sign that he was losing his composure.

“I... I apologize for the perception this has created, but I am still working tirelessly for the people. I don’t expect you to understand the pressure we face in this position.”

Natasha’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that signalled the end of a conversation, not the beginning.

“Understand? You’ve already made it clear, Senator. You’ve made your priorities clear. You’ve misused the public’s trust, and no amount of ‘apology’ will make up for that.” She paused, her gaze narrowing. “You’ll have a lot to explain in front of those who donated their last dollars to your supposed cause. I don’t think a few ‘networking’ excuses will make that any easier.”

The camera panned out slightly, framing the senator on the screen, defeated, under the weight of her words. Natasha sat back in her chair, her expression coldly satisfied, but there was no triumph in her gaze. Just the quiet assurance that she had exposed the truth—and in this game, truth was always her weapon.

Maria looked at Pepper. “This is going to be everywhere by tomorrow morning.” Pepper, watching the screen, nodded but said nothing. She had worked with Natasha long enough to know the pattern. She didn’t miss a single beat, didn’t flinch even when the questions cut close to the bone. She was ruthless—but always just controlled enough to keep the narrative hers.

Maria continued, her tone dropping a bit, a hint of something else in her voice. “Have you seen the video of this upcoming professor from Shield University? What do you think?”. Pepper’s fingers hovered above her phone, pausing as she considered the question. “She’s definitely been keeping an eye on Natasha,” Maria added with a knowing smile. “It’s only a matter of time before Natasha finds out—and it’s probably not going to be pretty. For that woman, or for us... I’m not sure.”

Pepper finally smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Yeah, well, she’s got competition now. She doesn’t seem like the type to just back down. Maria nodded. “Let’s just hope Natasha doesn't end up too intrigued. If she starts getting personal, that’s when it gets... interesting.”

---

Natasha’s expression remained unchanged as she moved on with the interview. The camera panning back to her, flawlessly.

“Thank you for your time, Senator Rumlow,” she said, her voice a calm cadence that barely masked the satisfaction of knowing she’d just made the politician’s situation far worse. Every channel and newspaper would be jumping on this story tomorrow, no doubt splashing it across their front pages.

“Also thank you to our generous audience tonight. It’s always a pleasure to bring you the news about what’s happening in the world. And remember, stay informed, stay sharp, and never let anyone sell you a story that's less than the truth.” she said, a hint of finality in her tone. “Now, I’ll pass it over to Steve Rogers, our weather anchor, who has a much sunnier forecast for you.”

The camera switched to Steve, who was already grinning behind him a large screen displaying shifting regions and temperatures. “That’s right, Natasha. The last few days of sunshine are upon us before we officially roll into the fall season. So, grab your families, go outside and enjoy...”

As soon as the words left Steve’s mouth, Natasha pulled her earpiece out, the familiar click of the disconnect echoing in her ears. The moment she was clear from the screen, she shifted in her seat, the professional mask slipping away, just slightly—only enough for her to exhale, her expression finally softening, if only for a moment. She rose in a single, smooth motion. The producers didn’t approach immediately; they never did unless they had to.

As Natasha turned to leave the desk, a younger intern stepped forward, tablet in hand, speaking quickly, his words tumbling over each other.

“Sorry, Ms. Romanoff, I—I just wanted to say you were amazing up there.” Peter, who had joined the team last year to gain experience after his graduation, was still a bit green, though for some reason, Tony Stark—who owned the network—had taken a particular liking to him. Which is why his golden retriever-like personality felt like a constant presence she couldn’t escape.

Natasha didn’t break stride, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. A few crew members glanced at each other, nervous, hoping Peter wouldn’t get an earful for approaching her without a significant reason. But to their surprise, Natasha offered him a brief, unexpected smile. “Thanks,” she said, her voice calm and unbothered. "Keep up the good work." Though she’d never say it out loud, she’d grown surprisingly fond of him and the unshakable optimism he brought with him. Maybe it was because he reminded her of a time when life had been simpler, before everything became high stakes and expectations or perhaps it was the adrenaline rush from having just put the senator in his place.

With that, she made her way down the hallway toward her dressing room, the echo of her heels fading with each step, leaving Peter standing frozen in place—blinking, stunned. The Natasha Romanoffhad smiled at him. A real, genuine smile. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Then, unable to contain himself, he did a quiet fist pump and half-skipped down the corridor, suddenly determined to be the best intern the station had ever seen.

-----

When Natasha stepped into her dressing room, Betty and Pepper were already there. Pepper, as always, was glued to her phone, typing away with that near-obsessive focus Natasha had come to expect from her. She often wondered if Pepper had put her phone down for more than five minutes in the last few years. Meanwhile, Betty was busy clearing the table, preparing to remove Natasha’s makeup.

“You did a good job out there,” Pepper said, glancing up from her phone just long enough to catch Natasha’s eye before diving back into the glowing screen. “Thanks,” Natasha replied, settling into the makeup chair. “I mean, it’s hardly difficult when the senator does most of the work embarrassing himself.”

Natasha smirked, enjoying the victory of another successful segment. Betty began to work on removing the makeup, her hands steady despite the usual hustle of the room. “Still, it takes talent to make people like him squirm like you did,” Pepper remarked, her eyes still glued to the phone.

“I don’t know if it’s talent or just good instincts,” Natasha replied with another sly grin. “Either way, I’m hoping he’s out of office by the end of the week.”. “Well, Maria bet he won’t last past tomorrow night, thanks to what you pulled off,” Pepper said, her tone light but amused. And just as if on cue, Maria walked in, her presence immediately filling the room. “Great show as always, Natasha,” she said, striding over to the couch and sitting down behind Natasha.

Natasha met her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. “I couldn’t do it without my tirelessly working producer.”. “Damn right you couldn’t,” Maria replied, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she picked up a magazine from the table and started flipping through it. The conversation flowed easily between the three, mostly floating around ideas about upcoming segments and possible interviewees, with Betty shyly asking Natasha to tilt her head for better access occasionally as she worked. About half an hour later, Betty finished packing up her things and, with a quick “Good bye,” exited the room, clearly relieved to have survived in the lion’s den.

“I swear, they’re more scared of you than Tony,” Pepper observed, watching Betty leave with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not my problem if they’re that easy to intimidate,” Natasha replied coolly, giving a slight shrug. “Debatable,” Maria countered, her voice teasing. “You could at least go a little easier on them.” Natasha smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”.

There was a brief pause as Natasha rummaged through her bag, searching for her phone. When she looked up, she caught the silent exchange between Maria and Pepper through the mirror, their eyes communicating something Natasha couldn’t quite place. Turning in her chair, she raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”. Maria and Pepper exchanged one last glance, and Natasha’s patience wore thin. “You’re not going to keep it from me, are you?” she asked, her voice a low murmur. Her eyes didn’t waver from the two women, the challenge clear in her tone. She had worked with them for years and even shared pieces of her college days with them, so she knew, whatever they were about to reveal, she probably wasn’t going to like it.

Reluctantly, Maria handed Natasha the tablet, the screen already pulled up to a paused video. Natasha’s gaze immediately fell on the title: The Sociopolitical Influence of Media in Modern Society. She glanced up at Maria, eyebrow raised. “A lecture? You really think this is important?”. Pepper, not meeting Natasha’s eyes, sighed. “It’s... well, it includes you. Specifically.” Natasha’s lips parted slightly. “About me?” she repeated, voice hardening. “What are you talking about?”. Maria took a breath before responding, her voice cautious. “It’s a lecture. From a professor at Shield university. She’s young, so she wasn’t around when we were there. But she... uses you as an example in her talk.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed, the weight of the words sinking in. “She what?”. Pepper winced. “She talks about how news anchors—people with a platform like yours, aren’t just reporting the news but shaping it. And, uh... she singles you out by name.”. “Great,” Natasha said, her voice sharp. “What exactly does she say about me?”. Reluctantly, Maria tapped the screen and started the video. The camera panned to you, standing at a podium, adjusting your notes before speaking directly to the audience in the lecture hall.

“The media’s role isn’t just to inform—it constructs reality,”you began, your voice clear and confident. “Take someone like Natasha Romanoff, a news anchor with the most-watched primetime segment in the country. She doesn’t just present the facts—she defines how those facts are received. With a single word, a glance, a choice of guest or segment, she can shift the public narrative for millions.” Natasha’s jaw tightened as she listened, her fingers curling around the armrest of her chair. She’d always known she had influence but hearing it described this way, hearing herself used as an example of media manipulation, made her blood boil.

“Figures like Romanoff,” you continued, “can shape heroes or villains with a single broadcast. Their influence is vast and rarely questioned. The issue isn’t just about power, but about how and whether it’s wielded responsibly.” Natasha set the tablet down with a sharp click, her expression hardening. “So, I’m the villain in her story?”. Maria nodded slightly. “It’s more complex than that. You’re the example she’s using to critique a larger issue.”. “She might as well have painted a target on my back,” Natasha muttered, her tone thick with frustration. Pepper shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not personal, Natasha. But the way she frames it… it feels personal.”

“I don’t manipulate people,” Natasha snapped, her posture rigid. “I don’t twist the truth. I present it—clean, honest, verified. Just because I know how to deliver it doesn’t mean I’m playing puppet master.” She turned toward Maria, frustration boiling over. “Is this seriously the kind of crap I have to put up with now? Academics critiquing my work from their ivory towers?”. Maria raised her hands, trying to calm the storm. “It’s not about you. She’s critiquing the media as a whole. But yeah… you’re the example that serves her point.”

Natasha paced the room, her steps rapid and sharp. Why her? Why not the other anchors who sensationalized or fabricated? Sure, she was the highest-rated, most successful. She’d climbed the ranks quickly, but she never used her position to control the narrative, did she? She prided herself on her professionalism. She worked hard to ensure her biases didn’t creep into her delivery. She turned back to Maria and Pepper, eyes flashing with frustration. “It’s just a professor talking. The students in her class, maybe a few online nerds, will care for a few days, but that’s it.”. Maria and Pepper exchanged another glance. Maria spoke first, her tone firm. “It’s already spreading, Natasha.”. Pepper nodded, setting her phone down. “The video’s gaining traction—blogs, social media, even some paywalled articles. Small waves now, but they’re starting to grow.”

Natasha froze, her gaze shifting between Maria and Pepper. “Viral? It’s just a lecture. Seriously?”. “Not anymore,” Maria said, her arms crossed, her stance serious. “This thing spreads fast. And with the narrative it’s building, it’s only going to pick up steam. And don’t forget people are already out there who’ve held a grudge against you for years because of your success, your gender, your sexuality.”

Pepper leaned forward, her voice quiet but urgent. “You need to prepare. If this keeps going, it’s not just a lecture, it’s a movement. And once the perception shifts, you can’t ignore it.” Natasha’s gaze shifted back to the screen, her arms folding across her chest. The weight of what they were saying hit her. She’d worked hard for her credibility, for the trust of her audience. But if this narrative took root… it could undo everything. It wasn’t just about your opinion anymore, it could become public discourse, with herself at the heart of it.

“I don’t “control” the narrative,” she said firmly, almost like a mantra. “I report it.” Maria’s gaze softened, but she didn’t back down. “We know that. But the issue is how people perceive it. And right now, this perception is being built, whether it’s fair or not.”. Pepper showed her phone to Natasha, scrolling through the notifications. “See this? It’s trending right now. People are questioning your integrity, your influence. It’s not just going away.” Natasha stared at the screen, her heart sinking as the headlines flashed before her eyes of future articles that would cast her as the embodiment of everything wrong with the media landscape.

“So, what should I do?” she asked, her voice quieter now. Maria leaned forward slightly, offering a calm but firm suggestion. “We stay low for now. The wider public hasn’t really caught on yet. You’ve built your career on credibility—don’t let this shake that. But if this picks up more steam��”

“We’ll be ready.” Pepper added, her voice calm but determined. Natasha exhaled, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I don’t want to give this more attention than it deserves. But if she continues to use my name, in her little act it won’t be pretty.” Pepper opened her mouth to protest, but Natasha cut her off. “No. She should know better. Publicly crucifying someone without context? That’s wrong, and she should know that.”

The room fell silent. Natasha stared at the tablet screen, your words echoing in her head, even as she wrestled with the weight of her own thoughts. Maria and Pepper exchanged one last look, both knowing Natasha well enough to understand she would not let go of the topic easily. If there was one thing Natasha excelled at, it was holding onto grudges. She grabbed her bag, offering both women a curt “good night” before making her way out of the room. As she stepped into the cool night air, a black SUV already waiting, ready to take her back to her apartment.

---

After a silent car ride, with a brooding Natasha sitting in the back seat, her gaze fixed out the window, too consumed by what had been said to engage. The driver, initially trying to make polite conversation, quickly fell silent after receiving a few clipped, one-word replies, enough to register that her mood was not to be tested. When they finally reached her apartment building, he offered a quiet nod as she stepped out.

She had moved into the place after the second year of her show’s success, when for the first time, she no longer had to think twice about money. The apartment was more than a living space; it was a quiet reminder of everything she had built, and everything she had once thought would bring her peace.

When Natasha finally stepped into her loft apartment, the door clicked shut behind her with a familiar, hollow finality. The view that greeted her was one she never quite grew tired of—floor-to-ceiling windows framing the river and the city skyline, skyscrapers lit like circuit boards against the night. Somewhere in that sprawl was the studio she had just walked out of, its glass tower faintly visible in the distance.

Before she could set down her keys, a soft, expectant meow echoed through the entrance hall. Liho, her long-time feline companion, padded gracefully into view and rubbed himself against her calves, tail high with dignified affection. “Hey, soldier,” Natasha murmured, crouching to run her fingers through his fur. His purr vibrated warmly beneath her hand.

She hadn’t planned to keep him. Years ago, when she was still a glorified intern running coffee for people whose names she barely remembered, she’d found him one night half-frozen in a cardboard box outside the train station near her old apartment—or rather, a shoebox-sized room. A vet diagnosed hypothermia, said he’d recover with proper care, and gently implied there was nowhere else for the tiny creature to go. Natasha, who had never seen herself as someone who owned a pet—who barely trusted herself to care for plants—had taken him home, wrapped in a soft blanket. Told herself she’d find him a nice family.

She never did. He’d stayed. Through the grind, the promotions, the late nights, and the loneliness. Liho remained the one quiet, dependable thing in her life. She named him after a figure from old Russian folklore—Likho, the spirit of misfortune and chaos. A creature you were warned not to name or challenge, but whose presence was sometimes inescapable. It was meant as a joke at first—dark humor, a habit she never quite grew out of. But over time, the name stuck and softened. Likho became Liho—less an omen and more a constant.

After giving him a generous serving of premium cat food, she microwaved some frozen supermarket pasta-dish and poured herself a glass of red wine. Dinner was quiet, save for the low hum of the television. A dusty old Western was playing, something about cowboys and crooked sheriffs. Natasha wasn’t really watching. She sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, Liho curled beside her like a sentient heating pad.

Her thoughts kept drifting. Back to the studio. Back to the lecture Maria had shown her.

Back to you.

She hadn’t said it out loud, but the words had stung more than she expected. The calm measured critique of how anchors like her “curated truth,” how polished delivery could sometimes mask institutional bias. The examples had been academic, but Natasha had felt it—she had been the example.

And yet… you were compelling. Articulate. Passionate in a way that wasn’t performative. You didn’t grandstand; you just believed in what you were saying.

She pushed the thoughts aside, finished her meal, rinsed her wine glass, and went through the motions of her nightly routine. Brushed teeth. Washed off the last traces of studio makeup Betty hadn’t already removed. Changed into a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized Shield University shirt she’d never admit was from Bucky her old dorm roommate. Then, finally, she slipped into bed, Liho jumping up to settle at her feet.

It should have ended there. Lights off. Day over.

But Natasha lay there in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the echo of your lecture still playing in her mind. She sighed, reaching for her phone on the nightstand, and opened the video again—not to rewatch it this time, but to scroll through the comments. Most were thoughtful. A few were aggressively supportive of her, others staunchly in your corner. Some were messy and contrarian for the sake of it.

Still, the consensus was unsettling: people were listening to you. Her curiosity piqued, she tapped your name into the search bar. Dozens of results popped up.

“Youngest Professor at SHIELD University Breaks Down Media Ethics in Viral Lecture.”

“SHIELD University Appoints Rising Academic to Faculty—Is the Professor the Future of Public Communication?”

“Bridging Theory and Practice: How the Professor Makes Media Research Accessible.”

She clicked on your university profile. A picture of you smiling at the camera greeted her. Natasha couldn’t deny you were attractive, it was a shame you seemed to despise everything she embodied. Below the picture was a brief introductory text.

We are proud to introduce Professor Y/N, who began their academic career here at SHIELD University. After completing their master’s abroad, they returned to complete their PhD and were recently appointed as the youngest faculty member in our Department of Media and Communication. Their research focuses on media literacy, narrative framing, and the role of journalism in democratic decline.

Natasha scrolled further.

Recent Publications:

• “The Myth of Neutrality: Power and Performance in Anchor-Centric News”

• “Narrative Fracture: The Battle for Public Trust in Digital Broadcasting”

• “Face of the News: Gender, Perception, and Charisma in Prime-Time Journalism”

Beneath that your contact email and Office hours.

Natasha sat back against the pillows, resting her phone on the nightstand, the soft glow of the screen now gone. It appeared that very little private information was available about you online to the public. She stared at the ceiling, the weight of your words from the lecture still lingering in her mind.

"Why the hell am I even looking at that?" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head slightly as if to dismiss the whole thing. Liho, curled up at the foot of the bed, paused mid-purr, his amber eyes narrowing as he stared at Natasha. His ears twitched, confused by her sudden outburst, but he didn’t move. Natasha let out a frustrated sigh, rolling onto her side, her fingers lightly brushing her hair away from her face. "This is ridiculous," she murmured, though the words felt hollow even to her. “She’s nothing more than an overachiever, leveraging recognizable names to draw attention to her small research hobby.’’ Liho blinked, then slowly stretched before curling up into a ball again, letting out a soft, contented sigh as he drifted off to sleep beside her, unimpressed with Natasha’s mood swing.

She didn’t like being called out. Didn’t appreciate being used as a case study for all that was wrong with modern journalism. It shouldn’t have gotten under her skin the way it did. And yet…

It wasn’t just criticism. It was smart. It was sharp.

That’s what bothered Natasha. She turned onto her side, her alarm clock faintly glowing in the dark room. She told herself she didn’t care. That it was just another critic, jealous of Natashas success. Just another overconfident academic with a limited view of how things worked in the real world. She had seen it time and again—people criticizing her without reason, trying to dismantle everything she had built from the ground up. You don’t even know me, she thought bitterly. To you, she was manufactured. Superficial. A product, not a person. Power-hungry. Egocentric. It didn’t matter how many stories she had broken, how many sleepless nights she’d spent carving out her place in a world that never welcomed her. You had already made up your mind and in the media world, that was dangerous. A single narrative, repeated with enough conviction, could become truth. The public loved a fall from grace. To you, she was nothing more than a symbol. But to protect herself, Natasha clung to the thought that you were just another fleeting presence in the endless crowd of critics—one more voice hoping to see her fall. No one had ever succeeded in pushing Natasha out and you wouldn’t be the first. But as sleep tugged at her, slow and unrelenting after an eventful workday, the cadence of your voice still echoed in her subconsciousness. And despite herself, she was already wondering what you’d say next.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #marvel #the avengers #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow #natalia romanova

428 notes · View notes

screaminglygay · 5 days ago

Text

Welcome back

pairing: past!natasha romanoff x reader, wanda maximoff x reader

summary: you're back at the avengers compound - finally building a life of peace with wanda. but the past doesn't rest easily. natasha's bitterness rises the moment she sees you, and the tension finally boils over in a brutal confrontation. as old wounds reopen, wanda begins to spiral in her own doubts, just as you’re both finding happiness together.

warnings: angst!, emotional conflict, swearing, harsh words, jealousy, overthinking, unresolved tension, natasha being bitter, light smut, teasing, Pietro walking in on you, minor miscommunication, hurt feelings

word count: 11.8k

an: this was such a fun request to write, honestly had the best time diving into all the angst and messy emotions in this part:D thank you so much for all the love and support for this mini-series!<3

part one I part two I part three

You sat on your couch, your phone in your hand, staring at Fury’s contact like it might explode. It had been a while since you’d spoken to him like this… actually wanting something instead of turning him down.

But damn it, Wanda had gotten into your head. With a deep breath, you pressed the call button. Fury picked up on the second ring.

"Well, this is a surprise," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "To what do I owe the honor?"

You leaned back, exhaling, "I want to come back. But only as a trainer. Just the agents. No more, no less. And I want a normal schedule."

Silence.

Then, in that signature deadpan tone, Fury said, "Wouldn’t you like a Porsche with that too?"

You rolled your eyes, "I’m serious."

"So am I." Another pause. "See you at the usual time on Monday. And say thanks to Maximoff for me."

Your brows furrowed, "why?"

"For making up your mind." That made you sit up straight. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice before he hung up. You stared at your phone, everything clicking into place.

That sneaky little-

A knock at your door made you snap your head up. Right on time. When you swung the door open, Wanda stood there, looking as soft and lovely as ever, but you wasted no time.

"I know what you did," you said, crossing your arms. "Nice work."

She blinked, "what?"

"Sneaky little thing," you squinted at her.

Her lips curled into an amused smile, tilting her head. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

You stepped closer, leaning against the doorframe. "You’ve been playing the long game, haven’t you? Slowly getting in my head, dropping hints, making sure I’d call Fury on my own."

Wanda batted her lashes, "that’s absurd. I would never manipulate you like that."

You scoffed, "uh-huh. Right."

She grinned, stepping inside and letting her fingers trace up your arms. "I prefer the term… persuasive."

You shivered slightly at her touch, but you kept your composure. "Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?"

"Mm-hmm." She leaned in, her breath warm against your skin. "And are you mad about it?"

You sighed, feigning exasperation. "No, because it worked. I called Fury."

Wanda’s eyes lit up, and a proud smile spread across her face, "I knew you would."

You let out a soft laugh against her lips, "of course."

…

The morning felt heavier than it should have. You were sitting at the small dining table, mindlessly swirling your spoon in your cereal, staring at nothing in particular. Wanda, sitting across from you, noticed immediately.

"Alright," she said, setting down her coffee. "What’s up?"

You blinked out of your daze, "what?"

"You’re thinking way too loud." She tilted her head, amused. "First-day jitters?"

You exhaled, rubbing the back of your neck. "Now that I really think about it… isn’t it weird to just… go back?"

Wanda arched a brow. "Are you asking because of work? Or because of Natasha?"

Your lips parted, then closed again. "No… work of course not-" You hesitated. "Or… maybe both. I don’t know." You sighed, setting your spoon down. "It’s just… she’s there. It’s her place. And I’m just gonna waltz in like nothing happened?"

Wanda reached across the table, her fingers brushing against yours. "I get it," she said softly. "But she’s not the only one there, and besides… Natasha mostly does Avengers missions now. She trains sometimes, sure, but Steve and Maria handle most of it. She’s barely in the training areas anymore."

That made you pause, "oh, okay."

Some of the weight in your chest lightened, but not all of it. Because now that your brain had gone down that road, something else came to mind.

Maria Hill. She was still there too.

You hadn’t really thought about her in a while, but the realization hit you now. Unlike with Natasha, there wasn’t anger, just… weird emotions. Undefined, but definitely there.

Wanda watched your face carefully, reading you like a book. "You just thought of someone else, didn’t you?"

You sighed, "Maria."

Wanda nodded, like she expected that. "You don’t have to interact with her if you don’t want to." And once again, she didn´t asked much, she just understood.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. "I know. It’s just… strange. Like stepping back into a past life I wasn’t sure I’d ever return to."

Wanda squeezed your hand. "It’s not a past life. It’s just another part of your story. And you’re walking in on your terms now."

You looked at her, taking in the warmth in her gaze. The unwavering belief in you.

It helped.

You took a deep breath and straightened your shoulders. "Yeah. My terms."

Wanda grinned, "exactly." Then she smirked, nudging your foot under the table. "And if you ever get too in your head about it… just remember that you’re probably going to out-train half of them."

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head, "oh, yeah."

...

As you walked alongside Wanda toward the training center, your steps felt steady, but there was still that lingering unease. You glanced over at Wanda, who kept her pace casual, her eyes scanning the surroundings as if she were used to this space in a way that made you both feel comfortable and out of place all at once.

"So," Wanda broke the silence, her voice light but teasing, "what´s the first move?"

You hummed, "I´ll probably just test the waters, make sure where everyone stands, you know?"

Wanda smiled softly, nudging your shoulder with hers. "You’ll do fine. You’ve trained worse, right?"

You smirked, remembering the sheer chaos of trying to teach people who were barely able to say please and thank you. "Definitely. But this feels different. It’s been a while."

She smiled at you, but it softened into something more understanding. "Just remember why you’re here."

You nodded as you reached the entrance to the training area. The doors slid open, and you stopped just inside, feeling the buzz of energy from the group of agents waiting for you. They were ready, dressed in full tactical gear, standing in neat lines, some eyes bright with anticipation, others with a little more uncertainty.

"Alright," Wanda said, giving you a quick hug. "I’ll leave you to it. Do your thing. You’ve got this."

"Thanks, Wan," you said, returning her hug before stepping into the training space fully. She gave you a quick wave before walking away to attend to her own duties, leaving you standing in front of twenty very eager agents.

But now you realized… that you actually don´t know why are you here. But fake it till you make it, right? Once again, starting with a good tactic.

"Alright, listen up!" you called, your voice carrying easily across the room. "For those of you who don’t know me, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I’m your main trainer from now on. I’ll be pushing you all to your limits, and I expect the same in return. There will be no slacking off, no cutting corners. I’ve seen it all, and I’ll make sure you all earn every skill you walk out of here with."

You paused for a moment, watching their faces. There was a mixture of nervousness and excitement. You could see it, feel it… the anticipation was almost palpable.

"Now, today isn’t about perfection. It’s about seeing where you all stand." You motioned to the space around you. "We’re going to start with some basic drills to test your skill level and determine what you can do and what needs improvement. This isn’t a competition, it’s a learning experience. I need you all to give it your best, and I’ll be here to guide you."

Without further explanation, you had them start with a basic hand-to-hand combat drill, followed by agility and endurance exercises. As you moved from agent to agent, it quickly became clear that while there were a few standouts, most of them were still rough around the edges. Some couldn’t hold their stance correctly, others lacked the proper timing, and a couple couldn’t land a clean hit to save their lives.

You found yourself mentally noting where each one needed work, but the surprise was in how eager they all were. They were soaking in every bit of feedback, pushing themselves as hard as they could. It was refreshing.

As the last round of drills ended, you were about to offer some closing advice when you heard the familiar footsteps approaching. "Looks like you haven’t lost your touch," a voice drawled from behind you.

You turned around, your eyes narrowing in recognition. "Fury," you said, crossing your arms. "I should have known."

"You’re doing great," Fury said, his tone casual, though there was a hint of pride underneath. "I knew you’d pull this off."

You raised an eyebrow, your hands resting on your hips. "You’ve been watching me again, haven’t you?"

Fury didn’t miss a beat. "Needed to make sure you’d do your job right." He paused, glancing at the group of agents still catching their breath. "And it seems like you’ve done exactly that."

You snorted, shaking your head, "some things never change."

Fury chuckled, his lips pulling into a tight smile. "Hm. Just making sure the job gets done. You’ll always be the best at what you do."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Well, it’s nice to know you still have faith in me."

"Faith?" Fury raised an eyebrow. "I don’t need faith. I just need results." He gave you a meaningful glance. "And you always deliver. Just no more relationship issues, okay?"

You nodded, "yes sir," feeling that familiar mix of nerves and determination build in your chest. It wasn’t just about training these agents - it was about proving to yourself.

After you cleaned up, making sure the mats were properly set, the equipment put away, and everything was in order for the next session. It felt strangely familiar, like a routine you hadn’t even realized you missed. By the time you left the training center, the halls were quieter, the rush of the day settling into something calmer.

You took a quick shower in the locker rooms, letting the warm water ease the tension in your muscles. It wasn’t until you were making your way toward the main hall that you ran into Natasha. She looked just as surprised to see you as you were to run into her. She stopped mid-step, her green eyes scanning you, like she was trying to make sure you were really standing there.

"So," she finally said, crossing her arms, her voice casual, but you could hear the underlying curiosity. "You’re the new trainer, huh?"

You hesitated just slightly before nodding, "yeah…"

Natasha tilted her head, glancing over you like she was taking in the fact that you were really back. "What did you put them through today?"

"Basic drills, endurance, hand-to-hand. Just getting a feel for what they can do."

She nodded, "and?"

"They’ve got potential," you admitted. "But they’re nowhere near ready for fieldwork."

"Sounds about right," Natasha smirked at that.

There was a moment of silence between you, comfortable, but with something beneath it. Something unspoken. You shifted slightly, feeling the weight of it settle in.

"Listen, Nat," you said, glancing at her, "if this is weird for you… I can, you know-"

Natasha cut you off before you could finish. "Don’t worry about me." Her voice was steady, maybe too steady. "You said it yourself, it’s been some time, so…" she shrugged, like it was no big deal. But the way she averted her gaze for just a second, the way her fingers twitched slightly against her arm… it was a lie.

You pressed your lips together, not sure what to say to that. There was a weird awkwardness between you now, lingering in the air. It was strange - once, things between you and Natasha had been easy, natural. Now, it felt like walking on unsteady ground, both of you pretending you weren’t paying attention to the cracks beneath your feet.

You cleared your throat, rubbing the back of your neck. "I uh- I should go. You know, back to the good old paperwork," you joked, forcing a small grin.

Natasha gave you a tight-lipped smile in return. "Have fun with that."

You nodded, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before turning and walking away. Even as you left, you could feel Natasha’s gaze lingering on you, the weight of something left unsaid pressing against your back.

Wanda found you not long after your awkward run-in with Natasha, leaning against the wall outside the training center, looking at your phone like you were trying to distract yourself. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached out, took your wrist, and started pulling you along with her. "Come on," she said, a knowing little smile on her lips. "You’re having lunch with me today."

You let out a soft chuckle but didn’t resist, letting Wanda lead you through the hallways of the compound. "Where are we going?" you asked.

"The Avengers’ living room," Wanda said simply, glancing at you with a smirk. "I’m making lunch, and you’re helping."

"Oh, am I?" You raised a brow.

"Yes," she said it like it was a fact of the universe.

By the time you reached the living space, the scent of spices and something warm was already filling the air. It was cozy in here, unlike the rest of the sleek, professional compound.

Wanda pulled you toward the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves before looking at you expectantly. "So," she started as she grabbed some ingredients from the counter, "how was your first day?"

You exhaled, leaning against the counter. "It was… good. Really good, actually." You couldn’t hide the way your face lit up. "The agents are eager to learn, which is nice. And even though I was just testing everything, I already have so many ideas on how to make the training better."

Wanda watched you with a small, fond smile as you rambled, hands animated as you explained how you set up drills and how the rookies needed to work on their stance. She could see it, you were shining, excitement radiating off you in a way that made her chest warm.

"I haven’t seen you this happy about something in a while," she murmured, reaching for the cutting board.

You paused for a second, processing her words. Then you gave a small nod. "Yeah… I think I really like it here, I mean it´s a first day, but I have really good feeling."

Wanda’s smile grew as she turned to you, placing a knife in your hand. "Good. Now help me chop these, since you’re so full of energy."

You laughed, shaking your head but complying. The two of you worked side by side, moving around the kitchen with ease. Wanda gave you instructions, but half the time, she was just teasing you, nudging you with her hip when you reached for the same thing, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear when it got in your face.

At one point, you handed her a spoon to stir the pot, and she hummed in satisfaction. "You know," she said, stirring slowly, "I think I should be given more credit."

You raised a brow, "for what?"

"For being very persuasive," she smirked. "I get what I want, after all."

You narrowed your eyes at her playfully. "Are you talking about getting me to come back here?"

She hummed, tilting her head, "maybe."

You let out a laugh, "well, you sneaky little thing, you have all the credit."

Wanda just grinned, leaning a little closer, her voice dropping into something softer, "hmm, I´ll take all the credit later, don´t worry."

You swallowed, heart skipping a little at the way she was looking at you. Lord help you. "Just focus on cooking, Maximoff," you muttered, nudging her away with your hip.

"I can multitask," she kissed your cheek quickly.

You smirked, setting the knife down and turning to Wanda with an amused look. "Oh, can you, hm?" you murmured, leaning in just a little, close enough that your breath ghosted against her skin.

Wanda blinked, her teasing smirk faltering for just a second before she composed herself. "Mhm," she hummed, tilting her chin slightly, feigning confidence. "I always do."

You let your fingers brush against her wrist as you leaned in a fraction closer, "is that so?"

Wanda swallowed, her eyes flickering to your lips before she smirked. And just when you thought you had the upper hand, she moved, her hands settling on your waist as she turned the tables. "You think you can win this game?" she murmured, voice low.

Your breath hitched, your plan backfiring spectacularly. "I-"

"You're cute when you try," Wanda whispered before pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the side of your neck.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the warmth of her lips linger. "Wanda-"

"Hm?" She hummed innocently, her lips brushing against your skin again, sending a shiver down your spine.

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head, "I don't need to read your mind to know what you want, Wan."

Wanda smirked against your neck. "Then what am I thinking right now? What do I need?" she murmured, pressing another teasing kiss just below your jaw.

Your fingers tightened around the counter as you tried to gather your thoughts. "You're thinking… that if you keep this up, I'm going to burn our lunch."

Wanda pulled back just enough to look at you, her grin mischievous. "Oh, that would be tragic."

"Yeah, tragic," you deadpanned, though your pulse was still racing.

She chuckled before finally stepping back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. But the knowing look in her eyes told you she was more than pleased with herself. "Alright, alright," she said, grabbing the spoon again. "Let’s focus. Lunch first. I wouldn’t want to distract you too much."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, grabbing a towel and snapping it lightly at her hip. "Too late for that."

Wanda just giggled, completely unbothered, as she continued stirring the pot. "Maybe you should work on your focus, then," she teased.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t wipe the grin off your face. Flirty Wanda was dangerous, but you had to admit, you didn’t mind one bit. It´s the actual opposite.

As you finished plating the food, Wanda grinned, running a finger along the edge of the counter before turning to you with a smirk. "You listened so well," she murmured, her voice dropping into something softer, something very dangerous. She took a step closer, her hands pressing against the counter on either side of you, effectively trapping you in. "Now look what we made. I´m so proud of us, malysh."

Your breath hitched as you looked up at her. She was too close. Her lips, her eyes, the teasing glint in them, god it was all too much. "Wanda-"

But before you could say anything else, she leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. You melted instantly, your hands gripping the counter behind you as her lips moved against yours, soft and warm, making your heart hammer against your ribs.

Her fingers brushed against your waist, and you could feel her smirk against your lips as she deepened the kiss, her body pressing against yours just enough to make your head spin-

"Ah, well, I was going to ask what’s for lunch, but I see you’re already having (Y/N)."

You practically jumped out of your skin, tearing away from Wanda with wide eyes.

"Pietro!" Wanda groaned, her forehead dropping against your shoulder as she shook with laughter.

You, on the other hand, felt your entire body heat up. "I- we were just-" You cleared your throat, your brain scrambling for something - anything - to say. "We have, um… a gou-lash?"

Pietro arched an eyebrow, looking vaguely unimpressed. "A gou-lash?" he repeated, clearly biting back laughter at the way you pronounced it.

Wanda, to her credit, just nodded, her lips twitching as she leaned against the counter with a smug smirk. "Yes. A delicious goulash."

You shot her a glare, but it was weak at best.

Pietro hummed, pretending to consider it. "Ah, great," he said before grabbing some plates and heading to the table. "Steve and Bucky are coming in a minute. Clint and Bruce, too. The rest are busy with work."

You exhaled, trying to regain your composure as you picked up a dish. Wanda, however, was still grinning like she won something.

"Don’t," you whispered as you passed by her.

"Don’t what?" she asked, voice all faux innocence.

You narrowed your eyes. "Just… don’t."

She only laughed, stealing a quick peck on your cheek before sauntering off to help Pietro with the table.

Lord have mercy.

Lunch was lively, the sound of utensils clinking against plates mingling with casual conversation. Your goulash was a success, despite Pietro’s teasing.

As you took another bite, Steve turned to you with an easy smile. "You know, I was thinking, I’d love to work with you on training the agents. I handle a lot of the physical assessments, but having someone like you around? It would make a real difference."

Your eyes widened slightly in excitement, setting your fork down. "That would be amazing! I already have so many ideas… drills, scenarios, real-world application stuff. Honestly, I’d love to collaborate with you on it."

Steve nodded approvingly. "That’s exactly what we need, someone who knows how the field works, not just textbook tactics."

Bucky, who had been quietly eating next to him, suddenly chimed in. "You should also focus on instinct training. A lot of rookies freeze up in real combat. They overthink instead of reacting."

You turned to him, eyes lighting up, "oh wow, yeah, that’s amazing, James-"

The entire table burst into laughter, and you blinked, confused for a moment before Bucky sighed, shaking his head, "Bucky is fine."

A smirk pulled at your lips. "Well, Bucky," you corrected with emphasis, "I think it would be nice to have a Sergeant show the recruits some moves. I mean, who better to train them than someone with actual battlefield experience?"

Steve chuckled, "I second that."

Bucky huffed, but you caught the amused glint in his eye. "Fine, but don’t expect me to give motivational speeches like Rogers."

"Damn, I was looking forward to those." You grinned, taking another bite of your food.

Across the table, Wanda was watching you, her expression soft and proud. She could see how seamlessly you were fitting in, how the team was warming up to you, and it made her happy, really happy.

She reached under the table, giving your knee a small squeeze. When you glanced at her, she simply smiled, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

You weren’t just back, you were glowing.

You hummed softly to yourself as you gathered the empty plates, stacking them with ease before moving toward the sink. The others had already started to clear out, leaving you to tidy up without much thought. And even though Tony has like dishwasher 3000, that even sings you a song, you like to just wash it in your hands, since it´s few plates.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve and Wanda lingered at the table, their voices hushed. Steve glanced at you briefly before turning back to Wanda. "Good call," he said simply.

Wanda tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Steve gave her a knowing look, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Bringing her back. I like seeing agent work like this."

Wanda looked down for a moment, fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. Then, softly, she admitted, "It’s nice, you know? To see her be happy… truly happy."

Steve nodded, but his expression held something, that Wanda couldn’t quite place until he spoke again. "I don’t think you really believe that," he said.

She frowned slightly, "what do you mean?"

"She’s not happy because she’s back at work," Steve said, keeping his voice low but firm. "She’s happy because of you, Wanda. It’s not that hard to see."

Wanda blinked, lips parting slightly, as if to refute it, but the words never came.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re the main reason she’s happy. I might not know her as well as you do, but even I can tell. And it´s funny that someone with the ability to read someone´s mind, can´t see that."

Wanda let out a small breath, her gaze drifting to you as you washed the dishes, completely unaware of their conversation. There was a softness in her eyes, the kind that only came when looking at something precious.

Steve gave Wanda one last knowing smile before pushing his chair back. "Well, I’ll leave you to it," he said, standing up. "Have a good rest of your day, Wanda."

Wanda nodded, still lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to reality. "You too, Steve."

"See you later. Can’t wait for the training!" Steve turned to you as he made his way toward the door.

You looked up from the sink, smiling, "me too, Steve!"

As Steve disappeared down the hall, Wanda finally made her way over to you, her expression practically glowing with warmth. You raised an eyebrow at the soft, dreamy look on her face.

"Are you this satisfied with lunch?" you teased, drying your hands on a towel.

Wanda let out a small laugh, tilting her head, "yeah, very," she said, voice dripping with sweetness, the kind that made your stomach flutter.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, "so you’re looking at me like that because of lunch?"

Wanda just smirked, reaching out to take your hand in hers, "mhm."

Something told you that wasn’t the full truth, but you weren’t complaining if it meant that she will look at you like that. Wanda’s fingers traced lazy circles on the back of your hand as the two of you lingered in the kitchen, neither in a rush to move. Simple moment, just standing close, the warmth of each other filling the small space, but it felt perfect.

You watched her, the way her lips curled into that soft, knowing smile, the way her eyes held nothing but affection. The words were out before you even had the chance to overthink them, "I love you."

Wanda blinked, her breath hitching slightly as her eyes widened in surprise. But the shock melted almost instantly into something even warmer, even softer. She squeezed your hand, "I love you too."

The smile that took over your face was unstoppable, and before you could say anything else, Wanda leaned in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed or teasing, just right, like she wanted you to feel the weight of her words.

But of course, the moment couldn’t last forever.

The door creaked open, and a familiar voice broke through the quiet. "Oh- sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be here."

You and Wanda pulled apart just in time to see Natasha standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

For a second, silence settled over the room, and the air felt a little heavier than before. Not tense, not necessarily uncomfortable, just… awkward.

Wanda shook her head, "It´s all okay."

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly, "It´s all good."

Natasha nodded once, stepping in just far enough to lean against the counter. "alright." A pause, "you two made lunch?"

"Yeah," Wanda answered smoothly, her usual ease returning in an instant. "There’s still some left if you’re hungry."

Natasha glanced at the covered dishes before shaking her head. "Nah, I’ll grab something later." Her eyes flicked toward you for just a second before she pushed off the counter. "I should- yeah. I’ll see you both around."

And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind nothing but a faint trace of something unspoken. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wanda gave your hand another squeeze, grounding you.

"She’s even more awkward now," you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

Wanda chuckled softly beside you, reaching out to trace her fingers lightly over your wrist, "that does make sense."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, "how so?"

"She’s figuring things out, just like you are," Wanda said simply, tilting her head slightly.

You exhaled, letting her words sink in. It was true, Natasha wasn’t the type to just say what was on her mind, not when it came to things like this. And honestly? Maybe neither were you.

Wanda nudged you playfully, "just don’t overthink it." You scoffed, shaking your head. "You both overthink things," she added with a teasing smirk, and you couldn’t even argue with that.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, nudging her back lightly. "I’ll try."

Wanda grinned, "good."

…

The next few weeks passed in a blur of training sessions, late-night talks with Wanda, and getting closer to the rest of the team. It was everything you hadn’t realized you needed - purpose, excitement, and the feeling of belonging.

Training the recruits was honestly fun. Working with Steve was even better than you’d expected, his experience blending well with your own teaching style. Bucky got involved too, his dry humor keeping the sessions light even when he was drilling technique into the agents. The rookies liked you a lot, and Fury? Though he’d never say it outright to others, but he was clearly proud of work.

And then there was Wanda.

She made everything even better. Whether it was sneaking kisses between sessions, teasing you mercilessly when you got competitive during sparring, or just the quiet nights spent in her room at the compound, curled up together after long days. You still mostly stayed at your apartment, but Wanda had a way of making both places feel like home.

Everything felt right.

Except for one thing.

Natasha.

As time went on, she seemed to be pulling away. It wasn’t anything obvious, she was still polite, still professional, still Natasha, but there was distance where there hadn’t been before. Conversations were shorter. Eye contact was rare. She never lingered after team meals or meetings when you were around.

You tried not to think too much about it. Like Wanda had said… you weren’t going to overthink it. So you tried as much as you could. That was until one time… you had asked Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Natasha to join in, giving the recruits a taste of what it was like to fight against someone better, someone with experience, someone who could expose their weaknesses in seconds.

You had started with Bucky and Natasha, analyzing their tactics, breaking down their footwork and strategies for the agents to learn from. It was controlled, efficient, a perfect example of two highly skilled fighters who knew each other well.

Then it was Steve and Wanda. Watching her use her powers seamlessly in hand-to-hand combat was mesmerizing, and Steve handled it with practiced ease, adapting to her movements, showing the recruits how to counter abilities even when they were at a disadvantage.

And then… Wanda and Natasha.

At first, it was just another sparring match. Quick, sharp movements, testing each other’s defenses, both of them perfectly in control.

Until it wasn’t.

The intensity shifted.

Natasha’s strikes became sharper, her dodges tighter, her attacks more relentless. She wasn’t holding back anymore. Wanda adjusted, countering as best as she could, but Natasha was pressing her, forcing her to react rather than control the fight.

The recruits were quiet, watching with wide eyes.

You felt it before you fully registered it… something was off. Before you could intervene, Steve did. "All right, I think that’s enough," he said, stepping between them before it could escalate further. He kept his tone light, but there was an edge of authority in it. "Good demonstration. That’ll give the recruits something to think about."

You were already moving toward Wanda. "You okay?” you asked softly, searching her face for any signs of real harm.

She blinked, still processing, before nodding, "yeah, I’m fine. Just… didn´t expect that." She laughed it off.

Meanwhile, Natasha grabbed her things and left without another word. Steve hesitated only for a second before going after her. You turned back to Wanda, but Bucky was already there, offering her a water bottle. He gave you a nod, like he had things under control, so you let out a quiet breath and stepped back. You couldn’t focus on anything else. You needed to know what the hell that had been about.

So with soft kiss to Wanda’s forehead before stepping away. "I’ll be right back,” you murmured, squeezing her hand before turning on your heel and walking out of the training center.

No, rushing out.

Your heart was pounding, frustration buzzing beneath your skin as you searched for Natasha. It didn’t take long. You found her in one of the hallways, mid-argument with Steve. His arms were crossed, jaw set tight as Natasha spoke in sharp, clipped words, "I don’t care" she snapped. "It’s not my problem."

Steve exhaled through his nose, clearly trying to keep his patience. "You don’t have to make it one, but you could at least-"

The moment you stepped into view, Steve’s eyes flickered to yours. He sighed, shaking his head, before turning to Natasha, "figure it out," he muttered, then walked away, leaving the two of you alone.

Silence. Then, you broke it. "What the hell is your problem?!"

Natasha barely looked at you, "I don’t have one."

"Bullshit!"

She exhaled, long and slow, like she was forcing herself to stay calm, "just drop it."

"No. No, I won’t drop it, Natasha, because I am so sick of this" your voice wavered with anger, with something deeper, something raw.

"For weeks, you’ve been shutting me out, getting more and more distant, and I let it go. I listened when Wanda told me not to overthink it. But this? That wasn’t just a sparring match back there, and you know it."

Natasha scoffed, finally looking at you, but her expression was unreadable. Cold. "Why do you even care?"

You felt your stomach drop.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you refused to back down, "are you serious?"

She didn’t answer.

Your chest tightened. "I don’t know what your problem is, Natasha, but I’m done with this. If you have something to say, say it. Be an adult for god’s sake and just-"

"You moved on fast, didn’t you?"

Your words died in your throat. Natasha’s voice was sharp, cutting straight through you, but her expression stayed blank. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, "you’re kidding me."

She didn’t flinch.

"That’s what this is about?" you scoffed, shaking your head. "You think- what? That I wasn’t allowed to move on? That I was supposed to just sit around and wait for you, for you to finally stop playing around and realize that I care about you and not your status, not your past or where you came from- but you!"

Natasha’s jaw tightened, her silence speaking volumes.

"I waited for you, Natasha,” you seethed. "I waited until I realized that you cared more about people who flirted with you over your own girlfriend!"

Her green eyes flickered, but the mask stayed up, "looks like you’re fine now."

You let out a humorless chuckle, voice shaking, "you know what? Screw you. I am happy, Natasha. Truly happy. So why don’t you stick your head out of your ass and actually see that?"

Natasha’s eyes darkened, "for how long?"

You narrowed your eyes, "what?"

"How long until she picks someone else?" Natasha’s voice was calm, but her words dripped with venom, "because she will."

Your breath hitched.

"Don’t-" you warned, your fists clenching at your sides.

"She will," Natasha continued, stepping closer. "She’ll realize there’s someone better out there, someone less complicated, someone who doesn’t-"

"Don’t bring your insecurities into someone else," you snapped, cutting her off.

Natasha’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, "it’s the truth."

You shook your head, blinking back the sting in your eyes, "you don’t mean that."

Her gaze didn’t waver. "She’ll get sick of you."

You sucked in a breath.

"You’re so needy," Natasha continued, her voice colder than you’d ever heard it. "You need so much, and one day, she’s going to need a break from you."

The words slammed into your chest like a hammer, knocking the air out of you.

Your pulse roared in your ears as you stared at her, your throat burning. "Well, at least I care," you shot back. "At least I’m not some cold, empty killer who doesn’t give a shit about anyone."

Silence.

It was deafening.

You could hear both of your breaths, shaky and uneven. And then, for the first time in a long time, Natasha’s mask cracked. Her eyes glistened, and before she could stop it, a single tear slipped down her cheek. You parted your lips, but no words came out.

She turned away.

And then she was gone, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you standing there, breathless, heart pounding and crying. You wiped your face with the sleeve of your shirt, taking a deep breath before stepping into the gym. Your body ached from the tension still coursing through you, but you tried to shake it off as you walked inside. Wanda was there, quietly cleaning up the mats from training. She hadn’t noticed you yet, too lost in her own thoughts, until she did.

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly as she took you in. You knew she could hear it… your thoughts, loud and messy, tangled with guilt and frustration. "(Y/N)?" she asked softly, setting down the cloth she was holding.

You swallowed, shaking your head. "It’s nothing, I-"

"Don’t do that," Wanda interrupted, stepping closer, "I can feel it. What happened?"

Your chest tightened. You ran a hand down your face before you finally let out a heavy breath. "I found Natasha," you admitted. "We-" You hesitated, pressing your lips together before forcing the words out. "We fought. Badly."

Wanda’s eyes softened with concern, "what did she say?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head, "doesn’t matter."

Wanda crossed her arms, "I think it does." The last thing you truly needed was to have a fight with Wanda too.

You looked away, exhaling sharply. "I… I said she was a killer, Wanda." Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "The one thing she’s most vulnerable about, the one thing she probably hates herself for, and I-" Your breath caught in your throat. "I used it on her."

Wanda reached for your hand, squeezing it, "(Y/N)…"

"I weaponized it," you continued, your voice cracking. "That’s not who I am, Wanda. That’s not the kind of person I ever wanted to be."

"And I assume she also said something wrong?" You nodded, so Wanda squeezed your hand again, grounding you. "You both said wrong things."

"But I know better," you insisted, your voice raw. "I knew that would hurt her the most, and I still-" You exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through your hair. "God, this was a stupid idea. It was so stupid to come back here."

Wanda hesitated before speaking. "Well… it was my idea."

You let out another dry laugh, shaking your head, "yeah, but I agreed."

She sighed, watching you carefully, "do you regret it?"

"What?" you blinked at her, caught off guard.

"Being here," Wanda clarified. "Training again. Being with all of us."

You bit your lip, looking down. "No," you admitted after a moment, "not for a second."

Wanda nodded, giving your hand another squeeze. "Then that’s what matters."

You stayed close to Wanda for the rest of the evening, seeking comfort in her presence, unaware that something had shifted within her. She stayed by your side, held your hand when you needed grounding, whispered soft reassurances, but inside, she was battling her own thoughts.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. She did. Natasha had been close for the two of you, and this fight, as messy as it was, had clearly hurt you. Wanda wanted to be the person you leaned on, the one who supported you through it. And she was.

But it gnawed at her.

The way you were so torn about Natasha. The way you spoke about hurting her, as if it wounded you just as much. The way your eyes had glistened with regret. Wanda tried to shake it off, tried to tell herself it was just because you were a good person. You cared deeply, and that was why she loved you.

But still. It hurt.

She could feel it creeping in, no matter how much she hated it. That little whisper of doubt. Would you ever be that upset about hurting her? Would you ever fight for her the way you fought for Natasha? Are you truly over Natasha?

She hated that her mind went there.

That night, she didn’t bring it up to you. She kissed you softly, held you a little tighter, but her mind was restless.

So, the next morning, she went to find Pietro. She found him in the common room, lazily flipping through TV channels. As soon as she walked in, he gave her a knowing look. "You’ve got that face," he remarked, smirking. "The ‘I’m overthinking everything’ face."

Wanda sighed, flopping onto the couch beside him, "I don’t want to talk about it."

"Cool," Pietro said, then turned back to the TV. "So… how’s the whole ‘my girlfriend cares so much about her ex-who-she-fought-with-and-it’s-really-bothering-me-but-I-don’t-want-to-admit-it’ thing going?"

Wanda groaned, shoving him, "shut up."

Pietro laughed but then glanced at her again. His smirk faded slightly, "wait. You’re actually upset."

She sighed, rubbing her temples, "I don’t want to be, I know she cares about Natasha. I know she’s just upset because she doesn’t like fighting with people she cares about."

"But?" Pietro prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda exhaled sharply. "But it hurts, Pietro. I love her. And I know she loves me, but-" Her voice faltered. "I can’t help but wonder if she´s… still in love with her."

Pietro frowned. He turned off the TV, setting the remote aside as he fully faced her. "Wanda…" He hesitated. "That’s… kind of a sucky feeling."

She let out a dry chuckle, "tell me about it."

He shifted, thinking for a moment. Then, he shrugged, "that’s why I stay single."

She rolled her eyes, "so helpful."

Pietro gave her a half-smile, but when he saw the real distress in her eyes, his expression softened. "I’m serious, though. I don’t know how to help with this. You and (Y/N) love each other. That’s obvious. But I think… I think you’re scared."

Wanda blinked, "of what?"

Pietro tilted his head, "of getting hurt."

Wanda pressed her lips together. Pietro continued, "You always act like you’re fine, like you don’t get jealous or upset, but you do. And that’s okay. But, Wands," he sighed, "if you don’t talk to (Y/N) about it, you’re just gonna keep overthinking until you explode. And I really don’t want to deal with that. Let someone else read you too, you know?"

She let out another sigh, sinking deeper into the couch, "I don’t want to make it a big deal."

"But it is a big deal to you," Pietro pointed out. "So talk to her before it turns into something worse."

Wanda didn’t respond immediately. She just stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She hated feeling like this. But Pietro was right. And sooner or later, she’d have to say something. But Wanda isn´t the biggest talker, when it comes to her own feelings, so it´s gonna be later than sooner.

At first, you didn´t notice it. Wanda was still smiling at you, still curled into your side when you spend the night at the compound, still slipped her fingers through yours absentmindedly when you passed each other in the hall. But there was something… different.

She kissed you good morning, but it was shorter than usual. She held your hand, but her grip wasn´t as firm. When you teased her, she laughed, but it didn´t quite reach her eyes. It was subtle, but you know Wanda. And something was wrong.

It took a few days before you couldn´t ignore it anymore. She was folding her arms over her chest more, keeping just a bit of space between you. Her mind was louder than usual, unspoken thoughts swirled around her head like static. You tried not to overthink it, but eventually, you had to ask.

You waited until you’re alone, sitting together in your apartment. "Wanda," you said softly, reaching for her hand. "Are you okay?"

Her fingers twitched slightly before she pulled away, "yeah," she answered, too quickly. "I’m fine."

You gave her a look, "Wanda."

She sighed, rubbing her temples, and for the first time in days, she really looked at you. There was hesitation in her eyes, something raw and uncertain, and it made your stomach twist.

"I-" She stopped herself, brows furrowing before she took a shaky breath. "I don’t know how to say this without sounding… jealous. Or insecure. And I don’t want to be that person, but-"

You sat up straighter, heart already pounding, "Wanda, whatever it is, just tell me."

She looked down at her hands. "You and Natasha," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not just that she’s your ex. It’s the way you fought for her that day, the way you reacted when she left. I saw how much it hurt you."

You opened your mouth to respond, but she shakes her head, pushing forward. "And I get it, I do. I just-" She swallowed hard, eyes flickering with something vulnerable, something fragile. "I’m scared, (Y/N). What if she still has a part of your heart? What if one day, you fight against me the same way?"

You felt like the air has been knocked out of your lungs. "Wanda," you breathe.

She looked away, "I know it’s unfair. I trust you, I do. But I can’t help thinking about it, and I hate that." She clenched her fists. "I hate that she still affects you."

You reached for her again, gently taking her hands in yours. "Wanda," you said firmly, waiting until she meets your gaze. "I love you. And I choose you. Every single day."

She exhaleed shakily, her fingers tightening around yours, "I just don’t want to lose you," she whispered.

You squeezed her hands gently, your heart ached at the look in her eyes. Wanda, your Wanda, who had always been so sure, so steady, now looked at you like she’s terrified of losing you.

"I´m not going anywhere, okay?" your voice was quiet but firm. "I don’t have a place for Natasha as a lover in my heart." You shook your head, swallowing hard. "If anything, she was my friend first. That’s why I fought for her, why I- why I tried."

Wanda looked at you, searching your face for something… maybe reassurance, maybe the truth she already knew, but needed to hear again. Her voice was softer now, hesitant. "Not even a bit of her?"

You sighed, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles. "I can’t change that we were exes," you admited. "It’s… not usual… this situation. I just… I want to make you happy, I don´t want to make you upset." You held her gaze, making sure she understands, "it wansn´t mean to be, it is sad, but we´re here, I´m here with you and i wouldn´t trade it for anything."

Wanda watched you for a long moment, her shoulders slowly relaxing. She nodded, more to herself than to you. "Natasha is my friend too, you know." She let out a sharp breath. "I don’t… Fuck, I hate this."

You blinked in surprise at the sudden curse, eyes widening slightly. It’s rare for Wanda to swear so bluntly, especially when she was being so straightforward.

She gestured vaguely, frustration clear on her face. "It’s a stupid fucking situation."

Despite yourself, you chuckled, shaking your head, "tell me about it."

For a second, there wassilence. Then, finally, Wanda exhaled a laughed too, albeit a small one. And for the first time in days, things didn´t feel so heavy between you. And you promised to eachother that you would try to get out of this situation with zero losses, meaning that neither of you would lose yourselves or Natasha. At the end, she is a friend.

You hadn’t seen much of Natasha since your fight.

Actually, no one had.

She wasn’t just avoiding you, she was avoiding everyone. Steve, Tony, Wanda even Clint. She still showed up for missions, still did what she had to, but beyond that? She was a ghost.

So when Steve pulled her aside and said he had an emergency - two agents fighting, needing backup, she hadn’t expected this. So of course she helped him.

The moment Natasha rushed into the gym, you knew. Her eyes scanned the room wildly before landing on you, her breath still heavy from running over so fast. And when she realized what was actually happening, just you standing there, her face twisted in something unreadable.

You turned, looking at Steve, who simply stood by the door, arms crossed.

Natasha's posture stiffened instantly, her body already pivoting toward the exit. "Steve," she warned, reaching for the handle.

"Talk," he said simply. And then… click.

The sound of the lock sliding into place made you jolt slightly. You glanced between Steve and Natasha, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. It had been weeks since you last spoke. Since that horrible fight where you said things you couldn’t take back. Natasha pulled a hairpin from her pocket, quickly kneeling to pick the lock. But before she could even try, you exhaled, shaking your head.

"You can’t open it," you said, crossing your arms. "Even if you pick the lock. It’s one of Tony’s new systems. The door won’t budge unless Steve lets us out."

Natasha shot you a sharp look before turning back to Steve, who simply raised a brow.

"Guess you’re stuck," he said, then turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you both standing in heavy silence.

Natasha sat on the ground, leaning back against the wall, her fingers absently toying with the pin she had tried to use on the lock. Her gaze was cast downward, jaw tight, and you could see the way her mind was racing, trying to figure out a way to navigate this without letting too much slip.

You watched her for a long moment, arms crossed, shifting your weight between your feet, "this isn’t ideal, I know," you finally said, voice careful, measured. "I doubt either of us wanted to have this conversation. But we’re here."

Natasha stayed quiet.

You took a slow breath, pushing past the lump in your throat. "I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t mean it."

Her fingers stilled against the pin, but she didn’t lift her head.

You hesitated, forcing yourself to keep going. "That day, when I said what I did- I knew it was going to hurt. That’s why I said it." Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t stop. "I wanted to hurt you, the same way you were hurting me."

Silence.

Your chest ached at her lack of response, but you pushed forward anyway.

"I pushed you away," you admitted, voice quieter now. "And now I hate that we’re not even friends anymore." You swallowed hard, emotions threatening to overwhelm you, but you forced yourself to keep looking at her. Really looking at her. "You were a huge part of my life, Nat. That doesn’t just disappear."

Finally, finally, her head lifted slightly. Her green eyes met yours, but they weren’t sharp or guarded like before. They just looked… tired.

"I still want you to be a part of my life," you whispered.

Natasha exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand over her face before finally speaking. "I’m sorry too," she murmured, voice raw. "For everything. And… I don’t think you’re a lot to handle." She hesitated, then shook her head. "I know Wanda won’t ever get tired of you."

Her words hit you harder than you expected. You felt something in your chest unclench just slightly, like a weight had been lifted, like finally, you weren’t fighting against someone who refused to meet you halfway.

"I was a dick," Natasha added, glancing at you.

You huffed a soft laugh, crossing your arms, "yup."

Natasha scoffed, shaking her head, but there was the smallest hint of amusement there.

"But me too," you admitted.

Her lips twitched, barely a ghost of a smirk. "Always had to do the same thing, hm?"

You let out a breath, giving her a small shrug, "it’s what we do."

For a moment, silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t unbearable, it just hung there, fragile but not suffocating. Then Natasha exhaled again, pressing her palms against her knees, looking at nothing in particular. "I had one good thing," she said suddenly, voice quiet. "One thing in my life that felt real. And when we broke up, I lost it. I lost the only good part of me."

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t interrupt.

Natasha’s gaze was distant, like she was lost somewhere in the past. "I’ve never been certain of anything in my life, not really. Everything’s always been a mission, a directive, something to follow. But when I was with you…" She hesitated, fingers twitching slightly. "I thought I was certain. Even if I was terrified of it. And when I had the good thing, I wanted more and more, until the main reason why I was happy… I lost the main sorce of my happiness."

You swallowed hard, biting the inside of your cheek.

She let out a small, humorless chuckle. "I don’t even know what I’m saying right now."

"It’s okay." You reached out your hand, offering to help Natasha stand up.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha didn’t pull away and took your hand.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself before speaking, "I don’t regret it, you know."

Natasha blinked, caught off guard, "what?"

"Loving you," you clarifed, your voice steady but soft, "I don’t regret any of it."

She stared at you, like she’s not sure she heard you right. Like it physically hurts her to hear it. But you don’t stop.

"I’m with Wanda now, and I love her. I really, truly do," you continued, watching the way Natasha’s expression shifts, how she keeps her face neutral, but you can see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tighten slightly. "But that doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t real, or that I wish it didn’t happen. Because I don’t."

Natasha swallowed hard, looking away for a moment, like she needs to gather herself before she can respond.

"And I know how much you mean to Wanda," you went on. "She doesn’t say it out loud all the time, but I see it. She trusts you, looks up to you even. And Pietro… he’s starting to fit in, and I know a lot of that is because of you."

Natasha exhaled sharply, shaking her head, "I didn’t-"

"You did," you cut in, giving her a small, knowing smile. "Without you, neither of them would be getting comfortable here as easily as they are. And I just…" You paused, gathering the right words. "I see that you’ve changed. And I’m proud of you, Nat."

She looked at you then, really looked at you, like she’s trying to figure out if you mean it. Like she wanted to believe it but didn´t know if she’s allowed to.

"I’d be happy if we could be friends," you said gently. "Because I’d like that. I really would."

There’s a long pause before Natasha finally nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I would like that too."

Something in your chest eased, and when you step forward, arms open slightly, she hesitates only for a second before pulling you into a hug.

You held her tight, and she held you just as firmly, but there’s something else there, something breaking beneath the surface. Because this is closure. This is her realizing that no matter what, she can’t go back in time. And even though she said she want this, even though she does, it still hurts. Seeing you with someone else.

You pulled back just slightly, searching Natasha’s face, "so… we’re good?"

She met your gaze, nods. "Yeah. We’re good.”

Before you could said anything else, there’s a soft beep, and the lock on the door clicks open.

Natasha exhaled sharply, glancing toward it. Then she looked back at you, "if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go kill the famous Captain America."

You couldn´t help but chuckle, stepping aside so she can leave, "go easy on him," you said, though you both know she won’t.

Natasha gave you one last look before shaking her head with a smirk and walking out of the room.

You stood there for a moment, exhaling slowly. It’s like a weight has lifted off your chest. Things are not perfect, but at least you talked things through.

You found Wanda in the common area, lounging on the couch with a book in her lap. The moment she saw you, she smiled, setting it aside. "Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," you replied, dropping down beside her. You exhaled, letting yourself relax for the first time in what felt like days. "I talked to Natasha."

Wanda tilted her head, studying your expression, "and?"

You smiled, a genuine one this time. "We're good. I mean, as good as we can be. We're friends."

Wanda let out a relieved sigh, nodding. "I'm glad. It´s been a lot… she need a break"

"So do you," you pointed out, reaching for her hand. "But yeah, I’m happy. I think this is good for all of us."

Wanda squeezed your fingers gently, "yeah. I think so too."

Before you could say anything else, the door opened, and Natasha walked in. She looked around for a second before her eyes landed on you.

"So," you said with a smirk, "did you kick America's ass?"

Natasha smirked back, "of course I did."

Wanda chuckled softly, shaking her head. But then Natasha’s expression shifted, and she looked at Wanda more seriously. "Can we talk?"

You blinked, exchanging a glance with Wanda. Oh.

Wanda shot you a look before turning back to Natasha, "um… yeah, sure."

You hesitated for a second, then stood up. "I’ll just… be over there," you said, motioning vaguely before slipping out of the room.

As you left, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of nervousness. Whatever Natasha wanted to say to Wanda… you just hoped it wouldn’t undo all the progress you had made.

Wanda crossed her arms as she watched you leave, then turned back to Natasha. "Alright," she said carefully. "What do you want to talk about?"

Natasha exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "I just…" She hesitated, like she was trying to figure out how to phrase what she wanted to say. "I wanted to make sure there’s no… weirdness. Between us."

Wanda arched an eyebrow. "No weirdness?"

Natasha shrugged, forcing a small smirk. "Yeah. You and me, we’re good, right?"

Wanda narrowed her eyes, seeing right through her. "You tell me."

Natasha held her gaze for a moment, then sighed. "Look, I just want you and (Y/N) to be happy, alright? That’s all I care about."

Wanda tilted her head, fingers tapping against her arm, "and that’s it?"

"That’s it," Natasha lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She could hear the way her voice wavered, could feel the ache in her chest. But she ignored it.

Wanda studied her, searching for something in her expression. "You don’t have to do that."

Natasha frowned, "do what?"

"Pretend," Wanda answered. "I know it hurts you."

Natasha’s frown deepened. "Don’t go inside my head," she muttered, her tone sharp.

Wanda stayed calm, but her expression remained firm. "I’m not," she said evenly. "But I know that if I did, I’d see that I’m right."

Natasha’s jaw tightened. Something in her shoulders went rigid, a flicker of something almost like panic in her eyes. "Don’t," she snapped, voice lower this time.

Wanda took a slow breath. "Then don’t lie."

Natasha let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You think you know everything, don’t you?"

"No," Wanda admitted. "But I know enough."

Natasha clenched her fists at her sides, struggling to keep her emotions in check. "It doesn’t matter," she muttered, looking away.

"It does to me," Wanda said softly.

"Why?" Natasha asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. There was a quiet desperation in it, a frustration she wasn’t sure she could keep contained much longer. "Why do you care? You got what you wanted. You have her."

Wanda hesitated, then stepped forward. "Because you’re my friend too, you know," she said. "And I don’t hate you, even if sometimes I wish I did. It would make this a lot easier."

Natasha forced a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "You and me both."

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Wanda studied her, searching her face for something Natasha wasn’t sure she wanted to show. "You’re allowed to be upset, Nat," Wanda murmured.

Natasha scoffed. "What good would that do?"

"It’s better than pretending you’re fine when you’re not," Wanda said. Natasha sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. "I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore," she admitted, voice quieter now.

Wanda nodded, understanding. "Then figure it out. But don’t shut everyone out in the process."

Natasha still wouldn’t look up, her eyes fixed on the floor as if the answer to all of this could somehow be found in the cracks beneath her feet. Wanda could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself so tightly, and she didn´t have to read her mind at all.

"You don’t have to say anything," Wanda said after a moment, her voice softer now, "but don’t pretend like this doesn’t hurt."

Natasha let out a breath, one that sounded just a little too shaky. "Of course it hurts," she muttered.

Wanda waited, giving her space to keep going, to say something real. And for once, Natasha didn’t fight it.

"I-" Natasha exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. "I know she’s happy with you," she said finally. "And I want that. I want her to be happy." She swallowed hard, shaking her head. "But I still-" She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stop.

Wanda nodded. "You still love her."

Natasha let out a bitter laugh, her hands tightening into fists, "yeah, I do."

Wanda could feel the weight of the confession, how much it was costing Natasha to say it out loud, especially to her. And for once, she didn’t feel jealousy creeping in. Just… sadness.

"But that doesn’t change anything," Natasha said quickly, as if trying to convince herself more than Wanda. "She’s not mine anymore. She hasn’t been for a long time."

"That doesn’t mean you can just switch it off," Wanda said gently.

Natasha sighed, finally looking up. "I know that, I tried that," she let out a chuckle. "But I also know I don’t want to lose her again. And I sure as hell don’t want to mess things up with you."

Wanda blinked, caught off guard, "with me?"

"Yeah," Natasha said, her voice almost resigned. "I know I’ve been a pain in the ass, but… you’re important to her. And I- I don’t want to be the thing that puts a wedge between you two."

Wanda studied her for a long moment. There was no deception in Natasha’s face this time. No act, no pretense. Just raw, aching honesty.

"You won’t," Wanda promised. "Not if we don’t let it." Natasha huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. "You make it sound so easy."

"It’s not," Wanda admitted. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t try." Natasha didn’t answer right away. She just stared at nothing, shoulders slumped. She looked exhausted, drained in a way Wanda hadn’t seen before.

"I just… I miss what it felt like," Natasha said suddenly, voice so quiet Wanda almost missed it. "Being in love with her. Being loved by her." She exhaled. "It was the one good thing I had. And when I lost it, I lost the best part of me."

Wanda’s chest ached at the way she said it, like she truly believed it. "That’s not true," she said. "You’re more than who you were with her, Nat."

Natasha didn’t look convinced.

"You don’t have to lose her," Wanda continued. "Not completely. And you don’t have to lose yourself either."

Natasha let the words sink in, her throat working as she swallowed. "I want to believe that," she admitted.

"Then start trying."

Natasha huffed a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. "Look how the tables turn," she muttered, shaking her head. "You helping me out."

Wanda smiled, tilting her head slightly. "That’s what friends do.”

Natasha blinked at her, something twisting deep in her chest. Friends. It should feel like a relief, like something solid to hold on to, but all she could think was… why is she so nice?

She should hate her. She should resent her, should want nothing to do with her. After everything, after the hurt, the mess Natasha had made of things. But she didn’t.

Wanda looked at her for a long moment, as if she could hear every thought in Natasha’s head. And maybe she didn’t need her powers to do that, maybe she just knew.

"You held enough hate to yourself," Wanda said, voice steady. "I don´t see the point to adding up on that."

Natasha swallowed, her throat suddenly too tight.

"Love is-" she hesitated, searching for the right words. "Love is what holds a person together. What keeps them alive."

Natasha looked away, jaw clenching. She wanted to argue, to push back, to scoff at the idea of love being some great, saving force. But… wasn’t that why she was hurting? Because she had lost it?

Wanda sighed. "I know what it’s like to hold onto something so tightly because you’re afraid of what happens if you let go." She exhaled, softer now. "But you don’t have to hold on alone, Natasha."

Natasha closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t know what she had expected from this conversation… maybe anger, maybe resentment. But not this. Not understanding.

When she opened them again, Wanda was still looking at her, still offering something Natasha wasn’t sure she deserved. But she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

So she just nodded. "Okay."

Wanda smiled, small but real. "Okay."

…

Weeks passed, and Natasha was really trying.

She helped you with recruits, running combat drills and teaching them how to spot weaknesses in an opponent. She sparred with Steve, listened to his endless lectures about teamwork, and even agreed to help Clint babysit on his rare nights off. She joined in on dinners with the rest of the Avengers, laughing at Tony’s terrible impressions and throwing in her own dry remarks that made everyone crack up.

She and Wanda found an easy rhythm on missions, covering each other, moving as a unit. There was no hesitation between them, no lingering tension. Just trust. And when you and Natasha sat together, talking shit about Fury’s ever-growing list of secrets, it almost felt like before.

Every friday night (if there was no missions or Tony´s parties) the common room was filled with laughter, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm light over the group. It was movie night, something Tony had declared mandatory for "team bonding" (though everyone suspected he just liked forcing his bad taste in movies on the rest of them).

You were curled up against Wanda, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your arm. She was warm, solid against you, and every now and then, she pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

Across the room, Steve was in the middle of a heated debate with Tony, arms crossed as he scowled. "Salted popcorn is objectively better," Steve argued, gesturing toward the bowl in his lap. "It’s simple, classic-"

"Boring," Tony interrupted, tossing a handful of caramel popcorn into his mouth. "You’re boring, Rogers."

"Caramel is just sugar pretending to be food," Steve shot back.

Bucky, lounging lazily with his feet up on the coffee table, raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t you a billionaire? Why don’t we just make both and be done with this?"

Tony scoffed dramatically, waving a hand. "That’s not the point, Rust Bucket."

Natasha, sitting comfortably in the armchair beside them, smirked and looked over at Bucky. "Leave them. They’ll tire themselves out in a minute."

Bucky hummed in agreement, watching as Steve and Tony continued bickering like an old married couple. Natasha’s gaze flickered over to you and Wanda. Her expression softened as she took in the way. Wanda curled closer to you, the way you leaned into her touch without hesitation.

She flashed you both a small, easy smile. "You two are disgustingly cute, you know that?"

Wanda rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Says the woman who ‘accidentally’ left The Notebook playing on loop last week."

Natasha scoffed, "That was Clint, and I stand by my alibi."

You chuckled, shaking your head. It was nice… this easy, teasing dynamic. Natasha seemed okay. She felt okay.

Everything was good.

Everything was normal.

Natasha sat back in her chair, a faint smirk playing on her lips as she watched the group around her. The warmth of their laughter, the way they bickered and teased, it should have felt like home. It should have been enough. It was before.

She turned her gaze back to you and Wanda, curled up together on the couch, lost in your own little world. She had smiled when she called you disgustingly cute, had even managed to make it sound teasing and light. But the words had burned as they left her lips, a quiet kind of agony twisting in her chest.

Because the truth was, it still hurt. It still felt like she was being ripped apart, piece by piece, every time she looked at you and knew you weren’t hers anymore.

And yet, no one noticed.

No one noticed the way her hands shook when she was alone, gripping the edge of the sink until her knuckles turned white. No one noticed the way exhaustion clung to her bones, no matter how much she slept, if she even slept at all. No one noticed that her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes, that they never had, not since she lost you.

No one noticed how, when she said she was happy for you, she had been lying… not to you, but to herself.

No one noticed that beneath it all, she still felt lost.

And this time, she was faking it so well that even she almost believed it.

Almost.

taglist: @starrycherie, @esposadejoyhuerta, @redroomgraduate, @seventeen-x

#adele writes #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel fanfiction #marvel universe #marvel fanfic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader

292 notes · View notes

dontsh0vethesun · 9 months ago

Text

i’m hungry, i hope you feed me

masterlist

my username used to be just-a-torn-up-masterpiece

natasha romanoff x reader

summary: carol and valkyrie bring you a bottle of an asgardian aphrodisiac, you decide to put it to use

18+: sex potion?, smut; edging, fingering, face riding, oral, overstimulation, slight degradation, masturbation, underwear used as a gag, lots of biting nom nom

a/n: please let me know if you want a part two where valkarol join in too because i’m so tempted 🙏

word count: 2.4k | song for the vibes - ‘desire’ by meg myers

Carol and Valkyrie sat across from you, recounting their recent visit to Asgard whilst you leisurely sipped on drinks; the conversation was always easy and the four of you had made it a habit to spend your evenings together whenever you could.

As the evening bled into the night, you were gulping the last mouthfuls of your drinks before you parted ways; Carol reached beneath her seat, pulling a bag into view.

“So, we brought you a couple of gifts,” she spoke with a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you returned, eyeing the bag she pushed across the table.

“We know,” Valkyrie returned. “But we always do. Plus, we know you get sulky if you don’t get a souvenir.”

“I do not,” you gasped, finding three pairs of questioning eyes peering back at you. “Okay, fine, I like gifts - is that so wrong?”

“I, for one, think you deserve gifts every single day,” Natasha grinned, poking your side teasingly.

“Open it then,” Carol groaned, growing impatient with her excitement.

You eagerly took her command and reached in, grabbing something from the bottom of the paper bag and immediately smiling at the sight of it.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s a piece of rock from Aladna, then yes,” Carol laughed, leaning back in her chair as you marvelled at it.

“You got me space rock - finally.”

“Well, considering you ask me to bring you some every time I go to space, I figured I’d actually make good on my promise.”

“The other gift was my idea,” Valkyrie smirked. Natasha reached in this time, wrapping her hand around the neck of a bottle. She peered at the label for a moment before laughing slightly.

“I’m not sure we need this,” she cockily murmured, handing the glass bottle over to you to read.

“Don’t knock it before you try it, Nat,” Carol grinned in return.

“An Asgardian aphrodisiac?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up bashfully. You missed the way the three of them exchanged looks at how adorably shy you can get.

“It’s strong stuff, have fun ladies,” Carol laughed.

“And let us know how it goes.”

—

Despite agreeing you wouldn’t use it - not any time soon, at least - only a few days later, you were sat with two shot glasses in front of you. Natasha poured the pale pink liquid until they were full to the brim before sitting in front of you on the bed.

“I have a wager for you,” she murmured, a playful smirk pulling at her lips. You looked at her curiously for her to continue. “A competition to see who can abstain the longest.”

“You’re setting yourself up for a loss already,” you grinned.

“Mm, I don’t know,” she cooed, stroking the back of her fingers along your cheek to feel how easily they heat up with her attention. “You get pretty desperate. And you’ll be so pathetically eager for my attention - begging me to get you off.”

“Well, what does the winner get?” you huffed, looking away from her before you gave in before the game even began.

“Total control,” she returned. “If you win, you can do whatever you want with me - I’ll do anything to you that you beg for. And, if I win,” she began, pretending to ponder on her response. “I think I’ll keep that to myself for now.”

“Then let the best woman win,” you answered, passing her a glass whilst you lifted yours to your lips, waiting to drink the liquor down at the same time.

—

Twenty minutes later your back burned against the headboard of the bed; you’d built a wall of pillows between your bodies whilst you distracted yourselves with a movie.

Every inch of your skin was on fire, your veins pulsed with need. Within thirty minutes, your shirt had been discarded with a petulant huff, hoping to cool off under the light breeze coming through the window. Your core throbbed and begged for some attention - some sort of release - but the smugness on Natasha’s face each time you squirmed in your seat only fuelled your competitive streak.

The movie wasn’t even halfway through and you’d both stripped down to your underwear to combat the prickling heat the dreaded drink had caused. Natasha’s neck shone with beads of sweat, and you thought of dragging your tongue along her skin to taste it. She was so close that you could pull her into you with ease, pushing her hand between your legs; the desperation made you dizzy.

She looked over at you when she felt you staring, her eyes dark and lust-blown, pupils wide and cheeks pink. Her breathing faltered beneath her desire and her fists grasped at the sheets to keep herself from touching you.

“You giving up yet?” she rasped, desperately wishing you would so that this awful competition could be over.

“No.” Your voice was breathy, it made her need you more. She could see your thighs clenching tightly together, your hips beginning to subtly buck upwards.

“I can see you need me to touch you,” she mused, licking her lips. “I could make you feel so good, baby. I could give you what you need.”

You let her words linger. The way your cunt throbbed and ached was almost painful, your hand began its descent without any thought. You were so close to bypassing the waistband of your underwear until a hand wrapped itself around your wrist.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” she mocked with a laugh. “Just admit defeat.”

You’d lasted 45 minutes. Surely, that was long enough to keep her from holding this victory over your head. You couldn’t wait a minute more.

“Fine,” you grumbled, rushing over to plant your knees on either side of her, instantly pushing your clothed cunt against her thigh. You gasped at the mere contact and gave in to the kiss she dragged you into. Never have you felt a kiss so heated with passion, a newfound arousal made for sloppy kisses, teeth clashing and hands groping at anything they could reach.

You felt as though you were on the brink of combustion, teetering on the edge with just a push against her; each nerve ending in your body was alight, frayed and ready to spark at a mere glimpse of heat. Natasha moaned into your mouth, grinding against your knee as best she could. You could feel the growing dampness of her underwear.

She pulled you closer and closer to release; your body twitched and bucked with reckless abandon until she pulled away just at the precipice. You whined as she lifted you out of her lap, positioning you on the bed as she shuffled away to kneel before you.

She kept her eyes on your panting form as she slipped her underwear away from her, putting her soaked cunt on display,

“Don’t think I forgot about our deal, honey,” she breathed, tossing her bra to one side, making a show of the soft pinching of her pert nipples.

“But I-”

“Mm mm,” she tutted with a shake of her head. “No talking. And no touching.” To keep you silent, she forced her underwear past your lips, and you slackened your jaw to obey. “Patience is a virtue, little slut; good things come to those who wait, so sit back and look pretty, and I’ll fuck you when I’m done.”

You fisted at the bedsheets to refrain yourself and, despite every muscle begging for the opposite, you kept as still as you could. She wasted no time before her fingers danced over her clit, swollen and sensitive, pulling a grunt of desperate arousal from her throat with the slightest pressure. Her hips rolled, her digits thrust into her core, and her head leaned backwards.

It was the most desperate you’d ever seen her; a pure ravenous streak coursed through her and you could see it in the fervent movement of her digits. Each rub of her thumb against her made her gasp a moan, and her body flushed deep pink with need.

You could hear how soaked she was - you could see it dripping to her knuckles - you wanted to wrap your lips around them. A choked moan fell from her lips as she came, you’d never heard her make such a cry of hunger before but it only made you need her more.

“Fuck, I wanted to make you wait a little longer, but I can’t,” she sighed through heaving breaths. “I’ve never needed you so bad - I feel like I’m starving for you.”

You couldn’t even utter a reply before her lips were claiming yours, hungry like she was parched and you were her only source of salvation. Your bra and underwear were soon discarded and your skin pressed against hers in a burning heat, the scent of sweat and sex filling the air. She knelt between your legs, trailing her fingers down to swipe through your folds; she smirked against you at how drenched you were and brought the shining digits to her mouth to lick them clean.

Natasha’s eyes were primal when she looked at you, sparing no time before she shifted on the bed, licking a stripe through your cunt. It was messy and sloppy, each suck to your clit and flick of her tongue; the hand that wasn’t roughly digging into the flesh of your hip was buried between her legs; she practically whined against your sex whilst she humped her own hand with pathetic need.

She felt you near the edge of release and, for her amusement only, she pulled away. She left you hopelessly balancing on the precipice of relief whilst she came again, sinking her teeth into your inner thigh so roughly you’re sure they drew blood.

“Nat, I-“

“No. Just do as I say.”

You obeyed, of course, somehow enduring three more waves of relief being ripped away from your grasp. You ached and your eyes grew tearful with how much you just needed to be allowed to cum. Your jaw ached too from the way your teeth had been tightly clenched, biting into the underwear she decided to shove past your lips again when all you did was whimper and murmur unintelligible grumbles of disapproval. She’d allowed herself the freedom of rutting against her hand, soaking the duvet beneath her, whilst simultaneously leaving you in painful purgatory. She’d lapped at you for so long that your core burned with pain, clenching around nothing with tear-stained cheeks.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away from you completely; her lips were plump and shining with your slick, stray hairs clung to her forehead and the rest was mussed up from the aimless tugging of your hands.

“Such a pretty little slut,” she mused, panting almost animalistically as she cupped your jaw and pulled her underwear from your mouth. “Such an obedient girl.” The Asgardian elixir still had her pupils wide; both of you continued to thrum with desire, hearts thudding.

Despite the want for attention between your legs, you couldn’t withhold your excitement when she crawled up your body, gripping onto the headboard as she lowered her cunt to your lips. The taste of her coated your lips immediately, soaked and hot and ready for you to devour. You moaned at the flavour, letting her grind onto your face with mindless pushes of her hips, burying your tongue deep within her. With the way you were so sex drunk, you ached to consume her entirely, dig into her as far as you could until the end of you and the beginning of her was too difficult to distinguish.

She moaned at the feeling, pulsing around the muscle of your tongue, revelling in any feeling of friction applied to her sensitive bud that she could get. Your lips latched around her, messy and unbecoming and your nails clawed at her thighs whilst your own clenched as tightly as they could.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good,” she grunted out above you. “Make me cum, baby - God ‘m so close.”

The eager, desirous pleas spurred you on until she came onto your lips. You swallowed down each drop she gave and pressed soft kisses against her as she came down from the high.

“Nat, I need you, please,” you begged. “I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

She laughed at your pouted mumbles, kissing along your jaw with bites into the flesh, stroking her fingers down your body until they slid through your folds. The pads of her fingers were instantly soaked, easily pushing into your wanting hole.

“You’ve been so patient, honey,” she whispered, languidly moving her fingers with the heel of her palm nudging against you. You gasped at the sensitivity, twitching up into her touch. It was soft and gentle; she pampered your abused cunt with tender attention, letting you fall over the edge as soon as you needed to.

Natasha knew you needed more - even she longed for more despite how many times she’d brought herself to climax - so she kept her attention on you. Your body was littered with marks, anywhere her teeth could reach had grooves and bruises from her bites. She thought of pleasing you forever; staying splayed on the sheets for as long as she lived until you were both worn out and spent.

The air was filled with sounds of her fingers fucking into you, hoarse moans from the back of your throat and pants for breath like primal animals. The breeze didn’t cool your skin anymore but you were so wrapped up in one another that the sticky warmth didn’t matter.

You came again, and again until you had to push her hand away with a wince at just a ghost of a touch. You needed more but you couldn’t take it, she pulled away with a loving kiss to your lips.

She crawled from the bed wordlessly, legs wobbling as she padded away, returning moments later with a glass of water for you to share. She took a sip before handing it to you, sitting next to you with kisses pressed against your shoulder as you drank.

“Carol and Valkyrie are evil,” you grumbled between gulps.

“I didn’t think I’d still be so horny after all that,” Natasha answered with a laugh.

“I know,” you sighed with a mirrored chuckle. “How about I return the favour - we can take shifts until it wears off.”

“Or until we pass out,” she smiled, already dropping the emptied glass to the floor to pull you on top of her.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanov x reader

1K notes · View notes