#Red Room

[romanov1928]

Are we sure Nat isn’t the ‘adopted’ one compared to Anya, well she is definitely the more loved one tho

Still no idea why Yelena was her sister in mcu when Anya is literally right there, Anya is literally her ‘sister’ and has a good rivalry with her it would’ve been great for the bw movie if we had headmistress and Anya instead.

[venice-witch60s]

I'm so obsessed with this scene

Sheryl Lee | Twin Peaks

[leesromanova]

REGIMES FALL EVERYDAY

synopsis → (slowburn!, enemies to lovers!) reader is a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent whose father's death forges her mission to find the red room and take down the widows. after researching, she gets a lead on a widow assassin, who she plans to take down, but her main mission doesn't go according to plan. with the widow becoming an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. and reader being tasked with supervising and teaching natasha to be her own person...a person who she realized she might be falling in love with.

warnings → blood, physical fighting, murder/assassinations, alluding to sex, red room mentions, talk of trauma/brain washing… (more will be added as story goes on)

series masterlist → prologue …more to come

pairing → natasha romanoff x fem!reader (she/her pronouns)

notes → this fic does mix comic and mcu lore together, with my own headcannons of the red room included, so it’s not 100% accurate. i wanted to write something that really talks about nat’s storyline and her character development out of the red room's brainwashing, so i really hope i will do that justice in this story. anyway have fun <3 !!

dividers by → @cafekitsune @enchanthings

tag list → @natashasmuse @womenarehotsstuff @im-lesbianics @snowdrop1026 @pawiie @redjoes

lmk in the replies to be added to the tag!

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter Seven

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns that she and R aren't friends

W/c: 3.9k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

The car was too quiet. The sound of tires gliding along the pavement of I-95 was barely a whisper.

In the backseat of the large sedan, Natasha blinked slow and groggy. Her head leaned against the cool window, hair splayed against her forehead and a faint line of condensation where her breath had touched the glass. She attempted to orient herself.

It was still night. Or was it early morning? It was too dark to tell. Natasha was vaguely aware that the car was moving, and the driver seemed to be navigating. But where were they going? Natasha closed her eyes again. She was so tired, but she forced her mind to review the details of the last few hours, the last few days.

"Hey, are you awake?" You whispered from somewhere beside her.

Natasha opened her eyes again, this time blinking at you. She sat up straight, her hand twitching toward her side instinctively. No weapons. No harness. No blindfold. From what she could see, you looked different. Dressed in a simple black zip-hoodie, pleated plaid skirt, and a pink backpack at your feet. You sat with perfect posture, eyes trained forward, and hands folded neatly in your lap like you’d always known how to be still.

“Morning,” you said. Your voice—no accent. Just pure, effortless American.

It was jarring.

Natasha blinked again. “Where—”

“We’re almost there.” You kept your tone light, like girls on a school trip. “It’s not far. Do you want the briefing now or once we’re inside?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked to the front seats.

The man driving looked mid-40s, tall, clean-shaven. Sunglasses. The woman in the passenger seat had cropped hair and flawless skin. She tapped something on a map and didn’t look back.

“They’re with us,” you murmured. “Their names for this mission are Ken and Karen. I know.” You smirked a little, almost like it amused you. “They do black ops usually, but Dreykov wanted them on this one. You’ll be playing my best friend from boarding school. Your name is Lizzie. You’re here on vacation with my parents for spring break.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Why Lizzie?”

“Because you look like a Lizzie,” you said simply. “And because someone already took Emma.”

You didn't smile, but there was a glimmer of humor in your voice. Something that sounded almost like an inside joke.

Natasha's mind reeled. It had been so long since she was outside the Red Room's walls. And she had never been to New York City.

You turned your head slightly, watching the highway pass by. “We’re staying in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. Karen has documents in her bag—IDs, school transcripts, letters from ‘friends’ back home. Our goal this week is to observe and record. Target details will come after dinner. First, we act like normal kids.”

Natasha studied you. Your voice. Your confidence. You sounded like a girl from Connecticut, not a girl raised in shadows.

“Have you done this before?” she asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah. A few times.” A pause. “It’s been a while, though.”

The man driving glanced at you in the mirror. “We’re one hour out.”

Natasha didn’t have to ask what that meant. The change was immediate.

You leaned into the seat, your expression relaxed. The lines on your forehead softened, and you slumped your shoulders just a bit.

She wasn't ready for this mission. She barely understood the objective.

But you did.

*****

The revolving doors spun you into a quiet lobby of marble and air conditioning. The lobby was sleek and minimalist as if it were designed not to be remembered. The floors were polished and reflected the soft yellow lighting from above. There was a citrus smell wafting in the air. It certainly wasn't the most expensive apartment building in New York, but it beat the Red Room any day. You walked over to one of the couches, your backpack slung low on your shoulders, as you plopped onto the soft cushions. You grabbed last month's cover of Seventeen Magazine and flipped through it curiously.

Natasha stayed a step behind, shoulders relaxed but alert. She wore a light hoodie and sneakers, her hair tied back like any twelve-year-old on a family vacation.

At the front desk, Karen leaned forward with a practiced laugh, chatting with the doorman as she lived there. Because she did, she’d been building this life for months. Ken stood nearby, keys in hand, nodding like a man who’d just flown back from a conference in San Diego.

The doorman greeted you like old friends.

“Glad to see you back, Mrs. Porter,” he said.

“Thank you, Paul,” Karen replied warmly. “This is our daughter Emma and her friend Lizzie. They're back from boarding school for the week. Girls, say hello."

You glanced up from the magazine. You gave a polite wave. "Hi, Mr. Paul."

Paul smiled kindly. He looked at Natasha. "I hope you have fun this week, Miss Lizzie."

"Thank you," she said.

The elevator dinged.

As Karen and Ken stepped over to it, Ken glanced meaningfully at the suitcases. “Ladies?”

Natasha moved to grab two of them. You didn’t budge.

Karen turned sharply. “Emma,” she said—your alias. “What did we talk about?”

You blinked slowly like a teen dragged into something you didn’t care about. “Ugh, fine.” You tugged a small bag half-heartedly.

Natasha didn’t miss the flicker of annoyance in Karen’s eyes before the mask slipped back into place. The act mattered. Every detail. Every look.

Inside the elevator, you leaned casually against the mirrored wall while Natasha stood beside you, bags in hand.

“You’re good at this,” Natasha said quietly.

You shrugged. “You get used to it.”

There was a pause, which felt too big for the space you were in.

“You sound different,” Natasha added.

You gave her a sideways look. “You mean American?”

“You sound like someone else.”

You smiled—but it didn’t reach your eyes.

"Isn't that what we are?" you said.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

Natasha felt a strange weight on her chest, and she wasn’t sure what it meant.

*****

The penthouse was massive—three bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a view of Central Park that stretched out like a painting. Natasha had never seen anything like it. Everything gleamed as if it had never been touched, as if the air was filtered and expensive.

The kitchen was fully stocked and spotless. The master bedroom had a tub big enough to swim in. It didn’t feel like a safe house. It felt like a life that didn’t belong to people like you.

Karen and Ken disappeared into the study with the equipment they had retrieved from the suitcases, already arguing in that quiet, clipped tone adults used when they didn’t want the kids to hear. Natasha couldn’t make out the words, but she caught the edge in Ken’s voice, the way Karen’s jaw tightened before she shut the door.

You turned to her, all casual, all ease. "Come on, I’ll give you the tour."

You opened doors like a game show host, voice light, but a little too rehearsed. “Living room, obviously. That’s the TV. The couch is for show—it's terrible. Kitchen’s stocked with fake healthy food.”

Natasha followed silently, watching your body language more than your words. You weren’t bouncing like you usually did. Your shoulders were a little too tight. She wondered if you noticed those things about yourself. Were you as self-conscious as her?

"My room's here," You opened the bedroom door. There was a queen-sized bed, a desk, a bookshelf, and a dresser. The closet was half-full, and the bathroom was spotless. If someone was looking, it would look lived in, but not by you.

"You can have this one," you said. "It's closest to mine."

Natasha watched how your fingers twitched at the edge of the door, the subtle way you held your breath like you were waiting for her to notice something.

She stepped inside. "I'll take it."

There was a brief flicker of surprise in your eyes.

"We can do whatever here in the week," You said.

"Like what?"

"Sleep. Read. Whatever." You shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like none of it did.

Ken’s voice echoed faintly from the study, low and impatient. Your jaw clenched for half a second before you smoothed your face again.

“You okay?” Natasha asked.

You looked at her. Not surprised. Just tired. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Natasha didn’t answer. She just nodded once and glanced across the hall towards your room.

"So, how close of friends are we supposed to be?" she asked.

"Close enough to have sleepovers." You shrugged. "But not so close that we're in each other's rooms all the time."

"That's specific."

"I have a reputation," you replied with a slight grin. "I'm popular."

Natasha snorted.

"It's true," You insisted, still grinning.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m sure they cried when you left.”

You laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Neither of you said anything after that. The conversation hung for a moment too long, like a thread someone forgot to snip.

Neither of you wanted to keep it going. Natasha crossed her arms and leaned against the wall outside her new room. You shifted your weight, folding your arms too, mirroring her without thinking.

That’s when Karen appeared in the hallway, her tone clipped, mission-focused. “Girls. Living room. Ground rules.”

You straightened, all business, all roughness.

A switch was flipped, and the mask was on.

Karen glanced between the two of you. Her expression was neutral. "You've met before. So I'll keep it short." She held out her hand. "I'm your mother for the week. Ken is your father. This is our vacation house."

"We know," You murmured.

"This is your first time here," Karen continued. "So there are ground rules. We are only on the top floors of the building. Only the four of us have access. If the front desk calls, I'll pick it up. Don't answer unless it's an emergency."

"We're not babies," You said.

Karen's eyes flickered dangerously. "Excuse me?"

You froze.

There was a tense silence that made the skin prickle and the bones shift. Karen had the same stare as the handlers in the Red Room, who could break the strongest girls just by looking at them.

“I don’t care if you don’t like each other. You don’t have to hold hands, but will not draw attention. Got it?” She continued.

“Yes, ma’am,” you both muttered.

Karen’s eyes narrowed. “Louder.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said again, in unison this time.

Just then, Ken passed through the room. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at you properly. Just a glance—calm, indifferent. His eyes paused for a beat too long on you, then flicked over Natasha, unreadable.

Then he shut himself in the master bedroom without a word.

Karen didn’t look surprised. Just sighed. “Don’t bother him unless you’re dying. And even then—make it interesting.”

She turned and left, leaving the two of you in silence.

Natasha stared straight ahead.

“Popular, huh?” she said eventually.

You didn’t even turn to look at her. “Undeniably.” You stood to head to your bedroom, leaving Natasha sitting on the couch.

She didn't move for a while. Simply sat with her hands in her lap and her back straight. The apartment was silent, and the skyline was starting to brighten.

It was going to be a long week.

*****

Manhattan Mall was like an amusement park for teens—loud, crowded, glittering. An endless tableau of shopping bags, neon signs, and smells wafting from food courts. Every corner promised something new: ads of 30% off, arcade machines, and the smell of cinnamon pretzels. You and Natasha trailed behind Karen as she guided you from store to store under the excuse of buying “more American clothes.” In truth, it was cover practice. Exposure. It was an opportunity to be seen acting normal, just in case anyone came looking. Just in case the mission went sideways.

You’d never really been shopping, not like that. Your idea of the outside world was fragmented and distorted, filtered through observation windows, briefing folders, and missions that always came with conditions. You’d been shopping before—but always alone, always focused, always with purpose. Never with other girls your age. Never like that.

Natasha didn’t seem nearly as phased. She flipped through the racks like she’d done it a hundred times before, and this was just another normal Tuesday. Karen, meanwhile, kept her distance, eyeing a few racks but never really looking.

You padded up to a rack of jeans and hoodies, fingertips brushing against the fabric. You tried to memorize the colors, the smells, the buzz of the mall around you. Tried to chase the fading, blurry edges of something you weren’t sure was ever real.

You’d been taken when you were four. Four-year-olds remembered things. You should have remembered things. Like your mother’s hair. The tone of her skin. The sound of her voice. What it felt like to be held. What kind of clothes she wore?

But you couldn’t. Not really.

And no matter how hard you stared at the sea of strangers in the mall, no one looked like they might’ve come from your memories.

You'd been taken from a mall like this one. That's the only thing you remembered. One minute, you were riding on a carousel or maybe something else.

The next, your face was pressed against a stranger's shoulder, and you were screaming.

It was all a blur now, but the memory of the scream was clear. It was a scream from the deepest, darkest part of your gut. The type of scream that made your throat raw. The kind of scream no one heard. You wish you remembered more. Memories would help.

"Do you want that shirt?" You heard a voice next to you.

You blinked, glancing up to see Natasha a step away. Her arms were folded, casual, a little bored. 

You blinked, realizing you'd been wearing the same sweater too long. You let go. "No, just looking."

"It's nice," Natasha said.

"Yeah," You agreed.

"You should try it on," Natasha suggested.

You hesitated. You were supposed to be practicing. Supposed to be making decisions like a girl your age.

"I have too many," You said. "Besides, it's not my color."

Natasha studied you. She didn't ask any questions. Didn't push or pull. She simply nodded, then wandered away.

You stood there a moment longer, the noise of the mall coming from all sides. You felt something rise in your chest—something cold and lonely.

"Emma?" Karen appeared suddenly, a bag in her hand. "Let's go. Time to check out."

You blinked. The feeling was gone. "Okay." You moved to follow her but instead turned back to grab the hoodie. She would buy it for you. And you would wear it.

That's how things were done.

Karen took her time paying, and Natasha drifted through the aisles, picking out random things she thought looked interesting. When you finished, the three of you walked out.

Karen turned her wrist to glance at her watch. "It's 3:15. You have 45 minutes to do whatever you want."

"You're not going with us?" Natasha asked.

Karen shook her head. "I have errands to run. Be back at 4:00 sharp."

"Yes, ma'am," you and Natasha both said.

And just like that, she was gone.

You and Natasha walked out into the main corridor.

*****

You walked in silence at first, not knowing what to say to each other and not wanting to look too much like spies. It was strange to think this was your first time speaking to Natasha outside the Red Room.

You passed the arcade.

The glow of neon signs spilled out into the hallway with pulsing reds and blues and greens, the chime of digital prizes, and the crash of video game explosions clashing like some chaotic symphony.

You slowed. Just barely. But Natasha noticed.

She glanced at you, then back at the arcade. “You wanna go in?”

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

She gave a little smirk. “Why not? Afraid I’ll beat you at something?”

“No,” you said too fast. “It’s just not part of the mission.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Karen said we could do whatever we want.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t used to… whatever this was. Making decisions. Having options. Freedom—even if it was pretend—felt like a trap.

Natasha bumped your shoulder with hers, just a little. “Come on. It’s not a real mission without a little recon.”

You frowned but didn’t stop her when she veered toward the entrance.

And after a second, you followed.

Only to keep her safe.

Natasha exchanged her dollars, which Karen had given her, for coins. Then she walked over to a machine with a yellow fish with colored ghosts.

You watched her curiously. She slid a coin in and started moving the joystick, pushing the button. You didn’t get the appeal. It was loud and crowded. Pac-Man, the screen said.

You stood behind her, arms crossed, watching the little yellow circle gobble dots across the screen. It made no sense—chased by ghosts, only to chase them back when they turned blue. She didn’t look like a killer. But her fingers were fast, sharp, practiced. Like everything else, she did.

“Ever played before?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the game.

You shook your head. “No.”

“It’s not hard. You just keep moving.”

You didn’t say anything. You were too busy watching the ghosts close in.

She lost a life and groaned. “Wanna try?”

You glanced around the arcade. No one was paying attention. No one was watching. Still, you hesitated.

Natasha moved aside. “C’mon. It’s not gonna bite.”

You stepped up. The joystick was a little sticky. You slid a coin in and started the game. For a moment, you were just a girl chasing lights. Then, two ghosts came from opposite ends of the screen, and you panicked, running straight into one.

“Okay,” Natasha said, suppressing a laugh. “That was bad.”

You scowled. “I didn’t know they could corner me like that.”

“They’re not real, you know.”

“I know.” You huffed.“I just didn’t like it.”

Natasha smiled—not smug, just amused. “You wanna try something else?”

You looked around. “What’s that one?”

She followed your gaze to a flashing game with two plastic guns attached to the front. “Time Crisis,” she said. “Now that’s more your style.”

You didn’t smile. But you stepped forward.

And this time, you didn’t hesitate. You were in the zone,

A row of zombies flashed on the screen, and you fired without hesitation, moving side to side, reloading, taking down wave after wave.

"You're pretty good at that," Natasha said. You nodded, way too in tune with the video game. This was nothing like real life. No pain. No consequences.

This was something else.

You didn't stop until the round ended. The timer flashed, and you relaxed.

Natasha studied your face, and you knew she was analyzing your every movement, looking for a flaw.

"Not bad," she said.

You didn't smile, but a part of you felt lighter. "Thanks."

"You don't know how to be a kid, do you?"

"Of course, I do," You raised your chin in challenge.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," She said. Before you could argue back, a boy approached you. He was about your age, sandy brown hair, light eyes, and a blue hoodie on his back. His eyes went straight for Natasha.

"Hi," he said, "I was watching you play, and I just wanted to say it's really impressive."

"Thanks," Natasha replied.

"How do you get so good at games like this?"

"Practice," You murmured.

He smiled at her, not hearing. "You want to go a round together? I'm a total noob, so it would be nice to have someone to play with."

Suddenly, you felt something. A shift, low and heavy, like your stomach had dropped and forgotten how to climb back up. It wasn't anger. Not exactly. It was a quiet irritation that settled in your chest like static—hot, uncomfortable, and impossible to shake off.

You watched as Natasha tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching like she might smile. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no, either. And that was enough to make the feeling sink deeper.

You stepped aside, arms folded tight across your chest. Not because you wanted to make room for him. Not because you cared. But because standing there suddenly felt too loud, too much.

She could play with whoever she wanted. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t.

But it did.

You hated that it did.

*****

After a while, you got bored watching Natasha and this boy flirt. So you went for a walk, not venturing too far away from the arcade, only wanting to clear your mind. Natasha was a big girl, and she could figure it out. A perfume store was just up ahead, and you wanted to smell the scents. You weren't interested in the subject, but you were all for new experiences.

As you entered the store, a saleswoman looked up and smiled. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"Just looking," You answered, glancing at the rows of glass bottles.

She smiled again. "Sure. Let me know if you have any questions."

You nodded politely and wandered the aisles, reading labels and sniffing samples. Some of them smelled good. Some of them were too strong or downright terrible. People didn't wear perfume in the Red Room. That wasn't the point. It was a luxury you'd never thought of before.

You wandered quietly between the shelves, fingers grazing the curves of glass bottles. The store clerk was busy helping another customer, so you didn't feel so suffocated. Then you picked it up.

Giorgio.

Giorgio Beverly Hills.

The scent hit you before you even sprayed it—something about it was already in the air like it had been waiting for you. One sniff, and your nose filled with something warm. Something familiar.

Your chest tightened.

It wasn’t just perfume. It was something else. A memory, half-formed and blurry. A woman, maybe. Arms around you. The soft brush of fabric and the faint scent of this very thing clinging to her neck. It filled your head so completely that, for a second, you weren’t in the store anymore. You were…somewhere else. Somewhere you couldn’t reach.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear hit your thumb.

You glanced around. The saleswoman was busy chatting near the register now. You didn’t know why you did it—but your hand moved quickly, almost without thought. The bottle slipped into your hoodie pocket.

You didn’t plan to leave with it. You didn’t even know what you were planning. It just felt like something you couldn’t leave behind.

You turned to go, brushing past a display of body lotion, when a sharp voice cut through the store like a wire.

“Hey! Excuse me—what did you just put in your pocket?”

Your stomach dropped.

You froze.

“I saw that,” she said, stepping closer. “You need to give that back.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You grabbed the nearest thing off the counter—a sample spritzer—and tossed it to the display like you were swapping it out. “Sorry, thought this was mine,” you lied, already backing toward the entrance.

But she didn’t buy it.

So you bolted.

The perfume bottle thumped once against your side as you ran. The woman shouted something after you, but you didn’t stop to hear it. You ducked out of the store, pushed through the crowd, and didn’t stop until the arcade was in sight again. Your heart was racing. You could still smell the perfume clinging to your wrist.

It smelled like home.

Whatever that meant.

*******

Later that night, the penthouse felt too big.

Natasha lay in her new bed, wondering if she should get the cuffs in her suitcase to help her sleep as she thought about the day she'd had. Across the hall, your door was closed. Had been since you got back. No words, no explanation. Just the sound of you retreating behind it and not coming out again.

She didn’t get it.

One second, you were laughing with her over stupid hats and cinnamon pretzels, and the next—it was like you’d flipped a switch. Cold again. Distant. You didn’t want to be near her, like she’d done something wrong without knowing what. She hadn’t even talked to that boy. Not really. Not like that. And it wasn’t like any of this was real anyway. She wasn’t supposed to care. That was the rule. The mission came first, always. No attachments. No friends. Especially not girls like you, who looked at the world like you didn’t trust it to stay.

But she did care. And that was the problem.

With a sigh, Natasha climbed out of bed in hopes of getting a glass of water. She hadn't heard any rule about leaving her room, so she supposed she could come and go as she pleased. When she went to open her door, she found Ken, standing right outside of yours. His hand was on the doorknob, and she couldn't tell if he was coming or going.

"Sir," she said, unsure what to call him. He didn't even know her name, so she was unsure what to call him.

"You should be asleep."

"Couldn't," she lied. "Did I miss the meeting time?"

"No, no," he waved her off. "I'm just checking in."

She frowned. "I think y/n is asleep."

"Right, right." He took his hand off the knob and backed up. "Good night."

She watched him carefully. "Good night, sir."

Then he disappeared into the darkness, and Natasha was left standing there.

That was strange.

But then again, so was this whole operation.

She shut the door, not wanting to get too caught up.

She wouldn't realize until later this night, and the ones to follow would change the both of you. 

----->

[vertigoartgore]

Sheryl Lee (Laura Palmer), Lorna MacMillan (The Angel) and director David Lynch in 1991 on the set of Twin Peaks : Fire Walk With Me for the beautiful ending of the movie (with Laura, Dale and the Angel).

[daikunart]

RWRB

[undergroundrockpress]

1972

[louisplumpyass]

oh...

[themoonhauntedmyillusionss]

𝑶𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝟑𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝟐𝟎, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐦��𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 5.4𝒌

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛: 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝, 𝙸 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜.

“I should’ve been the one to tell her.”

“I know that, but she came here already knowing about most of the stuff. Yet, I didn’t tell her anything.”

“Yet here she is, upset.”

“Well, Natasha, that is on you.”

“I did what was best for her! You have no idea what Yelena and I had to—

“Stop it, now. Both of you. You’re startling her; go out. Now.”

You had slowly started to wake up, but as soon as your brain started to register what was happening around you, you realized someone was fighting, and you were positive it was your fault. You could hear the voices rising, finally recognizing one as your mother’s and one as Pepper’s. You could hear the way your mother was worried and disappointed; you could also hear a light wave of regret in her voice; your heart ached, wanting nothing more than to tell her it was okay, that you still loved her. You wanted to tell her you just needed some explanations; you needed to know more, but you would never leave her. You wanted to comfort her and to be comforted back, but you couldn’t face the idea of letting them know you had woken up, that you had listened to their fight. Your heart hurt more and more with each word; you could feel it clenching in your chest, your breath was becoming heavy, and you felt the need to cry. You just wanted to be comforted back to reality.

And that was when you heard her, Wanda’s voice. Her voice was soft but firm, and you felt like the softness in that lovely sound was more directed towards you than towards them. You suddenly felt complete silence around you, and your heart slowly started to beat normally, to feel normal again. You wondered if it was just her tone of voice and her words that convinced your mother and Pepper to leave; you wondered what the look on Wanda’s face was; you knew she could be very protective about the ones she loved, but you had never seen that side of her revolving around you. A part of you wished you had opened your eyes, that you had seen the look on her face. A part of you wished you had seen and known if she had been looking at them or at you, that you had seen how close she actually was to you. 

You still didn’t move a muscle; even if you knew that your mother and Pepper weren’t in the room anymore, you still didn’t feel safe. You felt the mattress of the bed lower as someone, probably Wanda, sat next to you. Your heart fluttered at the thought of Wanda wanting to be close to you, to comfort you and reassure you. You could feel your cheeks getting warm, the need for closeness becoming more intense as you pictured her in your mind, sitting close to you, looking at you with those mesmerizing green eyes. Yet, you didn’t move; you knew she was aware you were awake, but you didn’t want to be the one starting the conversation. 

“Moya dorogoya, I’m so sorry you had to hear that. I wish I had noticed sooner you were waking up.” Her voice was soft and gentle, comfort washing over you at her words. You stayed still, not wanting to react yet; your thoughts were still overwhelming you. Finding out about their job took a number on you: the worry, the disappointment. No one ever told you anything; how many times were they risking their life without you knowing? “Detka, please. Can I come closer?”

You heard her voice as a whisper; you slowly opened your eyes, taking her in, her sweet green eyes looking at you worriedly, her beautiful smile trying to warm you up. You then noticed her outfit; she still hadn’t changed. She looked like the pictures you saw online, but… your eyes widened and you sat up immediately.

“What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Your voice was filled with worry as you saw the red outfit all teared up. What had they done to her? Your eyes started welling up with tears at the thought of her being hurt, of her getting hurt by someone. Your mind started spinning once again, your thoughts clouded in pictures of who, or what, they were fighting, of what that thing could have possibly done to them, to her. You wondered about her pain in that moment, the way she could have been scared, hurt, the way she had reacted. You suddenly felt the need to have been there, to have been able to be there for her, to have been able to have hugged her and healed her somehow. You felt comfort and reassurance as her hand came to rest on your cheek, her eyes locking into yours, looking at you sweetly, supportively. Your words filled her ears, her smile widening ever so slightly, her heart soaring with how genuine your concern sounded... She loved this.

“Everything’s okay; don’t worry. I’m used to it, but look.” Her voice was soft as you looked at her, her hands swirling around in the air, her fingers moving slowly as red energy strings flew out from her fingers. You looked at her in awe, wondering what she was doing, but soon you realized it; her outfit changed, and she was now wearing soft, comfy clothes. All the tears on her outfit were gone, and her skin looked as fresh as it would have after a shower: no scars, no cuts, nothing at all. You smiled relieved, and you sighed, leaning into her touch. 

”Was that...?" Your voice was curious and excited; you couldn’t believe what you had seen was real. You knew she had something magical; she could hear your thoughts, after all. However, to actually see magic come from her fingers was just… shockingly beautiful. 

“Magic, yes.” She chuckled softly at the awe in your voice, her eyes softening further with adoration at your reaction. It had been several years since she started showing her powers, and now they felt completely normal to her, but seeing your enchanted reaction to them made her feel like she was using them for the first time. Her voice was still soft, smiling at you tenderly, the hand on your cheek caressing it gently; you sighed in relief, awe, and adoration. “How are you feeling now?” 

“A bit better. I still want answers, though.” Your voice was a bit stern; you knew she probably wasn’t at fault. From what you had gathered so far, it was your mother’s decision to keep everything from you; so Wanda had just probably been trying to respect your mother's wishes. However, a part of you wished she had been the one to tell you the truth. That she had loved you enough to fail at being supportive to your mother and just caved in telling you everything. You knew your thoughts weren’t fair to her or to your mother; you knew they had developed a bond, but you still wished you had known. The redhead nodded her head, not saying anything; her hand kept caressing your cheek, her face leaned closer to you, and you could feel her breath on your skin. You swallowed heavily, your need for answers slowly fading away as another need, more primal, more desperate, filled you. Her mouth landed on your other cheek, her lips soft and warm. You closed your eyes at the feeling, embracing every moment. 

“I’m going to call your mother, okay? We’ll see each other later; Tony has decided we need to have lunch here today.” You could hear the small groan leaving her lips at the idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about having to eat lunch at Tony’s. Not if it meant being able to spend more time with Wanda, even if you couldn’t be alone, which was probably for the best. You nodded your head; disappointment showed on your features as her lips pulled away from your skin and she stood up from the bed. Her hand on your cheek squeezed a little bit, the touch ever so comforting to you, as you waited for your mother to come in. 

You sat up straight on the bed, your back leaning against the headboard as you looked at the door slowly opening. You saw your mother making her way into the room, a look of utter regret on her face. You tried to smile at her, but the disappointment you felt towards the way she acted with you during all those years made it hard to do. Your mother sat on the bed next to you, a part of you thinking about mere moments before, when in that same spot Wanda had been sitting, comforting you. However, you knew you needed this; you knew it would have been good for both you and your mother to talk about everything. You knew this was something you absolutely wanted; you needed to know all the things she had been keeping from you. 

“I’m sorry, y/n. I know you deserved to know, but I was protecting you.” You knew she was going to explain it like that, but that did not make you feel any better. Part of you knew she was telling the truth, that all she ever wanted to do was raise you safely and protect you from everything that could ever harm you. The other part, though, was upset at the fact that she had put her own life at risk so many times and you knew nothing about it. You always thought of your relationship with your mother as being completely founded on trust, on telling each other the truth; especially about things as important as that. 

“Well, Morgan was raised properly, yet she knows about everything.” Your tone was stern, hurt even, but you couldn’t help it. The fact of you not knowing was already upsetting you before knowing that Morgan, a 14-year-old, knew things of such importance and you didn’t. Knowing that it was your mother’s choice not to let you know about it made it even worse from your point of view. You noticed her eyes narrowing at your words; you knew she probably had her reasons for keeping you out of what she had been doing, to keep you out from the risks she had to face, but you still couldn’t quite forgive her yet. 

“Morgan wasn’t at risk like you were.” Your ears perked up at that, wondering what your mother was on about. You were sure she and Tony were on the same side, on the same team, which meant that everything that could have harmed you would’ve harmed Morgan too. You looked at your mother, confused, your expression telling her to keep talking, to explain to you what she meant by that. Your mother sighed. “I guess I should start by telling you about how I was raised. I was taken away from my parents when I was a child, and I was forced to attend a training involving every aspect of my life. I had no childhood; I had no real parents. I had teachers and coaches who were abusing me all of my childhood and teenage years. I was trained to become a deadly spy and assassin. I was trained in hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, and espionage; I was brainwashed and manipulated from a young age. I won’t tell you specifics because it’s a lot to talk about emotionally, but if you want, from time to time I can tell you bits here and there. The important part I need you to understand is that we thought I had managed to destroy everything about that organization, yet someone followed the footsteps of the man who did this to me and tracked you down as my daughter. They wanted to do to you what they did to me; I couldn’t let that happen.” Your eyes never left your mother’s; both of you were tearing up, knowing your mother had suffered so much during her life made you want to scream, to throw things, to punch something. You felt a rage inside you that you were having a hard time controlling. How could someone ever do something like that to a person? To a child? You found your hand on her arm before you could think about it, but you would’ve done it either way; she suffered so much, so many horrible things, and she had wanted to spare you the same fate. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Mom. I… I know it’s hard to talk about it; I understand why you didn’t. Part of me still wishes I had known, if only to have been able to be there for you.” You felt a tear slide down your cheek; you wished your mother never had to hurt like that; you wished she could have had the same beautiful childhood you had. It was difficult to spend so many years in hiding, but the bond you had created with your mother made everything worth it. “I wish you had someone, the same way I had you, to protect you.”

Your mother shook her head, placing her hand over the one you had on her arm, stroking it lightly. 

“I probably wouldn’t have you with me now if that were the case. You’re more important than everything that ever happened to me.” You flew into her arms; you needed to feel her close, to feel her embrace and her comfort. You wanted her to know that you loved her no matter what, that you were never going to leave her, whatever was going on between the two of you. 

“Tell me about them, Mom. The Avengers: how it started, who are they, even though I think I know all of them.” You smiled at her; you were sure that talking about them would lighten her a bit. With them, she had been saving the world, doing the exact opposite of what she was trained to do, which probably made her feel worth something in the end. 

Your mother smiled at you, her hand wiped away her tears as she nodded. You listened carefully, as if you were a child and your mom was telling you a fairytale to make you sleep. You listened as she told you how she managed to escape, how she came to the realization of what that organization really was. You listened carefully as she told you how she finally found a way to use everything she had learned in a good way, how she understood how she could save people with her abilities. You listened in adoration as she told you about the Avengers, about the way she slowly bonded with all of them. You would've listened to the story of her life forever.

“About Wanda, I can only tell you she stole my jacket.” You furrow your eyebrows at that; a confused expression paints your face as your mother softly chuckles. “Wanda joined us when she was 16. She has a very rough story about her childhood, too, but I believe she should be the one to tell you that.” You nodded slowly at her words, your heart clenched a bit knowing that Wanda also struggled as a child; no one should struggle as a child, and you wish you could've rescued her the same way they rescued you. “She was our enemy at first, quite a feisty little one, too.” Your eyes almost popped out of your face as she told you Wanda was their enemy, but your expression softened as soon as you heard her call the redhead a feisty little one, wishing you could've seen her when she joined them.

“She was?” You asked her, your voice full of curiosity, wonder, and awe at the idea of Wanda being their enemy and then joining them. You saw your mother nod and smile; you could sense that she was reliving the memories in her mind, and you chose not to bother her. The two of you stayed there, sitting in complete silence; you were trying to process everything your mother had just told you, from the way she was raised to how she tried to protect you from the same fate. From the way she probably killed an enormous amount of people to the way she found out she could help people with the same abilities she had killed them with. Your mind felt like a mess, but you didn't feel that way. You recognized the amount of information that was circling in your head, but you didn't feel as overwhelmed by it as you expected to.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and both you and your mother turned around to face it as Wanda made her way into the room. You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest as Wanda entered the room. Your heart quickened its rhythm, your fingers subconsciously playing with each other as if to seek comfort. Her gaze lingered on you a beat too long, and you instinctively desired to be alone with her, to hold her close and capture her lips with yours. You desired to hold her close, to kiss her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, and, finally, her lips. You desired to hold her close, to run your hands on her skin, to feel her body shiver under your touch, under your attention. You desired to touch every part of her, to kiss every part of her. Yet, you swiftly reminded yourself to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but Tony has already told me three times that they’re all waiting in the dining room for lunch, so I figured it was best to tell you before he came in for himself.” As Wanda delivered the message from Tony, you could sense her frustration towards him, likely stemming from some undisclosed tension. You knew she didn’t like him very much; you knew she had some kind of resentment towards him, but you had no idea about what had actually happened between the two of them. You looked at the way she was almost shy at the idea of interrupting your time with your mother, and you wanted to tell her that everything was okay, that you were more than happy to see her, to feel her close in some way.

You noticed her face light up suddenly, even though not a single word had been spoken. You were about to look at her and then at your mother, confused, but as you saw Wanda looking at you with eyes full of sweetness and gratitude, you realized: your thoughts. 

“Don’t worry, Wanda, it’s okay. As for Tony, you know how he is, and I do too, so I wouldn't worry too much about interrupting us because of him. I definitely understand.” You saw how Wanda’s shoulders relaxed even more at your mother’s words, and your heart warmed a bit knowing how much of a comfort they could be to each other. You still didn’t know much about their friendship, how it started, and when the deep bond actually made its first appearance, but you could see the way they acted towards each other, and it made you feel lighter knowing they had each other when things probably were messy. You looked at your mother and then at Wanda; nodding your head and standing up, you didn’t trust your words, not when you knew the feelings towards the redhead were still washing over you again and again each time your eyes met hers.

You had been sitting down at the table for the past couple of hours; you had decided to sit next to your mother to feel the comfort she always seemed to be able to give you. You already knew all the people at that table, but getting to know them on a deeper level made you feel uneasy; getting to know how they became Avengers made you feel glad that they were sharing those parts of their lives with you but also sad about all the awful things they had to endure. When they started telling you bits and pieces of their missions, you found yourself being mesmerized as you listened to them; a part of you was also relieved as you understood how well-organized they were and how good they actually were at what they did. You slowly also started to understand how good your mom was, the way she had no powers at all, no ability to fly or super strength, but she was just as amazing at everything as anyone else, if not even more. As they were telling you about your mother, your eyes drifted to Pepper, smiling at her genuinely, knowing all that was exactly what she was trying to tell you hours earlier to calm you down.

“I must say, Wanda, with everything going on between us at the moment, I had almost forgotten how good of a team we are while fighting.” Your eyes shot back up from your plate as you heard that comment; your gaze drifted from Wanda, who was sitting in front of your mother, to the owner of that voice, Vision. You noticed his eyes were sparkling as he was looking at the redhead, a somewhat smug grin plastered across his face; you felt your own face grimace at the sight. You still hadn’t wrapped your head around the fact that Vision was not the blond man you had met but was, in fact, a red marker’s long-lost sibling. You couldn’t even believe the fact that he was probably the most indestructible one, which made you even more furious. Why couldn’t your mother or Wanda be made out of vibranium? As you were focusing on Vision and what he had said, you heard a soft chuckle come from the other end of the table. Your eyes drifted again and landed on Wanda; you noticed her cheeks were a light shade of pinkish, and she was almost giggling. Your eyes lingered on her for a few seconds; you watched the way her green eyes were squinting a bit as she giggled, the way you could almost feel through your gaze that those beautiful cheeks were getting warmer, the way that shade of pink made her even more beautiful in your eyes. Your heart missed a few beats at that sight before you realized that reaction wasn’t directed to you. You could feel blood boil inside your veins as you took in her reaction to his words, knowing how much she was hurting lately because of him. You couldn’t believe the way she was so nonchalantly reacting to him as if she hadn't almost let herself freeze in her own house and starved herself because of him. Something inside you was convinced that whatever happened between the two of them, that sight before your eyes was the proof that she was willing to move past it. Your hands turned into fists under the table as your eyes bore into her figure, anger rising rapidly at the exchange between the woman you loved and her ex-husband; the disappointment for how quick she was to set you aside for him washed over you. Your eyes were glued to your plate for the rest of lunch; you could hear everyone talking about missions and other things, but your head was so wrapped in the way Wanda had reacted to Vision, your heart felt heavy as every little thing she had told you in those weeks suddenly seemed fake and pointless. You thought about every little moment between the two of you, every little touch, every wish and desire for something more, for something bigger, for something with everything. You thought about how much you loved her and how much she had probably loved him, how many years of her life she had probably spent with him. How much you just didn’t stand a chance against him. 

“So, little one, what’s the next exam?” You were forced to move your gaze from your plate when you heard Tony address you; you tried your best to avoid Wanda’s eyes as you felt her looking intensely at you. You didn’t want to look into her eyes; you didn’t want to lose yourself in those beautiful green orbs. You were once again finding yourself not wanting to feel everything she could make you feel with just her presence. You finally managed to set your eyes on Tony and smiled shyly at him. 

“Oh, luckily it’s an easy one; I have a Russian exam.” You said confidently that, thanks to your mother, you were quite fluent in Russian, which meant you weren’t too stressed about the exam. You had thought about going over everything with Wanda, but now you had no idea if that would’ve even been possible. The brief exchange between her and Vision had sent your head into a deep journey through your insecurities; you were already picturing the two of them getting back together and raising the twins as the perfect little family. Your heart was hurting more and more each second that passed; your eyes had not once met hers, but you could still feel her intense gaze on you. You knew she probably had sensed everything that was going through your mind and was clearly feeling guilty about it because you knew everything you were thinking was true. You started fidgeting with your hands once again, trying to find comfort in them, trying to find something, anything else to think about.

Once lunch was finally over, your mother decided to go back home, glad you had brought the car with you, wanting nothing more than to rest in her own bed. The ride back home was filled with memories your mother had decided to share with you about her missions with The Avengers, the funny moments they had spent together, and the way they had always been there for each other. You couldn’t help but smile as she was so lost in her stories, your mind wondering about the way her heart felt about them, how light it must’ve felt when she realized she could do something good for the world, for herself. A part of you wished you had got to see her when she joined the Avengers, to have had the pleasure of seeing your mother grow into the beautiful person who had saved you. 

As your mother started to talk about the bonds between the members of the team, you waited for the inevitable; your heart clenched just at the thought of her telling you about Wanda and Vision’s love story. You could already feel your eyes watering at the thought, the idea of knowing how much Wanda had probably loved him, how much she had grown with him, how much she knew him, and how much she had discovered about herself through him. 

To your surprise, however, your mother never mentioned either of them, not even once. You tried your best not to look at her with a shocked expression as relief and gratitude filled your heart; you could definitely live another day without knowing anything about Wanda loving someone who wasn’t you. 

“Mom, you told me that Wanda joined you when she was 16, but when did she get together with Vision? And why did it end?” Suddenly you had decided to hurt yourself even more; the relief wasn’t as strong as the need to know, the need to know exactly how much Wanda had loved him, how much she had been his. You needed to know what had brought them to decide to get a divorce, what had been so serious and difficult that they couldn’t work it out after all those years together, after having had the twins. You needed to know if there could be a chance for them to get back together, which was a doubt that was slowly killing you even before that day. You saw your mother looking at you a bit confused, and you tried to hide your blush as you started to feel embarrassed because of her confusion at your sudden interest. “Well, you were talking about the different bonds in the team, and you didn’t even mention once the only relationship there was besides Tony and Pepper.” You tried your best to find some sort of excuse for your curiosity about the ex-couple, but something in your mother’s expression told you she didn’t quite believe you.

“Their relationship has always been a bit complicated, my dear. Starting from the fact that Wanda was really young and she was quite overwhelmed with everything that had already happened in her life. Vision was a new creation; technically he was even younger, but of course his mind had always been almost completely developed; however, he didn’t really know what love was like, and I don’t know how much it could be possible for him to really find out. As for their breakup… I do think it would be better for Wanda to tell you; it’s really personal and serious. It involves her magic and so much pain and sorrow; it wouldn’t be fair for me to tell you.” Your mother replied to you softly; of course her explanation didn’t satisfy you at all, but you also knew you couldn’t force her to tell you things that did not concern her. You nodded your head slowly, sighing a bit as you got out of the car. You leaned against the front door as you reached inside your bag to light a cigarette. For a brief moment, each puff you were making seemed to be able to take away everything you were feeling; for a few moments, you felt as if you were numb, which was obviously better than hurt. Your eyes were glued to the sky; the sun was going down, and the sky looked like a beautiful and romantic painting. Your mind drifted off to a world where you and Wanda could lay together on the grass, looking up at the sky and admiring the breathtaking colors giving it life. You dreamed briefly of a world where you could cuddle her as the both of you relaxed in each other’s embrace. You quickly wiped away a lonely tear that was falling onto your cheek as you made your way inside the house, suddenly drowning yourself in the silence there was inside since your mother had wanted to go to rest for a while. You couldn't find it in yourself to blame her; you were sure she must’ve been exhausted from the mission.

Trying your best not to dwell on your thoughts and desires about Wanda since you had found yourself alone, you had decided to study some more, cursing again at yourself as you realized you had missed an entire day because of everything that had happened. 

You grabbed a soft and comfy blanket and made your way to the couch, bringing your knees to your chest as you put the blanket over yourself, placing the notes on the table in front of you.

After what felt like hours on end while repeating out loud the essay you had written for the exam, you got up from the couch and made your way to the kitchen, the blanket wrapped tightly around your body. Your mind was set on making yourself a cup of tea; it was obviously an excuse to take a break from your notes as well as a way to find some kind of comfort since your mind had not stopped for a second racing about Wanda and Vision. You opened the kitchen cabinet to look at the types of tea you had but jumped out of your skin as your phone rang suddenly; you placed the mug on the counter and grabbed the device, furrowing your eyebrows. 

Wanda. 

You stare at the incoming call for a bit, wondering what you really wanted to do. Obviously, you wanted to talk to her; you wanted to hear her voice, to hear the sweet tone she always addressed you with. However, a part of you was afraid. You were afraid she was calling you to end whatever there was between the two of you at that moment; you were afraid she was calling you to let you know she had realized she still had deep feelings for Vision and that they had a family together and were going to sort things out. You were worried that, while trying to fix her marriage to Vision, she was going to distance herself from you. 

Your hand shook slightly as you picked up the phone, slowly accepting the incoming call. 

“Hello, malyshka. Can you do me a favor? Open the door for me, please.”

𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @imaginaryblogger01 @unique0003 @ciaoooooo111 @franfineashell @blueredg52 @lesbiansweet @nattysgirl @invictiusstuff @vlansy @blamelessgaynonbinary @reginassecretlover @iwantlizziebad @reignvoltage @beggingonmykneesforher @wandasglf @xxsekhmet @chiar4anna @dorabledewdroop @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @wandasslut3000 @bella423 @ivysbitcx @unadulteratedballoonduck @ppbc3 @theo-the-raven @trullykomtrikru

𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨!

[inthedarktrees]

Sheryl Lee & Kyle MacLachlan | Twin Peaks

[deadmotelsusa]

Can we bring back monochromatic interior design? This might be an unpopular opinion but I love the concept of picking one color and making the entire room shades of that color only. Am I the only one?

[maxyartwork]

🩰✨ yelena belova commission for @/chundrchld on twitter!

[openeddepth]

An old silly sketch (Most of the costume details were taken from my mind /ᐠ - ˕ -マ )

[youronebraincell]

Natasha while Steve and Peggy have a reunion

Natasha when her mother told her girlfriend that she wanted to kiss, kill or dissect her

Melina squaring up with her daughter after she knocked out all the other widows

The watcher when The watcher when

Peggy and Nat Peggy disappears

have a moment out of thin air

[bgwlsmahf25]

Redemption Road

Natasha x reader

Genre: angst; fluff

Warnings: mentions of alcohol; kissing; suggestive themes but no actual smut; mentions of trauma; Red Room; Natasha cries

a/n: way longer than I intended haha and probably not totally canonically correct whoops

Norway, 10.00pm

Natasha shivered slightly, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she sat hunched over her laptop. The code she was tracing was proving tricky but she knew she was close to the source. Her breath fogged in front of her as she tapped out a line of code, delving deeper into the rabbit-hole she was exploring. “That’s not right,” she murmured, a tiny frown pinching her forehead, as she tracked an offshoot of numbers. Her shoulders tensed as she prepared for a trap, but it appeared she’d taken the right route. She bit her lip, satisfied that she’d made the right call.

Outside, it was dark, a waxing moon casting shadows over the scrubby ground around her cabin. Natasha had felled most of the trees nearby, preferring to see any adversaries approaching, rather than be taken by surprise. She’d carefully set a few traps, keeping them obscure enough to be hidden, but powerful enough to hold a man down until she decided what to do with him. An owl hooted, the quavering note hanging in the air before another answered it from a few miles away. With soft wing-beats, it took flight, gliding into the darkness.

Natasha sucked in a breath as the final line of code went through. The cursor flashed lamely on the screen then someone other than Natasha started typing.

Hello, Natasha

Natasha kept her expression neutral as she typed out a reply, the clicking of her keyboard the only sound in the tiny cabin.

Hello, y/n. You’re a hard person to track down

The conversation picked up speed. On the other end, you frowned, wondering why Natasha was contacting you after a long period of silence. You didn’t trust her, and it had been a long time since you’d last seen the spy and you wondered what she was after this time.

Not always. For you, there’s no price - this time. What have you got yourself into this time? I’m not doing siberia round 2

A chuckle escaped from Natasha’s lips, she couldn’t help herself. Siberia had been an interesting but dangerous mission, and one of the last times she’d worked with you. Although your name had been one of the first to come to mind, Natasha hesitated about working with you. You were savage in your missions, never holding back on an opponent and you trusted nobody, especially not Natasha. It would be a hard conversation to get you on board, but Natasha knew she was one of a handful of people left who could facilitate that conversation and form a partnership with you, however uneasy it may become.

I need your help with a job. Something to do with home. Are you in?

I need more details. Usual place?

I can’t go there anymore. Vigeland sculpture park, 72 hours, 8.15pm. Natasha quickly ran an encryption on her message, to save it from anyone who might be reading the conversation, but she knew that you could crack it in seconds. Suddenly becoming fearful, she encrypted the entire conversation, ensuring its destruction once she typed the word ‘goodbye.’

See you there. 72 hours. Don’t be late this time.

I’m never late. Goodbye

Her screen turned black and the conversation disappeared. In its place, she was left staring at a tourist website for the Vigeland Sculpture Park in Oslo, Norway. Natasha rolled her eyes, this was your way of telling her you’d be there.

72 hours later, Vigeland Sculpture Park, Oslo, 8.15pm

Natasha pulled her hat down further over her ears and carried on strolling through the park, every so often stopping to read an inscription by the base of a statue. She knew she hadn’t been followed, she’d employed every technique to throw anybody off her tail. It had taken 2 hours but she was satisfied.

Glancing up, she noticed a statue of a crying baby, one foot raised, as though it was about to stamp it into the ground. Snow was piled on the statue’s head, making it look like the baby was wearing a hat. A figure was standing in front of the statue, gazing at it but not taking it in, and Natasha carefully making her way over.

“Good evening.” Natasha knew no Norwegian, thankfully most Norwegians spoke English so if this wasn’t you, she could pass it off as a mistake. She only hoped that you weren’t somewhere else, watching her get fooled by an innocent bystander.

You turned around, a faded black cap pulled firmly down on your head. Your face was impassive as you looked at her, instead you only frowned slightly. “Natasha.” Reaching out, you brushed snow off her shoulder. She jerked back, unsure of your movements, and you bit back a smile. “You never liked personal touch, did you? Now remember, you called me for once.”

“You chose to call me last time,” she pointed out, looking warily at you. She began walking, choosing not to wait, and knowing that you’d fall into step alongside her. She adjusted her hat and took a sideways glance at you. You were not dressed for the Norwegian weather, choosing to wear a light bomber jacket, jeans and black sneakers, the black cap completing the look. “I have a job to do.”

“You always have a job to do,” you fired back immediately, “and you always need my ass to come in and save you from whatever crap you’re stuck in.”

“I’m never stuck,” she growled, “how dare you insinuate -”

“Insinuate?” you hissed, stopping and staring at her. “What about Siberia, Nat? What about Greece, for heaven’s sake? What about -” There was a knowing glint in your eye as you rattled off locations where Natasha had required some extra assistance. Deep down, you knew that she never really needed your help and it irritated you that you were considered a last resort.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” she snapped. Natasha carried on walking, remembering why she’d stopped calling you. She bit her lip, wondering if she was making the right call with her current mission. “Any news from back home?”

“It wasn’t my home,” you snapped back. “And no, I haven’t heard a thing.” Your voice was bitter and she knew you were hurt by the lack of contact. You had been imprisoned inside the Red Room for far longer than she had. She could only imagine the treatment you’d received, the brainwashing that had been conducted. “What’s your point? Why am I here?”

“Where were you?” You scoffed and she knew that you weren’t going to answer her question. Not for the last time, Natasha wondered if she was right to bring you on board. “The Red Room. I’m taking it down.” You burst into startled laughter, clapping a hand over your mouth and immediately dropping to the ground, one knee dug into the snow, your eyes scanning your surroundings. Once the Red Room had you, you never stopped looking over your shoulder, even if you had broken contact with them. Natasha sighed, crouching beside you. “Y/n, you know that it can be defeated and you know that I’m going to be the one to do it. Now get up and carry on walking, there’s a couple behind us and we need to blend in, not to stand out.” She grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“You can’t take down the Red Room, Nat,” you panted, standing a few feet away from her. “You know that’s a dead mission before you’ve even started. And what about -?” You stared at her, eyes wide with fear and your heart racing. Natasha had set herself apart from the other Widows a long time ago and it had sent everyone into the shadows whilst the attention - the spotlight - had been focused upon her.

“I know, I know,” she whispered, twisting her fingers through one another. “I know she’s out there, she keeps leaving me messages then disappearing when I try to read them. Listen, you’re the last person I wanted on this, but the first one who came to mind.” Natasha stepped closer. “Are you in?”

“I’m not coming all the way with you.” You shook your head, scuffing your sneaker in the snow, tracing an unintelligible shape. “I don’t believe you’ve got a chance in hell to make this work but I’ll listen.” Natasha started walking and you grabbed her arm. “The minute you pick your plan, I’m informing them.” You walked past her, carrying on through the park, knowing that Natasha’s gaze was boring into your back.

Natasha’s Cabin, Norway, 10.00pm

“Heaters don’t cost much.” You kicked the snow from your shoes and pulled the door shut behind you, watching as Natasha pounded her fist against an ancient light switch. There was a crackle then a hum and weak, yellow lighting flickered throughout the cabin.

“Heaters make noise.” Natasha pulled her hat off, her vibrant red hair tumbling down her back and you hastily averted your gaze. She sat down on a worn leather sofa, placing her hat and gloves firmly on the coffee table in front of her. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and glared up at you. “Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea.”

“I’m a good fighter, occasionally we make a good team. You want to take down the Red Room, but you can’t do it by yourself and until you find - well, her, you need me to assist you.” You chewed your lip. “Neither one of us likes this plan but it’s the best we’ve got.” You leant against the wall, mirroring her pose and crossing your arms. “This is going to take everything, have you even thought about that?”

“Everything?” Natasha hissed, leaping to her feet. “Do you not think that I’ve given everything, dedicated everything, to my career?” She pushed her hair out of her face and you looked at the ground. Looking at Natasha’s hair led to places you didn’t want to visit anymore. “I’m asking you to listen to me. Nobody else is going to hear me out.” You stared at Natasha, then laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, that’s true, Widow. Nobody will listen to your crazy ass plan. You’re going to get yourself killed staying in this business. You left, and they stayed, and that’s all there is to it. You don’t have to eliminate them to prove a point - joining SHIELD was a big enough move for you.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, sinking back onto the sofa with a huff. As much as she hated to admit it, there was some truth to your words. Natasha wanted an out, an escape, something like the domesticity that her friend Clint had built for himself. She knew, however, that finding someone who could tolerate her was tricky. Turning away, she took a deep breath, holding back a rare wave of emotion, tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m proving a point.” She looked back at you and if you noticed the tears in her eyes, you chose not to comment on it. “Drink?”

“As long as it’s not laced this time.” She let out a short laugh at your words, opening a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of vodka. Removing the cap, she took a swig then offered you the bottle. You could taste her chapstick on the neck of the bottle and bit the inside of your cheek hard, drawing blood, as a sudden wave of arousal rushed through you. “I haven’t forgotten Greece,” you said, offering her the bottle. “I’m not going to forget Greece. That was a low move.”

“Oh come on, you followed me to Siberia and then back to New York.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at you. “If you hated Greece, you had an out, you just chose not to take it.” She watched as you slowly sat down on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Greece was bad for both of us,” she whispered. You laughed and snatched the bottle out of her hands. “What happened in Greece was the perfect opportunity for you to push me down. You chose to act like a complete bitch simply because I was there.”

“Not true,” she fired back. Natasha couldn’t help but think about her behaviour in Greece. It was a dangerous mission - most of them were - but this one was especially so. She had to infiltrate a gala and assassinate a high-ranking SHIELD official who was attending. She still remembered the look on his wife’s face when she turned around and saw her husband lying dead in the middle of the ballroom, a pool of blood beneath his head. Natasha had blended into the background, in awe of what she’d done but also fearful. “I know you’re thinking about him,” you taunted, your voice bringing her back to the present. “Be quiet,” she snapped, “I didn’t bring you here for your criticism.”

“Oh Natasha.” You got to your feet and leant towards her, resting your hands lightly on the shabby wooden box that counted as a coffee table. “We both know that you didn’t bring me here, you had no choice in that matter.” You smirked, eyes falling to her lips briefly. “I came because - well, we both know why you really wanted me here.” Without warning, she reached out and slapped you across the face, your cheek stinging from where her hand had made contact. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she growled, standing up and pushing you backwards so that she could move into the open space of the cabin.

You let her push you, ending up on the floor, resting on your elbows. Her show of dominance had sent another wave of arousal through you and you realised that she knew exactly what she was doing. Turning, Natasha pulled out another bottle of vodka and you let out a loud laugh, amusement playing across your features. “Oh darling,” you mocked, “are you trying to get me drunk so that I’ll agree to your stupid plan?”

“It’s not stupid.” Natasha took a long drink from the bottle and stuck her hand out, offering you a crutch to stand up. You took it, wrapping your fingers through hers and watching a faint blush appear on her cheeks. She pulled you to your feet and you took a step towards her, so that you were in touching distance. Locking eyes with her, you reached out and softly plucked the vodka bottle from her grasp. Never breaking eye contact, you took a drink, the spirit burning your insides as you swallowed. Natasha’s eyes briefly flickered down to your neck and then up to your gaze again and she bit her lip, knowing she’d been caught. “Tell me you want this,” you whispered, still refusing to break eye contact.

With a deep breath, Natasha pulled on some inner resolve and took a step back. “No.” Her reply was surprising, but you’d expected it. “No?” You raised an eyebrow, holding the bottle just out of her reach. “Natasha. Look at me.” You waited until she made eye contact. “Baby, your plan is stupid. You cannot take down the Red Room, they are far too powerful against one Widow. I know you want to find Yelena Belova, and I admire you for that, but if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. You are one woman and as powerful as you are, one woman is not going to topple the Red Room. Uh-uh,” you said, as she tried to reach for the bottle, “I’m not finished speaking.”

“Yes you are,” she growled, hands reaching out to grab your jacket and pull you against her, her lips crashing onto yours. The force of the kiss took you both by surprise and you stumbled, Natasha’s back hitting the cupboard with a thud. Your hands threaded themselves into her hair and you moaned into the kiss, before she pushed you away suddenly, chest heaving and her eyes blown with want. “No. No, y/n, I cannot do this again.” Natasha took the bottle and you let her, watching her throat bob as she drank steadily, draining what was left in the bottle. She slowly put it on the counter, looking at you with a flustered gaze, but her eyes were steady and you realised she wasn’t going to sleep with you.

“Why?” The question hung in the air. There was a sadness to your voice and Natasha could hear it. She stared at you, wanting nothing more to pick you up and throw you onto the bed in the far corner but knowing that it wouldn’t help either of you. “Because…” You sighed, already knowing the answer and threw your hands up, running them wildly through your hair. “You know that I’m going to talk you out of going after the Red Room if we sleep together.” Natasha took a step towards you. “You’re already trying to, so y/n, I think it’s best that you leave.” She reached for the door and you reached out too, putting a hand on her wrist and stopping her movements. “Natasha, if you do this, just know that it will be the last time you see me.”

“What?” Her eyes met yours and she halted, shoulders tense, scanning your face for any sign that you were teasing her. “Why would you -?” You cupped her face in your hands. “I have rules to follow, orders I can’t disobey any longer. I’m not going to be an excuse for you anymore to hear what you shouldn’t do when you devise a crazy idea.” You rested your forehead gently against hers, taking in the green in her eyes. “This is the last time I answer your call. Next time, there’ll just be silence.” Natasha gripped your hands in hers, resting her head in the crook of your neck. Her breaths tickled against your skin and you sighed, hating what you were saying but believing every word of it. “Watch your back out there, Widow. The world’s not as kind as me,” you whispered, pulling back and planting a soft kiss on her lips. “You too, soldier,” she replied, kissing your cheek. You knew that she’d worked out who your orders were from but you were grateful that she didn’t push you on it, or question it.

At the edge of the clearing, you stopped and looked back. Natasha was framed in the doorway, her red hair framed around her shoulders. You took a long look at the woman, knowing you’d never see her again, then setting your shoulders, you turned towards your truck. Climbing inside, you rested your head on the steering wheel, thinking about the work ahead of you and trying desperately to put the Russian out of your mind. A tap on your window startled you and you looked up to see Natasha, gesturing for you to roll down the window. “What do you want, Widow?” you said, your voice soft. Her eyes met yours and your breath hitched. “One last time,” she said, her voice steady.

Natasha rested against you in the back of your truck. She was silent, tracing shapes on your arm mindlessly. “I don’t regret any of it,” she quietly admitted. “I know that it was dangerous and questionable, but I’d do it all again.” You smiled, kissing her forehead. “I know.” You sat up, pulling your clothes back on and adjusting your cap. “I’d better be going. It’s a long drive back to Oslo and my flight leaves in three hours.” Natasha sighed, pulling herself away and quickly getting dressed too. She left your truck, pulling you close for one last kiss. “Look after yourself, soldier.” You leant back, eyes roving over her face, committing it to memory although you knew you’d never forget it. Natasha was one in a million. “You too, Natasha. When you get there, say hello from me.” She smiled, but it faded quickly as she remembered the task she’d set herself.

As you drove away, fingers quietly drumming on the steering wheel, you thought about Natasha, her face clearly in your mind. She wasn’t going to be easy to forget, but you weren’t sure you wanted to. Time would let her fade from your mind, but the memory of her was etched into your heart. Similarly, Natasha was pacing up and down her cabin, unashamedly crying, tears dripping onto her shirt. She’d never let herself love anyone but she thought that she could have loved you if you’d had more time. Your paths had crossed when they needed to and she knew that as much as you’d pretended to hate her and reject her, your affection was as deep as hers. Her laptop lit up and she sighed, her attention once again turning to the task of finding Yelena, her sister and the destruction of the Red Room.

A breathy laugh left her lips when she read the message you’d left, the cursor still flashing.

Good luck with your stupid plan. If anyone stands a chance, it’s you. y/n.

She watched your message self-destruct, the last trace of you leaving her cabin for good. Natasha reached for another bottle of vodka, taking a sip and beginning to plan in her mind how she was going to carry out her ‘stupid plan.’

[inthedarktrees]

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (1992) dir. David Lynch