#black widow layout

[ephemic]

"we're the avengers, man… 🤨" pt. 2/2

[louisstgirl]

our little woman !

[jeridandridge]

“Natalia?”

[filmedz]

Could you do a black widow Twitter header and then make a matching wanda profile picture pls <3

Black widow x Wanda layouts

Reblog or like if u save

[cinepughs]

darling i am with you all the time ✰ don't worry darling (2022) dir. by olivia wilde

[punkpillowprincess]

WALLPAPER FLORENCE PUGH BRITISH VOGUE SEPTEMBER 2024

uncensored ✶ censored

[personunavailable]

🕷⭒˚｡⋆

[life-on-mars-stuff]

Melina my queen💚

[girrlies]

[yeleatinsbishop]

marvel [ daisy johnson / natasha romanoff layouts ]

daisy icon from here and natasha icon from here. headers are mine.

like or reblog if you use

[shironezuninja]

I am cranky and need a nap.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Just a Little Sick

Cgs!Wandanat x little!fem!reader

Summary: You're sick and your Mommy and Daddy are here to take care of you

Word count: 3K

Warnings: None fluff and comfort

A/N: I'm sick and I just want Wandanat

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

In the Avengers compound, the living area was unusually quiet, save for the occasional sneeze or cough from you all bundled up on the couch, swathed in your favorite blanket. Your trusted stuffie sat beside you, offering silent comfort.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, moved around the room, ensuring you had everything you needed. Your occasional whimpers caught Natasha's attention every time, making her heart ache.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Natasha asked softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. You sniffled, your eyes watery.

"Sick, Daddy," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You clutched a lollipop lozenge, the soothing taste providing a small comfort. Natasha smiled gently, adjusting your glasses for you.

"I know, sweetheart. Just rest, okay? I've got you." She tucked your blanket more securely around you.

The bond between you two was unique. In a world filled with heroes and battles, you two had found solace in your relationship. Today, as you battled your cold, Natasha's protective instincts were in full force, ensuring her little girl felt safe and cherished.

Natasha's fingers danced across the keyboard, rapidly typing up a report for Fury. Every few minutes, she'd glance over at you, ensuring you were okay. The juxtaposition was stark: the fierce warrior, known and feared by many, caring for the young, vulnerable girl who had a power greater than most could imagine.

A soft snore broke Natasha's concentration, and she looked over to see your chest rising and falling rhythmically. Smiling softly, Natasha reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, careful not to disturb you.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha continued her work, answering calls with a hushed voice, ensuring the noise didn't disturb your slumber. Every so often, she'd pause to jot down notes or sip on a cup of tea, the room filled with the sound of rain gently tapping against the windows.

Despite the pressing demands of her job, Natasha's priority was clear: ensuring you felt loved and protected, especially on days like this. The bond the two of you shared was unbreakable, built on trust, care, and a love that transcended the ordinary.

As the day carried on and Wanda came rushing in. "How is she Tasha?" Wanda asked in a panic, seeing the little one's sleeping form.

"She's got a cold. Trying to give her medicine was hell, but she enjoyed those lollipop lozenges you got. I wanted to make her soup, but I know she'd want yours more." Nat told her girlfriend. Wanda smiled, giving Nat a kiss.

"I'll get it started right away." Wanda got up going to the kitchen which was attached in an open layout with the living area.

Wanda's nurturing nature made her a perfect fit as "Mommy," complementing Natasha's protective instincts as "Daddy."

From the couch, you stirred slightly, your brows furrowing. Natasha was by your side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on your forehead. The medicine seemed to be doing its job; your temperature felt slightly lower.

A short while later, the aroma of homemade soup filled the air. Wanda emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl. "I made her favorite," she said, placing the bowl on the coffee table.

Together, they carefully woke you, who blinked up at them sleepily. "Mommy?" she murmured, her voice raspy.

Wanda smiled warmly, brushing your hair back. "Hey, sweetheart. I made some soup for you."

Your eyes lit up a bit, and you nodded weakly, allowing Wanda to help you sit up. As Wanda fed you the soup, Natasha couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. In the midst of chaos and battles, they had found a semblance of home and family, and she cherished every moment of it.

°○°○°○°○°

Natasha observed from a distance, her brows furrowing with concern as she watched you shiver from the cold sensation of the fever patch. The bond between you and Wanda was evident in moments like these—Wanda's gentle reassurances calming you despite the discomfort.

Once the patch was in place and you were comfortably nestled back under your blanket, Wanda sat beside you, softly singing a lullaby, an old Sokovian one. The room was filled with the warmth of their love and care, a stark contrast to the chilly patch on your forehead.

Natasha approached, placing a hand on Wanda's shoulder. "You're amazing with her," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's temple.

Wanda smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. "She's our girl, Tasha. We'll always do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy."

°○°○°○°○°

"In a little bit we should give her a bath." Wanda mentions taking the empty bowls to the kitchen, Nat following behind.

"You cooked dinner, let me take care of the dishes." Nat said, putting her hands on Wanda's hips, kissing her shoulder. "Go be with our little one. I'm sure she wants Mommy cuddles." Nat mentions Wanda turning, kissing Nat on the lips,

"Thank you Daddy." Wanda whispered going back to the couch and moving onto the couch, having you lay on top of her.

°○°○°○°○°

Once the kitchen was in order, Natasha joined her two loves on the couch. You, now clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, snuggled comfortably against Wanda's chest. Wanda softly stroked your damp hair, humming a lullaby as the trio settled into the quiet comfort of their makeshift family.

Wanda got you dressed in comfy pajamas and helped get your dry. “How about we watch something little one?” Wanda asked softly, kissing the crown of your head.

“Please Mommy, can watch Bluey?” You ask as Wanda gets your paci, popping it in your mouth.

“Of course we can little one.” She smiled softly, pushing your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

°○°○°○°○°

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you snored peacefully, still wrapped up in your favorite blanket. Wanda's emotional admission filled the air with a mix of vulnerability and love. Wanda smiled, tears pricking the sides of her eyes.

"What's wrong Wands?" Nat asks, noticing her girlfriend's mixed expressions.

"I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I just never thought it'd be like this, but," Wanda looked up at Nat, the tears spilling over, "I wouldn't trade being her Mommy for anything in the multiverse or having you by my side as her Daddy." Wanda reached a hand out, Nat lacing their fingers together and smiling,

Natasha's eyes softened, and she squeezed Wanda's hand reassuringly. "We may not have expected this journey, but it's our own unique adventure, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Y/N is lucky to have you as her Mommy, and I'm grateful every day to be her Daddy with you by my side."

Wanda nodded, wiping away a tear with her free hand. "She's our little miracle, isn't she?"

Natasha leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's forehead. "Absolutely, and our family is stronger for it.”

°○°○°○°○°

The three girls all ended up falling asleep with Bluey playing in the background. As morning came, Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce made their way down to the kitchen for breakfast finding the three girls there all the Avengers knew of the girls special relationship and your needs at times. "They probably had a long night, Wanda was telling me as we came back from our mission about Y/N being sick." Steve mentioned.

Bruce, pouring himself a cup of coffee, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Nat mentioned it to me. It's good they have each other, especially on days like this."

Tony, flipping through a digital newspaper on his tablet, chimed in, "We've all seen how strong their bond is. It's heartwarming, really. Makes the compound feel a bit more like home."

Bucky, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, glanced over at the sleeping trio. "They're a team within a team. It's nice to see they've found their place here."

Steve smiled, looking at the scene before him. "Let's give them some space. I'll whip up some breakfast for when they wake up. They'll need it.”

Steve decided to gently wake Nat first. Who stretched out, bones cracking and popping from the way she slept. "Hey I made breakfast for you three. How's Y/N?" He asked softly. Nat leaned over feeling your forehead.

"She's going to need more medicine." Nat stood up. Going to the cabinet, grabbing the grape flavored liquid medicine along with a sippy cup of apple juice. Moving back over to the other two as the boys watched their dance with practiced ease. "Baby girl, it's time to wake up." You stirred in Wanda's arms, which made Wanda wake up as well. Nat smiled, kissing Wanda. "Good morning love." Wanda smiled back,

"Mmm morning sweetie." You rubbed your eyes, coughing up a storm.

"Owwwww" you whined. "Daddy..." Nat moved back to the couch, scooping you up,

"Medicine first baby girl and then your apple juice to get the yucky taste out." You pouted, but took the medicine, making a gross face and took the apple juice and sucking it down.

"Easy baby." Wanda rubbed her back,

"Yes Mommy." You eased up on your juice.

Steve watched the exchange with a sense of admiration. Despite the challenges and the morning's routine, there was a tenderness to it that he found endearing.

"Need anything else for her?" Steve asked, referring to the medicine.

Natasha shook her head. "We're good for now, thanks, Steve. Just need to keep an eye on her fever."

Bucky approached with a gentle smile, ruffling your hair playfully. "Hey there, kiddo. You had us all worried."

You gave a weak smile, leaning into Natasha. "Hi, Uncle Bucky.”

Tony, holding a tray with breakfast plates, smirked. "I made sure there's plenty of bacon. Thought it might tempt a certain little one."

Wanda chuckled, "You know her too well, Tony."

As the group settled around the dining table, the room was filled with the comforting sounds of a family breakfast, laughter, and the unmistakable bond that held them all together.

°○°○°○°○°

Wanda held you close, you were nestled against her, comforted by the warmth and love of your Mommy. Natasha had gone off to shower first as the room was filled with the hum of conversation as the remaining Avengers continued their breakfast.

Steve, sipping his coffee, remarked, "We've got a briefing later today. Nothing major, just some updates on potential new threats."

Tony, scrolling through his tablet, nodded. "Yeah, I've been monitoring some unusual activity. Might be worth looking into after the briefing."

Bucky, leaning back in his chair, added, "Well, if it's anything like last time, it'll be a team effort."

Wanda listened intently, her focus shifting between the conversation and the little girl in her arms. "Just another day in the life, huh?”

Wanda and Nat switched spots so Wanda could take a shower, you whined as she was shifted around after having fallen asleep.

"Shhhh it's okay Detka, Daddy's got you." Nat ran her fingers through your hair, calming you back down and grabbed a paci, rubbing her knuckle gently over your lips first to make you open up and then stuck the paci in.

"There, there, sweetheart," Natasha cooed softly, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. The pacifier worked its magic, and soon, your breathing evened out, your little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Steve, observing the tender scene, remarked softly, "You two have something truly special."

Natasha looked up, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "We do. It's a bond unlike any other."

Bucky nodded in agreement. "It's clear she feels safe and loved with you both. That's what family's all about."

As Wanda returned from her shower, refreshed and ready for the day, she smiled at the sight before her. "Thank you, dorogaya.”

Natasha nodded, carefully handing over your sleeping form. "Anytime, milyy. We've got each other's backs, always."

°○°○°○°○°

As the meeting began, Nat kept a hold of you who unfortunately for everyone had to be awake. You never enjoyed being forced out of little space for missions and debriefing. So a grumpy half little half adult was currently in Nat's arms as the secretary of state droned on and on and on.

Natasha tried her best to keep you calm, gently rocking you back and forth while the Secretary of State continued with the briefing. Your discontent was palpable, your little space clashing with the serious tone of the meeting.

Steve, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "If we could just summarize the main points, please. We have a lot to cover."

Tony, ever the provocateur, leaned over, whispering loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Think Grumpy Bear needs a timeout?"

Bucky smirked, "Or maybe just a nap."

Wanda, sitting beside Natasha, reached over, gently stroking your hair. "It's okay, detka. We'll be done soon.”

After hours of them being force fed information it was finally over and you were the exact opposite of happy between having to pretend to be an adult and being sick made you fussy beyond belief as everything Nat and Wanda tried currently wasn't helping so when they got back to the common room, Nat set you down as you started throwing a tantrum that turned into a full blown meltdown. Wanda wanting to intervene, but Nat stopped her. "She needs to let it out.”

Natasha's experience with you over the years had given her insight into your needs, especially during moments of distress. As painful as it was to witness your meltdown, Natasha knew that suppressing it wouldn't help.

The common room fell silent as the Avengers watched, their concern evident. Steve approached cautiously, "Should we give them some space?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes filled with worry. "Yes, but it's hard to see her like this."

Bucky, leaning against the doorway, sighed, "She's been through a lot, even for someone her age."

Tony chimed in, "Is there anything we can do?"

Natasha shook her head, her focus solely on you. "Right now, she needs us—Wanda and me. We'll handle it.”

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, your cries began to subside, replaced by soft whimpers. Natasha approached, offering a comforting embrace, her voice gentle. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're here."

Wanda joined them, her own voice soft and soothing. "We love you, detka. Always."

You clung to your Daddy, sniffling and hiccuping out a 'sorry for being so cranky.' Nat just soothed you, "no baby it's okay." Nat spoke up rubbing her back, "you're sick and forced out of your preferred heads pace at the moment so it's expected. We still love you.”

°○°○°○°○°

You started nodding off, Natasha smiling at the scene as she got up, picking up the littlest Avenger. "Come on baby girl." Natasha held you close, grabbing all of your things and bringing them down the hallway.

The two loves of her life walked through the door as she finished getting changed after her shower.

"What are you two doing up here?" Wanda asks.

"Shhhh...she's finally gone down for a nap." Natasha responds, setting you on the bed. Making a cocoon of blankets and pillows, putting your stuffie back into your arms. Wanda leans down and kisses your forehead.

"Oh she's getting warm again." Wanda goes to the bathroom grabbing a cooling patch to put on your forehead, making you shiver as it got put on, but you didn't wake up, only turning over. "Nat I love her so much. She's too precious for words." Wanda spoke softly as Natasha wrapped her arms around Wanda's waist, trailing kisses up the witches neck and jaw.

"You're such a good Mommy to her. You were meant for this." Natasha whispered.

"And you are the Perfect Daddy for her." Wanda responds, turning to cup Natasha's face, kissing the older woman's lips.

"Let's go watch something that isn't Bluey while she naps." Wanda says turning on the little baby monitor so they could watch over and listen while they headed back to the common area to watch something together finally having some time for just them.

As they made their way back to the common area, Natasha intertwined her fingers with Wanda's, the warmth of their bond filling the space between them. The weight of the day seemed to lift as they settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the TV providing a welcome distraction.

Wanda snuggled into Natasha's side, her head resting against her shoulder. "I'm so grateful for moments like these," she murmured, her voice filled with love and contentment.

Natasha pressed a kiss to Wanda's forehead, her heart swelling with affection. "Me too, my love. It's moments like these that remind us of what's truly important.”

Natasha and Wanda were actually able to make it through a movie before they heard you stir. Wanda gave Natasha a kiss before getting up. "I'll get her." As Wanda was heading out she heard the whimper from you,

"Mama...?" Wanda smiled, picking up her pace just a bit. Opening the door to their shared room, you sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking a bit like a disheveled mess as she sniffled and coughed. "Mommy!" Her calling out started a coughing fit that made Wanda grab the little trash can near the bed.

"It's okay baby, cough up the yuckies." Wanda rubbed your back as you coughed up the phlegm and mucus. "That's it baby get it all out. It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here," Wanda whispered soothingly, gently wiping away the tears that had welled up in your eyes.

You sniffled, clinging to Wanda tightly. "I don't feel good, Mommy," you whimpered.

Wanda pressed a kiss to your forehead, her heart breaking at her daughter's distress. "I know, baby. But Mommy and Daddy are right here with you, okay? We'll take care of you."

Natasha appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her features. "Is she okay?"

Wanda nodded, giving Natasha a reassuring smile. "Just a little coughing fit. She's doing better now.”

°○°○°○°○°

Your two girlfriend's took care of you the rest of the night and by morning you woke up feeling much better as you rubbed your eyes. As the other two stirred beside you, you smiled down at them.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my loves.” The two redheads smiled up at you,

“Always dorogaya.” Wanda's voice full of sleep as Nat sat up and kissed your cheek. You felt so much gratitude towards your girlfriend's for always taking care of you when needed.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @mrsromanovaa

[ghoulsverse]

Chapter One: Mission Possible

3.0k words | [Tags] Slow burn Wanda/Nat | Mentions of Hydra PTSD

Chapter Index

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“Peace is a funny thing. You never notice how loud the silence is until you stop running.”

Avengers Compound - 6:04am

There was a crack in the ceiling.

It wasn’t large, or dramatic. Just a tiny jagged thread, tucked in the corner where the concrete met drywall. Wanda stared at it every morning, like it might someday change. Like it might spread. Or vanish.

It never did.

The room was warm. Vision’s form beside her was still and precise, one arm draped loosely over her waist. He didn’t need sleep, but he’d learned to simulate it—slow, steady breaths, closed eyes, relaxed muscles.

Wanda had once told him that his breathing comforted her so he had mimicked her sleeping pattern.

She appreciated it. Really. The effort. The intent. He always remembered the little things about her.

Vision stirred. “You’ve been awake for 13 minutes and 20 seconds.”

“You really know how to ruin a peaceful moment.” She mumbled, voice still thick with sleep but a soft smile grazed her face.

“It usually only takes you an average of 6 minutes to wake and begin your day.”

Wanda huffed a small laugh and rolled onto her back. “Sometimes I just like to enjoy the peace.”

Her hand drifted to his, fingers resting against him. Warm. Familiar. Safe.

She was safe now. The world was stable. The chaos was gone. This was everything she ever wanted. The calm, the domestic routines of life.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel like she was in one of her sitcoms that she would watch as a child. Wanda was content with her life.

Vision broke the silence again. “It seems that Director Fury will be requesting your presence soon, if you would like to have breakfast before.”

Wanda sighed as she rolled over to press a soft kiss to his lips before getting out of bed. He knew what she liked, to be fully fueled and awake before the chaos of the day began.

In the kitchen, however, the scent of a cinnamon candle mingled with burnt toast and herbal tea. The light filtering through the large windows of the shared 8th floor was soft and golden, casting long shadows over the kitchen tile. A sign of the early morning.

Natasha moved around the kitchen as if on autopilot. Starting the pot for when Wanda would wake up.

The widow herself had been awake for some time, her usual routine of getting up hours before the sun rises to go for a run. It gets her adrenaline flowing, something she needs. It reminds her that she’s alive.

Unfortunately the same can’t be said for the potted plant that sat next to the TV in the living room. Fred.

Wanda had named the plant and insisted they make their shared floor into a true home, but of course none of the three had remembered.

She grimaced and made a mental note to water him. Again.

Natasha’s now empty mug sat by the sink… black ceramic, faint chip on the handle. A second pot already brewed. Just water, since Wanda preferred tea over coffee. Natasha always beat her to the kitchen. Always disappeared before Wanda made it down the hall.

It was their ritual. Wordless. Familiar.

Personal space, yet tethered. Natasha’s door was always half closed. Wanda’s usually wide open.

The third room, always closed. Empty. Storage space, technically.

Each floor in the compound was built like a college dorm mixed with an apartment. A living room with floor to ceiling windows, open layout to the kitchen. A hallway with usually 2 to 3 bedrooms.

Clint didn't live in the tower, only staying when needed otherwise he would stay at home with his family. Sam had recently moved in, staying on the same floor as Steve. Bruce had been staying on the same floor as Vision until he and Wanda had gotten together. Now the Android spent most of his time on Natasha and Wanda's floor.

Natasha didn’t mind.

The quiet didn’t bother her anymore. She wasn’t haunted by footsteps or locked doors or the sound of someone screaming behind a two-way mirror.

These days, she wakes up when she wants. Drinks real coffee. Takes hot showers that don’t run out after three minutes. She even laughs, sometimes. Not often. But enough to know she still could.

She was happy.

Which terrified her more than she’d ever admit.

Natasha didn't have time to dwell on that thought, deciding to get a quick rinse in before the day begins. Before finding something else to do.

She made her way back into the shared kitchen barefoot, hair damp from the shower. The smell of Wanda’s tea hit her first… cloying and floral, clashing horribly with her dark roast. She didn’t say anything. She never did. She knew why the witch preferred it over caffeine.

The plant near the window was drooping again.

“Fred’s dying.” Natasha muttered, mostly to herself.

Wanda’s voice drifted from the hallway. “He’s just dramatic.”

Natasha snorted. She liked mornings like this. The hum of coexistence. The small sounds of someone else moving through the same space without needing to fill it with words.

She poured herself a second cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. Outside the window, the skyline glowed pale gold.

Somewhere down below, people were living their lives. Breakfast. School runs. Chores. Arguments over toast.

Natasha Romanoff. Spy. Assassin. Co-habitator.

She liked this version of herself. Even if something inside her whispered that it couldn’t last.

Not because she didn’t deserve it. Not anymore.

But because she was growing, remembering her past didn't burn as much anymore. The red in her ledger doesn’t haunt her as much.

Both women sat in a comfortable silence, just calm before the counter buzzed from Natasha’s phone.

INCOMING BRIEFING – 0700 HRS MISSION PRIORITY: BRAVO TARGET: HYDRA FACILITY

Wanda didn't have to ask what the message was. “Fury.”

Natasha sighed.

The quiet never lasted.

Avengers Compound: War Room - 7:00am

The war room wasn’t as dramatic as the name suggested. No flashing red lights. No doomsday alarms. Just soft overhead panels, a curved projection table, and the low hum of a holographic map waiting to be told where to focus.

Wanda entered first, her tea still in hand, loose curls pulled into a low knot at the nape of her neck. Natasha followed, a half zipped tactical vest over her fitted black tee. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.

Steve stood at the front, arms crossed, flanked by Bruce and Sam. The energy in the room wasn’t urgent… but it wasn’t casual either. It felt like everyone was waiting for someone to say what they were all thinking.

Steve cleared his throat. “I won’t beat around the bush. This one’s… unusual.”

The hologram flickered to life, casting a pale blue glow over the table as a forest landscape came into view… pale skies, almost like a horror story forgotten in time, a dark shape embedded into the earth.

“Hydra?” Natasha asked, already skimming through the mission file.

Steve nodded. “An old biogenetics facility. Codenamed ‘Hemlock.’ Thought to be abandoned.”

“Keyword ‘thought’.” Sam added, arms crossed.

Bruce swiped through satellite overlays. “Three days ago, we picked up an encrypted ping from a defunct SHIELD channel. It was automatic… like something inside was reactivated.”

Wanda frowned. “Power surge?”

“Maybe. Or someone tripped an old security grid.”

“Could be a trap.” Natasha said calmly.

“Could be a lead.” Steve countered. “Hydra ran their earliest genetic experiments and enhanced soldier tests out of this site. Most of the intel was scrubbed before the fall. If there’s anything left... we want it.”

“What’s the mission profile?” Natasha asked, all business now.

“Infiltrate. Retrieve data. Confirm status of facility. Engage only if necessary.”

“Great.” Wanda muttered, setting her tea aside. “So who’s going in? We don’t need all of us to enter. Raises too many questions”

Steve gave her a look. “The facility's underground. Remote. Shielded.”

The map zoomed in… entry tunnels, floor schematics, old personnel files marked with redacted lines. Wanda’s eyes scanned it all without blinking.

Vision entered then, dressed as if he'd just stepped out of a strategy seminar. Clean suit. Crisp movements. He stood beside Wanda and offered her a gentle nod.

“I assume you’re volunteering?” he asked.

Natasha spoke first. “I’ll go, I can slide under the radar long enough to create a mirror drive.”

“I’ll go with as an inside back-up.” Wanda said, the two women sharing a polite and professional nod.

Vision looked like he wanted to say something, but she stopped him. “You’ve got the Geneva Summit.” She reminded him. “World leaders. Fancy glass podiums. I’ll survive.”

His face didn’t shift, but something in his posture twitched. “You’re certain?”

Wanda smiled gently. “Always.”

Vision hesitated. Then he stepped forward and kissed her cheek. It was soft, familiar. Practiced.

“I will be available if needed.”

Natasha’s voice was quiet, but firm, a small smile forming. “We’ve handled worse. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

He only returned Natasha’s smile before leaving.

Steve gave the final nod. “We’ll take the jet. Nat and Wanda go in, and the rest of us will be at the rendezvous point, about 500 yards west. Keep this quiet. We leave in 15.”

Bruce tapped the console. “And Wanda? Try not to melt anything on the way in.”

“No promises.” She said, already turning to leave.

Natasha followed, downing the rest of her coffee. “She’ll behave.”

“Since when?” Wanda smirked over her shoulder.

The doors slid shut behind them.

Quinjet - 8:07am

Hydra.

The name still stuck like something bitter on the tongue.

Wanda zipped up her suit with practiced ease, fingers glowing faintly as she adjusted the containment seals over her forearms. The mission briefing had been clear… old facility, known for bioengineering. Possibly still staffed. Possibly hostile.

Standard infiltration. In and out. No casualties unless necessary.

Except Hydra didn’t really do “standard.”

Natasha moved silently through the hangar beside her, checking her gear with the kind of efficiency that could only come from someone who used to be on the other side of missions like this.

She didn’t talk much while prepping. Wanda had learned to read her silences instead.

This one was checking up on her. Allowing Wanda the time to tell her if she wanted to back out. Natasha gave her an out, without pressuring. Hydra missions always felt different for Wanda. And the widow knew that. This one seemed to put her more on edge, having been a Hydra experiment herself.

“I’m good.” Wanda reassured her. Also herself. Her past trauma fueling her need to make sure everything goes right rather than making her feel like she needed to run for the hills.

The quinjet was silent, purring under their boots while the soft voices of the rest of the team filtered by. The air inside was crisp. Cold. Familiar.

“Loaded for stealth.” Natasha said, scanning the control panel. “High-frequency scanners online. We’ll jam comms from half a mile out.”

Wanda slid behind her, crossing her arms as she glanced at the projected route on the dash. “And here I thought this was going to be quiet.”

“Hydra doesn’t do quiet.” Natasha said. “They do secrets. And corpses.”

Wanda sighed, fingers drumming against her arm. “Still not convinced this isn’t a trap.”

“Oh, it is. Without a doubt.” Natasha said without missing a beat. “The question is who it’s meant for.”

She turned, already double-checking her weapons. “Old Hydra tech runs like cockroaches. No matter how many times you burn it, it keeps twitching.”

“I hate that you’re probably right.”

Natasha didn’t smile. But her eyes did, just for a second.

They’d done this before.

Get in. Disable the perimeter. Retrieve the data. Get out. Don’t die.

Wanda glanced down at her gloves, then at her reflection in the darkened cockpit window. “You think we’ll find people?”

“Maybe.”

“Kids?”

Natasha’s jaw flexed slightly. Steve spoke the words the rest were afraid of admitting. “If Hydra’s still running programs like this... I hope not.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

The quinjet hissed softly as it powered down, steam curling into the frozen air. Wanda and Natasha stood at the edge of the ramp, wind tugging at their coats.

Steve and Sam had put the jet into its cloaking mode and watched them off. “Keep communication clear.”

Both women nodded as they began their trek into the forest, heading in the direction of the coordinates that had been given.

No lights. No motion. Just the heavy quiet of snow settling over something long buried.

Natasha scanned the tree line. Wanda reached out with her senses.

Something stirred beneath the surface… not sound, not sight, not heat. Something older.

It pulsed.

Not Hydra tech. Not mechanical. Organic. Living.

And… familiar.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“What is it?” Natasha asked, already shifting into defensive posture.

Wanda’s voice came soft and careful. “There’s something inside. It’s not mechanical. It’s like…”

She hesitated.

“Like what?” Natasha asked, eyes narrowing.

Wanda’s magic sparked faintly at her fingertips, flickering.

“I don’t know.”

That phrase alone had Natasha’s senses on high alert.

They continued walking until they reached a singular concrete building in the middle of a clearing. Both only speaking through shared looks, Wanda sensing the energy of the building and Natasha using her heightened senses to find a way in.

After finding an open vent on the roof of the building they slowly made their way inside. The vent creaked open with no resistance. No locks. No retinal scanners. Just steel groaning against time.

Too quiet.

Wanda and Natasha slipped inside in tandem, silent as shadows. Lights flickered weakly overhead… emergency backup only. The hallway ahead stretched into darkness, broken by intermittent doorways and shattered glass.

Wanda’s boots scuffed against the floor. Dust. Thin layers of it. Undisturbed.

“This place is dead.” Natasha whispered.

“Where did everyone go?” Wanda replied. “It’s emptied.”

They moved deeper.

Desks overturned. Files shredded. Cabinets left open. It was the kind of exit made in haste… not strategic retreat. No order. No pattern.

“Someone packed up in a hurry.” Natasha said, brushing a gloved hand over a desk smeared with God knows what. “This wasn’t a shutdown. It was an evacuation.”

“Then why didn’t they clean their tracks?”

Natasha spoke into her earpiece, calm but cautious. “Steve, it’s empty. They must have been tipped off. Didn’t have enough time to set up their usual contingencies.”

Most of the Hydra facilities that they had found abandoned before, were rigged to explode to get rid of any other evidence. This was rushed. Evacuated out of fear.

They both knew what that meant. Hydra had something to hide. They had something worth fear of losing.

Wanda approached a wall console… burned out, wires sparking faintly. Her magic brushed against it, searching for residual energy.

There was none.

But deeper inside the base, past the offices and ruined labs, something else throbbed quietly. Not a heartbeat. Not quite.

A memory.

Her skin prickled.

They passed through what was once a containment wing. The cells were open, the restraints unlocked, medical equipment smashed against the floor.

Wanda stepped through broken glass and paused at the far wall. There, on the concrete, were faint traces of red… no longer blood. Symbols. Scratches.

Drawn in spirals.

Not chaos magic. Not exactly.

But close.

Wanda reached toward it without realizing. Her fingers hovered over the etchings, breath shallow.

“Wanda?” Natasha said behind her.

She didn’t answer.

The energy was stronger here. Echoing. Faintly alive. And laced with something else…

Pain. Fear. Power.

It wasn’t hers. But it knew her.

She jerked her hand back as if it had been burned.

“This is where the signal came from.”

Natasha walked up to the console, inspecting it. “We won't be able to get any information from it, but if they left in a hurry we might be able to find some kind of files around.”

Wanda just nods, following the traces of energy left behind from the emotions of every person in the building. She hears Natasha tell Steve that they could use an extra hand searching the mess left behind. Both him and Sam agreed to come pilfer through the scattered files along the floor.

She can feel fear all through the building, mostly Hydra grunts. Fearing the all mighty Avengers. There’s more than that though. There’s an underlying fear of what was already in the building and a stronger fear that she almost misses.

The signature is so similar to her own that her power dismisses it.

There’s a fear of the world. Fear of itself.

She’s pulled from the feeling by Sam holding out a half burned sheet of paper. “Do we have any information on this? It’s wrecked to all hell but I don’t like seeing the word ‘success’ on stuff in here.”

Natasha grabs the paper and looks at the ash covered words.

[REDACTED] GENESIS PR- [BURNED] [BURNED] [BURNED] UBJECT 112 [REDACTED] INACTIVE [REDACTED] [REDACTED] SUBJECT 113 - FULL TERM [BURNED] SUCCESSFUL [BURNED] [BURNED]

“Nothing damning here but it’s worth taking back with us.”

Full Term.

Those words stuck with Natasha for some reason. Everything about this mission has her off put.

Hydra. Bioengineering.

Drawers were open. Files half burned. Sample cases shattered. Paper floated underfoot, curling with age and neglect.

“I’ll take the eastern wing.” Natasha said. “Data servers were probably there. Maybe there’s something left for me to find.”

“I’ll help.” Sam added, nodding to Steve.

Steve turned to Wanda. “You okay to check the med bays?”

Wanda nodded slowly, distracted. “Yeah. I just... want to see something.”

She walked alone down a hallway, her body moving before her mind could catch up. Each step made her feel further from the mission and closer to something... personal. The walls here felt different. Warmer. Charged.

She passed a broken mirror. Her reflection flickered… just once.

She turned. Nothing behind her.

The base was supposed to be abandoned.

So why did it feel like something was waiting?

Next Chapter

[crappy-writings]

The Run and Go

Natasha RomanoffxEx-Widow!Reader // Enemies to Lovers(Ish), Angst, Series (?)

*Images are not mine, credit to its sources and creators

Prompt: You, an ex-Red Room graduate turned mercenary, take up an assignment to retrieve some sensitive information from the Triskelion. You run into Natasha as you escape, much to your anger. You can’t seem to escape her after this first encounter as different circumstances force you to work together.

Summary: The Triskelion’s infiltration was going so well. That was until a certain redhead makes an appearance, leading to a long-awaited confrontation.

Trigger Warning: Poorly researched hacking concepts and lingo, bad spy/escape sequence, guns, google-translated Russian, swearing, canon-typical violence, implied/mentioned physical and emotional child abuse, the Red Room, bad fight scene, minor injury, let me know if I need to add more.

Word Count: 3,858

A/N: Did I watch Iron Man 2, Captain America and the Winter Soldier and Black Widow, analyzing Nat’s and other Widows’ fight styles? Yes, yes I did. Was I successful in writing an interesting fight scene in line with what I saw? Probably not, no, but here we are. 

Let me know if anything needs to be fixed!

Part 2 ->

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics

Breaking into the Triskelion had been almost effortless. It was easy to slip into its walls without raising suspicion, to become invisible once inside. No one expects a mouse to simply walk into the cat’s den. Then again, you were not a mouse, and the cat thought itself untouchable. 

There was no air of importance to your stride, no urgency in your steps. Your clothes showed little rank, most agents barely sparing you a first glance as you walked through the hallways alongside them, not realizing you were most definitely not one of them. Pride was always the downfall of man, you thought. 

The hallways and floors all seemed the same to you. The absence of windows was glaring in the lower levels, being only lit up by white, fluorescent lights, basking the stone walls in a similar hue. The floors were a familiar, polished, gray color, reflecting the light upwards. Despite the unoriginality of the corridors, you’re able to find the control room rather quickly, having already memorized the interior layout of the building before even dreaming of stepping inside. It was somewhat dark inside the control room, mainly lit up by the several rows of screen monitors and a few of the same fluorescent lights that decorated the hallways.

There was a singular agent in there when you stepped inside. He barely looks up from his screen, unbothered by your sudden intrusion. You pick a desk and sit down, beginning your search for the files your employer had asked for. 

There was a vulnerability in one of the system's firewalls, one you quickly exploited. It took you longer than you wanted to admit, but you were able to completely break through it, making it easier to find the necessary files. A cough interrupted your concentration, causing you to turn to look at the agent sharing the space with you. His eyes never strayed from his own monitor, raising a cup to his lips as he continued to type away on his keyboard. After confirming you were still in the clear, you returned to your work.

It took you a few extra minutes to find the ones you were looking for but were able to download all of them onto the pendrive given to you by your employer. Once you had everything, you deleted all the information you took from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers. You even deployed a nasty virus that will keep them occupied for a few days for good measure. 

There is a small part of you that feels satisfaction at having been able to take something from the organization as easily as you had. You stand nonchalantly from the seat you had claimed as yours, approaching the communal pot of coffee hidden away in one of the room’s corners. The singular agent hidden behind his monitor just barely acknowledges you, his eyes leaving his monitor for a few seconds before returning to his work. You serve yourself some coffee in a paper cup, taking a few sips before slipping out of the room.

The problem had never been getting in. No, it was about getting out.

The walk to the elevator was relatively short, the hallway empty as you made your way towards it. It was almost eerie, the way things were going, given that it was typically around this part where you would walk into some form of trouble. You knew that downloading that information was going to tip off some server moderators, adding an extra layer of difficulty to your escape. Even so, the invisibility you have managed to maintain is still your greatest weapon.

Two agents stepped out of the elevator once it had reached your floor. One of them acknowledged you with a singular nod while the other barely spared you a glance. 

You step into the now empty space, the computer screen showcasing your face, along with a fake alias and a serial ID number. The creation and uploading of the fake S.H.I.E.L.D. agent profile had taken you weeks to accomplish, but its completion was the key to slipping in and out of the building mostly undetected. Having some of the organization’s face-changing technology would have made the infiltration a lot easier, but that technology is too safely guarded for you to have been able to get your hands on it. 

The doors had not shut closed yet, waiting for you to state your destination. “Lobby,” a voice that is not your own rings out from your vocal cords. The voice moderator that you had nicked from one of your past jobs had come quite in handy, especially for this mission. The piece of technology was hidden away under the collar of your stolen uniform, its detection nearly impossible. 

“Confirmed,” the automated voice of the computer rang out into the enclosed space, and finally began its descent. Breathing was becoming an easier task as you were one step closer out the Triskelion’s door. 

The elevator stopped a few times as it continued to go down, letting agents in and out on different floors. Most of their trips were short, some engaging in small talk before exiting the confined space. 

“Controls,” an older man dressed in a blue suit commanded, followed by the computer’s robotic voice, “Confirmed.” He had a kind face, dark brown eyes aged with crow’s feet and his hair white and thinning.

“Working hard or hardly working?” the man asked, his tone light and jovial, as the elevator continued its descent. You sent him a friendly smile, adding a small chuckle for good measure. 

“Not sure yet,” you replied, not dropping the smile, “Every day is unpredictable in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The man replied with a chuckle of his own, “That, it is.” The elevator opened into another level, allowing the man to step out. He sends you a friendly smile as he departs, leaving you alone in the confined space once more.

You reach the lobby shortly after. The space was wide, a glass canopy overhead, allowing the warm glow of sunlight to stream in. The walls were decorated with a mixture of off-white stone, dark tile and stained wood, the floor a dark gray that complemented the space nicely. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s emblem was showcased proudly in the very center of the room, reminding everyone who walked inside of where they stood.

The lobby was full of people, some dressed in nice, neutral-colored suits, while others were dressed in tactical gear. Security hung around the entrances and exits, eyes sharp as they overlooked the crowd. 

There was purpose in your stride now. The longer you took to get out, the larger the possibility of getting caught. It was only a matter of minutes before someone noticed the missing information that burned in your uniform pocket, if they did not know already. 

You made your way across the lobby unperceived. The sense of satisfaction from a successful mission had begun to bloom in your chest as you easily blended into the large group of agents that zipped in and out of the building. That was until you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, the sensation of a pair of eyes staring you down from somewhere behind you making you come to a stop.

Your eyes scanned the room methodically, until you spotted a set of familiar green eyes and fiery red hair, ones you thought you would never see again. There was a flicker of recognition in her features, but it lasted for less than a second, slipping on her perfectly crafted mask of indifference, her expression unreadable as neither of you break eye contact. A wave of burning hot emotion overcomes you, before you stamp it out. Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed. 

Neither one of you had looked away from each other, as if a silent conversation was being held between the both of you. You subtly raise your head, your eyes narrowed and daring. It was a silent challenge, and invitation to your long-awaited encounter. It was a dangerous game to play while in the confines of hundreds, if not thousands, of highly trained agents, especially when one of those agents was Natasha Romanoff, but it was one you would play, nonetheless. 

You’re the first one to break eye contact with her, quickly becoming invisible within the crowd of agents. A cat has spotted you and was about to give chase. 

It would almost be thrilling to be running from the Black Widow turned Avenger, were it not for the blazing resentment snaking its way through your chest. It had been years since you last saw her, her defection to the very organization you just stole from had left you filled with a sense of bitterness and betrayal. 

The rest of your journey towards the garage went uninterrupted, but you know she was somewhere nearby, following your moves closely as you weaved through the lower levels. Spotting the redhead had suddenly made you itch for a fight, adrenaline fueling your body. 

Your bike comes into view as you reach the final garage level. The vehicle was hidden away in a secluded part of the parking space, far away from the other cars. The keys jingled in your hand as you pulled them out of your uniform pocket. You would have closed the distance between you and your escape, except that you felt her ghost-like presence lurking from behind you, finally making herself known. 

With a singular deep breath, you stick your hand out to the side, showcasing your keys to her before tossing them forwards, the sound of metal clattering against the smooth asphalt a few feet from your motorcycle.

“I didn’t expect to ever see you again, Romanoff,” your modified voice echoed in the vastness of the garage. Your hand instinctively reaches for your concealed gun, pulling it out in one swift movement as you turn to face her.

“I would say the same to you,” she stood a few feet away from you, her stance paralleling yours, guns raised and aimed at each other’s heads. Her eyes had a hard edge to them as she stared you down, “Why are you here?”

“Just seeing the sights of Washington, D.C. There’re so many museums here, you know?” there is vexation in your tone despite your sarcastic words, “Plus, how could I skip out on admiring the Triskelion’s architecture? Bet the engineers had fun building it.”

The both of you had stepped closer to each other without realizing it, her firearm about a foot away from your own. She ignores your quip, instead choosing to make a go for your gun. You mirror her movements, both of you trading guns before aiming them at one another once more. 

Neither of you said anything as you continued to stare each other down, the tension thick enough to be cut by the edge of a knife. Her eyes were studying yours, searching for something and you’re not quite sure what it is. There was a subtle change in her stance shortly after as she dared you to make the first move. So, you did. You went for her gun again, this time flinging it across the empty garage, the piece of metal skidding across the asphalt. She does the same, the Red Room’s training being activated on pure instinct. 

The beginning of your fight was not a fight at all, though. You were both following a basic combat sequence of simple parries and blows taught to you in the confines of the Red Room. The drill was the one that was taught to the youngest of girls, set to provide them with the basics. It was more of a dance for the both of you, perfectly choreographed and in sync with the others' familiar response. It was child’s play.

For a brief moment, you felt like you were back in the Red Room, the both of you locked in the familiar dance as your handlers watched you engage in a sparring match. The parries and blows you sent each other’s way were predictable, neither of you having the heart to truly fight and hurt the other. Your punishments for your defiance would vary, the ones you remember most being obligated to practice the same ballet move until your feet bled. The other usual punishment was to be made to fight an older Widow, one that would not hesitate to hurt you, to teach you a lesson for holding back. Eventually, your sparring sessions no longer started with the predictable routine of parries and blows, replaced by hard tackles to the ground, bruising kicks and skin-breaking hits.

Old habits die hard, it seems.

Your mind snaps out of it as she grabs hold of your arm mid-swing before securing a hold over your shoulder, allowing her to throw you onto the ground. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and it takes you a few seconds too long for you to recover. 

“What did you do?” She asks as she manages to hold you in place, her legs straddling your waist while her arms have you pinned down against the ground.

“That’s not your concern, dorogoy,” you smirk up at her as you smash your forehead against her mouth. The distraction allows you enough time to securely grab her by her forearms, your freed legs find her stomach, flipping her over you. She lands roughly a few inches over your own head, the force of the flip enough to leave her stunned for a few moments, allowing you to quickly get to your feet.

“I have to go,” the voice moderator that had been hidden under your collar was knocked loose, your voice sounding strange as you taunt her, “It was nice seeing you.”  You were scooping your bike’s keys from the ground before she pushed you into the vehicle, knocking you both onto the ground.

In hindsight, it was dumb of you to believe she would stay down. 

The back of your head hits against the floor, stars filling your vision for a few moments, your bike tangled under your feet. You feel her grab the fabric of your stolen trainee uniform, dragging you away from your bike and towards one of the garage's walls. 

You struggle against her, managing to break free from her hold. Once back on your feet, you send a few firm punches her way, and she is unable to dodge a few of them. 

You were sloppy in your attack though, as she gets a firm grasp on your arm once more. Her other hand gets a hold of your shoulder and pushes you back up against the building, slamming you against the wall once, twice, three times. A string of coughs escapes you, air not reaching your lungs. You feel the fight begin to leave your body and hate that she was able to incapacitate you. In a last-ditch effort, you press your hands against her face, forcefully pushing against her with all your might. This somewhat works, placing a bit more space between you, enough for you to raise your leg, and knee her in the stomach. This sends her back a few inches and you send another swift kick to the affected area. Your legs react before your mind does, trying to close the distance between you and your knocked over bike, the keys within your view on the ground.

You were still a few feet away when you felt a sharp and burning sting emanate from your lower back, your body locking up against your will and effectively sending you tumbling to the ground. She threw a fucking Widow Bite at you.

“Cheater!” you yell at her, your body completely unable to move. She catches up to you, one arm cradling her stomach, before grabbing you by the scruff of the stolen uniform and dragging you up against the nearest wall. Your body felt numb, every single one of your nerve endings having been lit on fire mere seconds ago.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, what the fuck are you doing here?” her tone is hard and almost dangerous, her eyes scanning over every single one of your features in search of any telltale signs of a lie. It was only now that you realized that she was bleeding from her slightly swollen lip, a trail of crimson running down her chin. There’s a small, sick sense of pride that settles within you as you watch the blood flow from the split lip you gave her. 

“Fuck you, Romanoff, I don’t owe you shit,” the familiar sparks of anger were building up inside your chest. 

“Answer the question,” her tone is even and low. It was not until now that you realized she had picked up one of the discarded firearms, the barrel of the gun being pointed directly at your head. Something within you was emboldened by this, leaning forwards as the tip of the gun presses lightly against your forehead.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” your eyes staring directly into hers in defiance.

“How are you so sure about that?” she asked through narrowed eyes, digging the barrel further into your skin, her finger hugging the trigger but not squeezing it. 

“Because you would have shot me the second you saw me if you truly wanted me dead,” you reply, and the words taste bitter in your mouth. There is a visceral hatred in the gaze you level at her, the teasing air that had coated your initial confrontation having completely dissolved. 

“Why are you so angry at me?”

The question had been so simple. It made you want to explode. 

“Did-did you seriously just ask me that? I have to tell you?” you almost choke on the acidity that coursed through your tongue as you spoke those words. A bitter laugh makes its way past your lips, your head shaking slightly as a sense of indignation floods your chest. 

“Tell me Natalia, did you think that everything would be magically solved the day you defected?” The burning sensation of unfiltered anger and overwhelming resentment are spilling out of you, and you do your best to push them away forcefully. Your mask cannot break. Your mask will not break.

Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed.

The words repeated over and over again in your head, a never-ending chant driven into you by your handlers. Emotion had always been the one thing that you struggled with in the program as a child, constantly making you hesitate and clouding your judgment. Your handlers recognized this weakness in you, and they worked you tirelessly, trying to stomp it out of you. Your struggle against emotion is what got you recycled four times before you finally graduated.

Natasha’s face gave away no indication of what she was thinking. Her features were schooled perfectly into a mask of indifference, and that made you all the more angry.

“I had to get out,” she defends herself; the gun being slightly lowered. 

“I don’t care,” you want to yell, you want to scream, but you don’t, “You leaving made The Red Room all the more difficult to survive.”

Something about what you just said made a crack in Natasha’s mask. It was nearly imperceivable, but you saw the twitch her brows made at your statement. 

“The Red Room doesn’t exist anymore. Dreykov is dead,” she states factually. Her tone was so confident, so sure, you almost believed her. But she was wrong. He may have gone into hiding, never showing his face, but his whispers still rang inside the halls of the Red Room, his fingers choking the life out of every Widow still stuck there. His presence was a stain that would never leave.

You can’t suppress the bitter laugh that escapes you, “Is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. told you?”

The numbing feeling that had spread throughout your body was beginning to wear off. There’s a small twitch in your leg, one that Natasha notices and she knows she is running out of time. 

“I was there, we rigged bombs up a five-story building,” Natasha recounts, her eyes taking a similar hard edge from earlier. 

“The Red Room still exists, Natasha,” you talk low and slowly, your tone was no longer defensive or angry. She needs to know she is wrong. “Dreykov isn’t dead.”

“It’s impossible, I killed him,” she restated adamantly. Her mask was slowly cracking, but you do not feel victorious about it. 

“He’s alive, Romanoff. I’m not fucking with you,” your tone was exasperated, “Why would I lie?”

“Why are you here?”

“Chert poberi,” the curse slips past your lips, your annoyance at the redhead radiating off of you, “I took a job, I’m a mercenary now, that’s all you need to know.” You finally push yourself off the ground, your legs stumbling slightly as the pins and needles continue to prickle under your skin. She allows you to stand, backing away from you with her gun still trained on your head. 

“Listen, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Dreykov is not dead, and the Red Room is still alive and well. You don’t need me to tell you what happens in there,” you shook your head gently as the familiar, bitter taste of your words coat your tongue. 

You made no effort to move away from her yet, despite desperately wanting to leave. Her gun was still trained on you, and you were beginning to doubt whether or not she would actually shoot you. A single wrong move could mean the difference between life and death, or worse, getting turned in. 

But she was no longer focused on you. Her mask had slipped off, and for the first time since you were children, you could read every emotion in her eyes. There was conflict there, torn between the lie she had convinced herself of and the reality of your words. There was wariness in her gaze, but there was something else too, something bigger.

It was guilt. 

She believes you.

You begin to move away from the wall she had you pinned against, your bike about ten feet away from you. It’s clear she has no intentions of stopping you, instead lowering her gun slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.

She… she was letting you go.

The gaze you send her is cautious and untrusting, but you continue to move away from her, nonetheless. She eventually breaks the eye contact you had maintained, her eyes dropping down to the ground, her breaths slow, heavy and unsteady. There is enough space between the both of you for you to run. You caution one last look at her, but she has not moved a muscle. 

“See you around, Romanoff,” Your tone is not victorious nor teasing, it’s dejected and almost sad.

With that, you run towards your bike, scooping your keys from the ground swiftly before driving away, leaving Natasha behind with her thoughts.

Part 2 ->

[afrowrites]

Norman F Rockwell

Black reader (plus size too!) x Homelander

Your a hardworking widow and single mother who works at vought in the graphics department, when a certain all American hero is intrigued by the sight of you, or maybe the scent of you...

Warnings: Stalking, Mentions of Death.

Wordcount: 1,891

Rating: Teen and up

A woman stands alone with her ten-year-old son weeping next to her, her stomach holds the last legacy of her husband. And as they lower him into the ground a rifle can be heard to signify a fallen soldier. And a single tear runs down the woman's face knowing she must stay strong.

“~[Your name]~, did you get the final layout for the Homeboy Kids’ book yet?” She asked as she turned towards her coworker's voice, “Oh yeah, I got them, they look pretty good with all things considered.” 

The woman smiled, proud of her co-workers' adherence to her notes.

“Well, that's good, because you have to present them to Ashley today.” The woman said, dropping a bomb and slipping out of her office.

“Wait, I have to do what?!” You half shout.

You frantically search your emails trying to figure out why today you had to present in less than… 

“Oh shit! I gotta do this in an hour!” 

You were wearing your comfiest business casual clothes but were not ready to entertain your boss today, and the email mentioned that others would be attending. ‘Probably those weirdo's in marketing.’  You thought to yourself. 

You stumble down the hallway towards Ashley's office, holding your layout tubes while trying to zip up the back of your skirt. Thank God you had an emergency “I didn't just have a baby” outfit and some heels. 

You fluff your afro up, put on some lipgloss, take a deep breath and open the door to walk into Ashley’s office.

You could see Ashley's permanent furrowed brow shift into a fake plastered smile she gave to all her employees when trying to save face.

“Good afternoon, miss {Your Name}. Have a seat, please”

“Sure” you answer, feeling a bit awkward.

Seth and Evan are engaged in a calm conversation, tucked away in the secluded corner of the room. Meanwhile, you're absorbed in organizing your layouts, your back to the entrance, when the sharp sound of a door swinging wide pierces the silence. Out of the periphery of your vision, you notice the room's occupants abruptly rise to their feet in a unified, almost military precision.

"Uh, Homelander, welcome," she greets with a strained smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, her voice tinged with a detectable quiver betraying her anxiety. Indeed, the atmosphere has shifted palpably; a heavy cloak of tension settles over the room, making the air itself seem laden with foreboding.

“Ashley,” he notes her presence. Uninterested. 

“ Hey Seth, Evan, good to see you.” Now a hint of sarcastic enthusiasm sets in his voice.

He sets down into his chair, and as he sits he turns his head to you. He sniffs the air realizing something. Even before you'd know, he finds you leaking, and suddenly his interest in you increases tenfold and with a sudden interest in you he introduces himself.

“Why hello there,” his devilish grin and piercing blue eyes startle you, “you know it's a shame I never get to meet all the wonderful people here working at Vought, what's your name Ms…?”

“Rodriguez, although people just call me [your name].” You smile professionally. 

“Well Ms.Rodriguez,” he takes your hand in his, brushing your soft knuckles before planting a kiss on them. “I do hope to enjoy your presentation.” As he gave you a soft wink. 

You find his introduction performative but also slightly genuine.

The marketing guys gave their little spiel on how to market the homelander’s son, Ryan. 

You soon make a suggestion. “I believe that would go well with young adult males, but we aren't thinking of the bigger picture here. We know how Homelander is when it comes to women.” 

You see his jaw tighten, so you tread lightly when you continue.

“We’ve already seen the comic books, so how about we take a look at something more child-like for mothers, show the soft story about Homelander becoming a father raising a child all on his own, raising him to be a good American hero.” 

The market guys roll their eyes and scoff in protest, but before they can open their mouths you hear clapping.

“Wow that’s… well that's good,” To you he sounds almost genuine but his mind is still working on you. You breathe a sigh of relief at his approval. 

You mutter off a “thank you, sir.” And scurry back to your seat.

After muttering a quick, “Thank you, Sir.”, you scurry back to your seat.

“Well I think this has been a great meeting, thank you all for being here. I-” 

Homelander interrupts, “Ms.Rodriguez may I have a moment to ask you something?.” 

Stunned, you respond, “Oh-uh sure,” you give him a weak smile. 

“Great,” he grins a menacing grin. “Let's take a walk.”

It's quiet for the first few minutes, almost bone-chilling . He clears his throat to break the silence.

“So, Rodriguez. What do you do here?” He asks in a way that sounds like he's interested but also way too critical. 

“Well sir, I work in graphics and art, but I do most kid's artwork and stuff.” You chuckle nervously.

He nods at your answer, and he continues, “Well I think that is just super!” He still smells your body producing his favorite thing (well maybe second favorite thing). 

He continues the walk in silence until you guys reach your office, he scans around the room trying to find ways to see you more often. Until he sees, “Oh, you have a family,” you turn the picture towards him.

“Oh yeah, my babies,” you sigh at missing them. “Rafael and America.”

“Wow, what a name for such a cute baby,” he feigns interest because as stated before he's only interested in what's under your skirt.

“Yeah, their father named them.” You feel a sharp twist in your heart when mentioning your husband's name, Homelander sees this and with his well-learned acting exclaims, “Whatever he did to you I'll get him.” He places a hand on your shoulder as he jokes with you.

You look up at him with teary eyes before wiping them away. “Oh no it’s not that my husbands not with us anymore.” 

He feels indifferent to your plight, yet he pulls you in for a comforting hug. He smells like warm spices but underneath he smells metallic almost of blood. It’s unnerving.

He releases you from his grip, only to take a long look down and clear his throat. 

“Hmmm I think you might wanna…,” You look down horrified. You're leaking.

Standing at your threshold, the rich oakwood panels seem to reach out, inviting you into the warm embrace of home. Before your hand can grace the knocker, your mother-in-law materializes, her eyes alight with the joy of your arrival. "Hola mami!" Your greeting is tinged with fatigue, yet her presence ushers in comfort. "Hola, {insert Spanish nickname}, how was your day?" Her inquiry is simple, yet it's the undercurrent of genuine concern that touches you. "Well, Mami, to be honest, it was a bit perplexing..." you admit, the words trailing off as you grapple with the day's events.

Your exchange is gently fractured by the delightful pattern of small feet drumming against the floor, a familiar and heartwarming cadence. It's a sound that signals the arrival of one of the most precious joys in your life, a guiding light that brightens even your darkest days. The architect of your daily smiles, your cherished child, the ever-sweet Rafi, bounds toward you. This tiny being, the center of your universe, radiates unadulterated happiness, infusing your mornings with meaning and your heart with boundless love.

"Hey, Mamacita!," He says, 

"Hey there, Papito" you greet, the corners of your mouth turning up in a weary but warm smile. "You're not gonna guess who I bumped into today!"

His eyes sparkle with curiosity. "Who was it?"

"The one and only, most amazing superhero of all time!"

Glancing down, you notice he's clutching his beloved Homelander action figure, its edges frayed and colors faded from love and time. It was a gift from his dad. The sight fills you with a bittersweet mix of joy and a pang of sorrow, knowing the layers of memories it holds.

Sighing, you reply, “Well I met the one and only…”, pause for dramatic effect, “HOMELANDER!”  You see his gorgeous little eyes light up, you love to see your little guy happy. He jumps around the house as his grandma yells at him.

 “Papito! You're gonna wake the…,” she’s already too late. And as your second little bundle of joy starts to cry, your mother-in-law is about to get the spoon on Rafi, “Don’t worry mami, it’s fine I wanted to see my baby anyway.”  You smile at her as you trudge towards your baby's room. “Hey Meri, how’s my girl doing?” You coo at her. She has your husband’s beautiful green eyes, gorgeous fluffy curls and chubby cheeks. You hold her close to you, your heartbeat calms her down. You sit for a while ignoring the noise from the street corner thinking of when her father took you to New Mexico, 

(~Flashback~)

The evening air is warm and the breeze carries the simple romance of the night through the air. He cradles you in his soft loving arms as the stars pale in comparison to the sparkle of his eyes peering into your own.

“Y’know (y/n), I was just thinking,” “Oh that’s never good.” You snicker to yourself.

“Hey, that hurts.” He pretends to get shot in the chest. “Whatever,” You roll your eyes 

“Well, what I was going to say was, what if we get married…” He sheepishly says that last part.

“Um well, to be honest, I want to, after all, little Rafi-,” He interrupts. “Or Meri, I plan on having ten beautiful girls, well eleven because of you.’

You laugh a hearty laugh. “Yeah right, let’s just focus on the first one, but yeah I wanna be married.”

“Okay great because I have this ring in a box and I didn’t know who I was gonna give it to.” He yawns sarcastically. 

You wide-eyed stare at him for a little, until it sinks in. You sit up and push his shoulders to the ground. “Oh my God!” You kiss his face all over.

“Hey mami, watch the baby. They ain’t finished yet.” He chuckles “I love you, baby.” he smiles with his gorgeous lips. 

“I love you too, papito.” You lean in for a kiss all while smiling into his lips.  And while you once again fall in love, your favorite song plays.

~Como la flor, Con tanto amor, Me Diste tu~

“Se Marchitó, Me marcho hoy,” You sing to the bittersweet words of Selena, “ Yo sé perder, Pero a-a-ay, cómo me duele, A-a-ay, cómo me duele.” 

The smells of your cooking penetrate the room and seep out of your window into the cold air of a New York night, the warmth and love from your kitchen emanating from your apartment.

Unfortunately for you, a certain pair of eyes enjoyed your little performance, and the ethnic food smelled to him albeit too much spice for his taste, he could still feel a distant mother’s love through those smells.

And when you decided to close the window, he took that as a challenge to get into your life and ruin it. 

[chshiresgrin]

layout credit to @lottienatsbian valentine "val" anne palmer: the black widow, the webwaver, ﹠the night crawler.

"for we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."— [ephesians, 6:12]

unofficial theme songs: afterlife by evanescence, sick like me by in the moment, i'm so sick by flyleaf, tear you apart by she wants revenge, ﹠bad blood by taylor swift and kendrick lamar

birthdate: december 1st, 1978

mbti / enneagram: istp-t ﹠ 8w7

big three: sagittarius sun, scorpio moon ﹠ capricorn rising

tarot birth cards: the high priestess ﹠ justice

team position: center-back, no. 24

face claims: sadie sink [teen] ﹠ amy adams [adult]

pre-crash biography

—valentine grew up in wiskayok, new jersey, with a childhood marked by instability and responsibility. their home life was messy—absent father, an emotionally volatile mother. from an early age, she wasn’t just van’s sister; she was van’s protector, provider, and emotional shield. she was never really a child. while van cracked jokes and sought attention, val took on the role of the responsible one, making sure van ate, making excuses for their mother, ensuring her sister had a semblance of normalcy. she was more of a mother than a sibling. the weight of that responsibility shaped her personality—she was intensely protective but distant, struggling to express emotions outright. instead of affection, she showed her love through watchfulness, actions, and sacrifice.

—was best friends with shauna and jackie, though the dynamic was complicated. it was supposed to be a trio, but she always felt like the third wheel. jackie and shauna had a deep, unshakable bond, and valentine, despite her loyalty, could never break into that closeness. she loved them both, but in different ways—jackie was the confident leader, shauna the steady counterpart, and val? she was the outsider looking in. despite feeling on the outskirts, jackie valued val’s sharpness—she was the one who saw through people’s bullshit, who called out uncomfortable truths. shauna confided in her sometimes, but only when jackie wasn’t around. that stung.

—theater was val’s escape for a while. it was one of the few things that allowed her to express emotion freely without feeling vulnerable. but eventually, she quit and returned to soccer. not for herself, but for van. she begged coach martinez to bring her back, even though she hadn’t played in a while. she told herself it was just to keep an eye on van (though tai was there for her, too), but deep down, she wanted to prove she could still belong somewhere.

—was a queer witch. it wasn’t just an aesthetic—it was a part of her, a connection to something greater, something grounding. while she never forced it on anyone, she practiced in secret. her spells weren’t just for magic; they were for protection, stability, and survival. her queerness was something she never really discussed, not out of shame, but out of self-preservation. she was out to a select few, but it wasn’t something she waved around. in wiskayok, it was easier to keep things to herself.

post-crash: wilderness biography

—when the plane went down, valentine didn’t panic. she calculated. she was one of the first to assess their situation, to help gather supplies, to think ahead. she had always been a survivor. no time for panic, no time for tears—just survival. she wasn’t a leader, but she became a necessary presence, someone who got things done. she knew how to stitch a wound, how to make fire, how to find food.

—the first time she killed, it wasn’t for herself—it was for them. the group was starving, desperate. and valentine did what needed to be done. she slit a throat, watched the life drain out of something she once would have hesitated to harm. she told herself it was necessary, but the first kill haunts you in ways you don’t expect. the darkness in the wilderness at first, she refused to kill. but hunger, desperation, and love for her people pushed her over the edge. she started hunting, killing for the group—sometimes animals, sometimes… worse. she hated herself for it.

—performed rituals to ease the guilt, using her witchcraft to atone for what she had done. but over time, the lines between protection and darkness blurred. wasn’t mindless like some of the others who lost themselves in the wild. now, her darkness was intentional, precise—like a spider weaving a web. she didn’t want to believe in whatever strange power was in the woods, but she couldn’t deny that she felt it. it called to her, and eventually, she answered. it didn’t start with blood rituals. it started with small things—whispers, quiet prayers, things done in the name of protecting the people she cared about. but it escalated. valentine had never been religious, but the wilderness was a religion. the rules were different there, and caring for others could drive you to places you never thought you’d go.

—lottie fascinated her. valentine never fully believed in lottie’s visions, but she couldn’t deny the strange power that surrounded her. as things got worse, she found herself drawn to lottie, not because she wanted to believe, but because she needed something to hold onto. lottie and her got close. not as a follower, not as a believer in everything lottie said, but as someone who understood that there were forces bigger than them at play. valentine never became fully swept up in lottie’s teachings, but she understood them. sometimes, she even embraced them.

—laura lee’s death devastated her. they had become friends, an unlikely connection in a place that drained the light from people. when laura lee was the first to die, it rattled val. she had been holding onto the idea that someone, somehow, would save them. laura lee’s death shattered that illusion then jackie died, and val never forgave herself for not protecting her. she had always been on the outskirts of jackie and shauna’s friendship, but she had cared. she should have done more.

post-crash: adulthood biography

—returning to a world that didn’t understand when she came back, she tried to be normal. she got married to a man she thought she could build a life with. it didn’t last. she had a daughter through surrogacy—vivian palmer—because she thought maybe a family could fix her. it didn’t.

—she was an domineering mother, the same way she had been with van in the wilderness. she wanted to give her daughter a childhood that she never had, to shield her from the darkness that still lived inside of her. but secrets rot, and no matter how much she tried to keep the truth from vivian, it came out in other ways—in her paranoia, in her nightmares, in the way she still carried herself like someone waiting for the world to end.

—vivian didn’t know who valentine really was—not at first. val had hidden that part of herself, just like van had tried to hide from the wilderness. but the past always finds a way back.