#black widow fanfic

[cuinaminute229]

Lemonade and sweet tea

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

warnings: fluff, mostly smut, 18+ only

a/n: this was originally only fluff, no idea what happened but now it's fluff with ✨spice✨ also @family-house-of-m cause you asked so nicely enjoy some spicy fluff that probably sucks lol

....

The smell of grilled cheese and hotdogs fills the kitchen. It’s the weekend, a mid-afternoon that warms the grass and concrete sidewalks along the road.

The windows and the backdoor are open to let the breeze run through the house, a few glasses of lemonade and sweet tea sit atop the table with pink straws and polka dots painted plastic cups.

You glance up from where you lean against the counter, a knife in one hand and half of a sandwich in the other, a smile lifts your lips when you catch sight of her in the doorway.

“Did you lose a bet?” You tease her softly as you place the food and utensil down before walking over to her. Her glare is playful as she watches your every movement, hands on her hips as you step up right in front of her. She's dripping wet, droplets of water still clinging to her skin along with the smell of chlorine from the pool.

“I did not lose a bet, I was pushed.” She explains and you bite your cheek to suppress a grin.

“The great Natasha Romanoff let her guard down enough to be pushed into the pool? By a child no less."

Natasha narrows her eyes at you and you realize it's too late to step back because her eyes are bright and gleaming as she pushes forward and wraps her arms around your waist, trapping you in her grip with a low chuckle as you yelp and try to push her away. “Nat, no!”

She’s fast and smooth with her motions as her hands sneak under your shirt as she pulls you even closer, a smug expression on her face as she places a kiss on your cheek.

“Guess who’s soaked now?” Her whisper is low and suggestive and her fingers flex against the muscles of your back when you shiver at her tone.

“You are evil.” You tell her, voice concrete in your conclusion. She smirks as you give in and returns her embrace. Dancing your fingers up the length of her back, finding purchase at the black tied strings of her bikini top.

She raises an eyebrow at you and pushes you back with slow calculated steps until you meet the edge of the counter.

“Clint and his kids are here Nat.” You remind her as her hands wander, nails scratching lightly as she gives you a smirk.

“We'll be quick babygirl.” Her voice is a seductive purr, a dark gleam in her eyes before she captures your lips in a deep kiss.

A hum leaves you as she maneuvers her grip so she can lift you to sit on the only free space on the counter, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip as your breath hitches. Her hands slide over your thighs, pushing the fabric of your skirt up to reveal more smooth skin, urging your legs apart so she can step into the available space.

She pulls back to kiss the soft slope of your throat, nibbling a spot that she knows will make your knees weak. Her hands once again travel under your tank top to dance along the curve of your waist and stomach. You bite your lip as your gaze trails over her shoulder to eye the open door. The warm air brushing through the kitchen in a gentle breeze, a reminder of the heat of summer and sun.

“We can’t,” You try to push her away, hands on her shoulders as the chance that you could be caught creeps into your mind. “Nat.”

She bites the slope of your neck making you shiver. Her tongue soothes the mark she's left, breath hot and heavy as she trails kisses to your shoulder, teasing the edge of your collarbones. “Relax, we can. The kids are having a water balloon fight. We’re fine.”

She pushes the damp fabric of your shirt up with a deadly smirk and you let her toss the shirt away.

“You are evil.” You remind her, voice not as sarcastic as you want, sounding too breathless. You run your hands up her arms to loop them around her shoulders, fingers tangling in her auburn hair. Strands sticking to her jaw and neck as you brush her hair from her face.

“And yet you love me.” Her expression is smug, eyes bright as she keeps eye contact, letting her hands roam, touch soft and teasing.

You hook your legs around her waist, the denim shorts she’s wearing damp and rough against your thighs. “I do love you, always. I married you after all.”

She kisses you again, slow and savoring like she’s planning on taking her time, drawing it out until you can’t even think past the brush of her fingers and lips. Her hands grip your hips, a touch possessive as she pulls you impossibly closer, you groan at the motion and you feel her smile against your lips.

Natasha ducks her head and presses an open-mouthed kiss against the bruise she's left to admire, smirking as your fingers dig into the muscles of her shoulders, nails dragging softly. As her hands trail up the soft skin of your stomach, your fingers tug at the tied knot of her top.

“You have to be quiet.” She reminds you with an impossibly gentle kiss, and you swear she's teasing you on purpose.

"I'm always quiet." You tell her, your stare is intense as you slowly undo the strings, the tiniest smirk on your face when you see her swallow as her top comes loose. You spread your fingers over her newly exposed chest, an innocent smile on your face.

"That," She smirks as she leans forward. You scrape your nails along the muscles of her abdomen as she pushes her chest against your own, drawing a sigh from your throat. "Is a lie."

The contact is dizzying, the heat of her skin, the way she breathes heavily against your lips. You roll your hips for more contact, shameless in your need.

You kiss her like you're starving, like you will never get enough. You kiss her as a moan crawls up your throat, and you can only concentrate on all the places she's touching you.

You ache for her in every single way possible.

The graze of her nipples and the exploration of her hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ribcage. The rough fabric of her shorts when she grinds her hips into you.

The heat of her is intoxicating, the gentleness, everything.

"You are," your breath hitches when she drags a nail over the curve of your breast. "such a tease. And a liar."

Natasha pulls back just slightly, nipping your bottom lip as her hands find purchase on your thighs. "Whatever do you mean?" She mumbles with a smirk.

"I thought we were going to be quick?" You raise an eyebrow as her, one hand tangling in her hair as she holds your gaze, eyes burning with a hunger that ignites you.

She leans forward and kisses your lips before she ducks her head and nips at the swell of your breast. Your fingers tighten in her hair as a shiver runs up your spine and she hums against you.

Natasha slides her hands underneath the bunched up fabric of your skirt, nails scratching lightly as her fingers slide up the expansion of your inner thighs.

She is so close to exactly where you need her most and yet she pauses and pulls back to look at you. Her expression is horribly smug when a whine escapes you. "What if I want to take my time? What if I want to devour you?" Natasha's voice is a purr, deep and promising.

“Fuck,” The word is a whimper, breathless even and you would swear your blood is on fire with how she's looking at you.

Natasha hums in agreement. One hand slips around your waist while the other grips your thigh like she never wants to let go.

When she brushes forward, nose bumping against yours, she smiles. Mumbles your name before capturing your lips in a desperate kiss that steals the ability to breathe.

You cup her face in your hands as you give in. A needy whine escapes when she teases you, fingers grazing over blazing heat.

As she pushes forward, her other hand brushes your hair out of your face, and she growls into the kiss. "I can feel how much you want me,"

Your breathing is ragged and a gasp escapes when she enters you with two fingers.

Natasha teases the twitching muscles of your back, tracing the length of your spine. Her touch is light enough to tickle if you weren't concentrating on the fact she's yet to move her finger.

You tighten your legs around her, try to pull her even closer than she already is so you can chase what's just out of reach but she doesn't budge, only smirks at your impatience.

A frustrated huff leaves you as you pull her into another kiss. You whimper when she pulls back enough to exhale against your lips.

"Someone's impatient." She teases you, fingers curling just to see your response. A curse rushes out of your mouth and your thighs twitch.

"Having fun aren't you?" You raise an eyebrow and force a sigh, trying to steady your breathing so she doesn't know exactly how much she's affecting you. It doesn't work.

"Drawing it out makes it so much more," she kissed you again, "enjoyable." The word is a satisfied purr and your knees tremble.

She moves her thumb to press exactly where you ache for her, adding just enough pressure for you to grind against her hand. A curse dies on your tongue with a strangled moan.

Your nails dig into her shoulders as she moves to kiss the spot behind your ear. Natasha chuckles quietly into the sensitive skin, causing you to tremble in her hold.

As soon as she starts to move, as soon as she starts to fuck you in earnest, curling her fingers and whispering praises against your neck, you swear you're going to pass out.

You lean forward and brush your nose against Nat's shoulder, breath hitching when her fingers find a sensitive spot.

As you dig your teeth into her shoulder, the smooth skin muffles your whine as she rolls her hips forward.

You swear your entire body trembles.

"What the hell is taking so - OH MY GOD."

You press your face into Natasha's neck with a groan, embarrassment rising goosebumps on your shoulders as you hug her against you.

A door slams shut and you feel her chuckle at being caught and she bites at your earlobe.

“Focus on me, just me," Natasha murmurs. She brushes her nose against yours as she changes the angle of her hand, adding another finger when you roll your hips and beg for more.

“Please, please, please Nat.” You whimper and you swear you can hear her smirk.

Natasha dips her head to press a kiss to your neck, teeth scraping gently at the bruise she's so proud of. "Are you going to come for me, sweetheart? Come on, I've got you." She coaxes softly.

Natasha tightens her arm around your waist and pulls you into a kiss that makes your head spin and your breath hitch as she brings you over the edge.

The orgasm slams into you hard enough that you see stars. Your choked cry becomes a whimper when she doesn't slow her pace, drawing it out until you can't breathe anymore.

Natasha hums, and kisses your jaw as you bow your head, breathing heavily.

You whine, exhaling softly and you have to actually think as you ease your grip on her waist so Natasha can step back. “Fuck.”

Her fingers glisten in the afternoon light and your lungs refuse to work as she sucks a finger into her mouth. You whimper as you watch her, eyes fixated on her lips.

She smirks when she releases her finger with a pop. Hold your gaze as she continues with her other fingers.

“You’re going to kill me.” You whisper, and a shiver dances along your skin.

She looks impossibly smug.

Your fingers grasp her hip as you watch helplessly.

“Don’t forget to breathe baby,” Natasha reminds you softly.

You suck in a breath as she leans forward, a soft smile on her face and she cups your face, pulling you into a kiss. You moan when you taste yourself on her tongue.

“You… you need to,” You sigh against her lips. “Apologies to Clint.”

“It’s his fault.” She murmurs before kissing you again.

“It’s your fault.” You correct her, looping your arms around her neck to keep her close.

“Cause I’m evil?” She asks with a small smile and you hum in agreement.

"Obviously."

....

[sigloverofwords]

Stuck at 56.7 Degrees//Chapter 10

Taglist: @darke15

Barnes couldn’t stop shaking. Chills, bone-deep and trembling, wracked his body. When he could summon the strength to open his eyes, white and grey swum in front of him, morphing away from his touch when he tried to reach out. Occasionally, there was a flash of red, a murmur of a voice. 

You, he thought, allowing his eyelids to close against the light that burned his retinas. I know you.

Something touched his forehead, damp and gentle, giving him a moment of relief from the sweat rolling across his skin.

Unable to maintain his grip on consciousness, he let go. Falling, falling, falling.

James’ eyes fly open as he jerks up in bed. A thin sheet slips down his body to pool in his lap. Knife gripped in one hand, he scans the room.

Nothing. Another nightmare.

Scoffing at his own weakness, he returns the Finka combat knife to its place beneath his pillow and shoves the blankets off of him.

He moves through his morning routine without much thought. Check the door, make sure it wasn’t opened during the night. Strip off his sweat-soaked sleep clothes. Seven minute shower, cold. Scrub hard. Don’t think about the nightmares. Shave with the straight edge razor he keeps beneath the sink with his TT pistol. Dress in the tank top and loose pants provided for him. Boots on feet, another Finka in each boot. Stretch. Don’t think about the nightmares. Calibrate arm with a wide swing, listen to the plates move against each other. Be relieved when nothing sticks or grinds. Don’t think about the nightmares. Open the door, stride through the barracks. Meet no one’s eye, keep a scowl fixed to stop them from approaching. Don’t think about the nightmares. Don’t think about the n—

“Солдат!” (Soldier!)

James’ head whips towards the sound. It’s not snapped, not an order or a reprimand. It’s her .

He can’t stop a smile from spreading across his lips when he sees her, waving at him from the entrance to the restricted barracks. She’s tiny, a slip of a thing with red hair that practically glows against the grimy grey snow. He only realizes he’s standing stock still in the middle of the walkway, staring at her, when she begins to jog towards him.

The other soldiers and staff that pass occasionally flow around him, giving him a wide berth. If his intimidating height and musculature wasn’t enough to warn them away, the glinting silver arm with a bright red star on the shoulder certainly would.

She stops in front of him, looking up at him with those wide, green eyes that twinkle with warmth and mischief. Her breath puffs little clouds in front of her pert, pink lips. He can’t stop his gaze from dropping to her lips for a moment before finding her eyes again. 

“Принцесса,” he murmurs for only her to hear. (Princess.)

A pink flush that wasn’t from the cold paints itself across her cheeks.

“Can we practice our English today, Soldier?” she asks, her accent almost nonexistent. He knew almost wasn’t good enough for her.

“Of course,” he replies easily. It’s almost strange to speak his native tongue again, his near-native fluency in Russian and Romanian far more useful at this snowy Soviet base tucked deep in Russian lands.

His agreement is met with a stunning smile from the girl that almost made his heart stop.

He knows he shouldn’t think of her as a girl anymore, she is a woman of twenty already, (they had celebrated her birthday last month) and she could very nearly hold her own against him in the ring now.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, finally tearing his eyes from hers and noting her workout gear and how unsuited it was to protect against the icy breeze and drifting snowflakes around them. She shrugs.

“Not all of us only just rolled out of bed,” she teases. “Some of us have work to do, you know. I’m warmed up.”

He rolls his eyes at her goodnatured needling.

“Good,” he replied, down to business. “We can get straight to our run, then.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet, ready to go. 

“Remember, distance,” he says as he turns and begins heading for the edge of the military campus. Beyond the last low, long building, there is nothing but grey fields of snow broken up by the occasional skeletal tree.

“I know, I know,” she waves him off, easily keeping up with his long stride even if she has to take two steps for his one. “No need to expend energy on bursts of speed, humans are stamina hunters, I remember.”

“Well if you remember, show me,” he goads, breaking into a run once they clear the last building. Even though he preached stamina and distance, he is still quick, his enhanced body easily carrying him faster than most men could sprint, and he isn’t even winded. Only a moment later, she is at his side, keeping up with a loping gait. Where he pounds through the thin layer of snow over their path, driving the flakes into mud beneath his boots, she seems to float across the terrain. Her eyes sparkle as she turns gracefully mid-stride, running backwards just in front of him to shoot him a small, almost shy smile. When she turns back around in mid-air he is reminded of the rigorous dance program she was put through, and wonders for a split second if she would be happier as a simple ballerina, rather than the weapon she was becoming.

The weapon I’m helping make her into , he thinks, stomach rebelling at the thought. He shakes his head, driving that train of thought away. Almost without meaning to, he starts to pull ahead, forcing his legs faster, as if he could outrun the guilt hanging over his head. 

She lets out an exclamation, speeding up to try and catch him.

“What happened to stamina and distance?” she asks. He doesn’t answer, stopping on a dime and turning directly around, facing back towards the base.

“Last one back has to do an extra twenty minutes in the ring,” he says shortly, before taking off like a shot, leaving her to scramble behind.

“I’ll kick your ass, James Barnes!” she calls behind him, the snowy air muffling her declaration from any curious ears back at base. He just chuckles, knowing that they’d end up doing the extra minutes together anyways. No one else could keep up with her. They were the only two on base who could challenge each other, always pushing, always striving to one up the other, always improving. They were a perfect match, steel sharpening steel.

A single, traitorous thought wanders into his head, almost drowned out by the rush of his pulse and the hammering of his feet against the ground.

Maybe we could make ourselves strong enough to leave this place.

As if sensing his idea, his body rebels, a stitch developing in his side and slowing his pace. She blows past him just a few feet away from the outskirts of the base, and even though she has a trained neutral expression in place for the people around them, he spots the proud lift of the corner of her lips as she keeps up her speed until she is fully past the base border.

Slowing herself down to an easy jog, she stops by the gym, waiting for him with her hands on her hips.

“Fast, Солдат,” she says, a relaxed look in her eyes. (Soldier.) He comes to a stop beside her, breath clouding in front of his face. “Not fast enough,” he jokes.

She shakes her head.

“Your heart,” she says. “It’s too fast.”

James frowns slightly.

“What do you mean—”

He’s cut off when he’s forced to gasp for breath. There’s a pounding ache in his chest, interspersed with sharp pains that make his muscles twitch.

She just stands in front of him, watching. “Too fast,” she whispers, sadly shaking her head. “Too fast.”

James’ head began to swim. When he looks down, his hand is shaking like a dead autumn leaf in a stiff breeze. 

“Help me,” he chokes out, before a muscle spasm sends him slamming to his knees in the snow at her feet. His vision narrows, black edges starting to encroach on his view as she crouches smoothly beside him. Her fingers ghost through the air beside his cheek, almost touching his skin that now beads with sweat despite the freezing air.

“Fight it, my soldier,” she begs. Then the tunnel choking his vision closes and he’s falling once more. 

The ground rocks beneath him as James’ eyes fly open once more. His world is painted in flashes of orange and yellow, with black smoke pouring over everything. Something moves beside him, red hair streaked with soot, a body in a formfitting black suit as she slams down next to him, taking cover against the rubble he finds digging into his back.

“This is not how I imagined spending our weekend,” the woman beside him spits, although he knew deep down that the vitriol wasn’t aimed at him. Another explosion goes off not far from them, and she steadies her arms on the collapsed structure around them to fire a few shots before ducking back into cover. She glances over, rasing an eyebrow that is half-singed off.

“You letting me do all the work, дорогой?” she asked, and he realizes he has the weight of a rifle in his hands. (Darling)

“Of course not, мое предмет любви,” he replies easily, throwing her a lopsided grin. (My flame)

She returns the expression, face softening for a moment beneath the soot and ash, and something in his chest clenches. A splitting pain cracks across his head, a memory begging to be released. The gun drops from his hands as he presses them to his skull. Someone is screaming themselves hoarse. As the woman, the one he spoke to with such ease and care, abandons her own weapon to kneel in front of him, distantly begging him to talk to her, he realizes he is the one screaming.

“Jami— please—”

Her words are disjointed, each one floating down to him as if whispered far above as the icy hot fingers of pain claw over his head. His throat burns. Snapping watery eyes up for a moment, he sees the fear behind his flame’s beautiful green eyes.

“Help me,” he mouths, vocal chords unable to produce a sound. She cradles his face gently, nodding rapidly.

“I will, I will always help you,” she stumbles over her words, a Russian accent thickening as she strokes fingers over his cheek. Her touch is blessedly cool against his stubbled skin. 

“You need to fight it,” she says, but he can’t. The pain is too great, it feels like his skull is cracking beneath his hands, splintering into a thousand pieces and stabbing him everywhere they can. With a final wail of  agony, he collapses towards the filthy ground, but instead of hitting the stone he is falling once more. 

All is darkness around him. When he tries to open his eyes he finds just more darkness, leaving him unsure if he even raised his eyelids. A faint sound draws his attention, the only stimulation in otherwise-perfect deprivation. It’s a simple, slow melody, sung quietly, almost as if the voice wasn’t paying attention to itself.

“Спасибо вам и сердцем и рукой,

За то, что вы меня - не зная сами,

Так любите: за мой ночной покой,

За редкость встреч закатными часами.” 

(I’m grateful to you with my heart and hand

For loving me, while not so realizing,

For granting me nocturnal peacetime, and

For it isn’t us, together at stars gazing,)

He can’t move, suspended in nothingness, so he just closes his eyes and listens, letting the words wash him away once more.

Natasha ached from tensing every muscle in her body at every movement Barnes made. Unable to reach out to any of her contacts for fear of bringing either the US Government, Hydra, or Dreykov’s men down on top of her, she had resigned herself to letting her partner sweat it out. 

That had been three days ago.

It had been touch and go for a while, but she kept forcing broth and water down his throat at every opportunity, muttering curses to Hydra and prayers to whatever gods might be listening in the same breath. Finally, late last night, after a frightening few hours where Barnes had stilled, pale and clammy, barely breathing, his fever broke and he slipped into a semi-peaceful sleep. Natasha, who had barely left his side except to clear the burned-out husk of the wrecked cars out of sight and set up some security so she couldn’t be ambushed, fell asleep beside him only minutes later. 

Now, with late morning sunlight streaming into the ranch house bedroom, she groaned as she stretched. Her legs were cramped from curling into the chair she had dragged to his bedside, and her neck had a pinched nerve from resting on the mattress beside his hand that set her eyes watering.

Barely conscious, she stood, checking Barnes’ breath and pulse. He had terrified her for a while, his pulse racing far too fast, but she had given him a risky electric shock from her Widow Bites (turned down to the lowest setting) and his heart had reset itself. She was relieved that his pulse and breathing all seemed normal. While he was still pale, some color had returned to his skin. He was on the mend.

Natasha felt like she could cry.

Dropping his wrist from where she had been monitoring his heartrate, she bent to touch her forehead to his fingers, eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she whispered, fighting back waves of exhaustion and relief.

Beneath her touch, his finger twitched.

[natperv]

stay

fem!reader x natasha

part 1 | part 2

a/n: thank you for all the support on parts one and two. i know i promised smut, and i diddd go into this intending to write some, but it just didn’t happen. sorry to disappoint. i don’t think i’ll do a part 4, that seems a bit overkill, i think? unless a lot of people want it. i have plenty of other nat ideas in my head that i think y’all would like though!! ALSO. i am Muslim!! idk how alcohol works very well!! so i’m sorry if this is inaccurate

summary: you drink a little too much and natasha looks after you.

genre: tiny bit of angst, lots of fluff

warnings: alcohol consumption, r comes onto nat while drunk, not a warning but wanda’s there too for a bit 

word count: 1k

it’s 3am when the gang finally decides to head back to the compound. you’re drunk out of your mind. you can’t even remember what drinks you’ve consumed, you lost count around the fourth shot of vodka. you don’t drink often, and when you do, it’s rarely in such copious amounts, but you had gotten irritated at nastasha ignoring you. the entire night, she was acting as if you didn’t even exist. now, you leaned against steve’s shoulder, the room spinning, while the others discussed what to do with you. “since when does y/n drink so much?” mumbled wanda, brushing your hair to the side and resting the back of her hand on your cheek like she was a mother checking if her child had a fever. you hummed as you gazed up at her, flushed and warm from the excess alcohol. she smiled back at you, and then you were helped to your feet, by who? you can’t exactly remember. you leaned on wanda all the way outside. 

“wanda,” you managed to say, giggling, “.. the sky looks amazing.” you pause in the middle of the parking lot to gaze at it in bewilderment while wanda merely laughs, trying to move you along. “you know what the sky reminds me of?” you murmur as the two of you continue walking, “what?” wanda entertains, curious. you stop and turn to look her dead in the eyes, gripping her shoulders. she raises an eyebrow. you lean in and whisper, “natasha.” like a kid spilling secrets at a sleepover and then let another giggle escape your lips. you squeal, suddenly, while wanda processes the information you’ve just relayed. “she’s amazinggg.. right?” you wrap your arm around her shoulders and keep walking merrily, “just like the sky..” you poke at her arm sheepishly, “you think so too, don’t you?” 

natasha trailed behind the two of you, clearly not happy at how much wanda was touching you, at how much you were touching her. she wanted to be the one whos shoulder you leaned on, the one who combed their fingers through your hair as you dozed off in their lap, but her pride got the better of her. she was too stubborn to come on to you first, not again, not after how you’ve reacted in the past. if you wanted her, you had to come get her yourself. which, considering how drunk you were, was most likely not happening tonight. “nat!” wanda’s voice pulled her out of her trance as her gaze landed on the two of you, she rolled her eyes, but made her way to the vehicle. there were two cars, clint and the guys had already taken off with the other one. “keep her company in the back seat. i’ll drive.” she said as she opened the door for you and ushered you inside, giving natasha a pointed look. “play nice.” 

in the car, you settled against the leather seats, looking to natasha every few seconds to see what she was doing, if she was watching you at all. “alright, what is it?” she finally said after noticing your behavior, sighing. you rolled your eyes. “oh, so you’re not ignoring me anymore?” you mumbled an additional unintelligible statement and let your head fall against her shoulder, shifting closer to her so that you could plant a kiss on her neck if you wanted to. she sighed, unconvincingly. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” she spoke with an uninterested tone, fully aware of wanda’s presence. you shake your head, sighing in irritation. your hand wraps around her waist and you nuzzle her neck as your eyes flutter shut. even now, inebriated and falling asleep, it doesn’t escape you that she lets you stay that way for the rest of the drive.

when you reach the compound, nat helps you out the backseat. you refuse to let go of her as you walk to the entrance. wanda looks amused, partially uncomfortable, but mostly like she feels like she’s interrupting an intimate moment. “you can handle this, can’t you?” she questions natasha. the red head looks down at you, clinging to her, and shrugs compliantly. wanda says her goodnights and off the two of you were. the whole way to your room, you find ways to touch her, lean on her, get your lips as close as they can get to her flesh. you mumble phrases or strings of words that make hardly any sense and she continuously shushes you, but you don’t relent. when she’s busy shutting the door behind the two of you, you trap her in place and she turns to find you pushed up against her, your chest pressed to hers. “y/n?” she exclaims, so caught off guard she has to stifle a laugh at your courage. “nat..” you plead, tugging on her dress. “you are driivvvingg mee crazy.” you lift your head to the ceiling with a frustrated huff. you always got so transparent when you drank. 

she looks down at you, an unfamiliar, softened expression on her face. “please..just..” you exhale, feeling like you weirdly have the upper hand. “just one kiss.” she shakes her head and cups your face gently. “not now. not like this.” you sigh, defeated, but don’t argue as she grabs your hand and leads you away from the door. she unzips your dress, and you stand there as she shuffles through your closet. she picks out a pair of maroon shorts and a gray sweatshirt and then helps you put them on. somewhere along the way you began rambling about the sky again, and she listened and nodded, uncomplaining. when it was finally time to sleep, she tucked you in, and you looked up at her in a complete daze, unsure any of it was real. she leaned down and pressed a soft peck against your forehead. “stay.” you found yourself saying the word before you had a chance to consider the weight of it. “don’t go, nat.” 

somehow, it must have worked, because you woke up the next morning with her in your bed, still in her uncomfortable clothes from last night. her eyelids moved ever so slightly like she was lost in a dream, her hair cascaded down the pillow and all around her like a halo of red.

reblogs are appreciated, criticism is encouraged. ♡

[pastel-peach-writes]

Learn To Take A Break | Natasha x Reader

PLOT: Natasha’s a bit stubborn when it comes to training. No pain, no gain right? She can handle it all on her own.

WARNINGS: Unedited! Injury! Multiple Parts! (1/3)

PART TWO PART THREE

With a groan, Natasha looked over her shoulder to see a splash of red just by her shoulder blade. She knew over-exerting herself in training and during missions wasn’t going to do her any good physically or mentally, but with all the chaos going on in the world right now, how could she allow herself to sit back and watch it burst into flames?

“Romanov,” The man with dirty blonde hair started. “You alright? You’ve been looking at that spot in the mirror for a while now.” Steve said as he walked past her to grab his white, plush towel alongside his water bottle. She nods, quickly throwing on her black mesh top. It was still see-through, but it covered enough to where her injury wasn’t noticeable. 

Her messy red hair clung to her neck and back as the shirt was put on. She flipped the hair out from underneath and redid her ponytail. “Of course. I was just thinking of excerises to build my upper back muscles.” She replied as she watched the man in the baby blue workout shirt and.. what were those? Spandex? God, who gave him those?

“Right, because you need that.” Tony called out from across the room. Unlike the two of them, Natasha and Steve, Tony has been working on Jarvis modifications and upgrading their access to the city’s cameras. 

The past couple weeks have been crazy for Manhattan. Besides the ordinary stealing old lady purses, bank robberies, and damaging threats to local businesses, there’s been sights of alien like creatures roaming the streets. People claimed they came in the colors purple and green with big, dark black eyes. Once these people made contact with them, the aliens took note of the human’s features and transformed leaving the human unconscious and out on the floor. 

“Ha ha.” Natasha dryly laughed. “I don’t know about you, Stark, but I actually want to improve in my skills. Close combat is all I have right now. Getting rusty isn’t on my radar.” She walked across the rubber gym tiles to head to a small metal bench. Said bench looked like the bleachers you would find at a high-school stadium.. or maybe a local baseball game. 

Every time someone sat on it, they were welcomed with the extremely cold material and uncomfortable lining that left marks on legs if you sat on it for too long. 

“Well, could breaks or maybe an ice bath be on your radar as well?” Steve looked at her. “I’ve been watching you lately and noticed all you do now is train, eat, sleep, and sometimes the occasional mission. I don’t mean to be a downer,” Tony laughs, earning a glare from the taller male. “But, I would hate to see you get hurt.” Steve turns back to Natasha. 

“You don’t have to worry about me.” She places a gentle hand on his bicep, tilting her chin down and speaking in a sweet, low tone. “I’m fine. If I had a problem, it would’ve been fixed. I care about my well-being as I do with everyone else’s. Stop worrying about me.” 

Steve looks down at Natasha. Her words were saying something, but her body said another. He noticed that small spot on her back. He noticed whenever she threw a punch with her left arm, her upper lip raised and showed her teeth; her eyes squinted with the crinkle of her nose. No matter what she said to him, his intuition, which felt more like a weight on his chest or a punch in the gut, he knew Natasha was lying to him. 

“Alright, fine.” He raised his arms up in defense. A small smirk-like smile appeared on Natasha’s lips. “You promise to tell me whenever something hurts? Or when something feels funny and unusual?” “Of course.” She nodded at him. “Do you take me for a liar?” 

He smiles, his worries seeming to wash away temporarily. “ ‘Course not. Who do you take me for?” He carefully patted her shoulder before walking out of the gym, playfully hitting his towel on Tony’s face as he walked out.

“PLffT.” Tony recoiled in disgust as he wiped his face with his hand. “Great, now I got Cap sweat on me. Time to take a shower.” He set down his tablet and digital pen before getting up from his seat. Natasha began to pack up. She grabbed her own towel, water, and anything else she brought. Before she could make it out the door, Tony called out to her. 

“Hey, listen to Steve, alright? I’ve been watching you as well. You’re one of our most valuable players. Don’t go off getting hurt.” Natasha let out a chuckle, adjusting the strap of her gym-bag. “What, are we basketball players now, Stark?” “Just–” Tony held his hand out, looking at her sternly. “Be smart with your training. Seriously, Romanov.” Tony exited the room, leaving Natasha to think about the conversations she had with both Steve and Tony.

Something was making her uneasy. Was it lying to Steve? Was it Tony telling her she had a vital part on the team and that getting hurt would be irresponsible of her? Or was it the intense amount of pressure she now had? Disappointing the two of them. Letting the team down. If she came clean about her injury now, she’d be seen as a fool.

With a sigh and drop of her shoulders, it was decided.

Natasha was going to train harder than before to prevent this injury. No arms, just legs and abs. It’ll heal on its own. She didn’t need any extra help.

-

“DAMMIT!” Natasha cried out, collapsing to her knees as her hand reached over to her left shoulder. She did it now. She knew that punch she previously threw was a little too powerful for her already tender shoulder, but, she just had to keep going on. She previously decided to stop doing arms, but the punching bags were just calling her name. She figured one wouldn’t hurt.

As her vision blurred, Natasha felt like she couldn’t hear anything around her besides her pounding heart. All surrounding sounds were drowned out, almost like there was a ringing in her ears. With her face scrunched together and her shoulder blazing, she didn’t realize she was crying until a tear slipped off her cheek and onto her leggings. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Thor asked as he walked into the gym. The blonde strides into the room, looking around before he saw a girl with red hair and black workout gear crying while grasping her shoulder in pain. “Oh! Tiny human down- STARK!! TINY HUMAN DOWN!!” He exclaimed in the direction of the doorway. Thor ran over to Natasha and tried to console her as Tony took his sweet time to get to the gym.

He, Tony, and a nurse wearing grey sweats and a white t-shirt came walking in. The nurse made their way to Natasha as Tony asked what happened and what was going on. “I have no clue. I was just roaming the halls, heard a cry of pain, then came in here to see miss.widow on the floor.” Thor explained as he tried to rub Natasha’s back.

She swatted his hand off with her good hand, wincing still. Even the slightest movement ticked the injury off. 

“Muscle tear.” The nurse said in a whisper. “What?” Tony glanced down at them, wrapping an arm around his torso while the other was closer to his chin. His fingers just barely placed on the stubble. “Muscle tear. Miss.Widow has a muscle tear in her shoulder by her blade.”

“And you just figured that out by looking at her?” Thor inquired. Natasha nodded. “Yeah,” She sniffled. “You didn’t even touch me.” “Didn’t need to.” The nurse began to explain. “Before you swatted Thor off, your hand was holding the part on your upper back but above your shoulder blade. Then, when you did swat him, it made you twist your shoulders a bit even though you used your other hand. Body language is like an open book. You winced in pain and your face seemed to twist a little. I knew, then and there, you have a rotator cuff tear.”

Thor’s mouth opened a little with a small gasp. “Astonishing.” The nurse gave a bashful smile and shrug. “Just doing my job..” “Okay, not to cut the informational science and anatomy class short or anything, but one of our guys is down. Can you heal her? What’s going on? She’s not getting any better here.” Tony huffed.

Thor and the nurse helped Natasha up carefully. She groaned and kept her hand on her shoulder. “I’m fine, Stark. I’m sure this is nothing.” The nurse laughed. “Most definitely not nothing, and you aren’t fine, but yes. This is fixable.” The nurse looked over at Natasha with a joyous smile. Natasha wasn’t able to see much of the nurse’s features before, being too worried about her pain but, their colored eyes, smile, and almost harmonious voice was nearly impossible to ignore. Natasha’s green eyes stared into the nurse’s eyes. The nurse looked away, smiling down at their shoes. 

“Good. Thor, help them to Y/n’s office. We have no time to lose.” “On it.”

“Y/n,” Natasha started as she was being led to the office. “That’s a wonderful name.” “Natasha Romanov, Black Widow. Pleasure to meet you.” Y/n looked at her, trying to keep the romantic and excited tone in their voice to a minimum. It wasn’t working. Natasha could hear their excitement as clear as day.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

WC: 1,600

[king-star]

TAGLIST

Hello!!! I feel like the name is pretty self explanatory. I’m making a taglist for anyone who wants to be on it. I’ve technically had one before but that was before the whole thing where i deleted my account and a lot of you have disappeared or I’m not sure if you still want to be on it. So I’m going to redo it. If you already signed up before I’m completely deleting my old ones so please sign up again.

If you want to be on my taglist please fill out the google form

here

i have separate taglists for each character i write for so if you only want to be on it for one that option is available

thanks you all as always for the support and love i get from you all. I adore everyone of you and your support means a lot 💛

[acequidwrites]

They tell her Natasha died a hero.

Bullshit, Yelena thinks. Dying doesn’t make you a hero. It just makes you dead.

Or: Yelena goes to Vormir, the Soul Stone holds many secrets, and Natasha was never anyone else's to save.

FANDOM: Marvel, Black Widow (2021)

[natsfireflies]

“Didn't I told you to stay out of my kitchen until the Pelmeni was ready?”

“Yeah, but the smell was really good, you know.” He utters in a flirty voice, approaching Melina from the opposite side where the girls were. “Just not as good as yours.”

“Oh, really?”

“I hate this fucking family.” Yelena whispers to her sister again so that only they could hear. Not that those two lovebirds would hear anyway.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Part 2 of jealous??

Not jealous

Natasha Romanoff masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: Natasha, you, and a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent are send on a mission to get information at a gala. One small problem, the agent is the woman who hit on you in the bar last week.

Pairing: Natasha x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1046

Author's note: Sorry it took so long. School is crazy rn and my time to write is few and far between.

‘Natasha.’ No response. You haven’t heard a single word from her for a few hours now. After yesterday’s fiasco of a mission, she refused to talk to you. Turns out, the woman that hit on you at the bar last week was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, aka agent Simons, who had to pretend to be your spouse to taunt a homophobic millionaire during a “fundraiser” event at his mansion while Natasha went behind the scenes to get intel on the man. And, well…

‘Everyone in?’ You look into the room, trying to look inconspicuous while you locate your colleagues. ‘I’m across the room,’ agent Simons speaks. You look around until you find her. She’s dressed in a three-piece suit in the same navy tint as your floor-length dress. Your dress has a slit up one leg and a plunging neckline that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Like always, you’re dressed for the male gaze. ‘Spotted. Natasha?’ ‘Right here, darling.’ You can hear the smirk in her voice and as you turn back to your drink at the bar, the redhead appears to your right. She’s dressed in a simple black dress that accentuates her curves perfectly. You recognize it as the dress she wore on the night you first had sex. That thing is a menace. You should burn it. No, that would be too much of a loss. ‘Spotted,’ agent Simons announces through the earpiece, pulling Natasha and you out of your staring match, ‘let’s get this show on the road.’ Natasha nods at you. There’s a warning in her eyes. “Don’t get too cozy, or else.” You’ve talked about this mission but that doesn’t mean Natasha feels any more at ease. Especially not after agent Simons tried to seduce you last week. But she seems to trust you enough to leave you to do your job. She heads off to do her own job but lingers for a little bit when she passes agent Simons as she approaches you. ‘Hello doll, ain’t you a pretty little thing.’ You cringe at the comment but you smile at the slimy man standing next to you knowing that agent Simons will be to your rescue soon. Even if that rescue will probably end in getting yelled at. ‘Hi,’ you say to reply but to be bland enough to stop the conversation. It should be clear that you’re not interested. ‘Let me buy you a drink,’ he offers but you can hear from his tone of voice that it’s not an offer so you nod. ‘What are you drinking?’ ‘Whiskey please.’ ‘Whiskey? You seemed more of a white wine person to me,’ he tells you with a laugh. You brighten your smile to be friendly but this man is a creep. You can tell. A hand slides over your waist but it’s not his hand, it’s agent Simons’ hand. ‘Hi darling, how are you doing?’ ‘Oh, hey sweetheart. I was just talking to… ehm-’ ‘Thomas Green.’ ‘Ah, mister Green. You organized this event, right?’ ‘Yes, I did,’ he says as he puffs up his chest. While he does, you lean into agent Simons for safety. Not because you can’t protect yourself but because you are supposed to be her spouse. ‘And who might you be?’ ‘You can call me Layla, I’m Jenny’s wife,’ she tells him as she holds out her hand to shake his. He looks disgusted when she introduces herself. ‘Wife?’ ‘Yes, we’re married,’ she explains again. ‘Doll, I know girls try to help each other out when they feel threatened but saying you’re her wife goes a little far,’ he tells her with a scoff. ‘But we are married,’ you assure him and show him the ring on your finger as she shows hers. His face changes. There’s pure hatred in his eyes and the disgust on his face is even more evident than before. ‘That’s absolutely convulsive.’ He almost gags while he talks. ‘Are you both retarded? You’re both beautiful women but this is just against human nature.’ You knew this was going to happen but it still stings. ‘What the hell man? You can’t talk about them like that.’ A man puts his hand on agent Simons’ shoulder. You’re not sure if he’s going to push her back to fight Thomas himself or just try to defend you two with words but either way, you’re sure agent Simons doesn’t appreciate the gesture. She looks angrier than you expected her to be but then again, you feel terrible as well. ‘Get out of there,’ you hear Natasha’s voice through your earpiece, ‘I got what we need.’ ‘You know what, I’m done,’ you state loudly, ‘you’re raising money for a good cause but you’re a creep. Raising all this money doesn’t make it better. At the end of the day, you’ll still be a terrible person. Let’s go, Layla.’ You grab her arm and drag her out. As you get closer to the door, you feel tears burning in your eyes. ‘Y/n. Y/n, stop. Y/n, calm down, we don’t have to rush.’ You

let go of her arm and keep walking. The first tear slips onto your cheek and you ain’t letting her see that. Instead, you try to get away. Your eyes are fixed on your car and your mind is focused on getting to your car. ‘Y/n.’ The sound of Natasha’s voice makes you freeze in place. ‘Please look at me.’ Seeing you teary-eyed and broken is too much for Natasha. She feels tears gather in her own eyes at the sight of you. ‘I know I’m supposed to be strong,’ you tell her, pushing out a smile, ‘but that shit hurt.’ She pulls you into her arms and peppers your head with kisses. ‘I know sweetheart. He was terrible.’ She feels your body relax a little under her touch. ‘I can still kill him.’ A choked chuckle leaves your lips. Natasha smiles, knowing you’ll be fine. ‘Please don’t be jealous again. I love you. Only you,’ you whisper to her. She leans back a little to look you in your eyes. ‘I love you too.’

[sigloverofwords]

Stuck at 56.7 Degrees//Chapter Nine

Taglist: @darke15 <3

Natasha didn’t even flinch as warm blood and flecks of tissue spattered her face and hands. As the man dropped to her feet, dead before he hit the ground, she looked across the driveway in time to see Barnes snap the neck of his last opponent. He raised his head and something changed as his eyes met hers. The coldness receded for a moment, replaced by…was that worry? Recognition?

She didn’t have time to think about it.

Striding to the car, Natasha wrenched the door open and dragged out the terrified driver, tossing him easily onto the drive.

“Разговаривать,” she ordered, leveling her gun at the cowering man. (Talk.) He was shaking, clearly the driver for this operation, never intended to face actual combat. He whimpered, peering up at her from beneath raised hands.

“I can speak English,” he said, stumbling over his lightly accented words in a rush to get them out before she shot him. 

“Good for you,” Natasha replied in a monotone. She knew from experience that she must cut a terrifying figure: expressionless face, dead eyes, pale skin splattered with dark blood, staring down the ironsights at her victim.

It felt almost good to be the weapon again, rather than play nice as the SHIELD agent. The freedom to inflict whatever pain she needed to get the job done without being forced to hold back was tempting, intoxicating…she forced her lungs to fill and deflate with a steadying breath. She wasn’t that person, not anymore.

Unless I am, and I’ve just been pretending otherwise.

“Why are you here?” She asked.

“We were sent to retrieve you,” he replied, choking back a sob of fear.

“By whom?”

“General Dreykov.”

“He’s dead, try again.”

The man’s eyes widened, pupils almost pinpricks, drowning in the round whites of his eyes. 

“He’s not!” he said, pleading. “The General is alive, he wants you back. When SHIELD fell and you were on TV, he saw you and sent teams to retrieve you!” “Even if that were true,” Natasha said, narrowing her eyes. “Why would he want me back?”

Fear momentarily forgotten, the man’s jaw dropped slightly.

“Why…why would he want you back?” He repeated. “You…you’re Black Widow, you’re the Black Widow. He talks about you like you’re his greatest achievement. All the Widows, they are taught to be you . You are his template, his gold standard. If he could get you back, his work would be complete, he would have the most elite team of spies and assassins on the planet. Or at least,” he hurried to add, quickly remembering his situation and cowering once more, “that’s what I’ve heard. I haven’t had the chance to meet The General myself but, you know, soldiers and how they talk-”

The blood drained from Natasha’s face and the man’s rambling voice faded to nothing but a buzz.

All the Widows are taught to be you.

All the Widows.

There are more.

The Red Room still exists.

Without fully registering what she was doing, Natasha shot the man before her, cutting him off mid-word. Vaguely, she heard Barnes exclaim in surprise, but it was like he was in another world.

The Red Room is still operating.

She didn’t know how she made it to her bag or why she was there, but she mechanically cleared her weapon and put it away. Barnes was speaking, she could sense the low rumble of his voice, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

The Red Room is still training Widows.

Natasha suddenly found her hands empty, weapon in her bag. She just stared at it, the dark grey of her bag swimming and merging with the light grey of the gravel it rested on. When she raised a hand, she noticed it was shaking, but it was as if it belonged to someone else.

The Red Room is still taking girls.

Something fell onto her hand,  smearing the partially-dry blood there. Moving more sluggishly than she ever had, Natasha touched the smear of crimson. It was wet. Another drop fell onto her fingers. She touched her cheeks and found they were wet, too. She was crying.

Dreykov is still taking girls and turning them into monsters like me.

It must have been a strange sight, to see her standing stock still, head bowed, breathing evenly as tears dripped from her nose and chin, running down her cheeks and streaking down her neck to the hollow of her throat. There was no sobbing, no shaking shoulders or screwed up expressions, just a blank stare and enough tears to drown in.

I’m going to kill him.

Slowly, she began finding the pieces of herself that had shattered at the realization and pulling them together.

I’m going to kill him.

Like surfacing from a dive, Natasha started to be aware of the world around her again. The shifting of the gravel beneath her weight, the feel of the breeze as it brushed her hair across her skin. The smell of country air: fresh and crisp and a little bit earthy. The smell of blood: sharp and metallic and rusty. The smell of gunpowder: smoke and acrid nitroglycirin and hot metal.

I’m going to kill him.

Barnes’ cautious stare burned into her side. When Natasha finally turned around, she had regained tight control of herself. All the parts of her that broke when the nameless hit squad driver confirmed that the Red Room was still active were back together, glued to each other with one promise.

I’m going to rescue those girls. I’m going to burn the Red Room to the ground. And then, once he’s watched me destroy his work and strip away his power, I’m going to kill Dreykov with my own hands and watch as the life leaves his eyes.

Rescue. Burn. Kill.

These three words looped in her mind over and over as she nodded to Barnes.

“Good work.”

Her voice sounded stilted and wooden, even to her own ears.

“Let’s clear the bodies and the driveway and regroup inside.”

Cold blue eyes swept over her, assessing her. Friend or threat? Useful or broken?

“Are you…”

“I’m fine,” she cut him off. Even though she felt half-lost in her own mind, she had been unresponsive for less than a minute. When she glanced at her last victim, the blood was still pooling around his head. She could play this off.

“Just felt weak,” she said, searching for an excuse as she leaned against their car in an attempt to play it cool.

“I haven’t eaten in a day or so, and the blood made me nauseous.”

Barnes scoffed.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, turning to start dragging the corpses into a pile. “Whatever, Widow.”

With a deep, grounding breath, Natasha raised her head and took in the destruction. Two smoking, bullet-ridden cars, four bodies, and blood all over her and the ground.

“Messier than we used to be,” she commented offhand, considering their options. Barnes gave her a strange look, but she ignored him as she started dragging the leader's corpse.

“Help me with this?”

Together, the two of them piled the bodies into the SUV. After they had searched the hit squad for any way to prevent more unpleasant surprises (and finding nothing) Natasha carefully drove the SUV into the middle of the gravel drive. Barnes, who had broken into the garage to search for supplies, emerged with two gas canisters.

“Jackpot,” he called, raising them. Natasha gave him a thumbs up and jumped down from the driver’s seat.

“I guess we don’t need to worry about neighbors,” she said, taking one gas can and starting to drench her side while Barnes did the other. “Anyone close enough to hear the gunshots would have called the cops a long time ago.”

“So we’re free to light it up?” Barnes confirmed. Tossing her gas can into the SUV, Natasha nodded. They both took several large steps back, and Barnes produced a slim motel matchbook from a pocket. Lighting one, he set the flame to the whole matchbook on fire and tossed it into the car.

Heat seared over them as the thoroughly soaked vehicle caught fire. 

“Job well done,” Natasha said, brushing her gas- and blood-stained hands off on her pants. “What do you say to a shower and some food?”

“Lead the way,” He gestured towards the ranch house, easily slinging both of their bags over his shoulder. They left the car burning and stepped into the cool shade of the porch. A moment later, Natasha had the door unlocked.

“These people are seriously lacking in home security,” she commented as they strode in, noting the lack of an alarm system, cameras, or motion sensors.

On instinct, Natasha swept the area, cataloging exits, sightlines, cover, and improvised weapons. The back wall featured massive windows that looked out onto an overgrown garden and rolling fields beyond. Beautiful, but lacking in cover.

The house was sparsely furnished, and when she ran a finger over the smooth kitchen countertop she came away with only a small amount of dust.

“Someone’s been here within a week or so,” she said, holding up her finger to show the small grey smudge on it. “This place has been cleaned recently.”

Barnes dropped their bags behind the couch, easily accessible from the kitchen thanks to the open floorplan.

“Are we going to talk about what happened out there?” he asked, tone hard and pressing. Natasha ignored him.

“Nice place,” she said. Pulling the dust cover off the couch, she let herself fall onto it, bouncing slightly. 

“Comfy!”

Barnes appeared above her, upside-down to her horizontal angle. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, forehead lined in wrinkles as he frowned down at her.

For a moment, Natasha felt 19 again.

— ”Что делаешь?” (What are you doing?) —

— She opened her eyes, blinking away the snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes, to see him standing over her with a displeased scowl. —

— “Тссс, я сплю.” (Shhh, I’m sleeping.) —

— “В снегу?” (In the snow?) —

— “Здесь так же тепло, как и в моей постели, к тому же меня здесь никто не беспокоит.” (It's just as warm as my bed, plus people don't bother me out here.) — 

— She arched a dark brow at him, and his scowl broke with a lopsided twitch of his lips, eyes rolling goodnaturedly. He sat down next to her. —

— “Ты замерзнешь, принцесса. Иди сюда.” (You’re going to freeze, princess. Come here.) —

— She scooted next to him, her clothes designed to stop the damp of the snow, if not the cold. — 

— “Глупый солдат, все знают, что Вдовы не могут замерзнуть. Мы принадлежим холоду.” (Silly soldier, everyone knows Widows can’t freeze. We belong in the cold.) —

— He had pulled her into his lap, glancing around to make sure they were out of sight of the buildings before he pressed his lips into her hair, murmuring so low she almost couldn’t hear him. —

— “Не ты, Нат. Не вы.” (Not you, Nat. Not you.) —

Natasha’s fingers tingled, remembering the cold, as she looked up into those same blue eyes. There was no spark of mischief or recognition there, though.

“Widow, you froze up,” he said. “What happened?”

Natasha forced a laugh.

“I didn’t freeze up,” she said. “I just needed some fresh air. I’m fine now, Barnes.”

He wanted to argue but seemed to think better of it. His jaw tensed, a muscle in his neck pulsing, and he whirled away from her. 

“Any food?” he asked, striding to the fridge. Natasha let out a breath of relief and hauled herself upright. While she began rummaging through cabinets, he pulled open the fridge and freezer. They both piled their findings on the kitchen counter.

“Two frozen pizzas, frozen spring rolls, a frozen…meatloaf?”

She looked to him for confirmation, who shrugged.

“Three boxes of pasta, two jars of sauce, a case of blue Gatorade, and a jar of pickles.”

Natasha wrinkled her nose.

“I guess it was too much to hope for some fresh fruit or vegetables.”

“Whoever lives here must not come around often,” Barnes commented, peering at the frozen mystery meat. “All this stuff is meant to keep for a while.” Digging through the last few cabinets, Natasha exclaimed in success. Barnes was instantly at her side, looming large and warm behind her.

“What?”

“Spices, oil, and…” Natasha turned around, revealing the bottle with a flourish. “Alcohol.”

She passed him the bottle of vodka to set aside while she pulled out what she needed.

“Why don’t you shower first and track us down some clothes while I make food?”

Eyeing the pile of food suspiciously, Barnes nodded.

“What are you going to make?” he asked before leaving to explore the rest of the house.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” she replied, shooting him a cheeky grin. He rolled his eyes and disappeared into the hallway.

Immediately, Natasha’s grin dropped, all the easy, casual energy she carried slipping away. Her panic and fear were still there, forming a toxic sludge in the pit of her stomach, but there was a much more familiar and productive emotion burning above them. Anger.

Rescue.

She needed to figure out where the Red Room was getting new recruits.

Burn.

She needed to find where the program was based now.

Kill.

She needed to watch Dreykov die.

Pain lanced through her jaw, and Natasha realized she had been clenching and grinding her teeth, gripping the counter so hard her fingers ached.

What about Barnes? A small voice in the back of her head asked. Natasha hated admitting defeat, even in the sanctity of her own mind, but she had to. 

I don’t know. 

Part of her wanted to run out the door and start tracking down the Red Room immediately. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t imagine leaving Barnes alone. 

I just got him back. I can’t risk losing him again.

That instinct was quickly reinforced when she heard a heavy thump from the opposite side of the house.

Grabbing a knife from the block in the kitchen, Natasha moved silently down the hall she had spotted when they entered the house. At the end of the hall a door was cracked, sunlight streaming through it. The sound of water running almost masked the groans coming from inside.

Stealth forgotten, Natasha rushed in, sweeping for any threats, expecting the worst. Steam spilled from the ensuite bathroom, clinging to her skin as she moved towards it. Inside the bathroom, slumped on the floor, Barnes was curled in on himself, shaking. 

Natasha dropped the knife, letting it impale the polished hardwood of the master bedroom as she fell to her knees beside him. His skin was pale and clammy, hair sticking to his face in sweaty clumps. The shower, turned as hot as possible, roared in her ears, steam clogging her lungs.

“Barnes, are you hurt?” she demanded. At first glance, he seemed unharmed. When he didn’t reply, she pursed her lips.

“I’m going to move you out of the bathroom,” she said, not even sure if he could hear or understand her. “I need to check you for injury.”

Carefully stepping around his twitching form, she shut off the shower, hissing as the scalding water touched her skin. That done, she looped her arms underneath his and awkwardly shuffle-stepped backward, pulling him out of the muggy bathroom and into the bedroom.

Her concern grew as he made no response to the change in his surroundings. Low, pained groans tore from his throat as he curled in on himself, metal arm over his head as if protecting it while his flesh arm wrapped tightly around his stomach.

“I need you to lay out for me, Barnes,” Natasha pleaded, panic rearing its head once again as she caught a glimpse of his face, features distorted in pain. “I need to see if you’re bleeding out or something, fuck you better not be, I’m going to be so pissed if you are.”

Her words had no heat to them, just a desperate worry as she pulled at his shirt, trying to spot any blood soaking through the fabric.

“Это больно,” he whimpered, words slurring together. (It hurts.)

“Что болит? Вы ранены?” (What hurts? Are you injured?)

Barnes’ hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her wrist. Natasha looked down with wide eyes. Barnes’ pupils were almost entirely dilated, nose running and lip quivering as he tugged at her arm.

“Mне нужна доза,” he rasped. (I need a dose.)

Realization hit Natasha like a truck.

Of course.

Hydra had controlled him in every way. They had wiped him, beat him, tortured him, froze him. It made sense they would have drugged him too.

And if they had given him enough slow-releasing drugs that they were only running out now, a few weeks after being dispatched, with his serum-enhanced metabolism…

The withdrawals could kill him, she realized. He was probably hiding the symptoms until now, numbing them with alcohol and riding it out on his own.

Beneath her, Barnes whimpered, unfocused gaze wavering from her, hand still around her wrist.

“Пожалуйста,” he begged quietly, broken. (Please.)

Natasha’s chest felt too tight. She had no idea what experimental drugs they would have given him, or how bad the withdrawals would be, or how to help him. With luck, he’d be able to burn through the worst of it in a few days, unless…

Unless Hydra had dosed him with some sort of poison as an insurance policy.

Unless they had made sure that if they couldn’t have him, no one could.

Unless he really was dying in front of her and there was nothing she could do about it.

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Patience - 7

Patience:  A Black Widow Fanfic

Patience Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1753

Warnings: language, alcohol, smut (FF, oral sex, vaginal fingering, 69, over-stimulation)

Synopsis: Every day Natasha prays for more patience to deal with a litany of things from waiting for her target to make a move - to not yelling at Clint for putting empty milk containers back in the fridge.

When her prayers are answered, Natasha finds that having patience is easy, holding on to it is a little harder.

Chapter 7

Natasha stood at your door and took a deep breath.  She knew this was going to hurt - she just hoped it was in a good way.  Like digging out an ingrown hair.  It would sting and it was messy but oddly satisfying and when it was out there was room to heal.

Her hand seemed heavy when she raised it.  Her mind flitted to Mjolnir and she wondered if this was so hard because this was the same thing - FRIDAY had been wrong and Natasha wasn’t worthy of you after all.  As he knuckles rapped dully on your door a small scared part of her that she didn’t like to give the light of day hoped that you weren’t there and then she could claim to have tried but it wasn’t to be.

There was no answer, but Natasha waited.  She didn’t knock again.  She just stood, staring at the door, part of her hoping it wouldn’t open, but a much larger part hoping that it would.

Time passed.  She wasn’t sure how long.  It didn’t matter.  She would wait.

When the door opened, you leaned against the frame wearing a wry smile, an oversized button-up shirt, and very little else.  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”  You said.

“Can we talk?”  Natasha asked.

You shrugged and stepped out of the doorway, letting Natasha enter.  She made her way to the couch but didn’t sit.  You closed the door and went to the fridge.  “You want a drink?”

“I need something stronger than beer,” she answered.

You pulled out a bottle of vodka from the freezer and brought it over to the coffee table with two tumblers.  Natasha couldn’t have loved you any more than she did right then.  You flopped down into the couch and poured two very large shots before taking your glass and sitting back with your legs tucked up under you.

“Are you going to sit?”  You asked.

Natasha picked up her glass and sat down in the chair opposite you.  She went to say something but when she realized she didn’t know how to start she took a drink from the tumbler, letting the cold of the liquid and the burn of the alcohol soothe her for a moment.

“So,” you said, as you watched her closely.  “Did you finally realize you’d made a mistake?”

Natasha looked down at the glass in her hands and nodded.  “Yes,” she said.

“And what if it’s too late?  What if I don’t want you back anymore?”  You asked.

Natasha frowned and shook her head.  “Then I’ll wait until you realize that it’s never too late.  I’ll wait because I love you and I know you love me and I know that we’re supposed to be together and one day you’ll realize that too.”

“What if it takes me years to realize that?”  You asked.

“I can wait,” she said.  “I’ll just make sure I keep reminding you.”

You put your glass and got up.  Natasha looked up at you and watched as you approached her.  Natasha had always been able to read people like they were books written in large print.  So by the time you were standing above her, she was smiling.  She’d been forgiven.  It didn’t matter how you were trying to intimidate her or scare her, she knew.

You straddled her legs and sunk onto her lap.  “I knew you’d figure it out.”

She wrapped her arms around your waist and nuzzled into your shoulder.  “I’m really bad at this being a girlfriend thing.  Ask anyone.”

“I know,” you said, caressing your fingers along her jaw.  “But don’t worry, I know you’re a good person, and anytime you forget that you are - I have all the patience in the world to wait for you to remember.”

She leaned in and kissed you deeply.  You pushed your hand into her hair, curling a lock around your finger before bunching it into your fist.  Natasha ran her hands down your back and over your ass.  She bunched the shirt up and pulled back, looking up at you.  “You’re not wearing any panties, you bad girl,” she said.

“Mmm… what are you gonna do about it?”  You teased.

Natasha smirked and leaned in again, but just when her lips were about to touch on yours she pulled back.  “This feels too easy,” she said.

“Do you think I’m planning revenge?”  You asked, smothering a laugh.

“No, but… aren’t you angry?”  She asked.  “Aren’t you worried I’ll do this again?  You can’t just forgive me.  You have to make me beg and make promises and… I don’t know, tell me that I can’t ever do this to you again.”

You sighed and shook your head.  “You really hurt me,” you admitted.  “I love you, Natasha.  I am very, very old, and I don’t think I’ve let myself feel that way about anyone for a long, long time.  But I’ve seen how these things play out in every possible way they can.  I’ve seen people lying to get me back.  I’ve had people be honest and then still let me down.  I’ve had brief flings and live whole lives with people never having a major conflict.  I know no one can be as mad at you as you are at yourself.  I know you’re sorry.  I even know when you broke up with me it was about you and not me.  I can drag this out and make you beg for me to take you back and make you promise that you’ll never do it again, but what’s the point?  Do you plan to do it again?”

“Of course not,” Natasha said.

“Are you sorry for hurting me?”  You asked.

“Of course.  I hate that I hurt you.  I’m so, so sorry.”

“I miss you and your life is too short to play these games.  I know you don’t want to do it again, so let's just get to the good bit and assume you won’t.  Neither of us really knows for sure what’s actually going to happen.”

Natasha looked at you, still completely unsure what she had done to deserve you, and she wasn’t sure she really did.  She wasn’t going to take that out on you anymore though and she’d just relax and take this how it came.  Who knew, maybe she’d be happy?

She kissed you again, deeper and more passionate than before.  Her hands went to your hair and bunched it in her fist.  You moaned into her lips letting her dominate the kiss.  Her tongue probed into your mouth and danced with yours as you slowly rolled your hips in her lap, grinding down on her.  Your hands began to roam her body, sliding up her sides and cupping her breasts before moving behind her back and pulling her closer to you.  She could smell the arousal starting to drip from you and she wanted nothing more than to taste you.

She lifted you and carried you to the couch, pulling off your shirt as she guided you back onto the couch.  She dipped her head between your legs and kissed the insides of your thighs.  She slowly moved her way up, transitioning from soft butterfly kisses to deep kisses that bruised your skin, leaving a trail of tenderness up to the apex of your thighs.

She nosed at your cunt, breathing in the tempting scent.  She flattened her tongue and as she swiped up, lapping up your fluids you both moaned in unison.  She took her time, swirling her tongue around to taste all of you there was.  Her tongue pushed inside of you and curled as she drank from the source.

You moaned and bucked your hips, your hands gripping at her hair as she sent small electrical currents running through you.

“Nat,” you hummed.  “I want to taste you too.  I missed this.”

“I think I can handle that,” Natasha said and sat up.  She started stripping off her clothes and you sat up and helped, pulling her shirt off over the top of her head as Natasha pushed down her pants.  She straddled your head and as she lowered her face to your cunt, you lapped up her pussy.

You both moaned and began to grind against each other as your tongues explored each other’s most intimate areas.  A warm buzz spread through Natasha and she doubled down, sucking hard on your clit as she pushed her fingers inside you.  You mimicked her actions.  Pleasure surged through her as the two of you writhed together on the couch.  Your fluids began to run down her hand as hers filled your mouth.

Natasha had missed you and missed this, she wanted to drag it out as long as she could, to make it so that both of you were sitting on the edge, desperate for relief, but she was too eager and you were giving yourself to her too fully.

Your orgasm hit first, your walls tensing around her digits as your clit twitched under her tongue.  She didn’t ease up, just dragged it out as long as she could before a second one hit.  You moaned and panted under her but somehow didn’t lose any focus.  You sucked greedily on Natasha’s clit and your fingers dragged over that sweet spot inside her over and over again.  As your third orgasm hit, her first crashed down on her, making her muscles spasm and her legs tremble.  She saw stars but continued to suck on your pussy.

Again and again, the two of you brought each other over, until it was hard to know where one orgasm started and the other ended.

You pulled back breathing heavily.  “Stop, Nat, I can’t… I didn’t think it was possible but I’m done.”

Natasha laughed and pulled back.  She turned around and lay down next to you.  You curled into her arms and closed your eyes, letting your bodies settle in their post-orgasmic highs.  “I missed this,” you hummed.

“Me too.  I am sorry,” Natasha whispered.

“It’s done. It does no one any favors to dwell on it,” you said, looking up at her.

“I’m just happy you could find it in your heart to forgive me,” Natasha said.  “And I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you.”

“Well, if you’re patient, we can start by doing this bit all over again,” you teased.

Natasha smiled at you and rubbed her nose against yours.  “Luckily, I have all the patience I need right here.”

~ END ~

[finnicks]

( fic ) the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again

the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again

mcu | yelena & peter pg, 603. Two spiders bond over a spiderweb.

Cocking her brow, Yelena shakes her head. "I am not. It’s not wise to tell a Widow that she is happy when she is not. You may lose your head."

"But I’m Spider-man," Peter says, still grinning lopsidedly. He begins to sway, kneeling against the ceiling. "And we’re friends. Spiders should be friends."

"Did you know the women spiders like to eat the boy spiders?"

[ also read at ff.net ]

[natsfireflies]

Natasha rolled on her back and almost startled as she notices the leg thrown over hers and a heavy weight on her torso. The guard falls just as quickly as it rose when she sees a flash of blonde hair right by her side and realizes it's just Yelena, but this time her sister isn't sleeping heavily as she was just yesterday, so the sudden movement wakes her up.

“You're worst than a cat getting surprised with a cucumber.” Yelena groans, getting closer instead of rolling on her back too.

“Not my fault you keep insisting on sneaking up on me.” Her tone is teasing, but there's no aggravation, and Yelena knows that.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Gladiolus

I don’t own this gif. Find the original here.

Miniseries Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader Word count: 1123

Gladiolus represents remembrance, faithfulness, sincerity, and strength of character.

It had been a while since you had seen Natasha. To be fair, you hadn’t expected to see her again after your first date. It was a total shitshow. But when she asked you out for a second one and then a third, you were fairly certain all was well. Then she came over more and more. First staying for a night, then a weekend, then a week, and now is the first time in two months that she left you alone for longer than two days. It’s fair to say you’re worried but Natasha has never given you a reason to worry about her. She stands her ground. That doesn’t mean you don’t want her home to make sure she’s safe and sound. But what if she’s just ghosting you so she doesn’t have to break up with you. Wait, are you two even together? Neither of you ever asked.

You sigh loudly as you find yourself rewatching stupid reality TV again. Normally, you’d spend this time talking to Natasha. Debating anything and everything under the sun until you two would just agree to disagree. A smile appears on your face as you think about those moments. Out of nowhere, something shatters one of your windows. You shriek in fear and jump up from your seat to check and potentially protect yourself but it seems you don’t need to. Suddenly, you’re face to face with Captain America. ‘You’re Y/n Y/l/n?’ ‘I am,’ you answer, ‘is this about Natasha? Because I haven’t seen her in weeks.’ ‘I know, that’s why I’m here,’ he says, ‘put on some shoes, we’re leaving.’ ‘What?’ ‘Put on some shoes-’ ‘Yes, I heard that, I’m not deaf,’ you snap at him. He smiles slightly at your comment. ‘I see why Natasha likes you,’ he tells you, ‘but I don’t have time to explain.’ He doesn’t give you more time and just scoops you off your feet, jumping out of the building with you. Your eyes widen but you don’t manage to scream. He lands easily and puts you inside a car. ‘What the hell is going on,’ you snap as he gets into the driver’s seat. ‘Good to see you too sweetheart,’ you hear a familiar, raspy voice say. Then, Natasha turns towards you from the passenger’s seat. ‘I missed you.’ ‘Oh fuck you,’ you snap at her with a smile plastered on your face. She chuckles because she knows you don’t mean it. ‘I missed you too but please explain to me why mister America here couldn’t use my front door.’ ‘We’re on the run,’ Steve tells you, ‘sorry about your window.’ ‘Why did you kidnap me if you’re on the run,’ you ask Natasha, completely ignoring Steve. ‘Anyone with two brain cells can figure out where I’ve stayed the last few months and I doubt they’d think it was platonic if they find out you live in a one-bedroom apartment,’ she explains to you, ‘I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire so we’re bringing you to a safe house.’ You can’t help the self-satisfied grin on your face as you lean back into your car seat. ‘You love me.’ Natasha chuckles and looks back ahead out the window. ‘You don’t have to say it now. I’ll get it out of you one way or another.’ ‘Is that a threat?’ ‘It’s a promise.’ Steve seems highly uncomfortable with the way the two of you talk as he tries to keep his eyes on the road and his knuckles are turning white. ‘Could you two calm down a little,’ Steve tries to ask nicely. ‘I haven’t seen her in weeks,’ you say to defend yourself, ‘be happy I’m not jumping her right now. If you weren’t in the car, I would.’ ‘Oh, is that all I am to you,’ Natasha teases. ‘What? A pretty face to sit on? No, but it’s certainly a plus.’ Steve turns a bright shade of red as Natasha bursts out in laughter.

A man walks up the car as the three of you get out but you don’t really care for him. You walk over to Natasha and press a longing kiss to her lips, something you wanted to do from the second you saw her. ‘Eager, are we,’ she smirks at you as she takes your hand. ‘Ah, so this is the lucky gal,’ he says with a grin as he walks up to you with open arms, ‘nice to meet you. I’m Sam Wilson.’ He pulls you into a friendly hug. ‘Hi, Y/n Y/l/n,’ you turn to Natasha, ‘does everyone here know about me?’ ‘No, just these two,’ she tells you, ‘I trust them.’ You nod and know that it takes a lot for her to trust. When you two first started dating you noticed she never talked about herself, she would just direct all questions back to you. For her to say that she trusts these people makes you feel a lot more at ease. ‘Then I trust them too.’ She nods proudly and walks you into the grim-looking building. You follow closely behind. As you walk through a long, cement hallway, you have a look around. The building feels cold and is clearly abandoned. Yet, it does look clean. Maybe it’s a safe house? That thought goes out the window as Natasha shows you to a room that seems hastily put together to suit the needs of a person. ‘I’m really sorry about all this,’ she tells you as you sit down on the bed. You pat the spot next to you to ask her to come over. She does but you can tell she feels hurried. She doesn’t have much time for some quiet conversation. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ you say, ‘I’m glad you came back for me.’ She smiles meekly. ‘Still, I should’ve told you. I’m surprised you didn’t attack Steve with a bat when he came in,’ she chuckles. ‘I was about to but I remembered you told me some time that you were acquaintances,’ you explain to her as she gets up to leave again, ‘but you do owe me an explanation when you get back. Oh, and one question before you go.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Does this mean I’m your girlfriend,’ you ask with a cocky smile. ‘I mean, I did tell my friends about you. Do with that information as you will.’ You roll your eyes and get up. She takes a step towards you, gently laying her hands on your waist as you grab her face and press a longing, desperate kiss to her lips. ‘Come back to me in one piece?’ ‘Always.’ ‘I’ll keep you to that.’

[sigloverofwords]

Stuck at 56.7 Degrees//Chapter Eight

Taglist: @darke15 <3

Natasha had learned many years ago how to wake up in precarious situations. From napping in a tree in the Black Forest, to caves in the Middle East, or disguised in a crowd of refugees in eastern Europe, she was an expert at falling asleep at a moment’s notice and waking up without moving a muscle the moment she sensed something was wrong.

When Natasha regained consciousness and became aware of the back of her eyelids and the rough floor pressing into her side, she took mental stock of her situation. Wall to her back, bag undisturbed beneath her head, knife in her boot still pressed against her leg. She could feel his eyes on her.

She blinked her eyes open, surprised at the weak pre-dawn sunlight that cast a haze over the room. Moving slowly, she sat and stretched, her muscles protesting from a stiff night’s rest.

“I thought we agreed on taking watches,” she said, voice low and rough from sleeping on a dusty floor.

He remained exactly where she left him: pressed into the corner of the room opposite her, staring at her with those icy blue eyes.

“Not tired,” he grunted, coughing once to clear his throat. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“If I’m tired from the pace you’ve been setting, you definitely are. Go on, sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

He shook his head.

“I need to move. I’ve been here too long anyway.”

It was too early for arguments, so Natasha just shrugged and rolled to her feet. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching her stretch and check over her bag.

“I’m coming with you,” she answered simply. He frowned.

“I’m fine on my own.”

“ I’m fine on my own, ” Natasha repeated in a mocking voice. “Shut up.”

After shaking out the blanket, she packed it into her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. By the time she turned back to her companion, he was stuffing his own sleeping bag into a ratty backpack.

“Ew, no,” she strode over, waving his hands away. “Leave the sleeping bag. I’ll get you a new one, that one is gross and way too small for you.”

He tugged the sleeping bag to his chest.

“You’re not coming with me.”

Frustration bubbled in Natasha’s chest. Why couldn’t he just let her be there for him?

She took a deep breath and held out her hands placatingly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. The words were unfamiliar on her lips. She grimaced.

“I just want to help,” she added. His deep frown didn’t go away, but as she studied him she could see fear hidden behind the anger.

“Why do you want to help me?” he asked again. There was a hard edge to him that she had never seen before. It reminded her of a cornered fighting dog.

I never wanted this for you, she thought, swallowing. I tried to protect you from the worst of it, to salvage your humanity from the hell we were in, but I couldn’t even do that.

He had grown into someone she didn’t fully recognize anymore, someone more like herself than she wanted to admit. So, Natasha thought about what she would say to herself if their positions were reversed.

“I owe you a debt,” she said. “You saved my life. Even if you don’t remember it, I do.”

This resonated with him more than anything she had said previously, she saw it in the tilt of his stubbled chin, the understanding in his eyes.

One weapon to another, she thought. If that’s the only way we can understand each other, so be it.

“As long as you’re useful and not in the way, you can come with me,” he said, warning lacing every word like poison. 

“Fine, as long as you leave that here,” she said, nodding at the sleeping bag in his hands.

He leveled a glare at her, but wrenched the sleeping bag out of the backpack it was half stuffed into and dropped it onto the floor.

“Fine,” he snapped. “If you’re going to be a princess about it.”

Natasha froze.

— “Давай, ударь меня.” (Come on, hit me.) —

— He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, arms in a loose defensive position. A cocky grin spread across his face. —

— “Не бойся, принцесса.” (Don’t be afraid, princess.) —

Forcing herself out of the flash of memory, Natasha found herself staring up at him with wide eyes. He just looked confused.

“What?”

No spark of recognition, no joking laugh or twinkle of mischief. She shook her head.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

She strode out of the room without even looking to see if he was following. It wasn’t until she had kicked the front door open (more violently than necessary, probably) and she was out in the chilly dawn that she felt centered again.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” He asked, jogging to catch up with her. She spun around to face him.

“What do you remember?” she demanded. His confused, almost concerned expression quickly closed off into one of distant, cold anger. It was like a mask slammed down in front of him.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He scowled. 

“I don’t owe you anything,” he said, sneering. She matched him, glare for glare.

“No,” she said. “You don’t. But like I said: I owe you my life, many times over. So I need you to work with me, here. I want to help you. Do you want your memories back?”

She hadn’t realized she was stalking towards him as she spoke until they were almost chest to chest, her chin tipped up defiantly to stare at him.

“Of course I do, what sort of question is that?”

His scowl remained fixed, but as his eyes moved over her face, something changed, ever so slightly. Something sad and lost, hidden behind his anger.

Natasha forced herself to take a step back, and breathe deeply.

“Okay, then. I’m no neuroscientist, but your brain needs to rebuild neuron pathways. That means I can’t just hand you all the answers, Bucky.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she spoke, searching for a reaction. She found one as he shook his head.

“Don’t call me that,” he said softly, eyes falling to the ground.

“Why?”

Part of the question was to satisfy her own curiosity, but part was to push him to think through his decisions rather than rely on muscle memory, so to speak. Given what she knew about the human brain (more than a layperson, less than, say, Bruce Banner) it was a muscle like any other. He had to work to get it functional again, and that meant doing more than just reacting.

James stared at the asphalt like it held the key to unlocking his mind.

“I’m not…I’m not that man anymore. I’m not Bucky. At least…not right now.”

She forced herself to soften, relaxing her muscles and lowering her voice.

“What would you like me to call you?”

He scuffed his boot at the edge of a pothole.

“I don’t know.”

“You had a lot of names to choose from, but you’re allowed to pick a new one if you want.”

God knows she’d done it enough times. At this point, she slipped between names as easily as a pair of shoes. None fit quite right, but she couldn’t go back. At least…not now.

He shook his head.

“I think…I think Barnes is good. The sergeant. I could be him, maybe. A soldier.”

Natasha let out a long breath, more relieved than she thought she’d be.

— ”Как вас зовут?” (What’s your name?) —

— “Ты уже знаешь мое имя, принцесса.” (You already know my name, princess.) —

— “Нет, не твой титул. Как вас зовут?” (No, not your title. What’s your name?) —

— “...Барнс, Джеймс Барнс. Что твое, вдова?” (...Barnes, James Barnes. What’s yours, Widow?) —

— “Наталья Алиановна Романова.” (Natal'ya Alianovna Romanova.) —

— “Какой глоток. Я зову тебя Нат.” (What a mouthful. I’m calling you Nat.) —

“Okay. Sergeant Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Again, she thought, holding out her hand.

He slowly took her hand.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Ah, there’s the heartbreak all over again.

She gave him a wry smile.

“Call me whatever you remember,” she replied with forced lightheartedness. He frowned.

“But I only know you from my mission briefing,” he said, stumbling over the last two words like they choked him on their way out. “I only know you as the Black Widow.”

Natasha straightened.

“Then that’s who I’ll be, for now.”

The sun was barely peeking out over the rows of townhouses, and the city of Philidelphia was starting to come to life. Natasha surveyed the street.

“Where to, Barnes?”

Just using the name seemed to invigorate the man in front of her a little. He stood a bit straighter, hitched his bag higher, and scanned their surroundings for threats.

“I’ve been in this city for too long,” he said, down to business. “Do you have somewhere within a day’s travel we can regroup?”

She nodded.

“I burned a lot of my safehouses on the coast looking for you-” she shot him a look, he had pursed his lips in what could almost be a proud expression. “-but I still have a few,” she finished, shaking her head to hide her smile.

“Lead the way, Widow,” he gestured. Natasha took a moment to get her bearings, then started walking down the road.

“Train or car?” Natasha asked after a few minutes of walking. They had moved from the street to the sidewalk as people began to drive to work.

“Car,” he answered instantly. She nodded. “We’ll have to jack one. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Neither of them had any compunction about their actions, and when Barnes pointed out a sleek black BMW 3 series they moved in perfect tandem. He kept watch while Natasha produced a slim wire and a knife. A few moments later they both slid into the car, with Natasha hotwiring it in a matter of minutes while he tossed their stuff in the back seat.

“Watch the duffle,” Natasha said, fiddling with the wires. “I pulled some pistols off those guys yesterday, they’re still loaded.”

“Didn’t your CO teach you to clear your weapons?” Barnes grumbled, unzipping the bag and grabbing a pair of guns to unload them. Natasha smirked.

“Nah, he wasn’t too much a stickler for safety. He said either I’d learn or I wouldn’t, and if I got shot it would  be a good lesson.”

The car rumbled to life beneath them, and Natasha straightened. Barnes tossed the full clips of ammo into the glovebox and tucked one unloaded pistol into the door, sliding the other into the center console.

“He sounds like a dick,” he said. “You ever get shot?”

Natasha let out a short laugh as she pulled out onto the street and set her sights on the highway.

“Once or twice.”

“And you still didn’t learn.”

“Nah. Takes more than a few pesky bullets to get a lesson to stick for me.”

Barnes just shook his head, turning to look out the window.

“So, where are we headed?” he asked as she followed signs for I-76. 

“Harrisburg,” she answered, then muttered a few choice Romanian words under her breath as a Lexus swerved to cut her off. Barnes chuckled, causing Natasha to raise her eyebrow.

“Got something to say, sergeant?” she asked. He shook his head.

“Course not. Wondering where you learned to curse like that, but no comment here.”

Natasha couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“Same CO,” she said. 

Her chest hurt, but if she forced herself to slow down and stop thinking about what to do to get her James back, she found herself simply happy that he was here at all. Even though he didn’t remember sneaking out onto the roof when it was snowing and teaching her how to curse in Romanian while they huddled under old blankets, she was still happy. They were still able to fall into a conversation, even if he didn’t remember her.

Until you can do it on your own, I’ll do the remembering for both of us, James, she promised.

It took a few more muttered curses to get Natasha through traffic without yelling at anyone, but eventually, they made it onto the highway, heading west. Once clear of the city, Natasha felt a little tension leave her body. With the open road unspooled ahead of her, cutting through woods and rocky hills, the blue sky above dotted with a few grey clouds, and the sun shining down on a fresh new day, she felt her spark of hope warm into a flame.

“So,” she said, smoothly maneuvering around an old pick-up and accelerating in the fast lane. “We should probably figure out a plan.”

“I thought we had a plan,” Barnes replied. “We’re going to Harrisburg to lay low, right?”

“Well,” Natasha drew out the word. “Yes and no.”

He instantly tensed beside her, voice harsh.

“What do you mean, yes and no?”

“We are going to Harrisburg to lay low,” she was quick to reassure him. “But it may not be that simple.”

“When is it ever,” he grumbled. “What now?”

“The men who attacked me last night, do you know who they were?”

“No.”

“Me neither, not exactly. All I could figure out is that they were Russian.”

“My grandmother could have guessed that.”

Natasha rolled her eyes as Barnes crossed his arms, looking out his window.

Always with the attitude.

“Anyways,” she said pointedly. “They might end up being a problem again.”

“Why?”

Natasha grimaced.

“Long story short? They were sent by my old commander, not the one who taught me to curse, the one in command of my entire program.”

“What, he’s got a problem with you?”

“A bit, I guess. I kind of…killed him.”

Barnes huffed.

“You should have killed him better if he’s sending guys after you.”

Natasha scowled.

“I literally blew up his building with him inside, okay? I didn’t really think he’d come after me, given that I blew him up .”

“Did you recover a body?”

Natasha chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“No…we thought it was destroyed in the explosion.”

“You can’t half-ass an assassination, Widow. I thought you were supposed to be the best,” he snapped.

“I am,” Natasha snapped back. “He shouldn’t have survived, there’s no way he could have.”

And I killed so many people to make sure he didn’t…

“Clearly, he did.”

He had raised his voice, turning to look at her.

“And now I’m with you, which means if they shoot at you, they’re probably going to shoot at me, too!”

“Relax, they would have anyways.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Natasha was about to answer when something tugged at the back of her mind. 

“Shut up.”

“What the f-”

“Barnes, shut up! ”

Frantically scanning her surroundings, Natasha found the threat. A tanky grey SUV was directly behind them, accelerating quickly.

“Hold on!” she ordered, swerving into the righthand lane just in time to dodge the SUV. Metal screeched as its front bumper caught the corner of their BMW, but Natasha was able to maintain control. 

“Говно!” (Shit!) Barnes cursed harshly, bracing himself as the BMW swung wildly.

“Заряди пушки, Барнс,” Natasha spoke through gritted teeth, weaving in and out of traffic at ever-increasing speeds to try and get away from their pursuers. (Load the guns, Barnes.)

While Natasha gripped the steering wheel tight, racing through traffic full of innocent civilians, Barnes grabbed the pistols he had stowed earlier and slid the ammo clips into them, dragging back the slide to chamber a shot.

“These your Russian friends?” he asked, twisting around in his seat. 

“I wouldn’t call them friends,” she replied. “I have to get us off the highway, there are too many civilians.”

“Wouldn’t the civilians stop them from engaging?”

Natasha’s answer was short, clipped, and heavy with personal experience.

“No.”

As if confirming her answer, a shot rang out, lodging itself in their bumper. When Natasha glanced in the rearview mirror, she spotted a black-clad, masked shooter hanging out of the passenger side of the SUV, already lining up another shot.

“Okay, time’s up,” Natasha said. Wrenching the wheel, she bumped over the grassy median and onto an empty offramp. The speed she lost in the sudden maneuver she quickly made up with a clear road ahead of her. Unfortunately, their pursuers had more time to make the ramp, and quickly filled her rearview mirror again as they sped through a rundown town featuring all of one gas station and a grocery store. Almost as quickly as they had entered it, they were gone again, trees closing in around the road and only occasionally breaking to reveal flashes of rolling fields.

“I should have left you at the bar,” Barnes grumbled, checking the guns.

“And miss all the fun?” Natasha replied, pushing the car faster down the cracked two-lane road. His response was a string of muttered Russian and an exaggerated eye roll.

“Весело, говорит она.” (Fun, she says.)

After fumbling with the buttons on his car door, locking and unlocking the car a few times, Barnes hit on the button to lower the window.

“Stay steady,” he ordered before hauling himself half out the window, leaving one of the guns on the seat behind him. Natasha did the best she could, but the road had other plans. Swerving to avoid a pothole, she heard a shot go off above her. A moment later, Barnes ducked his head inside.

“The fuck did I just say?” he demanded. “Hold the car steady!”

“It’s rural Pennsylvania,” she replied testily. “You think they maintain the roads for these speeds?”

Barnes’ response was lost to the wind as he returned to his previous position. Natasha tightened her grip on the wheel, the speedometer blinking in warning as she crossed the three-digit threshold. It took nearly all her focus to keep the car under control, scanning for danger as quickly as she could. Above her, Barnes fired again. A return shot skated along the side of their car, carving a silver line into the paint.

“Turn coming!” Natasha yelled. She hoped it was enough warning as she pulled the emergency brake and set the tires squealing as they locked up, leaving long black skid marks on the asphalt. Taking advantage of the momentary stop, Barnes emptied his clip. A second before the bullet-ridden SUV could ram into them, they were off again, speeding down a tree-lined, one-lane road with a spray of gravel. Natasha spared a glance to see Barnes was still with her and had to restrain a laugh as he pulled himself back into the car. His hair stuck out all around his face, windblown and matted, and he wore a wide-eyed scowl as he discarded the empty gun in the backseat and checked the fresh one.

“A little more warning next time would be nice,” he said. Natasha gave him a smile.

“I knew you could handle it.”

Their maneuver had gained them some ground, as the SUV had blown past the entrance to the road and was forced to backtrack to turn onto the winding gravel path.

“So, you got a plan?” Barnes asked, watching out the cracked back windshield as they turned a corner, losing sight of their pursuers.

“Plans are so overrated, don’t you think?” Natasha replied.

“No, no I don’t think that.”

The trees around them, thick as any wall, suddenly broke open to reveal a picturesque white ranch house. The gravel drive widened into a circle, with the house on one side and a large, freestanding garage on the other. No other vehicles appeared to be in the drive or garage, and Natasha hoped that meant there were no civilians home. She spun the wheel and pulled the e-brake again, stopping the car so it blocked the drive. As she shut off the engine, the roar of the SUV grew louder.

Natasha and Barnes moved on instinct, grabbing their bags and flinging them to the edge of the circular drive as they hurried out of the car. Natasha fished more ammo from her bag and tossed it to Barnes, who caught it as he hurried to cover in the trees opposite her. Flanking the end of the driveway, they both melted into the trees, guns hot. A moment later the SUV appeared, gunning toward them as fast as it could on the uneven road. It crunched into their car, crumpling the passenger side and sending the BMW sliding several yards.

“Их там нет!” A voice yelled. (They’re not there!) The SUV doors slammed open and three men jumped out, AKs held close across their bodies.

Natasha almost sighed. This wasn’t a challenge, this was an annoyance.

“Держите двигатель работающим,” one man, the leader, apparently, ordered. (Keep the engine running.)

Natasha’s eyes found Barnes, crouched beside a tree. His eyes were as cold and dead as a Siberian winter and despite the warm adrenaline pulsing through her veins, Natasha shivered.

Barnes held up two metal fingers and pointed at himself, then one and pointed at her. She frowned, holding up two fingers and pointing to herself, then one and pointing at him. He shook his head. She nodded emphatically. He scowled.

Their silent argument was cut short as three pairs of boots crunched on gravel.

“Глаза вверх. С ней кто-то есть.” (Eyes up. She has someone with her.)

“это солдат,” a voice said, younger than the grave orders of the group’s leader. (It’s the Soldier.) He sounded terrified. 

“Это не подтверждено.” (That’s not confirmed.)

“Я видел его металлическую руку!” (I saw his metal arm!)

“Солдат на нашей стороне, идиот.” (The Soldier is on our side, idiot.)

Two dull thumps sounded as the leader hit his two companions on their helmets. 

“Это может быть царь Николай Второй, мне все равно. Вас убьют, если вы не будете внимательны.” (It could be Czar Nicholas II for all I care. You're going to get yourselves killed if you don't pay attention.)

Natasha peeked through the leaves. The group was slowly approaching the wrecked BMW, guns raised. Two of them, the two subordinates, split off towards Barnes’ side of the road, while the leader stalked unwittingly towards her.

A flash of metal caught her eye, and she glanced towards her companion, who had three metal fingers raised. Before she could tilt her head in question (no way was she giving all three to him, this was her fight) he lowered a finger.

Two.

The commander stepped closer, and Barnes lowered another finger.

One.

Moving as one, Natasha and Barnes leaped onto their targets. She heard a scream from the other side of the road, but her focus was quickly focused entirely on her opponent. 

The leader was big and bulky, but his size didn’t stop him from moving faster than she anticipated. As Natasha engaged he swung his rifle, cracking her across the jaw with it before she was able to dodge. Stars exploded behind her eyes as she stumbled back a step and fell into a defensive stance. With a few feet of distance, Natasha glanced over him, noticing how he held himself and his weapon. She spotted the safety, still on. Her eyes flicked up to the expressionless visor of the man’s helmet.

“What, scared to return to Dreykov with damaged goods?” she goaded. The man growled.

Jackpot.

He lashed out with the butt of his gun and Natasha dropped to a crouch, feeling her hair ruffle as his swing missed. Before he could recover she popped up, slamming an elbow into his underarm, staggering him. Digging her fingers under his helmet, she ripped it off, revealing the man beneath. She didn’t recognize him, she didn’t have to. His lips curled in fury at the same time fear flashed in his eyes.

“Передай от меня привет этому ублюдку Дрейкову,” (Tell that bastard Dreykov hello from me,) she snarled, pressing the muzzle of her gun under his chin. “Я скоро пошлю его к вам.” (I’ll be sending him to meet you soon.)

Without breaking eye contact with the man, she pulled the trigger.

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Patience - 6

Patience:  A Black Widow Fanfic

Patience Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1550

Warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of sex

Synopsis: Every day Natasha prays for more patience to deal with a litany of things from waiting for her target to make a move - to not yelling at Clint for putting empty milk containers back in the fridge.

When her prayers are answered, Natasha finds that having patience is easy, holding on to it is a little harder.

Chapter 6

Natasha shifted uneasily where she sat.  The barstool was oddly shaped and too high for her, which didn’t help the fact that her skirt was dangerously short, not just because she was worried about slipping back off the chair and giving the patrons of the exclusive high-end Gentlemen's club a show they hadn’t paid for, but because she had two knives and a gun strapped to her thighs and if she wasn’t careful, they would also catch sight of those too.

Her target was late.  Really late.  So late that she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to show at all.  Yet, that made no sense as the man he was meeting was sitting at a table at the corner holding a briefcase that she’d already confirmed was full of money.  He didn’t look as nervous as Natasha felt, but he did keep looking over at the door.

She tapped her fingers on the counter.  She was drawing too much attention.  She’d come in on the arm of Tony, but they’d known if he’d hung around too long the deal would never happen.  He stood out and anyone would have to be an idiot to do a huge payoff under the gaze of Iron Man.  The problem was, this was a gentleman’s club.  She didn’t belong.  Not only that, she was the Black Widow - people knew here.  Patrons were looking at her and all it would take was for one of them to look past the blond wig and see the redhead underneath and she was blown.

The bartender approached her and leaned over the bar. “Is mister Stark coming back?”

“I hope so,” Natasha said in a bubbly yet vapid voice.  “He said that he was just going to step out to do some business and I was to sit tight.”

The bartender nodded.  Apparently, rich businessmen left their hot dates at the bar alone regularly enough to not question it.  “Did you want another drink?”

God, did she ever.  She wanted two fingers of vodka, and for him to leave the bottle.  She would love to take this anxious edge off that she was becoming more and more certain was going to be her downfall.  “Another glass of the Rosé?” She said.

As the waiter went to pour another glass she found herself doing something that she had been trying to avoid.  She wished you were here.  Partially she just gave the little prayer she gave was that same one as she did every time she found Bucky doing something like attempting to open a beer with the butt of his gun.  One that wasn’t about you at all, but just for the need for patience.  Mostly she wished for you.  It was a strange place to feel it, and yet as she glanced around at the room full of boring men in boring suits she wished she was with you.

“You called?”

Natasha spun in her seat, nearly falling right out of it.  You leaned against the bar beside her, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere.  You were wearing a suit and the cool that exuded from you far outstripped every man in here.

“How… what?  Have you been following me?”  Natasha spluttered.

You smiled and shook your head.  “No.  But I’ve felt you.  I know you want me back.”

“I don’t,” Natasha lied and then spun suddenly on you, shoving you up against the bar.  It drew everyone’s attention, but at that moment Natasha didn’t care.  She was furious.  You’d been withholding your gift from her because she broke up with you.  It explained everything.  She’d always thought she’d lacked patience but it was nothing compared to how she felt since the two of you had broken up.  She was a mess.  She was supposed to be cool and level-headed at all times and even this simple surveillance was about to come undone because she couldn’t keep her shit together.  “Have you been punishing me?  Taking away my patience so I need you back?”

You frowned and gently took her hands, guiding her back away from you.  “You don’t know me at all if you think that.”

“Then why… why can’t I keep my head straight?  Why am I losing it?”  She implored.

You shook your head and brushed a lock of hair off her cheek.  “Maybe because you miss me?”

“I can’t… I can’t do this… I date you - I lose focus.  I break up with you - I lose focus,” she said.  “I wish I’d never met you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you said.  “Natasha…”

She shook her head and looked away from you, glancing at the man in the booth she was supposed to be surveying.  He was still sitting patiently at the booth.  In fact, everyone around seemed to be imbued with some level of patience that was eluding Natasha.  The fact that not one but two women were now invading their precious club seemed to be of little to no interest in any of them.  The few that did look over did so with a look that said while they weren’t used to women being here making a scene, they’d allow it this time.

“Natasha…” you repeated, drawing her attention back to you.  “I love you.”

“Love is for children,” she said, repeating the mantra she had drilled into her again and again.  Love makes you weak.  It was a game to be played for the young and foolhardy.  When you loved something, you had something to lose and that made you vulnerable.  “I have a job to do.”

You sighed and drew her in close to you, bringing your lips to her ear.  “The man he’s waiting for was caught in traffic.  He’s asking for me now.  Of course, I’m here so he’s on his own,” you whispered.  “Count to a hundred.  He’ll come through that door feeling far more impatient than you are.”

You pulled back and Natasha turned and picked up her drink, feeling the calmness she needed to complete a mission wash over her with your words.  When she turned back to thank you, you were gone.

Natasha stepped out of the debriefing feeling exhausted in a way she hadn’t felt in a long way.  It wasn’t physical exhaustion.  Physically she felt fine.  The mission had gone smoothly in the end and when she’d apprehended her target not only had he crumbled and given her everything she wanted, he’d also named names and the Avengers now had leads on three different crime syndicates that operated out of New York, all dealing in alien technology.

She should feel good.  On a regular day with such an easy and positive outcome, she’d be walking on air.  She might head to the gym and work out and then head out for drinks and see if she could pick up some sexy stranger for a night of passion.

Not tonight though.  Tonight she wanted to lie facedown in bed and block the entire world out.  She wanted blinis with cream cheese and caviar.  Or piroshki with fresh cherries.  She wanted a bottle of vodka straight from the freezer.

She wanted you.

Natasha couldn’t see how she hadn’t completely fucked everything up.  She was so good at pushing people away and never letting them see the real her.  Even her closest friends had been given a line they weren’t allowed to cross.

She’d crossed it to get to you and now she’d ruined everything.

Natasha went to the elevator and stared at the numbers.  The doors stood open as she considered where exactly she wanted to go.  Up to her room to wallow in self-pity or down to you to try and fix things.  She knew in her heart that if she did go back to you you’d forgive her and everything could go back to normal.  She also knew she didn’t deserve that.

“Agent Romanoff?”

FRIDAY’s voice made her jump, and she shook herself like she was trying to wake up from a trance.  “Sorry… sorry,” she said.

“Do you need help deciding where to go?”  She asked.  “It’s just other people are waiting for the elevator.”

“I don’t know what I should do,” Natasha admitted.  “I want to go fix things… but I don’t think -” she shook her head.

The elevator door closed and the car began to travel down.  “I know you, Agent Romanoff,” FRIDAY said.  “If something can be fixed you can fix it.”

“It’s not about whether I can or not,” Natasha said.  “It’s whether it should be.”

“If I was broken I would like it if Mister Stark repaired me,” she said simply.

“What if I don’t deserve to have it fixed?”  Natasha asked.

“Agent Romanoff,” FRIDAY scolded.  “You deserve to have good things.”

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open.  Natasha took a deep breath and looked up at the camera in the corner of the car.  “You’re sure about that are you, FRIDAY?”

“I am an advanced artificial intelligence that can process thousands of calculations in a split second,” FRIDAY responded.  “I don’t make mistakes.”

Natasha smiled and gave a nod.  She steeled herself for a moment, repeating in her head that she did deserve good things.  With a nod, she stepped out of the elevator - the first step towards getting you back.

// NEXT

[finnicks]

( fic ) all you are to me

all you are to me

mcu (black widow) | yelena and natasha 833, pg. Yelena talks to Natasha.

It’s a stupid fantasy, but it’s one she’s held onto for too long. It’s comfortable, a weight that brings her some relief, even if it had made her grow harder and resentful. Natasha will always come back for me.

[ also read on ff.net | spoilers for the film ]