#black widow x reader

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: smut that was requested for kinktober last year

summary: dark!nat, dom!nat, g!p nat; nat’s an assassin

warnings: blood, murder, weapons, semi-public sex, choking, belly bulge, gagging (?), implied breeding kink. i don't even know at this point

word count: 4.4k

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>> The Black Widow is known for its striking appearance and deadly mating habits. After mating, the female sometimes kills and consumes its mate, a behavior that has made it infamous. This act of cannibalism, though not guaranteed, has earned the Black Widow a reputation as a dangerous and cold-blooded predator. <<

Natasha wipes her hands as she steps back from the bed. A sliced throat and widened, empty eyes. Mouth open in a silent gasp, fingers loose, chest unmoving. Blood has soaked into the once white bedsheets, a dark crimson color that almost appears black. She examines her work with appreciative eyes, then she swiftly cleans the blade of the knife with the man's silk robe.

She turns around, taking in the bedroom once more — velvet armchairs, placed next to a small table with a bottle of whiskey on it. Framed artwork by well-known artists, an antique clock on the wall. Timeless luxury, way too nice for someone like him. No trace of his connection to the Red Room. Not a single sign of the suffering he's caused.

A box of jewelry catches her eye. She never leaves without a souvenir, so she pops open the lid and fishes out a diamond ring. One that you'll surely like; you always value her little gifts.

Natasha exits the house just like she entered it: deftly, quietly, and without leaving any cue that she was ever there.

. . .

You look up when the door to your apartment opens. It's long after midnight, the kids dressed in costumes have disappeared from the streets hours ago and you have been wondering where your girlfriend is.

"Hey", you say when she enters, eyes raking over her. A black bandana is covering her entire face except for her eyes — piercing green, burrowing into your soul with a kind of ease that's both impressive and unsettling —, and her hands are covered by fingerless gloves. You don't miss the smudges of blood on her fingertips.

"I brought you something", Natasha says, not bothering to greet you first. She plucks a ring out of the pocket of her leather jacket, dropping it into your open palm. "Not sure if it's your style."

You slide it onto your ring finger and inspect it, giving a short hum. So this is where she was.

"It's nice." A blatant lie, but you don't care. Who are you to reject something she gives you?

"It's 'nice'?" She tugs the bandana off, unveiling her face, all while keeping firm eye contact with you. "That's it?"

"It's pretty", you add, watching her move around the room. Natasha seems completely unfazed, just like always. You're not an idiot — you know damn well what she does, where she goes. You know she keeps adding to the long list of victims she hides so well, but you can't bring yourself to care. A messed up part of you even thinks it's hot. "Expensive, too."

"Expensive my ass. You know the material value doesn't matter." She opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, taking a few sips. "What've you been up to all night?"

"Ate dinner. Watched a few movies." You join her in the kitchen, watching her leave bloody fingerprints on the glass bottle.

Natasha hums, turning her head to look at you. Sweatpants, a loose top, looking all tired and ready for bed. She puts the bottle aside before moving closer, backing you into the corner of the kitchen counter.

"Sounds boring", she says quietly, her hands coming up to rest on your waist. More blood, this time staining your clothes. She looks down at your hand, at your ring finger, where the expensive piece of jewelry is sitting. Something about her expression changes — suddenly, it looks stony, bordering on rough. "You know, I don't like this ring on you. It should be in a box somewhere, not on your finger."

You pause at the irritation in her voice. For a moment, you're confused — she brought you this ring, so why is she suddenly pissed? But then the realization hits you, and you start feeling stupid.

She isn't the one who picked this ring out, who bought it for you — so you shouldn't wear it.

"I'll take it off", you say quietly, sliding the ring off your finger and setting it on the counter behind you. "It's not exactly my size, anyway."

Natasha hums, the tension seeping out of her body. She's loving it. The way you're looking at her, like she's your savior and your worst nightmare wrapped up into one. Your voice, meek and soft, with that perfect pinch of fear. She's doing this to you, she's the one who has full control over you.

"You should've joined me", she suddenly says, reminding you of what she's been up to tonight. You pause, eyes filled with uncertainty as you look at her.

"I'm not exactly sure it's my type of activity", you say vaguely, a hint of an apology in your voice.

"Oh really?" She hums, her fingertips brushing under the fabric of your top. "I'm sure it'd be fun. Watch the life drain out of their eyes and whatnot. A really romantic setting."

"Right." You smile slightly as she presses a kiss to your mouth. A taste like spiced honey, sweet with a slow-burning warmth. Cinnamon and cloves, fogging your senses. You push against her, wanting more, but she pulls away.

"Don't be needy", Natasha says, giving you a small smirk before stepping away. "There's this party tomorrow. Are you joining?"

"Is it an after-Halloween thing?", you ask, straightening out your top as you try to ignore the desire coursing through you. Nothing is going to happen tonight, that's almost certain.

"Not really. Just a party."

"Where?"

Her eyes flicker up, amusement and exasperation visible in them. "It's just a party, babe. Now tell me: are you joining?"

You sigh, leaning against the counter. You eye her with mild suspicion — who knows where she'll end up dragging you — but eventually, you cave. "Yeah, sure. Why not."

"Good." She nods, shrugging off her jacket. She's only wearing a tank top underneath, despite the cold fall air, but you're secretly very thankful — her arms come into view, biceps flexing slightly and way too briefly. Then she looks up again, and your gaze meet hers. "Wear something nice."

. . .

Wear something nice — an innocent enough request, but when Natasha says something like this, it has an entirely different meaning.

You spend two hours in front of your closet, digging through dresses and skirts and whatever you have in there. Eventually, you decide on a mesh dress in a dark shade of plum, a rich muteness in its color. A square neck and thin shoulder straps, curve-hugging and leaving little to the imagination. You slip it on, adjusting it slightly without noticing that Natasha is watching you from the doorway.

"Not bad", she finally says, making you turn around. "May I suggest something?"

You watch her as she comes closer, arms wrapping around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder. "What?"

"Ditch the bra", she mumbles against your ear, briefly kissing it. "Underwear too, while you're at it."

You pause, feeling your cheeks heat up. "You want me to...?"

"You heard me, didn't you?"

You hum, looking at her through the mirror. Natasha shoots you an expecting look, her hand lightly squeezing your tummy.

"The fabric is quite thin, you know", you say quietly, hoping that'll get her to change her mind. But she just shrugs, still kneading your flesh.

"Fine", you eventually say, causing her lips to twitch into a small, satisfied smirk. She presses a kiss to your shoulder before stepping away again, her one hand shoving into the pocket of her slacks. "Can you at least tell me what your plan is?"

"No", she says innocently, grabbing her gun from the desk before she steps towards the door again. "It'd ruin the surprise."

"Right", you say slowly, watching her leave.

. . .

You didn't mind your lack of underwear while you were at home, or in the car. But now that you're in a crowded room, surrounded by what seems like hundreds of people, you start feeling flustered. You feel exposed, like everyone can see right through you. Which, of course, isn't the case — the dress is definitely long enough to conceal your lack of underwear, and even the fact that you're not wearing a bra isn't as obvious as you thought it'd be. But you know you're not wearing underneath that stupid dress, and that's enough for you to be mildly uncomfortable.

Natasha, however, is loving it. Her arm stays firmly wrapped around your waist as you enter, keeping you close to her side. Her eyes flicker across the room, almost as if she's searching for someone.

"So?", you ask after a few minutes, glancing at her.

"What?", she murmurs reluctantly.

"Well-" You vaguely gesture at your surroundings, still not sure what you're doing here. "Where are we? Whose party is this?"

"Oh." She smirks, squeezing your side before she mumbles into your ear. "If I tell you, you'll leave."

"Of course", you mutter, shifting again and pulling at your dress to readjust it. Natasha notices your unease, so she lightly digs her fingertips into your side.

"Calm down", she mumbles with her mouth next to your ear, her voice low and dark. "No one can see anything. Stop fidgeting."

You huff quietly, reluctantly releasing your dress from your hands. "It's uncomfortable", you complain, a hint of defiance seeping through. Natasha arches her eyebrow at you, leaning in closer as her fingertips dig into your skin.

"Is that attitude I detect?"

You stare at her, quickly intimidated. You shake your head, forcing your expression to be neutral again as you back down. You're in public, but that doesn't mean you should be stepping out of line. "My bad."

Natasha hums, her hand sliding down to your butt for a moment. A light squeeze of approval, then she keeps dragging you through the crowd. So many people, all of them clearly wealthy. Businesspeople, probably — but you're not sure, and Natasha still refuses to tell you.

She doesn't seem to know anyone, either. A few people introduce themselves to the two of you, but you barely pay any attention. Some guy, maybe in his 50s, stops with the obvious intention of raking his eyes over you a few times. You're fully aware why — it's just the tiniest bit too cold, and the thin fabric of your dress is doing a poor job at hiding your discomfort.

When he reaches out his hand to shake yours, Natasha's eyes narrow. It's one step too far, you both know that, so you quickly pretend to be busy with brushing some hair behind your ear and swiftly avoid touching him. He pauses, startled, before pulling his hand back and going back to whatever he was doing before approaching you.

"Quite the move", she says quietly, her voice appreciative, and rubs your side. "Good girl."

You smile, pleased that you managed to satisfy her.

The people milling around the party stop you every now and then, trying to make small talk. Natasha forces herself to engage in polite conversation, her hand wrapped around your waist the whole time. She notices everyone's eyes trailing over your body, not-so-subtle glances and very obvious stares. It's irritating her, which shows in the way her voice changes.

"You seem to be quite popular with the men."

"It's the damn dress", you mutter, your body slightly turned towards her as you keep pushing past smaller groups.

"No", Natasha says gruffly, her hand firm on your waist. The dress may be revealing, accentuating all the right spots, displaying smooth skin. But in the end, the dress is just a dress. "It's you."

You feel your cheeks growing rosy. Clearing your throat, you start adjusting your dress again in hopes to keep the fact that you're currently going commando underneath it concealed. "Maybe both."

Natasha's hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and stopping you from fidgeting. She pulls your hand away from the fabric, her grip firm and unwavering. "Stop fidgeting. We've been over this already."

You give a frustrated huff, shooting one of the staring men an angry, petulant glare. He lifts his hands in defeat, turning around and returning to the woman he was talking to seconds earlier. "I hate the male species."

"Careful, baby", she says, trying to suppress a smirk. Something about the way you lifted your chin in defiance, silently telling the man to fuck off, pleased her immensely. "Let's not cause a scene, hm?"

You hum at her words, your eyes flitting up to meet hers again. You shrug, glancing at the gun that's subtly tucked into her holster and hidden by her blazer. "Why not?", you ask, bringing your mouth closer to her ear. "Causing a scene is your specialty."

"True." She grabs your chin with her free hand, pushing your face away from hers. "Still, I'd rather we get out of here soon. But first —" She pauses, subtly nodding at a man who she's been watching the entire night, "we need to make a detour."

We? Wait, we? You stare at Natasha as her words replay in your head, over and over again and slowly causing you to grow sick to your stomach. A detour. You should've known what that fucking gun was for. Maybe you were in denial.

"We, as in-"

"We as in we", she says impatiently, briefly looking at you. "I need someone to keep watch. There are too many people here for my liking."

No room for argument, that's for sure. You exhale shakily, trying to calm your quickly accelerating heartbeat. "At least tell me who they are."

"No. The less you know, the better."

"Natasha", you say seriously. Surprised by the sudden hardness of your voice — and, also, mildly annoyed —, she grabs your wrist and yanks you closer. A wince escapes you, but you keep talking anyway, your voice a pained whisper. "If I'm involved in this, I at least want to know whether he deserves it."

Her eyes flicker across your face. She's not bothering to hide how unhappy she is with you right now. "He deserves it", she says, keeping her fingers locked around your wrist. "Now stop questioning me and do as told."

Reluctantly, you nod. Natasha turns her attention to the guy again, watching him. She quickly fishes out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. Moments later, the man excuses himself and starts heading towards a hallway. Natasha pulls you along wordlessly, eyes trained on her target as he disappears down the dark corridor.

He enters an office, the door closing behind him with a soft 'click'. Natasha lets go of you as she reaches for the doorknob.

"Wait here and keep watch."

She doesn't even bother glancing at you before she slips into the office, shutting the door after her.

For an agonizingly long moment, you hear nothing. Utter silence, apart from the sounds coming from the party and your own quiet, ragged breathing. Your heart is thumping in your chest, and you're unable to focus on anything else but trying not to freak out.

When you hear a gunshot — too quiet for anyone else to hear, but definitely loud enough for you to perceive it —, you finally snap out of it. Eyes wide, heart hammering, you turn around.

Hand on the doorknob, twisting it. Pushing the door open.

You look at Natasha, taking her in — no, drinking her in. The blood splattered across her neck and chest, the way her eyes look almost black. Her slightly uneven breathing, the gun in her hand. A smell of gunpowder, acrid and strong, mixed with something metallic and sharp. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins, the tension in the room palpable when your gazes meet.

You didn't expect to feel this way, but you can sense the heat that's beginning to stir in your stomach. Anxiety gives way to desire when she reaches out her hand — a silent command to come over — and you cross the room in a few, quick steps.

Natasha tugs you closer, her lips brushing against your cheek. "Look at the mess I've made", she says quietly, and you follow her gaze to the man lying on the ground. You look at her again — blood splattered across her chest and neck, her eyes trained on you.

You bring your hand up to wipe away a bit of blood that landed on her jaw. "It's hot", you eventually manage to mumble.

"Hm?" She raises her eyebrows, her hands sliding to the small of your back. "Didn't know you were into that."

"Me neither." You wrap your arms around her neck as you nuzzle your nose against hers, your desires clear. It's rare that you're this forward with her, but for the first time in a while, Natasha doesn't seem to mind. She can feel herself getting hard already, your perfume and everything you've said making her head spin.

"Such a little minx", she rasps out, palming at your sides as she starts peppering kisses along your jaw. "Can't believe this shit turns you on. You're fucking insane."

A soft moan slips past your lips. You lift your leg out of instinct, hugging your thigh against her side. Natasha quickly runs her hand down to the underside of your thigh, gripping and massaging the smooth skin. "Fuck me", you whine into her ear, wiping all thoughts out of her brain.

With one swift movement, she clears all the papers and pens off the desk. Then she grabs your thighs, hoisting you up and letting you drop down onto the desk. Her lips are all over you immediately, mouthing at your neck and leaving her marks.

"So greedy", she pants against your skin. Her hands slide up your thighs, pushing up your dress and bunching it up around your hips. "Tell me what you want."

"You", you somehow manage to gasp out. You're hot and flushed all over, your breathing is ragged. A tight coil has started to form inside of you, sparks of need frying your brain into a lump of uselessness. Natasha hums, a quiet, rumbling sound coming from her chest, and moves one of her hands up into your hair. She grabs a fistful and tugs your head back, eliciting a whimpered moan from you.

"I need you to use your words, baby."

"Please." You squeeze your eyes shut, fully aware that you sound absolutely pathetic. "I want you inside of me."

A low groan escapes her. Natasha kisses your pulse point, her teeth grazing over the sensitive spot. "You're so desperate", she mumbles, finally letting go of you to unbuckle her belt. "Begging to be filled up like a whore."

You stifle a sound of want, feeling like you've been set on fire. You bury your face against her neck when she pulls you closer again, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over her skin. A metallic taste of blood, mixed with the bitterness of her perfume. A quiet sigh morphs into a low moan when she slides her fingers through your cunt, gathering wetness.

"Soaked already", she mutters, lifting her hand and slips her fingers past your lips. You suck them into your mouth, tasting yourself on her fingers as you lap at them. Her eyes darken at the sight — so simple, yet there's something so erotic about it. Testing your limits, she pushes deeper and earns a soft gag from you. "Always so eager to please."

She shoves her fingertips against the back of your tongue. Another gag, this time louder, and you feel yourself tearing up. You can see Natasha  through a blur of tears, watching the scene in front of her unfold with fascination, her eyes dark and her breathing heavy.

Satisfied, she pulls her fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting them to your lips.

"You're doing so well", she praises, grabbing your thighs to open you up. She's so hard she can barely think straight, her cock pressing against the fabric of her boxers almost painfully. "Now be a good girl and keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut."

When she finally inserts herself into you, it's like you're seeing stars. A quiet whimper manages to make it past your lips, which Natasha silences by pressing her lips to yours. A messy, uncoordinated kiss, teeth clashing and lips bruising. You feel her bite down on your bottom lip, soothing the spot with her tongue as she starts rolling her hips into yours.

Pained sounds escape you as she fills you up to the brim, stretching you out and making you feel like you're about to rip apart at the seams. She nudges deeper, and deeper, her hand moving to rest flat on your stomach and press down on the little bulge there. You're all but a mewling, whimpering mess, trying your best to stay silent but finding yourself unable to do so.

"So full." Natasha takes your hand and guides it to your lower abdomen, pressing it down and making you feel the outline of herself. The evidence of her inside of you, so tangible, so real. She's nestled so deep inside of you that you aren't sure where you end and where she begins anymore. Pain, pleasure, need; all coursing through your body, making a wave of tremors run through you. "Stuffed to the brim. Fucking slut."

"Please", you somehow manage to whimper, your eyes squeezed shut. Natasha scoffs, thrusting into you in a way that makes the desk shake underneath you. Your eyes snap open, the sensation somewhere between torture and pleasure.

"Eyes open", she commands, chest heaving and eyes darkened. The blood is smeared across her neck and chest, sending another spark of heat to your core. "Close them again and we're stopping this."

You bite back a moan, your hands grasping at her blazer to find some sort of anchor. She thrusts into you again, fingers gripping your hips and probably bruising the soft skin there. Trails of fire shoot through your veins, causing the coil of white heat in you to tighten. The look on your face — dazed, aching, so needy — makes Natasha let out a quiet curse. She dips her face into the crook of your neck, covering your skin in open-mouthed kisses.

Drilling her length into you, her hand reaching for your throat. Her fingers wrap around it, at first loose. But you let out a moan, one that borders on a whine, and she suddenly applies pressure. You choke out a gasp, eyes widening as you can't breathe in anymore. The lack of oxygen causes you to feel lightheaded, elevating every single sensation that you're experiencing.

Natasha smirks against your skin, loosening her grip. You gasp for breath, happy hormones flooding you and leaving a tingly feeling of exhilaration all over.

You get a weird kick out of this entire situation — someone who's caused so much damage and suffering, hovering above you and making you feel like this. Hands that slash throats open, that fire bullets at people without thinking twice, are now roaming your body like you're a piece of art that needs to be both worshipped and destroyed.

"I told you to stay quiet", she mutters, trailing kisses over the spots where her fingers were. "Such a shame you decided not to listen."

You suppress another noise that's threatening to escape you, instead opting for digging your fingertips into her back. Natasha curses again, feeling your nails even through the fabric of her clothes. She slips one of the straps of your dress down your shoulder, exposing more of you to her eyes. Her lips attach to the skin just above the neckline of your dress, sucking a hickey into it.

Her lips travel lower, all while she keeps moving in and out of you repeatedly. Quick, heavy breathing, the legs of the desk scraping over the hardwood floor. Her mouth wraps around your hardened nipple, biting down on it. Your head falls back onto the surface of the desk and lolls to the side, your eyes meeting the gun Natasha discarded just moments ago. Blood is covering a family portrait in speckles, some of it having run down in thin streaks.

"Fuck", Natasha rasps, snapping you out of your dazed state. You wrap your thighs around her hips, tugging her closer and feeling her push against your deepest spots. You feel an ache in your core, pushing for its release, and you finally let another moan slip. But Natasha is too focused on being buried inside you, her cock swallowed whole by your dripping wet cunt, to even register the soft noise. "I'll come inside of you", she mumbles against your breast, lapping at it. "I'll get you nice and pregnant. You'll carry my babies."

You moan, trying to run your hands into her hair but failing due to her braid. "I love you", you whimper out, feeling yourself crumble. You're slowly falling apart, seconds away from that sweet release, and Natasha can tell immediately. She palms at your sides, her eyes looking up at you so she can watch.

"So trusting, so naive", she basically purrs through a mouthful of tit. "Letting yourself be knocked up by a killer. And I thought I was the messed up one."

"I'm close", you moan out, your hands hugging her face closer to your chest. "Please, I-"

"Doing so good, baby", she says breathily, releasing your breast and trailing kisses along the side of it. "So good."

Her hands move down to your thighs again, forcing them apart and nudging deeper. The second her tip pokes against your lower belly again, a wave of relief washes over you.

The orgasm crashes down on you, making you gasp out incoherent sounds. Your entire body is shaking, flushed with heat, and Natasha can feel you clench around her cock rhythmically. She buries her face against the side of your breast, muffled sounds escaping her as she comes inside of you. Thick, white fluid dribbles down your thighs, pooling on the desk underneath you.

Natasha keeps going until your vision goes black, her body rolling into yours and driving you to the point of overstimulation. You come a second time, only seconds later, and then slump onto the surface of the desk. You feel like you're one raw, exposed nerve, the aftershocks making your body buzz and your brain unable to function properly.

"Look at you", she mumbles, pressing a kiss to your lips as she reaches for her gun again. "Now I've made two messes."

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part XII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Warnings: light angst

Words: 5160

Natasha sits at her desk in her private study, her chin resting on her hand against the armrest of the chair as her eyes remain fixed on the dull, cracked stone on the table before her. 

The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the bustling castle outside as the staff work to prepare for the upcoming birthday celebration of their queen. 

But Natasha’s attention isn’t on any of the preparations or details–she already told her mother the idea she had for the party so that she and you could enjoy the day despite your current hidden relationship. 

At the moment, however, her thoughts swirl as she considers the mysterious stone.

It’s clearly meant to hold some form of power, though not well it would seem, seeing how the surface fractured so easily when it simply fell to the ground.

As if it was barely able to contain the energy within. 

Based on what she has seen, her best guess is that this stone must be related to some sort of sorcery. 

She taps her fingers lightly against the desk, replaying the events in her mind. 

The effects of being around it—whatever they were—didn’t feel natural. Its ability to influence the mind like the way it did to her, to stir vivid memories as if she was back in that moment again, is too dangerous to ignore.

Then, there is another concerning issue.

Her brow furrows as she recalls the brief, vacant expression on your face when she had stopped you from touching it and the way you seemed disoriented before snapping back to yourself, with no memory of what had happened.

Despite your reassurance, the unease lingers in her chest even now as she considers the possible explanations. 

What’s worrying is that it reminded her too much of the effects of Dreykov’s Widow methods—the blank stares, the lack of control, the erasure of one’s will. 

Natasha’s heart clenches at the memory of when Dreykov had used you against her, forcing you to try to hurt her while under his control. 

She shakes her head at the possibility. 

No, it’s not the same. 

Dreykov is still imprisoned, and without a handler to activate any lingering programming, you shouldn’t be at risk. 

And yet…this stone did something. 

Her fingers curl into a fist as she resolves not to let history repeat itself. 

Whatever this is, she will find a way to protect you from it. 

Natasha picks up the stone, holding it closer to the light. Its surface glimmers faintly, but it offers no clues to its origin. She sighs and places it back down, frustration creeping in. 

The kingdom has so little knowledge about sorcery. There are no experts she can consult, no archives to scour for answers, no next step for her to turn to.

Natasha pauses, straightening in her chair, as she suddenly remembers that there is one person she can ask for help.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the thud of a stack of papers landing on her desk. 

Startled, she looks up to see Steve standing beside her, his expression serious but kind.

“These are the documents we found at Sitwell’s home,” he says, gesturing to the pile. “It’s enough to confirm his and Rumlow’s dealings against the kingdom.”

Natasha sifts through the papers, her eyes scanning the incriminating evidence. But as she nears the bottom of the stack, her frown deepens.

“There’s nothing here about who they were working with,” she mutters, frustration evident in her voice.

Steve nods grimly. 

“No names, no locations. Just references to ‘the supplier’ and ‘the broker.’ Whoever they are, they’ve covered their tracks well.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose as she summarizes the situation aloud.

“So we’re dealing with two unknown enemies—one who’s after the secrets of the Black Widow operations and another after this stone and whatever weapons are tied to it.”

She lets out a deep sigh. 

“And in the middle of it all is Y/n.”

Her voice softens slightly at your name, but the worry in her tone is unmistakable.

“This can’t get any worse,” she sighs again, shaking her head.

Steve’s sharp inhale makes her snap her gaze to him, her eyes narrowing in warning.

“What is it?” she asks, apprehension in her voice.

Steve hesitates, his jaw tightening before he answers.

“It seems word has spread about Sitwell’s death—and about a certain someone who was also spotted in a tavern near there around the same time. People among the houses and the kingdom are starting to connect the dots, or at least trying to.”

Natasha’s face hardens as she rises from her chair, slamming her hands on the desk.

“They’re trying to blame her for his death?” she exclaims, disbelief and anger coloring her voice. “The report clearly states what happened!”

Steve raises his hands in a placating gesture. 

“We omitted Lady Y/n’s presence at the scene in the official report, but we can’t hide the fact that many people did recognize her in that area. And with her current reputation, people are eager to jump to conclusions and conspiracies that she was involved in some way.”

Natasha’s fists clench as she glares at the papers on her desk, her mind racing. 

The thought of you being unfairly targeted, of such false whispers about your character spreading like wildfire through the kingdom, makes her blood boil. 

“They don’t know her,” Natasha says fiercely, her voice low but trembling with emotion. “They don’t know what she’s been through.”  

Steve places a steadying hand on her shoulder, his voice calm but tinged with sadness.

“People always look for someone to blame, someone to fear,” he says. “It’s easier than facing a real monster.”

His words are filled with a sense of understanding and sympathy that Natasha notices.

“Her situation reminds you of someone?” she comments, her tone quieter but no less probing. “How is Bucky anyway?”

Steve hesitates, his eyes betraying a flicker of hesitancy before answering simply. 

“He’s doing good.”

He doesn’t offer any more information about the man than that.

Natasha doesn’t mind, but she still presses on, deciding to confront him on the question that has lingered in her mind since she heard about it.

“Bucky told me how you stopped him from killing the Stark princess.” 

His eyes widen in surprise at the sudden topic, but she continues before he can speak. 

“What exactly happened after that?”

Steve regards her for a moment before he exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly in resignation as he recalls the past events. 

“After she was taken, Bucky and I tried to find her,” he admits. “We searched for days, but after what happened, Stark declared him as a fugitive. Anyone found helping him would be seen as an enemy of the kingdom. And with the peace treaty still newly established…”

“Bucky went into hiding,” Natasha finishes. 

“I convinced him to,” Steve confirms. “Told him I’d keep looking for her after he left, but the search was called off soon after.”

Natasha furrows her brows at the revelation. She thought only Steve and Bucky were the ones who knew about the Stark princess being alive.

“Called off? By who?”

Steve’s expression tightens in hesitance before he answers.

“Your mother was the one who ended the search.”

Silence falls in the room as Natasha stares at him, her mind reeling as she processes the implications of his words.

Her mother had known the Stark princess was alive. And yet, she had kept it a secret for all these years.

A new unease settled in Natasha’s chest.

If her mother had been willing to hide something this important…

What else did she know?

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your hands cradle the sides of the cup, seeking comfort in its warmth, but it does little to calm the unease twisting inside you.

Steam curls softly in the dimly lit cabin, dissipating into the still air as you finally glance up, bracing yourself for the reaction.

Across the small table, Bucky leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

His gaze is steady and fixed on you—not angry, but filled with the quiet patience of someone who has seen too much.

“I wasn’t joking when I told you not to touch things you don’t understand yet,” he finally says, his voice calm but firm.

You wince at the reprimand, lowering your gaze to the cup in your hands.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you murmur. “One moment, I was behind Natasha, and the next…she’s telling me I hit her.”

Your fingers tighten around the cup as the memory flashes in your mind.

The faint glow of the stone had drawn your gaze, an inexplicable pull you couldn’t resist.

And then—nothing.

A lapse in time. A gap in your memory.

But this time, it was different.

Your voice drops to a whisper, raw with fear and dread.

“Bucky, I hurt someone this time. Someone I care about. What if next time it’s worse?”

His features soften in understanding at your tone. He exhales, leaning forward to rest his forearm on the table.

“You haven’t talked to Wanda about this?”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“That’s…related to another problem I need to tell you about,” you admit hesitantly.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You inhale sharply before confessing, “The person I hired to fix the gates is actually Tony Stark. He’s in the kingdom.”

Bucky doesn’t react right away. His face remains unreadable as he considers your words carefully.

“Huh,” he mutters at last. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always had a knack for showing up when you least expect it.”

His calmness catches you off guard.

“You’re not worried?” you ask cautiously.

Bucky offers a wry smile.

“I’ve been running long enough to know how to stay ahead,” he sighs, glancing around the cabin. “Doesn’t mean I like it, but I can handle it.”

He studies you curiously.

“How did you figure out who he was?”

You scoff, shaking your head at the memory.

“He practically bragged about his identity when I confronted him,” you say, exasperation lacing your voice. “I’ve never met someone who manages to compliment himself in almost every other breath.”

Bucky smirks, nostalgia flickering in his expression.

“Sounds like him. Guess some things never change.”

His demeanor shifts, his amusement fading as he leans back in his chair.

“So…does he know who you really are?”

You hesitate, looking back down at your cup.

“No,” you admit before sighing. “And I don’t think I should tell him.”

With Tony in the kingdom for peace treaty discussions, revealing the truth would only complicate things—especially for Natasha. You can’t risk him finding out that his sister had been taken by one of her own people for all these years.

Bucky observes you for a moment before suggesting lightly, “What about the twins then?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief.

“What? No. Those two, especially, cannot know.”

His expression softens, understanding your apprehension.

“You said the three of you grew up together like siblings. I doubt finding out who you really are would change that.”

Your throat tightens in fear at the thought.

“Stark soldiers killed their parents, Bucky,” you remind him, your voice cracking slightly. “How can I ask them to see past that?”

Bucky sighs quietly with sympathy before answering.

“Because they know you. Not the kingdom. Not the name—you.” He pauses, his gaze steady and sure. “If anyone understands that, it’s them.”

Silence settles between you. Your fingers trace the rim of your cup as you wrestle with the thought.

“I just…I don’t think I can do it.”

Bucky sighs, but he doesn’t push further.

“At least consider having Wanda check on you,” he suggests. “If you’re still worried about what’s happening with your memories.”

You take a slow breath before nodding, reluctant but willing.

Bucky studies you for a moment before asking, “Are you still going to keep looking into that stone?”

A small, determined smile tugs at your lips.

“I need to figure out what’s happening. You said it yourself—I have to understand how it works. If I can do that, I can learn to control it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky deadpans, shaking his head. “I understand you want to regain some sort of control of the situation, but are you sure this is the best way to handle it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly. “But I know I’ll figure it out.”

He watches you for a long moment before nodding.

“All right. Just…be careful.”

You offer him a grateful smile before your expression turns more serious.

“What about you? Are you going to leave now that Tony’s here?”

Bucky is silent for a moment as he considers his response, looking around at his home in contemplation before facing you again.

“Have you told anyone else about what’s happening with you?”

You look away, hesitating. Talking with Bucky about this has always been easier than others since you know he understands what it was like not being in control.

With a soft sigh, you shake your head in response.

His expression softens, something gentle flickering in his eyes.

“Then I’m staying.”

Your eyes widen slightly, looking up at him.

“Bucky—”

“I’ll be careful,” he assures you before you can protest. “You gave me a heads-up, and I appreciate it. The least I can do is be here for you.”

His words hit you harder than expected. After everything—the whispers, the distrust, the isolation—it’s not something you’re used to hearing recently.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky replies with a small smirk. “But someone has to remind you that you’re not alone. We have to look out for each other—to protect the people we care about.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, the weight on your shoulders lifting just a little.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha slows her horse to a stop at the entrance of your manor. Swinging down smoothly, she lands lightly on her feet, her eyes assessing the newly installed gate.

The sturdy iron bars gleam under the sunlight, their intricate patterns hinting at the work of a master craftsman. A stark improvement from the wreckage that once stood in its place.

Whoever you had hired had done an impressive job.

A voice from behind pulls her from her thoughts.

“Queen Natasha.”

She turns to find Wanda approaching, a woven basket hanging on her arm. Beside her stands a man Natasha doesn’t recognize—tall, poised, his presence exuding quiet intelligence. He carries himself with effortless grace, his thoughtful gaze studying Natasha as much as she studies him.

Natasha offers a small nod in greeting. 

“Hello, Wanda.” Her gaze shifts to the stranger. “And I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

Before Wanda can respond, the man steps forward with a polite and respectful tilt of his head.

“Vision,” he introduces himself smoothly. “A…friend of Wanda’s.”

Natasha eyes him carefully, her instincts sharpening. There’s something calculated about him, as if he chooses his words with great care. But she doesn’t comment on it.

“What brings you here?” Wanda asks, her tone polite but cool.

Natasha takes out a sealed envelope from her side, the royal hourglass crest embossed in the wax.

“I came to deliver an invitation for Y/n,” she says. “For my birthday celebration.”

Wanda glances at the envelope and then meets Natasha’s gaze.

“She’s not home at the moment,” she says, pausing briefly before adding. “She’s visiting a friend.”

Natasha nods in understanding, already suspecting where you might be.

“Then I’ll leave this with you.” She extends the envelope. “This invitation is also extended to you and Pietro if you wish to attend.”

Wanda takes it without comment, tucking it away. Her gaze lingers on Natasha, assessing.

“If that’s all, Your Majesty, then perhaps you should return home.”

Natasha’s lips twitch in amusement at Wanda’s bluntness, but she doesn’t move. 

“Actually,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I was hoping to ask for your help.”

Wanda’s brows knit in surprise. 

“My help? With what?”

Natasha reaches into her satchel once more, this time retrieving a familiar object—the cracked stone. She holds it between them, its fractured surface dull, absent of the eerie glow it once emitted.

Wanda’s entire demeanor shifts. Her fingers tighten around the handle of her basket, her expression darkening.

Natasha studies her reaction before continuing.

“I need your help proving a theory of mine.”

Wanda’s gaze locks onto the stone, recognition flaring in her eyes.

“And you want me to do what, exactly?” 

“Channel some of your magic into it,” Natasha explains, keeping her voice measured. “I believe this stone is meant to hold a sorcerer’s power, but I don’t know the extent of its capabilities.”

Wanda doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looks at the fractured gem with barely concealed wariness.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that,” she finally says, a note of hesitation in her voice. “We have no idea what could happen.”

Before Natasha can push further, Vision steps forward, his voice even and composed.

“I must agree,” he says, eyes flicking over the fractured surface. “The stone, in its current state, would likely fail to contain her magic. The cracks compromise its integrity.”

Natasha shifts her attention to him, her sharp gaze narrowing slightly.

“You seem well-versed in this subject.” 

Vision offers a polite smile. 

“My family has studied sorcery and its potential for generations.”

From his pocket, he produces a small, glowing yellow stone—no larger than a pendant. The energy within it hums faintly, vibrating with an unseen force. 

“This was given to me by my brother before he disappeared,” Vision says, gazing at it with a flicker of nostalgia. “It holds only a remnant of power, but when I concentrate, I can still feel his presence.” 

Natasha studies the tiny stone—a miniature echo of the one in her hand. Vision’s words confirm her suspicion: these stones were meant to contain a sorcerer’s magic.

But that revelation brings an unsettling realization.

“Does that mean the power in these stones could be wielded by anyone?” she asks, voicing her thoughts aloud. “Even those without magic?”

Vision nods thoughtfully. 

“Theoretically, yes—if the vessel is strong enough to contain it. However, its effects would also depend on the source.” He gestures subtly toward Wanda. “For instance, Wanda possesses extraordinary strength and versatility in her powers.”

Natasha doesn’t miss the admiration in Vision’s voice or the way Wanda’s expression softens as she glances at Vision—the quiet smile she offers him. 

But she pushes past the moment, turning to Wanda with renewed urgency.

“Can we speak alone for a moment?” 

Vision catches the cue, offering a courteous nod before excusing himself. He strolls past the gates, hands clasped behind his back, leaving the two of them in private.

Once he’s out of earshot, Natasha’s expression shifts, her voice lowering.

“How is she?” she asks, cutting past the pleasantries. “Really?” 

Wanda crosses her arms, her posture becoming defensive.

“She’s fine,” she answers curtly. “Aside from the ridiculous rumors that she had something to do with Lord Sitwell’s death.” 

Natasha exhales slowly. She had anticipated this, but hearing it aloud cements the weight of it.

“I didn’t expect this to lead back to her.”

Wanda’s eyes darken, her stance firm. 

“You should have.” There’s a bite to her words. “With how people already treat her, it doesn’t take much for them to paint her as a villain.”

The unspoken accusation isn’t lost on Natasha.

Still, she meets Wanda’s gaze evenly.

“That’s why I came—to make sure she’s okay.” Her voice is softer now, more genuine. “Have you noticed anything…strange about her lately? Any unusual behaviors?”

A flicker of protectiveness and outrage flashes across Wanda’s face.

“What are you implying?” she demands. “That she’s not herself?”

Natasha hesitates. She doesn’t want to question your state of mind either. But after what she saw, she can’t ignore it. 

“Something happened to Y/n in town,” she admits. “I don’t like the thought of her mind being affected again either. But after everything, isn’t it worth checking?”

For a moment, it seems like Wanda is about to argue further, but as she considers Natasha’s question and the concern in her tone, her defensive posture relax slightly, though her resolve remains firm.

“She’s fine,” Wanda repeats. “I made sure Dreykov’s influence in her mind can’t be used again, and I’ve checked multiple times before.”

Natasha watches her closely for a long moment before slowly nodding.

“Alright, if you’ve already checked it out,” she says, pausing to gauge the truth in Wanda’s expression. “I’ll trust you. We all care about Y/n’s safety, after all.”

Wanda’s gaze sharpens, the weight of something unspoken pressing between them.

“Do you?” she asks quietly. “Because it really doesn’t feel that way—not with how you’ve been handling things.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue. She understands where Wanda’s anger is coming from.

Instead, she simply says, “We’re on the same side here, Wanda.”

Wanda’s eyes search hers, looking for something—anything—to convince her of that. But in the end, she only shakes her head, her expression unreadable.

“I wish I could believe that.”

With that, she turns and walks into the manor, leaving Natasha standing alone, the weight of unease settling deeper in her chest.

And for the first time in a long while, she wonders if you feel the same way.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After leaving Bucky’s cabin, you return to the manor, your mind a whirlwind of unease and resolve. 

The stone in your possession is still a mystery, and if there was anyone who could help you decipher it, it was the man currently hammering away in the makeshift tent out front. 

As you approach, the sharp clang of metal against metal echoes into the cool evening air. 

The tent, hastily set up near the manor’s entrance, is cluttered with half-finished contraptions, schematics, and tools strewn across multiple surfaces. A warm glow flickers from the hanging lanterns, casting long shadows over the disarray. 

Pushing aside the front flap, you step in.

Tony is hunched over a worktable, humming an offbeat tune as he shapes a small piece of metal. Sparks dance off the edges as he grinds it against a whetstone, the acrid scent of burning steel filling the air. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, too absorbed in his work.

You make your way to the table, pausing just in front of him. When he still doesn’t look up, you pull the cracked stone from your pocket and set it down with a deliberate thud.

The impact silences the rhythmic clang of his tools.

Tony finally stops, his hands stilling as his gaze flicks to the stone, then to you. A single brow lifts in curiosity.

“I need to understand how this works,” you state, gesturing at the fractured stone. “Your friend mentioned how you once tried to create something like it but failed.”

Tony scoffs, setting his tools aside as he straightens to his full height. His arms cross over his chest, an air of casual arrogance settling around him.

“First of all, I didn’t fail,” he corrects, wagging a finger at you. “I chose to stop. There’s a difference.”

You furrow your brows slightly at the revelation. 

“Why did you stop?”

“Conflict of interest,” he replies vaguely, leaving little room for elaboration as he waves off the question. Then he tilts his head, scrutinizing you. “And second, even if I were to humor this little project of yours, what makes you think I’d need your help?”

You shift, fingers tightening around the object hidden behind your back.

“Because you couldn’t figure it out yourself,” you reply smoothly. 

Tony chuckles, the sound dripping with amusement.

“And you think you can?”

Your grip tightens around the charred book’s worn cover. 

“Yes,” you say evenly, “with your help. And with this.”

With deliberate slowness, you bring the book into view.

The second Tony’s eyes land on it, his entire demeanor shifts. His casual smirk falters, and his body tenses, fingers twitching like he’s resisting the urge to snatch it from your hands.

He takes a single step forward, pointing at the book.

“How do you have that?”

You take a step back, holding it just out of reach.

“It was given to me.”

His expression darkens.

“Well, that doesn’t belong to you. So hand it over.”

You raise a brow, unaffected by his sudden change in tone.

“Help me,” you counter, “and I’ll give this to you.”

His jaw tightens, his gaze flicking between the book and your face. The seconds stretch between you, thick with tension.

Then, with a long exhale, Tony crosses his arms and tilts his head.

“Alright,” he says simply. “You’ve got my attention.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Pietro, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal.”

You step into your room, the familiar space offering little comfort against the storm of emotions trailing in behind you.

Wanda looks up from where she stands beside your bed, momentarily pausing as she arranges another dress among the already spread-out collection. Her eyes flick to you, curiosity flickering in their depths.

Pietro follows in after you, hands waving in agitation, his movements restless.

“I just don’t get why you want them to stick around,” he huffs. “The gate’s already been fixed.”

You sigh, turning to face him, hands on your hips. Ever since you had revealed the news of Tony and Vision’s extended stay, Pietro had been nothing but vocal in his disapproval.

“I know you and Tony don’t get along, but—”

“It’s not just that,” Pietro interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. His fingers fumble inside his pocket before pulling something out. “Look, I searched through their things—”

“Pietro!” you exclaim, aghast. “You went through their belongings?”

He barely acknowledges your reprimand, stepping closer to show you a small scrap of fabric. You frown as you take it from him, running your fingers over the faded embroidery. 

The lines of an all-too-familiar sigil stand out against the fabric—Stark’s crest.

“They’re from the Stark kingdom,” Pietro says, voice laced with disapproval. “We can’t trust them.”

Your fingers tighten around the cloth as your gaze flickers away.

“They’re not bad people,” you say softly. “Not everyone from Stark is bad.” 

He scoffs in disbelief, rolling his eyes. 

“Sure. But do we have to involve them in our lives?”

You let out a tired sigh, realizing that Pietro’s resentment toward the kingdom was something you had anticipated but clearly underestimated.

“Bucky saved your life,” you remind him gently, hoping to reason with him. “Or did you forget he’s from Stark too?”

His expression twists at the mention of Bucky, as if the reminder conflicts within him. Crossing his arms, he shakes his head stubbornly.

“That’s different.”

“Come on, Pietro,” you try again, softening your tone. “Can’t you at least try to—” You hesitate, searching for the right words.

But Pietro is already shaking his head.

“Please, Y/n, don’t let them stay.” His voice is quieter now, almost pleading.

He looks at you with the same expression he wore as a child—the little boy who always counted on you to take his side.

You take a steady breath, grounding yourself before answering.

“I’m sorry, Pietro,” you say, firm yet gentle. “But it’s already done.” 

His lips press into a tight line.

For a second, it looks like he might argue further, but instead, he clenches his fists and exhales sharply through his nose. Without another word, he dashes off, the air around him rippling from the sheer force of his departure.

The lingering tension settles heavily in the space he leaves behind.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exasperated.

“Wait—Pietro!”

The only response is the distant sound of his retreating footsteps.

You let out another sigh before turning to Wanda, who has remained silent throughout the entire exchange.

“Wanda,” you start. “Can you talk to him? You’ve been spending time with Vision—maybe you can convince him that they’re not all bad.”

When she doesn’t immediately respond, you glance at her more closely. She’s staring down at her hands, lost in thought. Her fingers twitch slightly, as if turning over something unseen.

“Wanda?” you call again.

She blinks, her gaze snapping up to meet yours.

“Can I look inside your mind?” she asks suddenly.

You freeze. Of all the things you expected her to say, that was not one of them.

A beat of silence passes between you.

Wanda, sensing your hesitation, quickly waves a hand. 

“I just want to make sure the block I put in place is still strong after all this time,” she clarifies, her voice even but her fingers fidgeting slightly.

You shift, glancing away.

For a moment, doubt grips you—not because you don’t trust Wanda, but because what if she sees too much? 

Wanda watches you closely, and when you don’t respond, her shoulders sag slightly.

“Never mind,” she says, softer now. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

You snap your gaze back to her, guilt tightening in your chest.

“No, it’s fine,” you say quickly.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. 

You take a steadying breath, shoving aside your apprehension. You know Wanda—know that she would never pry deeper than necessary. And more than anything, you don’t want her to think that her abilities should be feared.

You reach forward and take her hand, gripping it firmly. 

“I trust you, Wanda.”

A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face, but she nods, inhaling deeply before closing her eyes.

A soft red glow encircles her fingers before she brings them up to your temple.

The moment her power touches you, it’s as if a presence brushes against your mind—gentle, cautious. It doesn’t force its way in, merely drifts through the edges of your consciousness, skimming the surface like a ripple across water.

For a moment, an uneasy thought lingers—what if she sees the truth?

But Wanda does not pry deeper. She simply searches for what she needs.

After a moment, the red glow fades, and she withdraws her hand.

You look at her, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Well?”

A smile breaks across her face.

“Everything’s good,” she assures you.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the unease within you easing just a little.

“That’s good to hear.”

Your gaze shifts to the array of dresses and fabrics spread across the bed. Some fabrics are cut into smaller elaborate designs, while others are carefully pinned together, awaiting final touches.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s all this?”

Wanda’s grin widens with excitement. She reaches for an envelope on your desk, holding it out to you. The opened seal bears Natasha’s family crest.

“To prepare for the Queen’s birthday celebration,” she reveals.

Then, in a playful gesture, she picks up a piece of fabric and drapes it over the upper half of her face.

“It’s going to be a masquerade.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

a/n: Thank you for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

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[shlxvq]

Red strings.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Warnings: Violence/Injury Mentions, PTSD/Trauma Themes, Strong Language, Explicit/Suggestive Content (NSFW)

One shot

Word count: 509

Reading time: 2 minutes 30 seconds

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, you and Natasha find solace in each other, no longer able to deny what's been simmering beneath the surface.

♦️─────────༻🕷️༺─────────♦️

The safehouse was quiet, too quiet.

You sat on the worn-out couch, still in your tactical suit, fingers trembling as you wiped away the blood smeared across your hands-some yours, some not. The mission had gone sideways, the kind of disaster that left ghosts clinging to your skin. You were alive, but the adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, making it impossible to calm down.

A door creaked. Soft footsteps approached.

"You okay?" Natasha's voice was low, careful.

You looked up to find her standing in the dim light, her red hair disheveled, cuts littering her arms.

Even like this, she was breathtaking.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" you countered, trying for a smirk but failing.

Natasha stepped closer, crouching in front of you, her green eyes scanning your face with something unreadable. "I meant in here." She reached out, brushing her fingertips against your temple.

You swallowed. "I don't know."

It was the truth. The mission had been hell, and one wrong move could've meant never seeing her again. That thought had gripped you so hard it left a bruise on your soul.

Her hand moved to your cheek, her touch hesitant but warm. "I thought I lost you," she whispered.

Your breath caught. Natasha never let people see this side of her-the cracks, the fears, the raw vulnerability beneath the assassin's mask. But with you, she did.

"You didn't," you whispered.

Her thumb traced your bottom lip, her eyes flickering down to your mouth.

Then she kissed you.

It was desperate, hungry, filled with everything unspoken between you. She kissed like she was trying to memorize you, to anchor herself in the fact that you were still here, still breathing, still hers.

You gasped against her lips, and she took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. A moan slipped from your throat as her hands found your waist, pulling you onto her lap, pressing you flush against her.

"Nat-" you started, but she silenced you with another kiss, her fingers slipping under your torn shirt, skimming over bruised skin. She groaned at the feel of you, warm and soft beneath her touch.

"You have no idea," she murmured against your jaw, lips trailing downward, "how long l've wanted this."

Your fingers tangled in her hair as she nipped at your pulse point, sending shivers through you.

"Then don't stop."

Something snapped in her.

She pushed you back against the couch, covering your body with hers, her thigh slotting between yours. The friction sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you, and you gasped, arching into her.

Natasha smirked against your skin. "That's it, baby."

Her hands roamed lower, sliding over your hips, gripping you possessively. Every touch, every kiss, was a promise—a silent vow that she wasn't letting you go.

Your breaths mingled, bodies tangled, the heat between you unbearable. The world outside didn't exist. Not the mission, not the blood, not the ghosts.

There was only her.

And you were never letting her go.

♦️─────────༻🕷️༺─────────♦️

[hapuchika]

The Villian's Lair - Machiavellian Part 2

Warnings: aphrodisiac, diabolical pranks

Summary: Wanda and Natasha get to the Reader's Lair.

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

X--X--X--X--X

Typically, an international criminal of your renown would have their base of operations on a secluded island or an anonymous fancy building. What the two female superheroes were not expecting was your base to be a dockyard with piles of shipping containers.

Natasha looks at the little note you had slipped into Wanda’s pocket when she passed out; it states the location and time along with a “Don’t be late ;)” on the other side.

They approached the rusty metal door, the only one that hadn’t been welded shut on the shipping crates that were on the ground. Wanda couldn’t help but crack a smile at the dirty welcome mat at the entrance.

They entered the crate only to find a fireman’s pole at the far end; there were signs that said “Come down if you want to catch me ;)” with obvious arrows pointing at the pole.

Natasha, gun in hand, walked closer. She attempted to peer at the bottom, but it was pitch black. Wanda stayed a few steps behind, ready for any surprise attack. Her magic was at her fingertips, waiting to be called forth.

Wanda and Nat shared a glance, debating whether the obvious trap was worth it. For all your faults, you had never used lethal force on either of them, despite having several opportunities to do so.

Wanda, feeling brave, stepped forward and grabbed the pole with one hand. She gave the ex-assassin a cautious smile and jumped down, clinging onto the poll.

She didn’t get far; the hole was only as deep as her shins. Wanda stared at Natasha, dumbfounded, who looked equally perplexed.

There was a slight static before a voice was heard chuckling.

“Oh wow, I can’t believe you actually fell for it! She had told me this would happen, but I expected more from you, at least, Natalia.” 

The disembodied voice teased, It was certainly not your voice. The accent was similar, but the voice sounded younger… much younger.

“Alright, enough of these games. They’re expecting you… You don’t want to keep her waiting, do you?”

As soon as her statement ended, a slight glow filled the center of the space. A square platform with enough space for both of them.

The two wordlessly stepped on the platform and began their descent.

Within less than a minute, the wall in front of them opened to expose a lavish corridor.

They stepped forward, the decor catching them off guard. It was simple: wooden floors and gorgeous emerald walls.

They walked further down and entered what they presumed was the central living expanse, littered with cosy sofa cushions, a gorgeous fireplace and a coffee table.

Gun still in hand, Natasha peeked down the corridor on the right to see a singular door. Within the door, classical music could be heard.

Wanda decided to walk down the corridor on the left, entering the dining area.

There was an open kitchen; the stove had something being prepared on low heat while the oven had a delicious aroma wafting from within it.

Wanda glanced at the kitchen island, raising an eyebrow at the sight of two wine glasses, one of which was half-filled.

X—X—X—X—X

Natasha silently opened the door, making sure nobody was inside. She walked into your bedroom, surprised by how cozy it was. She quickly walked to your bedside where your phone was and placed a wireless cloning device, courtesy of Tony.

She looked around the room, placing listening devices strategically to ensure she had backups in case a few were found.

Once she was notified that your phone was done cloning, she left the room to join Wanda in the kitchen.

The spy lowly whistled at the decor, breathing in deeply at the food. Wanda nodded in agreement, wondering if she could grab a quick bite before the fight started.

The two flinched when classical music started playing, Wanda summoning her magic while Natasha cocked her gun, ready to bring you in.

They tensed as they heard your footsteps come down the hall. 

Wanda’s mouth went dry as she took in the sight of you; your hair was wet, a few drops trailing their way between your exposed collarbones and into the hidden depths of your grey shirt.

Natasha, on the other hand, was avoiding looking at your neck entirely. She refused to acknowledge how your warm golden skin looked almost bronze in this lighting.

Your smirk informed the two of them that you were well aware of your effect on them. Wordlessly, you walked to the kitchen and turned off the stove.

You glanced at the heroes, your smirk widening as you realised they hadn’t moved an inch.

While you let the contents of the pan cool, you grab the bottle of wine and pour some into the empty glass, then offer it to Wanda.

She frowns at the glass, causing you to roll your eyes, take a sip, and hand it to her.

“I haven’t poisoned the wine, Wanda.” You say, a smirk returning on your features.

She takes a tentative sip, eyes widening at the taste.

“That’s… really good.” She says hesitantly.

Your smirk broadens into a smile. “I know.”

Natasha clears her throat, finally grabbing hold of herself. You glance at her while you walk back to the kitchen, your own glass of wine in hand.

“What are we doing here?” She asks.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” You quip, taking the rice out of the cooker and into a serving bowl.

“We’re here to bring you in, obviously”, she responds smoothly. “Are you going to come quietly, or do we need to use force?”

Despite really not wanting to, Wanda sets her glass of wine on the kitchen island and summons her magic, red whisps circling her hands. However, she is frozen mid-step when she hears you say, “I surrender; you can take me in.”

“But,” you continue, “How about some dinner first?”

Wanda glances at your food, her stomach grumbling at the sight and smell of it. Her cheeks flush when she catches you grinning, having heard her stomach’s protest.

The three of you make your way to the dining table where the plates are already laid out. Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Expecting this, were you?”

You shrug innocently, sitting down. Natasha rests her gun on the table, pointing it towards you.

You glance at her gun and look at her, unimpressed.

“Can't be too careful, given the company”, she says sweetly as she sits down.

Wanda lets out a snort, covering it up with a slight cough.

You sigh mockingly, “I suppose that’s fair. Maybe I should return the favour.”

The Spy’s grip on her gun tightens as you summon your daggers and rest them on the table. Wanda’s eyes widened a fraction but showed no fear, once again not feeling as though her life was in danger.

“Why are they different colours?” She asked curiously.

You look at her in surprise; she didn’t look afraid in the slightest. In fact, she looked completely at ease.

“They have different purposes,” you explained. “The dagger with the slight purple shine to it makes use of poisons; I used the serpent god’s blood. The red one? That deals with energy. That one was slightly more tricky to forge; I had to use fresh blood straight from the dragon king’s heart.”

“Which poisons?” Natasha asked, interested in the purple dagger.

You grinned as you watched her fill her plate with food, eyeing the serpent dagger with interest.

“All of them, every single one. All I do is tell the dagger what kind of poison I want, and it coats itself with it.”

Wanda frowned. “So you poisoned me earlier?”

You merely winked at her. “I learned early on that the definition of ‘poison’ is very loose. So what I gave you was something similar to a general anaesthetic.”

“And what about the shield agent?” Natasha enquired. “He had one of the most gruesome deaths I have ever seen”

Your smile dropped, anger and disgust filled your being.

“That shit stain got what he deserved, if you don’t believe me just ask hiswife and daughter” you seethed.

The witch was caught off guard by your fury, surprising even herself. She grabbed your hand gently and rubbed your knuckles.

All the anger in you seemed to quiet down in that moment.

The rest of the dinner continued with a slight interrogation disguised as idle conversation.

To their surprise, Wanda and Natasha found themselves relaxing and enjoying the meal.

Somewhere between the meal, you had offered Natasha a glass of bourbon, which she reluctantly accepted. Natasha was unable to stop her eyes from fluttering at the taste. It was… delectable.

By the end of the meal, the three of you were idly chatting about everything and nothing.

You leaned back in your chair, checking your watch.

“Going somewhere?” Natasha asked, sarcasm dripping from her.

“Not yet.” Came the mocking reply.

“Ae, can you get the antidote, please?” You called out.

A giggle could be heard from nowhere. “You sure? It hasn’t even kicked in yet; they have another 5 minutes.”

You nodded, not saying a word as two shot glasses with clear liquid appeared on the table.

“Did you.. poison us?” Wanda asked, looking almost hurt.

“Technically… no. What I put in your drinks was an aphrodasiac, quite an intense one at that. It hasn’t been activated yet; it will take effect in the next 5-7 minutes.” You said with a smirk.

“What you have in front of you is the antidote to that. I slipped it into your drinks. I give you this choice: take the antidote and arrest me… or… Don’t take the antidote, have the best night of your life, and then arrest me.

Silence filled the room.

Wanda stared at you, eyes wide and face flushed. Natasha reached for the shot glass but stopped.

“But.. but you..” Wanda stuttered.

You nodded. “I have taken it, too. If you choose not to, I shall suffer the consequences. If you choose yes, then all of us will have quite a night—one I don't think any of us will ever forget.”

“Well, " you ask, leaning back in your chair, “what will it be…?”

X--X--X--X--X

Do you think Wanda and Natasha should take the antidote?

Pls interact and let me know your thoughts and how it was!!

Hope you enjoyed ;)

[thenatashamaximoff]

Not All Birds Fly; Ch. 2

Summary: Sometimes, denying the truth is easier than accepting it, but how far are you willing to go to live a peaceful life when she no longer exists?

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

Warnings: death, blood

Words: 12190

✎ | 🕊

The loud, violent shrill of a siren cut through your slumber, startling you awake with a gasp. You sat up, eyes flying open as you immediately searched for the ear-splitting screech to silence it. You breathed out when you found your phone, shutting off the alarm before rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. Your brain was still foggy, discombobulated from the sudden disturbance from your deep, dreamless sleep.

You pulled your hands away from your face, blinking away the darkened edges of your vision, making yourself refocus on what was in front of you. You were seated at the workbench in Clint's barn-turned-house, Natasha's bracelets resting in the middle of the counter. And then it dawned on you, hitting you harder than a semi-truck: you were finished.

The bracelets were done way earlier than you had planned, ready to be tested. And the particles of sleep that were still lingering behind your eyes seemed to have vanished within seconds, replaced by the stomach-turning excitement as you got to your feet, the stool you were sitting on tumbling over. A smile cracked your stoic features, eyes widening as you carefully took one of the bracelets into your hand. 

"Nat!" You called her name out enthusiastically, the thrill of happiness rushing through your veins as you turned around, holding up the bracelet. "Nat, it's done! It's" - your voice caught in your throat when you saw that you were alone, no sign of the redheaded beauty anywhere in the vicinity, and when you finished your sentence, your voice was no longer filled with the rush of adrenaline - "done." You felt your shoulders slump in defeat, turning back to face the workbench as you chewed the inside of your cheek. She wasn't here. 

How long has it been? A day? Two? They blurred together, but you remember the last you saw of her, the anger and embarrassment mixing together at her rejection caused you to ask her to leave. But she knew you didn't mean it, right? She knew your words were only influenced by the hurt... right? Why is she still gone? You had demanded her departure before in a much harsher way and she came back within hours. 

You wanted to see her. You wanted to share the joy of completing another project. You wanted to see the proud smile on her face when you showed her. You wanted to feel her. You wanted her here. And you had an idea of how to achieve that. It worked before, it'll work again.

Grabbing the bracelets, you shoved them into your hoodie pocket as you left the barn. The house didn't seem to be lit up in the night, and you had hoped they were all asleep as you walked towards it. It'd be easier if you didn't have to face Laura or Clint, going in just to get the keys for their car. You didn't have the energy to walk all the way to the city tonight.

Much to your displeasure, you could hear the muffled noises coming from the TV in the other room when you walked through the door. You contemplated your choices for a moment. You could sneak, grab their keys and have the car back before they had any idea it was gone. Or you could just outright ask them to borrow their car. You figured it'd be better if you asked them. There’d be less guilt involved.

You shuffled towards the living room, suddenly feeling more anxious as you continued to get near. Though you had grown closer to Clint because of your job, you had always found a specific type of comfort in Laura you couldn't find in him. You figured it was just the motherly instinct she had developed after having kids. 

You stopped at the doorway, clearing your throat softly and hoping they heard it over the quiet TV. When they looked at you, making eye contact with the couple sitting on the couch, you were unexpectedly more fretful. You knew, without a doubt, that you did nothing to deserve their kindness. 

"Hey." Laura's voice was soft, welcoming. It made you feel more at ease almost instantly, your shoulders slouching with comfort as she smiled warmly at you. The concern you had felt vanished within one syllable. "How're you doing?"

"I'm okay," you said, your voice hushed. You stepped closer, suddenly aware of how heavy your hoodie pocket is becoming with the hidden bracelets. "I just… think it might be good for me to get out, take a drive around the city." You met Clint's stare and immediately looked away, already feeling the guilt begin to eat at you upon staring into his green irises. "Do you think that I could borrow the car?"

"Y/N-"

"Of course." Laura was quick to cut Clint off, causing you to pick your head up to meet her gaze. She was still smiling warmly, allowing you to breathe. Her hand rested on his shoulder, telling you that she used more than just her words to interrupt him. "On one condition."

You smiled widely, knowing it couldn't possibly be hard to do something in return for borrowing the car. "Yeah. Yeah, anything," you expressed enthusiastically, nodding quickly. 

"You eat something." You pursed your lips together as she stood up, giving her husband's hand a squeeze before leaving him on the couch. She gestured for you to follow her as she passed you, and you met Clint's eye one last time before you turned away. "You've been hiding in that barn for six days," she commented, motioning for you to sit at the table.

"Six days?" You sat down slowly, eyebrows furrowed intensely. 

"Every time I send one of the kids to bring you food, they'd come back with an untouched plate." You breathed out steadily, watching her reach into the fridge to pull out a plate. "I stopped sending them. Figured if you were hungry, you'd come to the house." She sent you a smile as she popped the food into the microwave. "Doesn't mean I stopped worrying."

"There's nothing to worry about," you assured gently, mirroring her smile, though you hoped she wouldn't see how the smile didn't meet your eyes. "I'm still the same ol' Y/N as I was before."

She crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at you as she leaned against the counter next to the microwave. "You haven't had anything to eat in a week, Y/N," she pointed out. 

"I've been busy," you explained, shaking your head. 

You pursed your lips together, averting your gaze and tuning your ears to try and make out what the TV was saying, attempting to give yourself a reprieve from the tense silence. Laura watched you for a moment until the microwave released a beep, moving to give you the plate before pulling a chair out to join you at the table. She was intent on making sure you eat, giving you no choice if you wanted the car. You leaned forward, picking at the food in front of you.

"Thank you," you said quietly. You figured you'd have a few bites, eat enough to satisfy Laura, and then you'd be on your way - you couldn't delay seeing Natasha any longer - but the second your taste buds came into contact with the food, you were suddenly aware of how hungry you truly are. Laura couldn't hide her smile as she watched you become more confident in eating.

"So, what had you so busy that you couldn't eat?" She had an eyebrow raised when you looked over at her, your chewing slowing down as you straighten your posture.

You swallowed the mouthful of food before breathing out. "I was finishing a project," you told her. "I made Nat new bracelets. I added a new ability. She’s going to love them."

Laura's small smile slowly faded away when you turned back to your plate, nodding your head as you shoveled more food into your mouth. "When were you going to give her these bracelets?"

"Her birthday." Your answer was muffled through the food, to which you quickly chewed and swallowed to clear your mouth. You sent her a smile. "It's in a few months. I hope she’ll get a kick out of them. I added this sort of g-"

"How are you going to give them to her, Y/N?" Your eyes focused on Clint standing at the entrance of the kitchen behind Laura, his arms crossed over his chest tautly. 

Laura turned to face him in her chair as you slowly looked down, chewing the inside of your cheek. "Clint."

"I'm trying to help her move on."

"Move on?" You furrowed your eyebrows, looking back at him as anger rushed through your veins. You could feel the fury overwhelm your logical thoughts, the crease above your nose deepening with rage. "She didn't break up with me, Clint." His eyes softened, his shoulders slouching. You couldn't blame him for the anger he was feeling, but you weren't thinking about anything except the outrage. "I'm sorry I'm not a professional like you. I can't bury my feelings, pretend they don't exist." 

He took a step towards you, his arms uncrossing from his chest to fall back down to his sides. "Y/N-"

"I didn't ask for your help." You looked towards Laura, your jaw tightened as strong as a vise, your voice becoming softer. "Can I go?" It felt as if you were asking your mother permission to be excused from the table, seeing the way her eyes shined with worry as she nodded. "Thank you." You stood up abruptly, the chair you were sitting on scraping across the floor. You shrugged past Clint, grabbing the car keys and making your way out of the house.

You couldn't help it, pain scorching through your nerves as you banged your palm against the steering wheel. The scream that came from your chest tore your throat raw, breathing in deeply as a few hot tears escaped your eyes. You took a moment to calm down before starting the car and peeling out of the driveway.

The roads were just as vacant as the other night, which made driving around easier. Though it was a bit more difficult to see any crime when you're speeding by in a car and slowing down to get a better look could draw suspicion. It was always better to catch criminals off guard. You convinced yourself to park the car and take a walk around.

You knew the chances of finding another crime were low. It's not like the movies, there wasn't going to be one around every corner. This was real life, there weren't that many people without a conscience.

But as soon as you turned the corner, everything you had just thought was proven to be dead wrong.

You took the gauntlets out of your pocket, slipping them onto your wrists and securing them. You could feel the steady, subtle vibration of the electricity coursing through them when you powered them on, outlining an electric blue to show they were working. The bracelets brought adrenaline flowing through you, your posture straightening with confidence. 

You made your way down the sidewalk, a beeline right for the two people attempting to break into a home, one clawing at the front door as the other looked around for another way in, disappearing around the house. 

"What are you looking for?" you asked once you reached the burglar, their hands flying away from the window to face you. You saw a female in the streetlights, her arms lifting in the air in a surrender fashion. "I'm pretty sure breaking and entering is considered a crime."

She shook her head rapidly, her hands matching the pace as she stepped towards you. "No, no. I live here," she exclaimed. "This is my place. My idiot roommate locked us out." 

You furrowed your eyebrows, meeting her gaze in the artificial light. You weren't an expert at reading expressions, but you could tell by the desperation in her voice that she was telling the truth. You quickly apologized, powering down the bracelets and continued down the sidewalk, letting them handle their own problem.

Though you did keep your eye out for any sign of crime, you were also waiting for that empty feeling in your gut to be filled by Natasha's appearance. It was only a matter of time.

"Alright," you expressed quietly, your movements faltering to a stop. You threw your hands up in the air, having no idea how much time has passed since you've gone on your little neighborly patrol. You turned around, eyeing the vacant space around you. There was no sign of crime anywhere, and you were foolish enough not to keep track of all the turns you made to remember your way back to the car. You were lost…

Great.

You began scolding yourself for not paying attention on your outings with Clint's family when you came to visit. No, you spent the entire time mesmerized by Natasha. You spend every single second of the days with your redheaded girlfriend entranced in her beauty. You could be on fire and you wouldn't know if she was around. And the thought of that only made you fall to your knees, exhausted. 

You could feel the pit in your stomach grow, twisting and churning your insides painfully, as if someone were wringing a wet rag. You released a strained scream, tears threatening your eyes as you wrapped your arms around yourself. What did you do to deserve this agony? The scream wore down your throat until you couldn't scream anymore, the sound muffled and silent as you leaned forward to press your forehead to the cool concrete. The tears that escaped their prison when you squeezed your eyes shut burned your cheeks on the way down, hot with anguish. 

You were tired.

You were unsure of how long you had stayed in that position, the pain in your stomach having subsided what felt like forever ago. You had no motivation to uncurl yourself, but you were forced to when you felt a poke against your arm, sitting up straight and looking towards the person who had disturbed you… to see nothing but air. There wasn't a living being within a hundred yards of you. So what poked you?

There. You saw it. A flash of red hair illuminated by the streetlight above them just before they disappeared around the corner on the other side of the street. You could feel that pit of emptiness in your gut slowly fill, encouraging you to climb to your feet. There was only one person you knew who had red hair.

"Nat?" Your voice came out a soft whisper, no possible way for whoever had rounded the corner across the street would be able to hear you. The logical side of your brain - the one telling you that Natasha isn't the only person in the world with red hair and that whoever had passed by could've been quite literally anybody - was easily overpowered by your desire to see her again. You no longer hesitated to scramble after her.

She was already disappearing behind the building at the end of the street by the time you made it to the corner, a sigh escaping your throat as you made your way, chasing her with new vigor. You called out for her again, desperate to see her eyes just one last time. But you couldn't seem to catch up, turning a corner just in time to watch her disappear around another one. How far were you willing to go just to see the sea of green held in her eyes?

You didn't have time to answer the silent question. By the time you reached the end of the street, you stopped in your tracks. Though you weren't face to face with Natasha, you were presented with front-row seats in watching a crime unfold before your eyes.

You gathered yourself, sucking in a deep breath and standing tall. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears; now was not the time to show fear. Your stride was strong and confident, unwavering despite the tiny voice in the back of your head trying to scream at you to pull back. To turn around and hightail it back to the car - wherever the car is. But you shoved that voice away, deep into a small crevice of your brain as you marched forward.

There were five people, yet one of them was forced onto their knees, a knife pinned to their throat by one of the others. It was logical of you to believe that the woman on the ground was innocent, staring at the man in front of her with an anger you could see in her locked jaw. She was smart not to struggle, not with the blade pressed against her neck.

You inched closer, your heart continuing to beat rampantly against your ribcage. You could feel the nervous sweat on your palms, and your confident steps became less assured. But before you allowed your brain to convince yourself to turn back, your mouth was already forming words, "One against four? Well, I don't think that's very fair."

You're not really sure exactly how you managed not to show the fear in your voice, having said your silly little introduction with assertiveness. You were hoping your expression was doing just as well in hiding how terrified you were when all five people turned their attention to you. You were starting to worry when you could no longer hear your heart beating loudly in your ears. When you turned the bracelets on, you could feel the electricity vibrating against your skin. Yeah, you were still alive.

“This doesn’t pertain to you,” the man declared, stepping toward you, while the three you assume to be his partners, more men, stood their ground as they looked at you. The man holding the woman down kept his grip tight. “You might want to leave before you get hurt.” 

“Listen to him, Y/N.” You perked up at Natasha’s voice, loud and clear in your head, though nowhere near you when your eyes quickly roamed the area. Your first instinct was to listen to her, to turn around and leave the helpless woman to her fate, but you took a step forward regardless. No, hearing her wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to see her.

“Are you deaf?” the man declared through clenched teeth, watching you inch closer to him. “I said turn around and walk away or else.” He reached behind his back, pulling out a gun and flashing it at you. You had no choice but to halt your movements, with less than ten yards of space between you and him. He wasn’t aiming the gun, only showing it off, but you weren’t willing to take the chance. “Atta girl.” He sent you a toothy grin, proud of himself for finally getting you to cooperate. “Now, go back to where you came from. This is private business.” He waved the gun, gesturing for you to leave, but you didn’t. 

“Y/N.” Your head tilted at Natasha’s voice in your ears, chills crawling up your spine. “Please.” You were so close, you could feel it. There’s no use in turning back now.

You lifted your arm up, aiming the bracelet at the man. His grin grew wider, easygoing. He saw no threat in your glowing bracelets, and he saw no threat in you. He laughed, looking towards his partner as he pointed at you. And when he opened his mouth - presumably to make a joke about your so-called weapon - the only thing that came out was the screams of agony when you shot a taser disk at him. Only, it wasn’t the man wielding the gun who made the noise. It was the goon behind him. 

You really had to learn how to aim this thing. Natasha always made it look so easy.

The man looked back at his friend in time to watch him fall to the floor, blue sparks of electricity covering his body, before turning back to you, all humor on his face erased, replaced with pure anger. “What did you do?” he demanded. And though you missed your target, you couldn’t help but laugh at how incredibly well the bracelet works! A wide smile on your face as you looked down at your wrists for a moment.

“They work!” you announced proudly, picking your head up. The excitement didn’t last long when you made eye contact with the man… behind the barrel of the gun. You raised your hands up on instinct, your eyes wide as you saw the fire flicker in his.

“Did you kill him?” he questioned, angrier than before.

“No, no. He’s only unconscious,” you stated. “I swear, he’s breathing. Check his pulse.”

The man looked back at one of his friends and nodded his head. You watched with bated breath as he kneeled down next to the unconscious man, pressing his fingers against his neck. And when he nodded his head, you felt your stomach drop in realization. “You killed him.”

“No.” You shook your head, waving your hands. “No, I- I didn’t mean to. I must’ve gotten the voltage wrong.”

The man’s finger pressed firmly against the trigger, the gun aimed right at you, and you flinched when the gun went off, your eyes squeezing tightly shut as you waited for the pain of being shot. It had to have been worse than getting kicked in the gut over and over, so why weren’t you feeling anything?

You couldn’t stop yourself from opening an eye out of curiosity, and you could feel your heart flutter when you opened them both to meet Natasha’s gaze. She had her hand wrapped around the man’s wrist, pushing his arm up to point the gun in the air, preventing the bullet from hitting you. You no longer felt any fear, watching Natasha take care of the man. Fists flew, and feet lifted off the ground. It was satisfying to watch, never having been able to witness firsthand the assassin in action. The men stood no chance, not being able to land a hit on the redhead, not even capable of seeing her with how fast she was moving. You were locked in a trance, so distracted by the way Natasha moved as fluidly as water that you didn’t even notice the woman you had saved sneak off. 

When it was all said and done, Natasha stood in the middle of three unconscious - and, unfortunately, one dead - men once again, and she was barely out of breath. You had a small sense of deja vu; only this time, you weren’t on the ground and in pain.

“That was awesome!” you expressed, walking towards her. She placed her hands on her hips, looking at you with a look of disapproval, but you managed to ignore it. “They didn’t even see you coming! How do you do that?”

“I told you to leave, Y/N.”

You pursed your lips together, the smile that had managed to grow on your face fading with realism. “I was never a very good listener, was I?”

“This is serious,” Natasha expressed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re going to get yourself hurt. What would you have done if I wasn't here in time?"

Get shot was the answer that was on the tip of your tongue, but you bit back. You really had no response to her question, knowing you should've listened to both her and the gunman. You could say the fear had cemented you to the ground, leaving you incapable of moving, which is the truth. But you also knew there was a part of you that wanted to stay, and you chose to listen to that instead. Now? Well, now you have to weasel your way out of a lecture from- Wait a damn minute…

“You are the one that led me here,” you countered. “Why would you bring me to the crime only for you to tell me to leave?” 

She sighed, taking a step towards you. "Go home, Y/N."

"Go home?" You furrowed your eyebrows, pursing your lips together as your head tilted slightly to the side. You couldn't help but laugh at the irony, the sound grim and dry as you were having trouble finding what was funny. And when you spoke, your voice held a hint of bitterness that wasn't at all subtle, "My home is dead. Yeah. Swan dived right off a damn cliff. Sound familiar?" 

"I wouldn't really call it a swan dive, per se." She sent you a smirk, an attempt to lighten the mood. It didn't work.

You stared at her, your stoic expression causing her small grin to fade away, before walking past her. You shook your head as you kneeled next to the man you had accidentally killed, pressing your fingers against his neck. You silently begged that the other man was fibbing, telling a lie just to get the action started, but your eyes closed slowly when you couldn't find what you were looking for. He was, in fact, dead. And you were the cause of it.

You felt sick.

"Why didn't you listen to me?" Natasha's voice reached your ears, her tone much softer and gentler than before. Less disappointed, more concerned. You opened your eyes and stood up, turning around to face her with a perplexed look. "That could've been avoided." She gestured to the deceased man behind you, and your jaw locked so tightly, you could've sworn you heard it click.

"Why did you listen to me?" you asked.

"You asked me to leave."

"I didn't mean it." You threw your hands up when you shrugged, hearing them slap against your legs when they fell back to your sides. "I didn't mean it, Nat." You could feel your bottom lip threaten to tremble, shaking your head as you sucked in a deep breath to try and prevent the sign of weakness. It didn't work. You had to force yourself to look away, turning to the side as your hands clenched into tight fists. Anger boiled your blood, yet sadness blurred your vision with unshed tears. You slightly flinched when you felt a hand fall onto your shoulder, as light as a feather. You breathed in deeply, releasing it slowly as you watched Natasha step in front of you, her second hand gripping your other shoulder. The next time you spoke, your voice was small, “I killed someone.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you have to leave,” she expressed. “You can’t stay here anymore. You have to go back to Barton.” You looked into her eyes, thriving on the softness and warmth you could find in the green irises, so distracted by the comfort that you had completely disregarded the way the side of her face was washed by a moving, yellow light. “Y/N, please, you need to go.”

You felt something grip your arm tightly, tugging you away from Natasha with a grunt. You looked forward, allowing the woman you had saved earlier drag you. Your mouth was glued shut with confusion, pulling you further and further as you sent a glance over your shoulder. Though Natasha was gone, you saw the fleet of vehicles pull up just before you had rounded a corner. When she finally released you, she turned to show you her face, an angry, puzzled look crossing her features. “Are you dense?” 

“...What?” 

“You didn’t hear those cars coming?”

You cleared your throat, snapping yourself out of your daze as you took a step back from her. Why was she so close? “No, I… didn’t.” You shook your head, your eyebrows furrowing as she rolled her eyes and started to walk away from you.

“Follow her.” You didn’t turn toward her voice, feeling her presence behind you as you watched the blonde walk away. You huffed lightly before following the redhead’s command, shuffling after the stranger quickly.

“Only reason I saved you is because you saved me,” she declared once she heard you catch up, maintaining your distance behind her. “Now, I don’t have a debt with a…” She stopped walking suddenly, and you had to catch yourself to prevent running into her. As she turned to face you, she looked you up and down with skepticism, an eyebrow raised dubiously. “Hey, how did you do that thing?”

“Don’t tell her.” Your lips formed a thin line at Natasha’s words, giving in to glance behind you. She stood there, sending daggers of cynicism at the blonde. When you turned back to look at her, her eyes just moved to meet yours.

You shrugged. “Do what thing?”

She squinted, crossing her arms over her chest as she measured you. “I can’t tell if you’re acting stupid or if you really are.” She shook her head, releasing a heavy sigh. “It’s really not that important to me.” She turned on her heels and continued her walk. “We can walk together for a few blocks just to be safe, then we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Hey, so, what did you do to piss those guys off?” Not that it was hard to. Less than two minutes and the one dude pulled a gun on you. She probably called him stupid, too. That most likely would’ve done it. 

“I said we can walk together,” she declared. “I didn’t say we can talk.” You breathed out softly, looking down at the bracelets wrapped around your wrists. It wasn’t much longer before she let out a heavy sigh and said, “I stole something from them.”

“What’d you steal?”

“A flash drive,” she answered, her head straight forward. You watched the back of her head, the way her long hair swayed with every step she took. 

“They’re after you for a flash drive?”

“That’s the least of your concerns,” she said. “They’re after you now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling confusion bring a wave of fog to your brain for a moment. “For what?”

“You ask that as if you didn’t just murder one of them.” You could feel your heart drop into your stomach like it was jumping off a diving board at her words, bringing back the realization that, yes, you did actually just kill someone. And his friends may have painted a target on your back because of it. “Are you done with the twenty questions now?”

“Ask her what was on the drive.”

Your head turned towards Natasha. “No.” The woman stopped walking again, turning around to face you as her arms went up in annoyance. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you cleared your throat, gripping your hips with your hands as you sent the woman a sheepish smile. “Uh… what- What was on the drive?”

“A bunch of files maybe, I don’t know,” she expressed, shrugging. “I was hired to steal it. I don’t ask my client questions.”

“I mean, aren’t you a little bit curious as to what’s on the drive?”

She stared at you, blinking as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, uh…”

“Y/N.”

“I didn’t ask.” She smiled at you, but there was a hint of irritation behind the forced grin. “As long as I get my money, I couldn’t really care less what’s on the drive.”

“You don’t really believe her, do you, Y/N?” You breathed out, watching Natasha move to stand to the side, her eyes remaining on the stranger carefully. 

"I don't know." It was said instinctively, earning a confused look from the lady. There was a part of you that wanted to believe her, there was another part - that part primely being called Natasha - was fully skeptical of the blonde. You were unsure of which to listen to. 

"You don't know?" She scoffed, and her response to your statement made you think that she had asked you something you didn't hear over Natasha's voice. She breathed out slowly, trying to keep her temper together as she squeezed the bridge of her nose.

"No, I- I wasn't talking to you." You shook her head as she removed her hand from her face, looking at you.

"Then who were you talking to?"

"Don't tell her, Y/N."

"Not you," you answered.

"There's nobody else here," she countered. “Who is it?”

"She's getting too jumpy. I don't like it."

"Shut up." The woman looked offended for a brief moment at your command, causing your eyes to widen. "No, no. Not- Not you." You cast your gaze towards Natasha, who met yours in return, giving her a look that you hoped she'd listen to. 

"Are you crazy?" You turned back to the woman to catch her slightly leaning towards you. 

"Y/N, just leave."

"No." You groaned in frustration.

The woman hummed. "I don't believe that."

You looked at Natasha. "You need to go, Y/N."

"You're talking to someone who isn't here." The blonde’s voice pulled your gaze back to her.

You averted your eyes to the ground, running your hands down your face. "Don't listen to her."

"It's just the two of us-"

"Y/N-"

“-for now.”

"-run away."

“I'm sure we'll be joined soon by the people we both crossed.”

"Both of you shut up!" Your hands flew away from your face as you picked your head up, looking at Natasha, then the blonde. You breathed out, shaking your head as the woman stared at you, and you felt yourself grow smaller underneath her analyzing eyes. She was measuring you once again, clearly trying to figure out if you were going to be a threat to her or not. But when you took a step back, her posture relaxed just a bit.

"You are crazy."

"I'm not crazy," you stated lowly, shaking your head.

"You're seeing someone who isn't there," she pointed out. "If that's not the textbook definition of crazy, I don't know what is." She watched you turn your head, and her eyes followed yours only to find an empty space. "You need to go home, Y/N."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but she's right."

"Maybe get some help." You looked back at the woman, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "Whatever you're going through, the pain will go away." 

Her movement was hesitant, but she finally managed to give in and rest a hand on your shoulder. Giving you an encouraging yet semi-awkward squeeze, she turned on her heels and walked away, watching her walk down an alley.

You didn't follow her.

“You need to stop planting doubt in my head, Nat,” you expressed as you marched forward. “Your inability to trust people is contagious.”

“You need to learn that not everybody is your friend,” she explained, easily matching your stride as you continued down the sidewalk. “There are some people who only look out for themselves, and most people won’t protect a stranger. Which is what she is to you.”

“She did save me from a bunch of people I didn’t see coming because I was a little bit distracted by a certain green-eyed redhead.”

“She said it herself,” Natasha responded with a scoff, “she only saved you because you saved her. Now she doesn’t care about you anymore. Not the way I do.”

“No, Nat, because you care about me oh so much that you just couldn’t wait to leave me all alone.” You breathed out a heavy sigh as you stopped walking, turning to face her as you pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger. “Look, I really don’t want to fight.” You didn’t want to risk saying something to make her disappear for an extended amount of time again. This version of her seemed sensitive to your words, though which ones, you were still figuring that out. “I need you with me. You clearly get me out of situations-”

“You shouldn’t be finding yourself in,” she finished. “Y/N, if you had listened to me-”

“Then that man would still be alive.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Save the speech, Nat, I know what I’m doing.” You shook your head, scoffing as you started walking once more. “I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

“How do you throw a punch then?” You found yourself stopping again, turning around to look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, you said you’re more than capable of handling yourself. Surely you know how to throw a punch then.” She closed the distance between you, standing within arm's length away. Her hands extended out to her sides, palms towards you, as she said, “Hit me.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I��m not going to hit you.”

“Hit me, Y/N.”

“Nat, no.”

Her movement was quick, her hand pushing against your shoulder, but it only pulled an exasperated sigh from your throat as her arms fell back to her sides. “Just hit me.”

“There’s no reason for me to-”

“Hit. Me.”

“Stop it. I’m not going to-” You stepped back at the impact of her hand against your shoulder once more, rolling your eyes in annoyance. “Nothing you do is going to make me-”

“Y/N-”

“No-”

“Throw a-”

“I’m not going to-”

“Hit me!” Your arm swung involuntarily, your teeth gritting tightly, and you surely would've hit her jaw if she hadn't pulled back an inch. She could only seem to smile as you huffed out in aggravation. “Good. Now, your posture is off just a little bit-”

With a shake of your head, you turned your back on her and started to walk away. “I’m not going to accept fighting lessons from you right now.” Your eyes burned as you instinctively squeezed them shut, feeling the adrenaline slowly start to wear off as you walked. “We just need to find the truck and head back to the house otherwise they’re not going to let me borrow it anymore and then we’ll have to just keep walking to the city.”

“Or,” Natasha started, “you could, you know, not put your life at risk every night.”

“I really don’t see that happening any time soon if I’m being honest with you.”

“You’re not Batman, Y/N.”

“Batman?” You scoffed a laugh. “That’s a comic book character, Nat. He isn’t real.”

You could hear her chuckle from behind you, and the sound alone managed to flip your stomach. “You’re saying you don’t believe in Batman?” You couldn’t help but smile as she laughed again. “You do remember what your job was, right? Building tech for heroes… such as Batman.”

“I didn’t build anything for Batman,” you corrected. “I built stuff for other people, like Hawkeye and Captain America. Sometimes even this cocky assassin that chose to go by Black Widow. Never Iron Man, although he did take my ideas to improve on them.” You huffed, shaking your head as you swiped your arms through the air. “Alright, just- Enough with the Batman. He isn’t real, end of story. Help me find the truck.”

“Just keep going straight.”

You followed her command and let the silence of the night settle over the two of you. It gave you time to think, to process what exactly had gone down. You killed a man, that tidbit of information wasn’t going to be leaving you any time soon. You couldn’t help but wonder just how many lives have been taken because of the equipment you supplied these heroes. Natasha wasn’t hesitant to take a life, and neither was Clint. But it was never you pulling the trigger like now. You took that man’s last breath. You had to get back to the house and fix the bracelets. You don’t want a replay of what happened tonight. You don’t want to take another man away from his family… if he had one.

“Stop thinking about it.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about.” You couldn’t help but snap at her, your eyes forward as your jaw clenched. Your head shook, your lips pursing together tightly as you trudged onward. Find the truck, go back to Clint’s. That’s all you needed to do. But you could sense her eyes staring at the back of your head, radiating judgment and conjecture. Your heart ran rampant against your ribcage, and you could feel that last thread of sanity slowly coming apart. You stopped walking, turning around to face her. “Please, Nat, tell me how to fix this.”

She breathed out, her shoulders slumping as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her green eyes were sparkling and it made you feel like you weren’t so crazy after all. “You can’t, my love.” Your chin dropped to your chest in defeat, rubbing the back of your neck as your eyes squeezed shut. Exhaustion was one of the many things you were feeling right now. “The only thing you can do is keep moving forward.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” You picked your head up to look at her, your arm falling back to your side as your lips formed a thin, tight line. Your eyes met hers, but you didn’t feel the relief those emeralds usually held. “What if I just want to… I want to quit.”

“Y/N-”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head rapidly. “I don’t want to move forward anymore, Nat.”

“You can’t live in the past forever.”

“Why not?” you questioned. “You’re there.” And being with Natasha is the only thing you know. You scoffed, shaking your head. “She said the pain would go away. That woman. But… she didn't know what it meant to be here without you.”

She looked at you, a sigh slightly parting her lips. 

“You know, I can’t understand you,” you admitted. “One second, you’re telling me that you’re real. Another second, you’re claiming you’re dead and that I need to just move on. Which is it, Nat? Are you dead or are you alive? And why can I see you and- and feel you? Because you… jumped off a cliff to sacrifice yourself for- for some stone and you didn’t come back. You didn’t come back, Nat.”

“Baby-”

“No!” You took a step away from her, shaking your head. “No. I’m not- I’m not crazy. Out of the entire team, I was the only one that was sane! I mean… Tony and Bruce made an artificial killing machine. You and Clint went headfirst into an alien battle with nothing but a pistol and a damn bow. You all went to war over a stack of papers! I was the only one who was logical! Who made any kind of sense! And now…” You trailed off, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as you shook your head once again, looking into the eyes of an illusion. “Everybody else is saner than I am.”

“You’re not crazy, Y/N.”

“Says my dead girlfriend.”

“I’m here for a reason.” She took a step towards you, her hands twitching to reach for you, but they remained by her sides. “I’m here to help you process everything that’s happening. I show up at the times you need me the most.”

“You’re a figment of my imagination,” you countered. “You’re a hallucination conjured up by my mind to help me cope with this grief because I just can’t accept the fact that you’re gone, Nat.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, placing your hands on your hips as you breathed in a shaky breath.

"Why are you so much more reckless now than you were when I was here?" She raised an eyebrow, challengingly, as a smirk lifted her lips. "Where was this Y/N before?" She poked your side teasingly, but you quickly swatted her away.

You furrowed your eyebrows, taking a small step back from her. "I'm still me."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Come on, Y/N," she countered. "You're running head first into danger. You're telling people how you feel- How you really feel. You weren't doing that a month ago. What? Did my death finally pull you out of your shell?"

"Shut up," you snapped. But your attempt to be dominant didn’t get very far when she laughed at your demand; a low chuckle that caused her to shake her head slowly. You huffed, annoyed that she clearly wasn’t taking you seriously. Annoyed that she was going to continue to patronize you no matter what you say. Annoyed that her smile still caused the butterflies to get antsy in your stomach. You sighed softly, feeling your shoulders slump as you stepped toward her. “I wish we never answered that call,” you whispered, reaching for her hand to bring it in between yours. You savored the warmth of her touch, looking down at them as you allowed the feeling to calm your nerves.

“You don’t mean that.”

“No,” you countered, “I do. We were happy, Nat. Sure, half the world had dusted away, but we were happy. And then… your phone rang. I saw Tony's name…” You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked up to meet her gaze. "If I could go back, I wouldn't have answered the phone. I would've done whatever it took for you to not die because the whole world believes you're dead when you're just really good at lying."

She crossed an arm across her chest, her eyes soft as she watched you carefully. Her lips formed a thin line, yet she didn't seem to be hurt by your accusation. In a world where she's only visible to the one who held her in their heart, she had to give you free passes. "I thought you were past this stage," she commented. "Then again, grief isn't really linear." Your chin fell to your chest, pressing her knuckles against your lips.

“I wouldn’t have answered the phone…” You remembered as if it was yesterday, but your memories soon became clouded with panic when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your neck, your hands clawing at their elbow as their grip tightened. You looked at Natasha, her emerald eyes gazing at you as she watched you struggle against the hostile party.

“This is for your own protection.” A voice, a familiar voice, whispered in your ear as your fight became futile. And, as you fell into the bottomless pit of darkness, you saw the headlights of a car turn the corner at the end of the street.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⧗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The darkness was accepted, holding a comfort that helped you relax. You needed this. Serenity was hard to find when all you've been experiencing the past few days was nothing but stress. It calmed you down and loosened the tense pressure that had formed in your muscles. Sleeping held the same sensation as it would if one were being hugged.

But you knew this situation wasn't permanent. The darkness, as always, was only temporary. You have to enjoy it while you can, this state of tranquility, before it comes to be interrupted by the world of light. Yet it didn't last as long as you had originally hoped - the feeling of something gliding across your cheek was slowly bringing you out of this slumber. 

Your face automatically twitched away from the touch, and a peal of light laughter fanning against your ear was the cause of your consciousness. The slight pressure returned to your face, leaving a faint tingling sensation in its path, and you had to find the will to open your eyes if you wanted to locate the reason for the disturbance. But… the touch was warm. It held more comfort than the darkness ever could. And the laugh, it had brought chills to your spine. You knew who it was and it was the exact reason why you didn't want to open your eyes knowing this feeling could end, and you'd only find yourself alone in a partially empty bed.

"Wake up, Y/N." But she felt so real, her lips grazing against your earlobe, her finger sliding up and down your cheek. 

"Five more minutes." She laughed at your mumbled response, a cliche request for more sleep. Nobody ever let it fall through, and it certainly wasn't going to happen now. She seemed so adamant about you waking up, and you wondered why.

"We have a lot to do today, darling." You would be a fool to fall for this trick again, but you had to open your eyes and face reality eventually. 

You breathed out, feeling your gut twist uncomfortably as your eyes slowly fluttered open. You turned your head and felt your heart nearly leap out of your chest when you made eye contact with Natasha, her green eyes shining brighter than ever as a smile lit up her features.

"There you are," she whispered, poking your nose quickly before pulling her hand away. "It feels like you've been asleep forever."

Your mouth propped open, but you couldn't seem to find your voice. The feeling of deja vu seemed to wash over you, but your eyes were glued onto Natasha's smiling face. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to - not that you wanted to. This moment, this was real. You could feel it. 

Was everything all just a dream?

You lifted your arm, gently placing your palm against her cheek and your heart skipped a beat when she leaned into your touch. You didn't waste a second, leaning forward to press your lips against hers in a desperate kiss, urgently deepening it as you pulled her closer to you. You could feel the moment your soul felt whole again. Though your eyes were closed, you could feel the tears slip through and make their way down your cheeks, the sob escaping your chest caused her to pull away from you, her eyebrows pinched in concern as your chin fell.

"Baby? Baby, what's wrong?" She swiped at your forehead with one hand, her other hand lifting your chin to get a better look at your face. "Come on, detka, you know you can tell me anything. What happened?"

But you only shook your head, resting your forehead against hers as you breathed her in. "I really love you."

She laughed gently, it managed to soothe you as the sobs racking your chest settled down. "I love you," she returned, smiling softly. "Are you sure you're all right? Was it a bad dream?" You nodded into her, letting your eyes fly close. "It's okay," she whispered softly, a sound that automatically placed you into serenity. "It wasn't real."

"I was scared."

Her lips formed a brief frown, but she was quick to recover. She pulled away from you, stroking your cheek with her thumb as she said, "I know what'll make you feel better."

You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze only to be overwhelmed with a comfort the ghost version of Natasha couldn't reach. "What?"

"A nice, warm shower," she offered, her voice low as she moved her hand down to grip the back of your neck, "and a fulfilling breakfast." Her lips grazed across yours when she tugged you to her, feeling your breath hitch in your throat at the closeness. A ball of heat formed in your gut as you yearned for her touch, tilting your chin up in an attempt to catch her lips in yet another passionate kiss, but she only pulled away from your efforts.

You collapsed back onto the bed with a huff, your head falling into the pillows as she laughed. 

"I'll start the shower," she offered, finding your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. "Hopefully you'll be joining me in a moment." You watched as she climbed out of the bed, sending you a sly wink before vanishing into the bathroom.

Her disappearance gave you a moment to look around, and the feeling of deja vu had only grown stronger when you realized where you were. You were home. Having moved away from New York, convincing Natasha to hang up her batons and retire after the Blip. Finding a cozy little house in a nice neighborhood. Happiness, despite the circumstances, was the only thing you had felt during this time. And to see that her death was only a dream comforted you. It wasn't real. You weren't living in an old barn. You weren't seeing an illusion of Natasha summoned up by your grief-stricken brain.

You took the moment to relax. Everything you had thought you knew was all a nightmare. A seemingly never-ending nightmare. And now you were awake, and it was all going to be shoved into the back of your mind. You were going to enjoy reality with your girlfriend.

A ringing interceded your thoughts for a brief moment, pulling your attention to the nightstand opposite yours. Natasha’s phone. And, stretching your neck to get a view of the caller ID, you felt your stomach drop at Tony’s name.  You had a sneaking feeling that you knew exactly what he wanted, not having any contact with anybody from SHIELD since the fall of humanity years ago, and you remembered all too well in your nightmare about the what-if. You had answered the phone, you had admitted to Natasha exactly what the billionaire wanted despite everything in your bones telling you not to. She gave in, packed her bags and moved back to New York with you in tow. Given the chance to fix a “mistake,” you knew she was going to take it.

You ignored the call this time, sending it to voicemail before completely shutting the phone down. “Who was it?” Her voice could be heard over the water coming from the bathroom, and you chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment before giving her an answer.

“Wrong number.”

That was it. She didn’t question it further, she had no reason to. She wasn’t expecting a random call from Tony Stark. She had stopped expecting those calls years ago. And you knew they’d be perfectly fine solving this problem without her. There were still people left to help them, they could call any of them. Right now, you were going to enjoy this fix in time. Natasha didn’t have to die. And you didn’t have to lose your entire world. 

“Are you coming?”

Everything was right in the universe again.

But when your surroundings changed as your eyes opened, you found yourself confused and, ultimately, disappointed. Laying on a bench in a holding cell at the police station, you were forced to sit up when you met eyes with a large, scary-looking man who was a bit too close to you. 

Did the cops find the body? Traced it back to you and scooped you up off the sidewalk after forcefully succumbing to unconsciousness by an unknown assailant. Though now would probably be a decent time to start panicking - you're in jail for murder, what would Clint and Laura think now - you couldn't really bring yourself to get into that state of mind. It seems that you have fully given in to whatever the world has to offer you.

You rested your head against the wall, releasing a sigh as you closed your eyes once more, desperate to go back to Wonderland. You knew there was no use. You knew it was too good to be true. You did answer that phone call from Tony. You did tell Natasha what he had wanted. You did move back to New York to help the world just one. Last. Time. Only it really was one last time because you no longer had the motivation to help the thing that took her away from you.

“It was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?” Your eyes opened, slowly turning your head to look at Natasha, who had settled onto the bench next to you. You breathed out deeply as you returned your head forward, allowing your eyes to close once again. “A world of what ifs.”

“Can you please not be your usual snarky self right now? I'm too tired.” You were unsure how long you've been out for, but you do know it wasn't long enough. 

Natasha sighed. “You don’t know how you ended up in jail, do you?”

“Not a clue,” you confessed.

“What do you remember?”

You opened your eyes, looking at her once more. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

She shrugged. "I'm usually in need of answers."

You huffed when she shook her head, that signature smirk of hers twitching her lips. You leaned forward, resting your elbows against your knees as you looked through the bars of the cell, watching the people in blue scurry through the room. “I remember being choked. A voice. A car. And then blackness.”

“Who’d the voice belong to?”

You fought against the mugginess happening in your brain, forcing yourself to remember. “I’m doing this for your own protection.” It was a familiar voice. Not one you’ve grown accustomed to, but one that was still fresh on your mind at the time.

“The woman.” You took a shot in the dark, there isn’t really any other way for it to be someone else.

“Right.” Natasha leaned forward to look at your face. “And then what?”

“Nat-”

“Who’d the car belong to?”

You sighed, shaking your head. You couldn’t remember, that was the part you had blacked out. “I was out of it at that point. How could I remember that?”

“Just think, Y/N.”

“I am thinking.” You looked towards the other occupants of the cell - the “no personal space” man from earlier was eyeing you like you were nuts (which, to be fair, you totally are), and the others seemed to be too out of it to give you any care. You turned away, burying your face in your hands as you tried to think. You lowered your voice to whisper to Natasha, “I can’t remember what I can’t see.”

“You did see it, Y/N.” She crouched down in front of you, gently tugging your hands away from your face so she could look into your eyes. She smiled at you softly, and you hated how easily you lost yourself in those pools of emeralds. "Just not the way you think." She rested her arms against your knees, her hold on your wrists gentle, bringing a comfort that nearly reached serenity. "Close your eyes and think."

A deep, heavy breath parted your lips as you slowly nodded, allowing your eyes to flutter close at Natasha's command. Your body relaxed under her touch as your mind wandered back to what had happened, darkness engulfing you in a tight hold. No, you didn't see what happened, but just because you didn't have your vision doesn't mean you didn't have your other senses. You could still feel the woman's arms wrapped around your neck, you could still smell the outside air, and you could hear the sirens.

"Cops." Your eyes flew open, and you grinned when Natasha nodded in approval. "It was a cop car. She-" Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and the redhead in front of you watched with bated breath as you tried to piece it together in your mind. "She called the cops on us? But why?" For your own protection? That's what she had said, but what did she mean by it?

Were you going to get caught? The man you had killed, the men Natasha had attacked, their gang would surely see to it that you would end up in a grave as well. No doubt they would have searched the perimeter for you and her, but it wasn't them who found you. It was the police. 

"I was too busy talking to you to keep moving," you pointed out. "She called the police on us to save us." You sat up, a small smile lifting your lips. “She saved us, Nat. Again. This just goes to show that your whole trust issue is moot.”

She sat next to you as you leaned against the wall, turning your head to look at her with a beaming grin. She released a gentle laugh, mirroring your stance. You reached for her, intertwining your fingers through hers as a soft breath parted your lips. Your thumb skated across the top of her hand as you stared into her hypnotizing eyes, your gut twisting and turning with warmth. You knew you could sit here all day with her, mesmerized by her. How the light slipping through the barred window above you cast a brilliant glow on her face, how the feeling of her felt as genuine as the dream you had, how your heart crawled up to your throat with happiness that you thought it might just explode. Sure, you were in a holding cell - presumably under the guise that you were just another bum on the street - but you were content. Because she was here, and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Y/N!” The loud voice pulled you out of your daze suddenly, turning toward the source to see a towering police officer at the entrance to the cell. “You’re free to go.” The keys jangled in his hands as he worked to unlock the door, and you were on your feet within seconds to make your way out of this prison. He guided you to the entrance, the bubbles in your chest immediately dissipating at the sight of Clint standing in the lobby the moment you turned the corner.

Dread covered your body head to toe as he uncrossed his arms from his chest to rest his hands on his waist when he spotted you. It was the cliche disappointed father stance. It didn’t go unnoticed by the entire police station, eyes lingering on the two of you as you stepped up to him. Your lips were pursed together, your fingers twiddling with each other as you anticipated the lecture you were bound to receive one of these days, but you were pulled out of that state of mind when his arms wrapped around you to bring you against his body in a tight hug. Yet it was a brief one, pulling away quickly as he cleared his throat.

“Come on.” He nodded his head for you to follow him out of the doors, but you felt yourself stagger when your eyes landed on a piece of paper pinned to the community bulletin board. Your brows knitted tightly together with confusion, your heart stopping in your chest as your mind tried to work out exactly what you were looking at. 

“Rogers?” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the poster, the silhouette of Captain America burning memories into your mind that caused your stomach to turn upside down. You felt someone bump against your shoulder as they stood next to you, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Natasha. “Why would they…”

“Everybody loves musicals.” Her voice was low, but you could detect a hint of amusement in her tone. 

“Y/N-” Clint traced back to you not long after he realized you had stopped, and released a hefty sigh. He didn’t hesitate to rip it off of the board, crumpling it in his fist and tossing it into a nearby trashcan before guiding you out of the building.

The ride home seemed to drag as you anticipated the lecture you had expected back at the precinct. Though he has yet to say anything since he got into the car, and you were pretty sure this was worse than being scolded. The silence seemed to suffocate you, pressing against your chest with extraordinary strength as you couldn’t seem to keep your knee still. Your eyes were glued to the window, but you’d catch yourself glancing at him every now and again.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why wasn’t he expressing his disappointment? His anger? Maybe he was trying to figure out what to say. How to say it? Was he just refusing to talk to you now? Maybe he was too disappointed to conjure up the appropriate words. Too angry to put his thoughts into sentences. You couldn’t handle it. He was too quiet and you hated it.

“Calm down.” You felt your entire body relax at her voice, releasing a low breath as your knee finally stopped bouncing. “Ask him.” But you shook your head, pursing your lips together as you glanced at him in the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t be the first one to break the silence. You needed him to speak before you. “Just ask him.”

“Are you angry?” The words came out of your mouth before you really had time to process much of anything.

“No.” It was a curt answer, and it told you not to push any further…

“Disappointed?” He breathed out deeply through his nose as he shook his head. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you, Y/N?” He glanced at you briefly before returning his stare to the road. “You’re acting irrationally. Getting yourself in trouble with not only the police but criminals as well.”

You shifted your gaze downward as Clint spoke, your eyes focusing on your hands. The intertwining of your fingers against your lap captivated your attention, a silent witness to the aftermath of the adrenaline that had coursed through your veins. The weight of the events from the previous night settled on your shoulders - the undeniable truth that you had taken a life. Whether intentional or not, the man’s family would never see his smile again. Hear his voice. Feel the joy of her laughter. Experience the warmth in the pit of your stomach when she brings your face between her hands to guide your lips to hers…

You quickly realized your thoughts were veering off-topic. 

Clint, silent beside you, kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Fatigue and defeat etched across his face. While you were grappling with the loss of Natasha, you acknowledged that he, too, was deeply affected. His ability to tuck away his emotions surpassed yours, and it struck you as unfair that he consistently played the role of a life buoy, keeping you afloat when he, too, needed support. He witnessed his best friend’s death, and there lingered an undeniable sense that he bore a burden of guilt, a weight he concealed with practiced skill.

Speak up. Say anything. Apologize. Let him know he’s not alone. It was your turn to be the buoy…

You turned your head to peer out the window when words failed you. 

The entire inside of your body seemed to freeze when the face of the life you had taken flashed before your eyes, standing on the side of the road as he watched you drive by. You quickly averted your gaze back to the windshield, a tight pressure forming in your chest, mirroring the grip on the handle above you. Despite your efforts to push that haunting moment from your mind, it persistently crept back, an unwelcome ghost.

An engineer by trade, you had always remained indoors, immersed in creating your next ingenious invention while professionals like Natasha and Clint dealt with the harsh realities of the world outside. The field was foreign to you, just as this feeling.

“Clint?” Your voice, soft and warm, broke the silence in the vehicle. He didn’t respond with words, but a low hum conveyed that he heard you. “You’ve taken lives before, haven’t you?” In your peripheral vision, you sensed his head move, but nervousness held you back from meeting his gaze, even briefly, as he returned his attention to the road. “How did you cope with your first kill?”

For a moment, there was only the hum of the engine and the faint whistle of the wind against the windows. You wondered if he was ignoring you, if the question was too much, too personal. Maybe it was cruel to ask him something like that - like pulling open an old wound just to see how deep it really went.

Then, he exhaled, long and slow. “You don’t,” he said finally. His voice was even, but there was a weight to it, something heavy and worn. “You don’t get over it. You just learn to live with it.”

Your fingers curled into your lap. That wasn’t the answer you wanted.

“But what if I can’t?” You didn’t mean to sound so small, but the words left you in a whisper.

Clint let the silence stretch between you, and when he spoke again, it was quieter, “Then you find a way. Or it eats you alive.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your bones. The ghost of last night still clung to you, the blood on your hands something you could still feel even though… there wasn’t technically any blood.

“Was it always like that for you?”

This time, Clint hesitated. “No.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glance at him. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“But it got easier?” you asked.

He let out a humorless breath. “No. You just get used to carrying it.”

That terrified you more than anything.

You turned your gaze back to your lap, your fingers twisting together as if you could wring the unease from your body. The thought of carrying this weight forever - of never truly letting it go - made your chest tighten. You weren’t built for this. You weren’t like Clint, like Natasha, like any of them. You were just a damn engineer, someone who made things to help people - not to kill them.

And yet, here you were.

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, the rhythmic click of the turn signal filling the silence between you. You could feel Clint’s gaze flicker toward you, his quiet observation pressing against the side of your face like a weight you refused to acknowledge.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Your fingers curled in your lap, nails pressing into your palms.

“Talk to him, Y/N,” Natasha’s voice ghosted through your mind, soft yet firm, like a steady hand on your shoulder. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to. She was there, in the hollow of your chest, in the spaces between each ragged breath.

She was right.

But the words wouldn’t come.

You shook your head, barely moving. “No.”

Clint didn’t argue. He just nodded, his hands tightening slightly on the wheel before he turned back to the road.

The light changed. The car surged forward.

The road ahead stretched long and empty, but your mind was still trapped in that moment - frozen in the deafening stillness that followed the shot. The weight of the bracelets on your wrists. The final exhale of a life you could never take back. The way his body crumpled, like a marionette with its strings severed.

You swallowed hard, nausea curling deep in your stomach.

Clint must have noticed because he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look… I don’t have the right words to make this easier for you,” he admitted. “I wish I did.”

You clenched your jaw. “It’s not your job to fix me.”

“No,” he agreed, “but it’s my job to make sure you don’t drown.”

You turned towards the window, your reflection faint in the glass, eye shadowed and hollow. “You don’t have to do that,” you murmured.

He let out a breath, a little wry, a little sad. “Yeah,” he said, “I do.”

And the worst part?

You believed him.

A sharp exhale left you, but it did nothing to loosen the tangled mess inside your head. Your thoughts crackled and sparked, a mess of wires threatening to short-circuit entirely. You had to talk. You had to let this out before it swallowed you whole. But how the hell do you open up about something like this?

You stared down at your lap, at the way your fingers twisted together, as if trying to hold yourself by sheer force. The words were right there, burning the back of your throat, but every time you tried to pull them free, they tangled - knotted tight with guilt, fear, regret.

Clint didn’t push. He just drove, steady and silent, his presence a quiet anchor. But the weight of unspoken things sat between you, thick and suffocating, like even the air was waiting for you to break.

“Just say something, Y/N,” Natasha’s voice whispered, gentle but insistent. “Anything.”

You closed your eyes, willing the world to slow down, to make sense. But it didn’t. It never did. Not anymore.

Clint’s voice cut through the silence, calm and even. “Start anywhere,” he said. “Doesn’t have to make sense.”

Your grip tightened, knuckles aching. The car felt too small, too suffocating. Your lungs felt full of smoke, your heart pounding against the weight of something too bit to hold.

A breath, sharp and unsteady, left you.

And then, barely more than a whisper—

“I messed up, Clint…”

Chapter 3

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 (𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟖) - 𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐡 (𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐞)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nerdy!Nat x fem!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, nerdy!Nat, Nat has a penis, glory hole, anonymous sex, oral, slight size kink, masturbation, Nat is a virgin and a perv, kinda

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Nat follows a college tradition to lose her virginity with an unexpected twist

𝐀/𝐍: Wdym it’s the 20th already?

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧e

This is so stupid, said Natasha to herself again and again as locked herself into a certain bathroom stall in her college. A stupid dare she had to do to prove that she wasn’t a pussy. Anxiously she waited in the stall, her eyes locked on the hole in the wall, its sides covered in duct tape. It wasn't uncommon to use it, many had done it before her until it even became a campus tradition, but it still felt weird.  

You were just as inexperienced with the hole as Natasha was but you were dying to get into the thrill. You could see one of the two stalls already locked, a good sign. When you entered it, locked the door behind you you could see the shows of the other person sticking out, red converse. 

You placed your foot against her a wordless question, which was answered by a zip of a zipper. Natasha was so nervous she wasn’t even sure if she managed to get one up. This was pathetic, she thought to herself. She stroked herself a few times to get hard again trying not to overthink this too much. On the other side you put your hair up in a bun waiting for the other person to start 

She was anxious as she pushed her length through the wall, you gasped at her sheer size. You had never sucked someone so massive. She let out a long groan as you liked over her tip. She was truly pathetic having to pull herself together to not cum from just this. A small fuck slipped from her throat as you took her further into the warmth of your mouth, and ot was like music in your ears. 

She could make out how you gagged around her struggling to take her completely. Natasha never felt like this before, she was a virgin after all, only ever having felt her own hand. She was addicted to the feeling of those wet warmth and already imagined how it must feel like to take the other person probably. Or that one girl from her math class she never had the courage to strike a conversation up with. 

You let your tongue slide ver her length as she moved her hips, practically fucking your mouth, as she moaned and whimpered. You could feel your feeling getting wet at the angelic voice panting from the other stall. You couldn’t help but let your own hand slip past your pants to rub at your clit. You were intoxicating to Natasha, making her lose her mind at the sheer thought of you. She could swear to smell your perfume and she wanted more, she needed more. 

It took everything inside of her to not go on the other side and take you there and then. Muffled moans from yourself could be heard from the other side as you rubbed over your slippery clit. Even though this wasn’t the first blowjob you gave, it was  the hottest by far. “Fuck” The other person groanded “I’m gonna cum” She whimpered pathetically, with a few more uncontrolled thrusts she had emptied herself down your throat as you came into your own hand. 

She pulled out her face painted red by embarrassment about the whole situation. When she had pulled her pants up again. She waited for the click of the door to be sure the other person had left. Only to meet with you as soon as she excited the stall. You, the cute girl from math fixing her makeup after she just took her virginity. She couldn’t even muster a word out as you looked positively shocked  at the revelation. But before you could say a world she had sprinted out.

@jolyssereed

[notanactressyayy]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬���𝐚𝐧𝐭. | natasha romanoff

. ݁₊ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 . Natasha and you were the only 'constant' in each other's lives. poor you, to think you could get over her so easily.

. ݁₊ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 . smut! i am not responsible for your content consumption! — making out, g!p Natasha, guided masturbation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (p in v), choking, swearing, homesickness, fluff, reconciliation.

. ݁₊ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 . english isn't my first language (🇧🇷) so i apologize for any spelling errors. been in love w Nat for a damn long time — i've been away for a while, but turns out i can't really live without her. i miss my red so much :(

Natasha Romanoff rarely had the chance to see the same face twice. She saw a lot of people throughout her life — as a spy, as a superhero, or simply as Natasha. The thing is: it was unlike she would return to a place she’s been before. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be on the run. Thus, she traveled around the whole world, and saw thousands, millions of different faces. Destiny made sure not to let her cross paths with the same individual again. It wasn’t only the diversity of people that she witnessed, though. This woman saw the world. She knew life’s ups and downs, and at some point in her life, she just got used to the idea that it would forever be like this: boring. Boring experiences, boring women, boring men, boring relationships. Nothing was ever exciting, thrilling. It felt like she was advanced in time, and the rest of the world wasn’t following her. This wasn’t a complete lie, she got her maturity at a very young age, which made her pay the price now, in adulthood. 

For a spy, the most important thing is to learn not to be caught off guard. But it seemed like life was never on Natasha’s side. And this time — it felt good. Oh, it felt so good. 

At first, she didn’t want to get high hopes. It would be just another temporary friendship to help her pass time, nothing more. However, you managed to surprise the red haired Avenger in the best way possible. When she decided to spare a little time of her life and get to know you more, it was really mind-blowing the side of herself she discovered. She never thought she could actually be.. giddy. Like a silly, hopeless romantic girl. That is what she became whenever it was time to see you. She got excited. Actually excited. She couldn’t see through you, read your emotions or body language, like she did with other people; It was a natural thing, sometimes she didn’t even mean to do that. But you, something within you, kept her at bay. Like you effortlessly turned Natasha into a normal woman. Somebody who could love. Somebody that wasn’t raised and enhanced to be a killer. Not that you went through anything like she did, but you weren’t naive. You showed her that people didn’t necessarily have to be traumatized to be aware of things, of reality, of the surroundings. And for her, you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world. Inside and out. She adored you. 

Opening up was never easy. Revealing the broken parts of herself wasn’t like having a simple chat. But patience is a virtue and thankfully, you followed that say just fine. Little by little, the secrets came out. Most of the parts you already knew — it’s not like she wasn’t a worldwide known superhero. What you mostly had to acknowledge were her feelings, the point of view of the little girl who was experiencing it all, and becoming a strong woman, with built up walls around her heart. Doing that was no problem. Natasha couldn’t be more thankful. 

She couldn’t be more infatuated. More in love.

She’d always remember that one day: in the bar with her team, and you — chattery, music, tons of drinks and laughter. Stolen glances. Stomach butterflies, wild. The moment Clint pulled Laura a little closer to himself, and Tony kissed Pepper’s cheek. How she used that as an excuse to pull you into her lap. Your breath getting labored. Eyelashes gently fluttering, to the point she could count them. Your gentle yet tight grip on her shoulders. Your goddamn eyes staring right into hers. And the part where everything would change: her own bodily reactions to all those little details about you. When you restlessly shifted on her lap, quietly gasping when something poked you through your dress. Eyes going wide at the bulge showing on her black jeans. 

From that point on, you belonged to her.

Or so, she thought.

The sex was great, but she was in conflict — she couldn't tell if the only reason for it to be that enjoyable was because you were both tipsy, almost drunk, or if it was really meant to be that way. It felt right, yes, to have you in her arms like this — naked, piles of discarded clothes laying by her bed.. the sound of your quiet snoring as you cuddled into her. It was also a relief to her. To have someone care for her, desire her, after so long, after forever. The night had been amazing. She was a mature woman anyway, wasn't she? She could sort her feelings out without messing up everything.

Wrong. By the morning, everything would change.

You stared at her as she got up and got dressed again, eyes still a little blurry from sleep, eyebrows ceasing into a small confused frown. "You're not staying?" you'd ask, sitting up and leaning against the headboard, bringing up the sheets to cover your unclothed body. "Ugh, my head hurts like hell,"

"Got things to do." she simply answered, cradling the side of your face and kissing your forehead. You could swear the look on her face was.. apologetic. She tilted her head towards the nightstand, where some aspirin and water waited for you. "Take these. I'll text you later."

"Okay.." you mumble, disoriented. As she leaves, you reach out, shoving the aspirin in your mouth and downing the pills with water. Was there something you were missing? Because all you could remember was how good her hands felt on you, the way they wrapped around you neck while she—

You shook your head, lying down again, and closing her eyes. All the fun and pleasure you had been given from the previous night was slowly vanishing and being replaced by a feeling of uncertainty and confusion. Natasha was an enigmatic person, okay, but you thought you knew her better. She had no reason to leave you just like that, especially when she had already vented about all her past experiences, flaws and failures. Nah, it was probably nothing, you were overthinking. Perhaps she indeed had something important to take care of. You closed your eyes as fatigue took over, and slept for a little bit more.

Natasha went back to her apartment — one of her apartments, and for the whole day, her thoughts ran like crazy. Her emotions were all over the place. She had just fucked her best friend, the one person she felt comfortable and at ease with. She considered her feelings carefully; this.. dinamic, between you two, had not been platonic for a considerable amount of time. But not being platonic doens't necessarily means being romantic. It could either be love, or lust. What happened the day before was carnal, once the two of you were way too much in a drunken haze to actually feel anything.

And, like always, Natasha didn't want to think about falling in love. She felt scared just by thinking about this. It was a new territory, one she wasn't willing to deep dive in. So she took her phone and deeply sighed, opening her chat with you.

"Yesterday was fun. But I need some time. I don't think this can work. Hope you're doing okay. xx"

That text just completely shattered you.

You had no idea what you did wrong. It was not like Natasha was pushing you away forever — but while being with her, the only thought running through your mind was: I wanna be with her. I wanna explore this with her. And Natasha didn't give a single sign that she thought the opposite. You felt... disappointed. With yourself and her. For hoping.

Yeah, getting involved with an ex kgb Avenger killer spy probably wasn't the best idea.

You wouldn't simply forget everything you shared together, so the easiest way here not to create a big tension was.. being fake. The two of you weren't stupid, you were aware of the unspoken feelings going on. But what happened that night should not happen again. So your friendship was what prevailed. A friendship like the start. But obviously, with a few changes. Natasha and you didn't lose touch — on the contrary, you were closer than ever. You spoke and flirted (a lot), but with one small rule, a rule that you subconsciously added to this.. situationship. No feelings involved. It would be singularly that. Friends, some casual hookups, and nothing else.

It didn't last, because that's not what you both wished, longed for.

Little by little, this turned boring again. Not that you were the boring one and she just didn't realize this before. Far from that. The thing was: Natasha and you were supressing your feelings, consequently, supressing all the thrill, the delicious tension that hanged in the air whenever she, once again, crossed paths with you. The russian wanted nothing more than just grab you and kiss you hard, pour all the emotions that she kept bottled up throughout her life into the kiss. But unfortunately, she couldn't. She had a duty to fullfil, as someone born, destined to save the world.

And with all of this, you and her settled a distance. You with your previous and trivial life, and her, saving little girls from bad guys, and bringing down cats from tall trees. It was truly shocking: one day, you lived for Natasha Romanoff. She was your everything and everything you'd ever want. In a blink of an eye, it ended. You followed your paths, like two completely different people, with different purposes.

Right person, wrong time.

Fool her, to think she could get over you that easily. Poor you, to try and put that inside of your head as well.

Sometimes, when normally doing daily tasks, you would catch yourself thinking about her — when you were going to watch TV and put your legs on the coffee table, instead of simply sitting. It was an habit of hers. Or when eating something with peanut butter. It was her favourite late night snack. When it rained. She liked to watch the rain. With somebody else's hands on you. It wasn't right. It was never right to have somebody else touch you. You were constantly thinking about your life before things with her changed — the memories brought comfort, a sense of nostalgia.. at some point, you weren't living in the present anymore. Just faking. Faking your feelings. Pretending it was okay to let her go.

This woman ruined you for everything and everyone else.

Natasha could relate to that. In a life that could be resumed in one word: a 'whirlwind' of a life, and you were her only 'constant' among all of this... she couldn't bear this anymore.

So she made an important decision.

The decision was today.

Today: she'd take you out again, praying that, if not reconciliation, she wanted at least to say everything she had to say. Because if life taught her one thing, was to make choices that she wouldn't regret in the future. And it was damn right she would regret choosing not to meet you tonight.

Sitting in the stool of the bar, in a more secluded corned, her eyes followed your figure as you approached — purse hanging on your shoulder, dress exposing your back and a little bit of your waist, eyes so awfully soft and gentle as you looked at her. It wasn't fair. A pang of guilt hit her hard. Oh, she regretted letting that go. She wanted you to be mad at her. But you were not. She shakily rises to her feet to kiss your cheek as you stand in front of her, thankfully not stumbling. Your eyes lock again, already in a trance. Just like that other day.

"How are you doing?" you ask. Natasha could cry. She missed that voice everyday. "Did I take too long? I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't worry." she swallows hard. You both sit on the stools by the countertop. When the bartender comes, the redhead dismisses him. She wanted the two of you sober for this. "I'm... so much better now that you're here, honestly. How about you?"

"Amazing." you chuckle, tilting your head to the side and watching her. She didn't change a bit. Hair braided, black jeans, leather jacket. That was your Natasha. "I didn't expect you calling me here, to be honest..—"

"Me neither." she admits, in a whisper. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, eyes involuntarily starting at your mouth. She sighs and looks into your eyes. "But I had to... I can't get you off my mind."

Her sincerity never fails to amaze you. With each second that passes, the butterflies in your tummy return, to remind you of the past — feelings and sensations resurfacing. You bite on your bottom lip and look around the bar, quickly scanning to see if there was anybody paying attention to the two of you. Maybe a few eyes here and there, which didn't linger. Everyone else was too busy minding their own business — and it's not like you'd care if someone was staring anyway. Natasha turned some heads. You felt greedy for that. You were the one having her. The only one having her.

"You live in my head rent free, Natasha." you tell her, voice having a sultry edge to it. You slowly stand, walking closer.

You take her hands and open her arms — making it possible for you to straddle her thigh. She tenses almost immediately. Her head tilts up to stare into your eyes, arms circling your waist to keep you close, where she wanted. You shake your head when you see a small frown between her eyebrows — lips pressing against that small spot, coaxing a little exhale of hers. She missed you. Everyday. Every minute. She wanted that respect and care all the time.

"What are we even doing here?" she whispers, so quietly you almost can't hear it. Her hands cup your waist and gently roam up and down your sides, palms brushing against your bare skin every now and then, all thanks to the waist slits of your dress. Your face leans closer to hers, noses bumping — the smallest of touches, making you both crave what you once had. "Why didn't I just invite you to my place right away?"

"I don't know. Why didn't you?" you raise one eyebrow, fingertips caressing her jawline. Her hands give your waist a squeeze — and you almost moan. She swore she could hear it. It replayed in her head, the beautiful sounds you made for her. She wanted to hear them again. She was going to make you sound like that again.

It wasn't just a physical thing — your body and mind craved her touch, her presence, so much that just the mere thought of being on her bed again got you soaked. She felt something wet through the rough fabric of her jeans, and that got her brain spinning. She fell for you hard. So painfully hard.

"Let's get out of here," she groans, hands firmly grabbing your thighs and lifting you up — wrapping your legs around her waist and carrying you out the pavement. Her hardness pressed right against your core — you blushed, hiding your face on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her neck.

In a heartbeat, you were back at your house.

Your place, because it was the fastest way, when taking the cab. No words were exchanged, not yet. The aching, burning need had to be taken care of first — before properly talking. Your back hits the wall hard as Natasha pushes you against it — her body trapping you between herself and the hard surface — hands hardly, possessively holding you by the hips. Desperately, even. Making sure you wouldn't slip away from her grasp. Her lips dance with yours, tentatively, yet naturally, tongues tasting one another after what felt like centuries. She felt so good, tasted so good.

"Nat..—" you moan against her lips, having her bottom lip trapped between your teeth, then releasing it. Your forehead against hers, eyes soft and filled with desire. Your hands hold her cheeks, traveling to her jaw. Needily, you press kisses to the side of her throat, breathing shaky, heart hardly thrumming. "I never stopped thinking about you..."

"Yeah?" she hums, grabbing the hem of your dress and lifting it up, bunching the fabric by your hips. Her fingers hook around the elastic of your panties and pull them down, pooling around your feet — making you gasp, and pull away from her neck. Eyes wide open. The air hits your heat, making you needier for her.

You almost mewl.

"God, I need you." Natasha utters. She grabs you again and smashes her lips against yours once more, now with so much more passion, more need, more anxiety. Her bulge presses against your now unclothed wetness, coaxing a tiny cry of need out of you. You breathlessly pull away from her, reaching down and fumbling with the buttons of her jeans — until she stops you.

"No—"

"Quiet." she shushes, maneuvering you back, until your body hits the mattress. She climbs onto the bed and stays in a kneeling position, hungrily taking you in. Messy, needy, all for her. Sober, like she wanted planned from the first time. "That dress goes off."

Her voice is commanding, yet not harsh — and her eyes betray her a little. Her eyes are almost pleading, that it is clear how much she needs this. To have you all to herself, to show you how much she wants that. Her underwear becomes even more tight as she sees your trembling fingers, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it aside, lips parted. Just by her look, you can tell she wants the bra off, too. So you reach behind your back and grants her silent wish, breasts now exposed to her sight.

"There you are..." she moans to herself, shamelessly taking in the sight of you. You're a work of art. With her hand, she coaxes your knees open, and parts your legs. "My... you're so wet. So perfectly wet."

"You're still with a lot on.." you quietly complain, feeling hot and shy at the same time. But her gaze is enough to wipe away the confusion from your eyes. She had a plan.

"Touch yourself for me." she breathes out.

Your eyes briefly widen with the unexpectedness of this statement. You had certainly done this before — touched yourself thinking of her — but the idea of showing this, while she watched, never crossed your mind. But it wasn't an unpleasant idea. It was actually... hot. Sensual. They darken, pupils blown wide as you make yourself comfortable against the pillows, eyelids fluttering as your legs spread a little more, palm resting on your stomach, then moving down. Deliberately, it reaches your sex, a shakily sigh leaving your lips when your middle and ring finger collect some of the slick coat covering your sensitiveness, using it to slowly rub your clitoris, getting you to gasp louder.

"Natasha..." you whisper, eyes falling close, thoughts wandering.

Wandering back to the start — when you first discovered your feelings for her, then the climax, when you both got in bed due the alcohol — then the aftermath, when you needed her so much, felt so alone at night, that your fingers were the only solution. Little wet sounds echo within the room as you rub circles on yourself, applying just the right amount of pressure, that it doesn't take long for the pit in your stomach to manifest itself.

"Faster." Natasha rasps out, taking her jacket and quickly throwing it away. She pulls her tank top over her head, then undo the buttons of her jeans — leaving the bed, just so she can get rid of all the uncomfortable fabric, and climbing it again. She crawls closer to you — eyeing you as you worked on your pussy, her hands caressing your thighs, adding to the stimulation.

"Please...!" you whimper, doing as you're told — rubbing yourself faster — slipping one of your fingers inside your entrance, almost cumming, that quickly. "Please, I need you..!"

"I need you too," she moans to herself, and harshly grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away. You moan loudly in protest — Natasha wouldn't tease you. Not today, when you both needed each other so much. She discards her undergarments, finally — groaning as she's set free. Your eyes lock on her hard length, which was practically hitting her abs now.

"Put it inside me." you beg, grabbing her shoulders to pull her closer. She hovers over you, bracing herself on her forearms, on each side of your body. Your fingernails gently graze her back. Natasha was feeling so much, so much more than she ever felt. Your eyes were sparkling so much, like you were crying — shimmering with the depth of your adoration for her. You grab her cheeks and press your lips to hers, in a gentle peck. Knowing her past, she didn't have to explain her reasons for what had happened. She was scared before, and you respected. "Go on. Love me."

She couldn't wait no longer. She lowers her forehead to your shoulder and places her hands on your hips — her chest against yours, as she lined herself with your hole, effortlessly pushing inside. Stretching you out, like she once did. Having the chance to hear that delicious sounds again.

"You're mine... shit," she groans, rolling into you gently, getting you used to the feeling first. You're so tight, so perfect around her. Natasha's overwhelmed. Her hands press against the base of your throat, squeezing firmly, yet leaving enough room for air. She's so hot. "That pussy is mine. You're mine. You're all mine—"

"Yes," you moan, wrapping your legs around her middle. You wouldn't take long to come tonight. Maybe she'd make you come over and over. She rocks into you, pace not too slow, not too fast. Just right. The right tempo to bring you both the pleasure and connection you so much needed. "Mhm.. fuck, Nat, missed your cock,"

"You're gonna take it over and over—" she comments — kissing your shoulder, roaming her hands up your body, her right palm cupping your breast and giving it a firm squeeze. Your head lolls back, mouth opening to allow a satisfied moan out. "I'm never fucking letting you go again,"

She accelerates, pulling almost all the way out just to slam back into you again — feeling her climax approach. She moves her mouth close to your ear and moans — her own sounds now mixing with yours.

"Natasha...! Fuck, you feel soo good," you gasp, a wave of pleasure washing over you as you get closer. She takes the hint immediately, cupping the back of your knee and pushing it up, allowing her a better angle. "Ah, gimme more,"

"My greedy girl," she groans, her head tilting back. Her cock twitches inside of you — precum already painting you white. She glanced down at where your folds swallowed her, eyes darkening impossibly more. "You're so goddamn tight... 'm not gonna last, moya krasivaya malysha,"

"Okay.. 'ts okay... Cum with me..." you beg her, tangling your fingers into her red strands of hair, pulling her down more, so her forehead rests against yours — the eye contact increasing the intimacy of the moment. She didn't know what to expect now. Didn't know what to think. Only that she had to fill you up.

"C'mon.. nhg, darling.. c'mon.. cum around me," she encourages, feeling her own legs shake as her orgasm washed over her.

She grabbed your hips hard and slammed into you — once, twice, three times, filling you up with her hot release. You squeezed your eyes shut as your body shuddered forwards, breasts pressing against her own as a long, strangled moan flowed out of you, nails digging into her back, pressing her body against yours as you finished. Your walls clenched around her cock, swallowing her more, not allowing her to pull away just that. "God.. I love you!"

Natasha blinks, not sure if she heard right. Her heart squeezes in her chest, arms wrapping around your body. Her back hits the bed and she flips you on top of her, still inside of you — but now, her member softened. The adrenaline was running wild, but you had calmed down a little bit. Just a little. Because this time, it wasn't pure sex. It was lovemaking.

Your face is buried in her chest as she brings up the covers, creating a cocoon of warmth around you. She buries her face into your hair and inhales deeply, staying silent. Just to process things.

"I love you, too. So so much." she murmurs into you hair. She felt terrified to say this. But once you're someone who she already showed her scars to, it's not that bad anymore.

"You do?" you ask expectantly, feeling tired, drowsy. Natasha smiles at that. She feels her eyes burning with heavy emotion. She nods.

"Yes... I love you so much." she confirms, softly stroking her hair, brushing some strands away from your sweaty forehead. "And I want you to be mine. Will you be mine?"

"You're asking me to be your girlfriend after the sex?" you chuckle quietly, but happiness was evident in your voice. Now you could sleep at peace. The first night of rest you'd have in a long time. In the arms of the woman you cherished, worshipped.

Natasha had won now. She was so fucking relieved. All because of a phrase.

"Of course I will, you idiot."

"I'm never, ever, ever letting you go again." the room is messy, smell of sex lingering around you. But now things were sorted out. By the morning, you could have a more direct, serious conversation. For now, you'd rest together, wrapped up in each other's arms, like it was always meant to be.

[younswnn]

Y/n : [drawing in the living room, minding her own business]

Y/n : [sneezes]

Clint, from the vent : Bless you.

Y/n, looking around : G-God?

Clint, accidentally bumps his head : Jesus Christ!

Y/n : JESUS CHRIST!?!!?!

Nat, watching the whole scene : No baby, that’s just uncle Clint from the vent [laughs]

[purifiedclitoris69]

Statements

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Shield agent!reader

Summary: Assumptions are made about the relationship you have with Natasha, so you took it upon yourself to make a statement :)

Your relationship with Natasha is built on years of trust, mutual respect, and an unspoken understanding that comes from living in the shadows of espionage. You met when she first joined SHIELD, and while she was still finding her footing within the organization, you were already established as a specialist sniper—someone who worked alone, took the impossible shots, and disappeared before anyone even knew you were there.

At first, your relationship was purely professional. You recognized each other as dangerous and highly capable, but there was always a quiet pull between you. Over time, through shared missions, late-night debriefs, and the rare moments of quiet in a world full of chaos, that pull became something more. It wasn’t dramatic or rushed—it was a slow burn, a natural evolution of two people who understood each other better than most and yearned to show one another a genuine love.

Now, after almost 3 years together, your bond is unshakable. While the Avengers see you around the compound, they don’t truly know the depth of what you and Natasha have. They assume your relationship is casual, just a convenience in a life full of uncertainty. But in reality, Natasha loves you fiercely, and you love her just as much. You’re her safe place, the person she trusts with the parts of herself she doesn’t show anyone else. When the world feels too heavy, she turns to you—not for protection, because she doesn’t need it, but for the rare comfort of knowing she’s not alone.

You don’t need grand gestures or constant declarations. Your love is in the quiet moments—the way she always finds her way to you after a mission, the way you instinctively reach for her hand under the table, the way she relaxes against you when no one is watching. To the outside world, you might just be another agent who occasionally lingers at the compound. But to Natasha, you’re home.

—————————-———

Wanda was the first to recognize the depth of your relationship.

It was early—early enough that most of the team was still asleep or barely functioning. The compound was quiet, save for the soft hum of the coffee machine in the kitchen. You stood by the counter, leaning against it, eyes still heavy with sleep as you waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

Natasha, still in her sleep shorts and one of your old SHIELD t-shirts, wandered in with a yawn, her hair slightly tousled from sleep. She didn’t say anything as she approached—you felt her presence before you saw her. Without hesitation, she walked straight into your space, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face into your chest.

"Mm. Too early," she mumbled against you.

You huffed a quiet laugh, your hand instinctively coming up to rub slow, soothing circles on her back. "You say that every morning, but you’re always up before me."

She hummed but didn’t respond, just tightening her grip around you as if she could steal some of your warmth. You didn’t mind. In fact, moments like this were your favorite—the ones where she let her guard down, where she wasn’t the Black Widow or an Avenger, just Natasha, just yours.

Neither of you noticed Wanda standing by the doorway, frozen mid-step. She had come in for coffee but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Natasha—fierce, guarded Natasha—melted completely against you.

Wanda had always assumed your relationship was casual. Everyone had. You weren’t around often, and Natasha never entertained deep conversations about her personal life. But standing there, watching the way she clung to you, the way your hand moved over her back with the kind of practiced ease that spoke of years of familiarity, Wanda realized they had all been wrong.

This wasn’t casual. This was love—deep, unwavering, and so achingly real.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but eventually, Natasha stirred, tilting her head up to look at you. "Coffee ready?"

"Almost," you murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. The gesture was so gentle, so natural, that Wanda almost felt like she was intruding.

Before Natasha could move away, you leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Go sit. I’ll bring you a cup."

Natasha didn’t argue, just gave you a sleepy, content smile before releasing you and making her way to the kitchen table.

Wanda finally decided to make her presence known, clearing her throat as she stepped fully into the kitchen. "Morning," she greeted, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips as she grabbed a mug and you unpromptedly filled it for her greeting her with a kind smile and filling Nat’s next, starting another pot for anyone else who might want it.

Natasha, already seated, just raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Wanda glanced between the two of you, then just shook her head, her smirk widening. "Nothing. Just... you two are cute," she blew on her coffee.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. Meanwhile, you simply handed Natasha her coffee before grabbing your own along with d the morning crossword, completely unfazed.

Wanda took a sip of her drink, still smiling to herself. Maybe the rest of the team had been blind to it, but now she knew the truth—Natasha Romanoff was hopelessly, completely in love.

—————————-———

The next person was Steve. You had gone on another lengthy mission; it had kept you away for weeks longer than either of you liked. You had kept in touch when you could, brief calls and cryptic messages, but it wasn’t the same. And now, finally, you were back.

Steve wasn’t looking for either of you when he entered the common room. He had just been passing through, planning to grab something from the kitchen before heading to the gym. But as soon as he stepped in, he stopped in his tracks.

The lights were dim, the soft crackle of the old record player filling the space. An oldie—something slow, something familiar. And in the center of the room, barely swaying to the rhythm, was you and Natasha.

She was pressed against you, arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, her fingers idly playing with the hairs at the back of your neck. Your hands rested on her waist, holding her close as if you needed to feel her warmth to believe this moment had finally come after weeks of waiting.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need. The way Natasha clung to you, the way you held her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, it said everything.

Steve had never seen her like this. Sure, he had seen her care about people, had seen her protect and fight for those she loved. But this? This was different. This was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, completely at peace. Safe. Home.

He felt like he was intruding on something sacred, so he took a quiet step back, turning to leave—only to nearly bump into Bucky.

“what’s with the face?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at the look on Steve’s face.

Steve exhaled, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. “Nothing, just—” He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Bucky. “You and Sam better stop checking Nat out so much.”

Bucky scoffed. “What? We don’t—”

Steve gave him a knowing look.

Bucky shifted. “Alright, maybe Sam does. I just—y’know, appreciate a good—”

Steve cut him off. “Don’t.”

Bucky smirked. “Okay, but why the sudden warning?”

Steve shook his head again, that small smile still lingering. “Because they’re in love. Like, really in love.”

Bucky frowned. “I mean, yeah, I figured they were serious, but—”

“No,” Steve interrupted. “Not just serious. Not just together. In love.”

Bucky studied him for a second, something unreadable passing over his expression before he nodded. “Alright,” he said simply.

Steve gave him a final glance before clapping him on the shoulder and walking off, leaving Bucky standing there, a little quieter than usual.

Because if what Steve was saying was true, then it wasn’t just Natasha they had underestimated. It was you.

—————————-———

The true statement was made in the compound gym.

The gym was alive with movement—punching bags swinging, the clatter of weights, and the rhythmic sound of fists meeting training dummies. You had just finished some shooting drills when you decided to swing by, knowing exactly where Natasha would be.

Sure enough, there she was, moving like a force of nature. Every strike was precise, every kick sharp. She was a sight to behold—dangerous, powerful, and effortlessly graceful.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought so.

You noticed Sam and Bucky standing off to the side, arms crossed, observing her with a little too much focus. Eyes tracked her every movement, and while you weren’t necessarily the jealous type, and were well aware how gorgeous Natasha is; people couldn't help but be enamoured by her, however weren’t about to let this slide.

You strolled up beside them, tilting your head. "Enjoying the view?"

Bucky, to his credit, immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, don’t look at me. I was admiring the technique, alright?" He nodded toward Natasha. "She’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen."

You eyed him for a second before nodding, accepting the explanation. Bucky was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dumb enough to cross that line.

Sam, however—

"Look, I’m just saying," Sam started, his eyes still trailing Natasha as she wiped sweat off her forehead. "It’s not my fault she moves like that. That’s a distraction."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Sam glanced at you, then seemed to realize way too late that he had just said that to the one person who could make him regret it. "Uh—"

"You know what?" You rolled your shoulders, tossing your towel aside. "I feel like I haven’t sparred in a while. What do you say, Wilson? A little one-on-one?"

Sam hesitated, looking between you and Bucky, who just took a step back, clearly enjoying the fact that he wasn’t involved.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Sam asked, crossing his arms. "I mean, no offense, but I’ve got wings, I’ve fought aliens—"

"You’re standing here watching my girlfriend train. I just want to see how you train too." you cut in, smirking.

The room went silent for half a beat before Bucky let out a low chuckle. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Clint grinned, nudging Wanda. "Five bucks says Sam regrets this immediately."

Natasha, who had been too focused on training to notice the exchange earlier, finally turned toward the group, eyebrow raised. "What’s going on?"

Wanda smirked. "Your sniper just challenged Sam to a sparring match because he got caught staring at you."

Natasha let out a small laugh, tossing a towel over her shoulder as she walked closer. "Oh, I have to see this."

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "Y’all are ridiculous. But fine. Let’s do this."

You stepped onto the mat, rolling your shoulders as Sam joined you. He gave a cocky smirk. "You sure you wanna do this? I am pretty fast, you know."

You just smirked back. "We’ll see."

Steve, ever the responsible one, clapped his hands. "Alright, keep it clean."

The second Steve gave the go-ahead, you moved—fast.

Sam barely had time to react before you were already in his space, effortlessly dodging his first strike. You didn’t just block—you controlled. Every punch he threw was sidestepped. Every kick, redirected. You weren’t just fighting Sam. You were toying with him.

The smirk on his face started fading as frustration crept in. "Damn," he muttered, throwing another punch. You caught his wrist, twisting him off-balance before sweeping his legs out from under him.

Sam hit the mat with a grunt.

From the sidelines, Bucky let out a whistle. "That looked like it hurt."

Clint was grinning beside Nat.

Wanda shook her head in amusement. "He walked right into that one."

Sam groaned but pushed himself back up. "Alright, alright—lucky shot."

You didn’t respond. You just motioned for him to try again.

This time, he put more effort into his attacks, but it didn’t make a difference. Every move he made, you were already three steps ahead. You parried, countered, redirected—all with ease.

After a few more humiliating takedowns, Sam finally dropped to the mat, breathing hard, lying flat on his back. "Damn. Alright. Message received."

You crouched down beside him, grinning. "Good. Maybe next time, you’ll keep your eyes to yourself playboy"

Sam exhaled, closing his eyes. "Noted."

You stood up, offering him a hand. He took it, groaning as he got to his feet. "You really don’t like people looking at her, huh?"

You shrugged, "I know she can handle herself, I just felt like making a statement today," you smiled stepping off the mat and walking to Nat

"Possessive looks good on you," Natasha said with her signature smirk

Without a second thought, you grabbed her by the waist and kissed her—really kissed her—right in front of everyone. It was slow, deep, and left no room for doubt. Natasha, normally composed, melted into you, gripping your bicep to steady herself.

When you pulled back, she was a little breathless, a rare blush dusting her cheeks.

You smirked. "See you at dinner, love."

And with that, you walked off, leaving Natasha still catching her breath.

Clint let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Wanda smirked. "That was a statement,” Natasha throwing a towel at her, mumbling out a whatever and heading to the lockers

Bucky clapped Sam on the shoulder. "So, you still gonna stare?"

Sam rolled his eyes taking a tired seat on the bench "I hate you all."

[romanoffshouse]

Yelena: Would you slap your best friend for a thousand bucks?

Natasha: I would slap Y/N for free.

Y/N, tearing up: I’m your best friend??

[scarletcomalies]

Imagine Natasha, your mom's best friend, who accepted the task of teaching you self-defense classes. However, in just a few sessions, she was also able to tame your arrogant attitude.

Word count: 1,483

Warnings: Theft, mention of knives and guns, brat reader. 18+ content, degrading, restraint, slight bit of dub-con, Nat has a penis, daddy kink, unprotected sex, breeding.

A/N: Not sure how drabbles work, but I was bored at a birthday party, and I felt like writing a little something hehe.

It all started when a thief had taken your handpurse from you and ran away quickly.

You barely felt it being snatched from you, and as you turned around, you realized that the thief was already at a considerable distance, so you opted to simply mutter a curse under your breath and continue on your way.

The thief was going to be disappointed when he sees its contents anyway, and you weren't going to run in heels for lipstick, a crumpled five dollar bill and your student ID.

Although it wasn't a particularly shocking event, your mother, with her tendency toward overprotectiveness, was convinced that this event had irreversibly scarred you. As a result, she decided to ask her best friend, Natasha Romanoff, to teach you self-defense classes.

From the beginning, you made clear your disinterest in attending. You arrived intentionally late for every session, and at the redhead's scoldings, you would simply roll your eyes and dismiss her words with disdain. During training, you often interrupted her instructions with snide remarks, and refused to follow her directions, preferring to improvise moves that lacked technique. There was something magnetic in her determination and in the way her green eyes flashed with frustration that made you purposefully act even more insufferable than usual. You loved to see it.

During lessons, there were times when she would restrain you from behind so that you would repeat the technique she had taught you, and you could feel a bulge in her pants rubbing against your ass. It was such a yearning feeling, that you would pretend to do it all wrong, so that she would make you repeat it, and in that way, prolong the contact.

"Your mom just wants to protect you, you know?" Natasha remarked, once another not-so-successful session was over.

You were so exhausted, you preferred to sit on the floor with your legs crossed rather than even get up to help Natasha put the equipment away.

"Come on," you scoffed from your spot. "The thief barely touched me. He just took my handpurse and left."

"Fortunately," Natasha replied. "Imagine if he'd had a knife, or worse, a gun. Imagine if you had been alone, at night."

She took your silence as if you didn't really care to understand your mother's point of view, but in reality, you were reflecting. She just wanted you to know how to take care of yourself, in case something worse than that happened. And Natasha had been so nice and patient to you.

But before you could respond, she spoke up, "What am I bothering to convince you for? You probably are so selfish, that you'd let someone stab you just to worry your poor mother."

You weren't sure if her words had hurt or offended you, as perhaps you had taken your attitude to such an extreme that you had actually caused her to have a twisted perception of you. It was true that you possessed certain difficult qualities, but you were not evil. Sometimes you simply felt that your mother's overprotection was excessive, and that made you more irritable than usual.

What you said next was the result of not having slept at all the night before, for you had been studying intensely for an exam. Despite all the sleeplessness, you didn't manage to answer it as you expected, leaving many questions blank. All that you had accumulated, added to her hurtful words, led you to say the following...

"And you probably have a tiny dick," you snapped. "And maybe that's why you're bitter and miserable, because no one wants you."

Natasha was silent for a moment, too peacefully that it was scary, but her intense, darkened eyes were the only thing that allowed you to realize that she was indeed impacted by your words.

"Dare to say that again?" She challenged you, the tension in the atmosphere becoming more palpable every second.

"No one wants a woman with a small dick," you crossed your arms over your chest, arching your eyebrow in that defiant manner she was already more than sick of.

Natasha began to laugh, but it wasn't the sarcastic kind of laugh, no, it was one that was beginning to terrify you and hindering your ability to maintain your composure.

Natasha approached you with firm steps, her commanding presence filling the space between you both. She was so close that you could watch her green orbes, deep and piercing, burning with such intensity that you felt that at any moment, she was going to set the whole room on fire.

She simply pulled down her pants and boxers at the same time, at the level of her thighs, and seeing the massive size of her member, made you swallow your words.

"Is this a small dick for you?" She asked, seemingly satisfied at your shocked expression.

And as if the situation wasn't humiliating enough, Natasha used a quick and precise maneuver, where she grabbed your shoulders and, in an instant, had you face down on the floor. She proceeded to restrain your wrists against the small of your back, and by straddling the back of your legs, she prevented any movement from them as well.

"Come on, defend yourself like I taught you," she groaned, pressing you harder against the cold floor.

You tried to free yourself from her grip, but every move you made only brought you more pain, because Natasha, with her keen perception, detected every attempt to escape and prevented it with ease, adjusting her grip to make you feel even more trapped.

The whimpers you emanated were so delightful to her ears, making her cock grow more erect. She didn't know who was suffering the most, whether she for not filling your bratty hole right there, or you, who were being physically and verbally degraded.

"That's what I thought," she chuckled, grabbing the shaft of her cock and smacking it softly against your covered ass.

With one hand, albeit clumsily, she managed to pull down your pants and panties just like she did a few moments ago, and released your wrists so that, with her two hands, she held your waist and positioned you on all fours so firmly that you felt as if you had no control over your own body.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you pretend to be dumber than you are, just to feel my cock against you," she remarked. Obviously, she was able to understand the workings of incredibly complex, criminal and dangerous minds, how could she not detect yours? A clueless, spoiled, college student. "You probably said that just so you could see it, hm? So desperate for Daddy's cock."

But it was very double standards on her part, calling you desperate when she always ended up in the training facility bathrooms after you left, grunting your name between longing gasps as she pleasured herself.

She ran the tip over your awaiting hole, but as she noticed how it contracted in anticipation, almost imploring to be filled, the last ounce of reason left her body, letting her full length inside you. And better than she had imagined, your warm, wet pussy welcomed her deliciously.

In unison, you let out a prolongued moan of pleasure, both of you mitigating that unspoken desire that had become so unbearable.

Her movements began slow and safe, intending to feel for as long as possible how tight you felt around her, and to hear those low moans you vocalized every time she entered and exited you, complemented by the sloshing sound your hole made in consequence.

But that same action was what provoked her breath to quicken, and along with it, her rythm. Her hips were working overtime to match her cock's desperate needs, but it was impossible when said needs increased every passing second with the way you were whimpering, now high pitched and more frequent.

"Can a small dick fill your hole this good, hm?" She groaned, tilting her head back as she felt her climax approaching.

"No! No!" You cried out, and just like her, you could feel it coming. Your head was growing fuzzy for the pleasure altering every fiber of your being, like the most powerful drug ever made. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I lied! I love your big, fat cock! Please!"

She swore to herself that she was going to be strong and proud enough to stop when you admitted it, having already achieved her goal, but your words made her cum involuntarily erupt inside of you.

That sensation of being completely filled with her seed made your orgasm follow hers a little later, yours and her release leaving her cock shiny and dripping with your mixed juices.

Natasha was aware that even the most intense masturbation would not match how wonderfully your pussy embraced her cock, and how mesmerizing was the sight of your ass bouncing whenever your bodies clashed together.

Imagination was not going to overcome reality, in this case.

So she preferred, just this once, not to be frustrated by her loss of control.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: not too happy with how the beginning turned out, but the second half of this has to be one of my favorite things i’ve ever written

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah

warnings: none :)

word count: 8.8k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The consequences of your actions couldn't have been sweeter.

Your parents don't end up approving of Natasha, but maybe that's okay. Even two years later, they refuse to talk to her. You don't talk to them, either.

You don't tell them the big news.

They don't get an invite.

They also don't see you in your wedding dress.

Your father doesn't walk you down the aisle. Instead, Peter takes over that job for him.

It took Natasha three months to figure out what to wear. To you, it never mattered — she would've look gorgeous in anything. But, when you see her waiting for you in her white suit, you're very happy about her choice.

It's a small wedding, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Just the closest friends, and a few distant relatives who were kind enough to show up — not many of those, obviously. But you'd always suspected your aunt Vivian would support your little act of rebellion.

She sits in the second row, beaming just like Peter. When she hugs you after the ceremony, she whispers: "Your mom will come around eventually. If she doesn't, then she's missing out."

You're not sure about the first part, but the second? That, you know is true.

Natasha doesn't let go of your hand the entire night. During the vows, the toast, your first dance as wives. Her eyes are on you, as well. You're not doing anything extraordinary, other than wear a wedding dress, but she's looking at you like you hung the moon.

Your honeymoon is just as special. After a few weeks in Italy, you make your way back to where you're happiest. Back to the place that keeps pulling you in like a magnet, back to your world of coffees and canoes and mornings in the lake.

You'll always return to this house, that much is clear. You remember what Natasha said when she first brought you here — for someday. Away from everything. Away with someone.

That someone somehow turned out to be you. As you watch her reach for the key and unlock the door, you couldn't be more thankful for that fact.

"We need a bed", you mumble. You still haven't upgraded from the mattress you've been using for years now.

She glances at you, the soft sunlight catching her hair. "I like the mattress. Very grounding."

"Haha." You smirk and grab her hand, letting her lead you inside. The smell of pine and dust is comforting. It feels like a home, even more so than the apartment you bought in New York City together.

The floorboards creak underfoot. You look around, taking the familiar space in. It's old and worn, the kind of place that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Natasha drops your bags by the floor, then stretches her arms above her head with a satisfied sound.

The surface of the lake outside shimmers. You step out onto the porch and grab the broom to remove all the old leaves and dirt that have accumulated during your absence. Inside the kitchen, Natasha starts cleaning the kitchen so she can get started on dinner.

"Feels good to be back", you call, wiping the chairs and table down with a rag.

"Feels like we never left", she replies, her voice distant from the kitchen. You hum to yourself and wring the rag through your hands. Natasha's right — it really does feel like slipping into a life that was already waiting for you. But getting here wasn't easy at all.

You straighten up and make your way to the small garden just in front of the porch. Potted plants are lined up on one side of the stairs, so you crouch down and check on them. It rains often enough out here, but they look a little dry — understandably so, since it's July — so you grab a watering can.

Being back here brings back memories. You still remember that day, that conversation with Simon that started with a simple "I think we need to talk."

The heavy silence that followed, his breathing quiet and suddenly uneven. His question whether there's someone else. Your admittance that, yes, there always had been.

Your carefully composed world crumbled within hours.

It's a blur now. Your parents' fury, their desperate attempts to reel you back in, your mother's sharp warnings that you'd regret this. Beneath her mask of composure was an insecurity, stemming from being defied by her own child for the first time in her life.

You were told you'd regret this. But you got on the jet with Natasha, your hand in hers, and you didn't regret a thing.

Two years later, you're still waiting for said regret to set in. You don't see it happening, though. Not now, not ever.

A clatter from the kitchen pulls you back into the present. You pull out a few weeds and toss them into the compost, then you make your way back inside. Natasha's boiling water for the pasta now, so you wash your hands and grab a few cans of tomatoes. Right as you put them into a pot, you feel the familiar weight of her arms around your waist. Her lips meet your neck, soft and unhurried.

"Quiet here", she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your jaw. You turn your head and she kisses your nose.

"It's always been like that."

"I like it." She pauses, her hands running up and down your sides. "It feels a little empty, though."

You open your eyes and look at her, eyebrows raised. Natasha smiles faintly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It is empty", she mumbles, her nose nuzzling your cheek. "We should find a way to change that."

"Fill the house with pasta?"

"Maybe." Her hand slides to your stomach and slips under your shirt. Her palm is warm, but the wedding band feels cold against your skin. "Maybe not."

Whatever that's supposed to mean — you already know you'll need more room.

. . .

The drive from the airport feels longer this time. The once familiar road seems new, the trees look bigger. Inside the car it's quiet, save for the soft breathing coming from the backseat that has replaced the sound of the radio.

A turn, then another. Finally, you pull up in front of the space that, no matter what, is always one you can retreat to.

Natasha moves her hand from your thigh to undo her seatbelt, then she slides out of the car. She opens the door and gently scoops the little bundle out of her car seat. To your surprise, Masha stays asleep, even as Natasha adjusts her position in the crook of her arm. Her red wisps of hair stick out in all directions.

"She's getting heavy", Natasha mumbles, following you to the house.

"Well, she's not a tiny little newborn anymore. She's growing."

Your wife frowns at your words, despite knowing they're true. Maggie started crawling last week — she's anything but a newborn at this point.

"Still a baby", she mutters, glancing at your daughter. Her pacifier moves a bit as she sucks on it.

"Yes, still a baby." You drop your suitcases next to the bed — or rather, mattress. "Dammit, Nat. We really need to get a bed."

"Why?" Natasha bends down to place the baby on the middle of the mattress, lightly rubbing her tummy when she squirms in her sleep. "This is safer. For her."

You huff and kick off your shoes. "So what, we're just never upgrading? We'll just sleep on this thing forever?"

"You didn't mind back then", she mumbles, sitting down next to Masha. Her fingers brush over the baby's tiny sock-covered feet. "Besides, she can't roll off if there's nothing to roll off of."

"Can't argue with that." You join them right as Masha stirs again. Her eyes blink open, her pacifier falling out as she yawns and stretches. You smile and brush some hair out of her face. "Hey, honey."

Masha blinks up at you, fists clenching and unclenching, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Natasha scoops her up and holds her against her chest.

"Yeah, that was a nice nap", she says, kissing the baby's cheek. "You're all warm, Masha."

"Looks like someone is ready for a swim", you comment, already getting up to grab your swimsuits. Natasha looks at you and you pause. "What?"

"I think we should wait with that."

"What, why?" You pout and open the duffel bag anyway. Inside, you store your swimsuits and towels. "It's sweltering."

"I don't know how clean the lake is", she argues. Masha coos and Natasha gives her a quick smile. "She's too young."

"Oh, please." You slip your shirt off and momentarily leave Natasha speechless. But then she remembers that you aren't exactly alone, and that you also probably wouldn't take kindly to being ogled in front of your daughter, so she averts her eyes. "We went skinny dipping, like, dozens of times."

"Yes, but we're not 9 months old", she says, focusing on Masha again.

"You're sure?" You smirk as you catch the way her ears turn pink. "You get just as fussy when you're tired."

"I do not", she scoffs. But Masha, letting out a sleepy whimper and rubbing her face against Natasha's shoulder, proves your point. You raise an eyebrow.

"See? Identical."

"Oh, enough." She gets up, balancing the baby in her arms. "You're serious about swimming?"

"Very much so." You manage to close the clasp of the bikini top you're wearing and put your hair up into a bun. "Come on, we'll be quick."

Natasha narrows her eyes but doesn't argue, instead rocking Masha and rubbing her back. "We can take her down to the dock, let her dip her feet in. But that's it."

The sun is beaming down at you, but the trees surrounding the lake provide some shade. Natasha watches you as you jump into the water, then she sits on the dock. She keeps Masha cradled to her chest protectively, so you tread back to the dock and raise your eyebrows.

Your wife shoots you the most unimpressed look known to man.

"You promised", you remind her, splashing some water on her legs. The baby giggles, her arms flailing.

"What if I drop her?"

"You won't." You reach out and touch Masha's bare foot. "Just a quick dip."

She hesitates for another moment, but then sighs and adjusts her hold on the baby. Slowly, she lowers her from the dock until her toes touch the water. Masha's eyes widen, her entire body going stiff — but then she lets out a surprised little squeal.

"Oh", Natasha mumbles, watching the baby's mouth form an o-shape. She starts kicking her feet and gurgling in delight. "She likes it."

"Of course." You smile and lean back in the water. "I knew she would."

"Yeah, yeah." She scoops the baby back up and kisses her cheek, expertly ignoring her wails of protest. "That's enough for now."

"Oh, come on. What are you scared of?" You reach out and gently grab Masha's foot. "That the fishes are going to nibble at her little toes?"

"Hilarious."

The baby reaches out toward the water again, her hands grasping at the air. Her feet keep kicking, but Natasha doesn't budge. She's read too many horror stories about recreational water illnesses. Sure, Maggie is over the recommended 6 months old now, but your wife likes to be safe.

"It's time for lunch, anyway", Natasha adds, using the hem of her shirt to dry Masha's feet. "I bet she's hungry."

"Probably", you agree half heartedly. You sigh and get out onto the dock again, water dripping from your body. Natasha stands up as well and wraps one arm around your waist. She pulls you closer and gives you a kiss.

"We'll go swimming later", she mumbles, her hand drifting to your front. Her fingertips gently skim over the stretch marks there. "When the little fishie is asleep."

It's not the breeze that makes you shiver. You lean into the touch and press your lips against the corner of her mouth. "You better keep that promise."

"I always do", she teases. She grabs your hand and raises her eyebrows, a playful smile on her face as she starts leading you back to the house. "Come on. Milk for the fishie, and steak for us."

Later that night, when Masha's asleep, you take her outside in her stroller and leave it close enough so you're able to see and hear her. Then you pull Natasha to the dock, kissing and tugging each other's clothes off, giggling like teenagers whenever you need to part for a moment.

Your shirt ends up god knows where — in a bush, maybe, or in the old canoe. You don't really pay it any attention. You're far too focused on getting into the water again.

The lake is still warm enough from the sun that'd been shining all day, but now that it's windy and dark out, it almost feels cold against your skin. You gasp at the feeling, and Natasha quickly wraps her arms around your waist.

"It's freezing", she whispers sweetly, trailing kisses along your jaw. "I bet it'll take you less than twenty minutes to want to go back inside."

"A bet, huh?" You smile, but a shiver runs through you and the accompanying clattering of your teeth interrupts you. "If I win, you're on diaper duty for the rest of the week."

"Deal." She kisses your lips, her own plush and warm. "If I win, you're singing me a lullaby every night. The entire week."

"Oh god." You grimace, but Natasha kisses it off your face. Her hands run to your back and she tugs at the clasp of your bra. You quickly squirm away from her wandering hands. "Hey! Behave."

"No fun in that", she replies, her hands splaying out on your back. Then, without a hint of a warning, she pulls you under the water with her.

You gasp and close your eyes on instinct, your arms clinging to her. The water soaks into your hair and fully envelops you from head to toe, and when you surface again, laughter bubbles between you. It's a silent night, save for the sound of your giggles and the distant hum of cicadas.

You lift your hands to wipe the water off Natasha's face and she pauses. Her fingers tuck a wet strand of hair behind your ear as she studies you with that look you by now know intimately.

The lake around you ripples, but neither of you move. Then you hear Masha fuss in her stroller, and you both smile knowingly.

You lean in and press your wet lips to hers, the lake water as sweet as the day you first tasted it on her tongue.

. . .

"No!"

Your voice cuts through the silent summer air, loud and sharp in a way your kids aren't used to. Archer looks up, his eyes wide and his arms stretched out to the sides.

"Don't even think about it", you say, quickly walking down to the dock. Masha grins up at you from the water and waves innocently. You grab your son's shoulder and point a finger at your daughter. "You too. You're right in front of the dock, it's dangerous."

"I'm not that close", she protests, and Archer nods enthusiastically.

"I'm careful, mama."

"I wouldn't listen to them", Natasha calls. You turn to see her on the porch, carrying Lilia in her arms. She's wrapped up in a towel, her face sticky with strawberry ice cream. "Remember the tree incident last year?"

"How could I forget?", you grumble. "I can still hear your cries, Archie."

He pouts, his shoulders slumping. "That was different."

"You fell into a bush", your wife says, walking up to the dock. "Headfirst."

"You were stuck for, like, five minutes", Maggie adds, a grin on her face. She swims backwards to give Archer more space. "It was so funny."

"It was not funny. Your brother could've gotten hurt."

"Listen to your mother, bud", Natasha says. She adjusts Lilia on her hip and brushes her hand over his damp curls. "We don't need an emergency room visit this summer."

He groans and drags his foot over the wooden dock. For a moment, you think he's accepted defeat — but then he suddenly sprints forward and leaps into the air, yelling a triumphant "ha!" Water splashes everywhere, even managing to get into your eyes.

"Archer Romanoff!", you scold as you wipe your face. Your voice gets lost between Masha's and Lilia's laughter. "Alright, that's it. Do I really need to take away your ice cream-privileges?"

He surfaces again, water dripping down his face. "No fair! Lilia ate all my ice cream!"

"Kid's got a point", your wife mumbles, glancing at your youngest. She just looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes, her cheeks covered in the ice cream she's eating. "Great, it dripped on the towel."

"We'll wash it. What we can't fix as easily, however, is a broken skull. So no more jumping when someone else is that close to the dock!"

"Fine", Archer relents. He splashes some water at his older sister, who grimaces and slaps the back of his head. "Ow!"

"No fighting", you remind them and glance at Natasha. Your wife is busy cooing at Lilia, who's having the time of her life being coddled. "Seriously? Why do I always have to be the bad cop here?"

"Because you're good at it." Natasha kisses Lilia's nose and smiles, moving the child onto her shoulders. "Besides, they're just playing."

"He splashed water at her."

"And she retaliated", she argues. "No harm done."

You sigh and glance at the kids again, who seem more peaceful now. Or, as peaceful as a five- and ten-year-old can be. Archer's spinning in circles, while Masha has plopped into the inflatable donut you brought.

"Want ice cream", Lilia suddenly declares.

You want to argue, but then press your lips into a thin line and give Natasha a pointed look — your turn. First she hesitates, but then lets out a sigh and slowly shakes her head.

"No more today, bub. Too much sugar."

"But it's summer!", Masha protests. Ankles crossed and arms behind her head, she looks like the human form of relaxation. "Also, I only had two today."

"Two's enough", you say before you can stop yourself. "We're having dinner in about an hour, anyway. Any special requests?"

"Can we have pizza?", Archer requests.

"You sure can", Natasha says, "but you're making it yourself."

"What? On my own?" He gapes at her.

"Exactly", she confirms. "Come on. I'll even help you with the dough."

The kids scramble out of the water and start running toward the house. Lilia, clearly wanting to join in on the fun, squirms until Natasha puts her on the ground. She runs after them as fast as her short legs allow her to.

For a moment, it's just you and Natasha again. Hands intertwined, the setting sun warm on your skin, the familiar little house in front of you full of life now.

. . .

Sometimes, life isn't fair.

You can talk about karma all you want, believe in fate, hope for justice. Trust that, somewhere out there, there's a referee who'll make sure everyone gets what's fair to them.

Oftentimes, that's not the case. You can close your eyes and pretend the truth doesn't exist, but it will hit you straight in the face anyway.

You're distracted when you get into the car. A sleepless night due to your son who started yelling at his computer at 3am, eight hours of work in an overfilled office, a fight with your wife that you caused — now you're exhausted, irritated, and understandably so.

You step out of the building and toss your purse into the passenger seat before getting in the car. You check your hair in the rear view mirror, quickly spotting the dark circles under your eyes and the wrinkles forming around them.

Whether you believe it or not: you're getting old.

With a sigh, you fire up the engine and roll out onto the road. From that moment on, it's like you're moving through a fog.

The world is distant, your thoughts jumbled. You turn corners, the streets blurring in front of your eyes. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel restlessly. All you want is to go home — little do you know that you wouldn't be able to do that for a while.

You're not thinking about the road.

In hindsight, you'd like to say that all it took were a few seconds of carelessness. But no. It was more, way more. That one specific second, however, where your focus wavers entirely, is what changes everything.

A sudden swerve from the car in front of you. You hit the brakes too late. Then, your world shifts into chaos.

The screech of tires. Your body thrown against the seatbelt. A flash of metal. The sickening crunch of impact. Blood on your tongue, a ringing noise in your ears. Your own heartbeat, and the deafening silence that follows.

. . .

The harsh light is what you notice first. Bright, blinding you, making your head pound even as you squint. You try to lift your hand to block it out, but your limbs feel too heavy.

Then the smell. Sterile, clinical, unfamiliar. A soft beeping sound in the distance, rhythmic and insistent.

You blink rapidly, trying to shake the fog from your mind, but nothing clears. You try to swallow, but your throat is as dry as sandpaper. It feels like you haven't used your voice in days. Instead, you attempt to sit up, but your body protests with a dull ache. You somehow manage to turn your head.

Next to you, a silhouette jumps up from a chair. Her face is familiar and unfamiliar at once, but she looks worried — so worried.

"Hey, hey", she says, first reaching out but then pulling back her hand. "You're okay."

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out at first. In that moment, you don't know much — but you do know that speaking shouldn't be this difficult.

"...Where?", you eventually manage to get out.

"Hospital. You were in a car crash."

You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, trying to remember, remember anything, connect some dots, fill the overwhelmingly large gaps.

You draw a blank.

"Who are you?", you ask, voice weak. The woman stiffens, then slowly moves to sit down next to you on the bed. Grey hoodie, dark circles under her eyes, unwashed hair. Clearly exhausted, probably hasn't slept properly in a while.

You search her face, and even if your heart beats faster at the sight — you don't recognize her. Not like you should.

"Natasha", she mumbles. "Your wife."

You nod again. "I...I don't...remember."

The words hang in the air between you. Natasha — your wife — hesitates before touching the back of your hand. Her touch is warm, comforting. Your brain may not recognize it, but your heart does.

"We have kids", she begins, quietly. "Masha. She's 17 now. Won a soccer tournament last month. Archer, he...he games a little too much. But he's a good kid. And Lilia is so smart. She's like you, you know."

You don't react. You try to assign faces to the names, but you can't. All you can imagine are three kids, faceless, practically strangers.

A mother, you wonder. I'm a mother.

You give her another pleading, disconcerted look. Everything about this is weighing heavily on your dazed mind. Why can't you remember who you are? Why can't you recognize the woman you supposedly married?

Natasha's fingertips trace the back of your hand as she starts to explain. A car crash, where the driver in front of you lost control of their vehicle. A traumatic brain injury. Retrograde and anterograde amnesia. Gaps in your memory, which are temporary (according to the doctors), but unsettlingly large.

"I know it's confusing", Natasha continues, her voice breaking. "But it's okay. It's normal. I mean, you were in a car crash. You need to recover, and you're getting better already."

"I don't feel better", you mumble. Someone knocks on the door and you look up. "What...?"

"The kids", she says, already on her way. "I asked Peter to watch them."

"Peter."

It's a statement, but it sounds like a question. Funny enough, you do remember that name. Your brain manages to flash you a picture of a teenager in an oversized shirt and Hello Kitty sweatpants, but then it's gone. You wonder whether it's a memory.

"I'll explain later", she says softly. She turns, her hand on the doorknob and her expression tentative. "Do you want to see them?"

Do you want to see them? No. Not in this state. Not knowing that you forgot your own children. The kids you carried, birthed, loved.

But you need to see them. Because you did carry, birth, love them. Because you owe it to them, in a way.

"Yeah", you murmur. Natasha nods and opens the door. One after the other, three kids enter the room. The oldest girl looks a lot like you, but her hair is entirely Natasha's. Then a boy — a middle schooler — with unruly hair and an expression torn between deep worry and mild boredom. The last one is a girl, only ten years old, who clings to Natasha's side.

They all stand there, staring at you, and you look at the woman who's supposed to be your wife. A silent call for help.

She quickly turns and nods at the kids. "Go on, say hi."

They hesitate, but then Masha steps forward. Being the oldest, she understands this situation the most — but even for her, processing this is difficult.

You can't blame her. You're an adult, and you can't quite process it either.

"Hey, mom", she mumbles. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine", you say, blinking a few times. You reach out and touch her hand, and while your brain may not recognize the girl in front of you, your body still does. "I'm sorry, I..."

"You really don't remember?", the little girl — Lilia, you remind yourself — asks. She's still half-hidden behind Natasha, who looks like she wants to jump in and shield you from all of this. But she can't. This is your moment, your choice.

You don't say anything for a long moment. You could either lie ("Of course I remember you, don't be silly sweetheart") but you know that Masha and Archer are both old enough to see through that. You shake your head.

"I'm sorry", you say, then add: "honey."

"It's okay", Natasha says again, almost as if trying to convince herself by repeating those two words over and over again. "Mom just needs some rest, yeah?"

"Sure", Archer mumbles. He gives you one last cautious look, then shuffles out of the room with his hands buried in the pockets of his cargos. Outside the room, a man — dark hair, friendly face that's lost its usual happiness — ushers them back into the waiting room. He glances at you and smiles weakly before turning and leaving.

Natasha closes the door and sits down next to you again. She pulls out a ring and places it in your palm. It's identical to the one she's wearing.

"You don't have to put it on", she says right as you're slipping it onto your finger. She swallows at the sight, her facade cracking. "Oh."

"Look", you murmur, cheeks red with a shame that's completely out of place in this situation, "I don't remember much about you. Or the kids. And I'm sorry for that. But you said you're my wife, and if you are, I'm probably really lucky because my heart keeps doing this weird thing when I look at you."

Natasha nods and exhales shakily. Her fingers touch yours, brushing against the wedding ring, and you stay completely still. You turn your hand so it's palm up and gently grab her hand.

"I am your wife", she says, voice breaking as she holds back tears. "You have no idea how lucky I am."

You close your eyes and squeeze her fingers. "For now, I'd like to be able to know who I am first."

She laughs and nods, tears making her vision blurry. "We'll get there."

. . .

The memories creep back in an agonizingly slow fashion.

Being back home does help, even if you struggle to associate anything major to the house you're in. Natasha told you that you bought this house right after you got pregnant with Archer, but you don't remember that. But, when you step through the front door for the first time after the accident, your brain provides you with the feeling of carrying your newborn over the same threshold years ago.

It's just a fragment of the memory, but it lays the groundwork for everything to come.

Recovery is frustrating and confusing and painful. You're physically stable, but mentally, you're in a fog.

Doing mundane, everyday tasks isn't an issue anymore. You make coffee in the mornings (even if your hands sometimes still feel like they don't belong to you; you've shattered more cups within a week than you have in your entire life), you shower, you even do Lilia's hair and make sure she gets into the school bus.

What else do you remember? Truthfully, not much. It's mostly fragments at this point, emotional recognition and muscle memory. One evening, when you're on the couch, you remember your first day of school. But looking at Natasha, not much comes to mind. All you know is that she's safe.

With the kids, it's similar. You don't remember anything, basically, but you can feel they're yours and you can feel you love them.

Masha is the most mature, being 17 years old already. She hides her pain well and, instead of wallowing, tries to bond with you — she knows how to make you feel included. She tells you about what happened at school, plays songs she claims are your favorites (sometimes, you do recognize the melodies), watches tv with you.

Archer is distant. He spends most of his time either playing video games or doing homework. His interactions with you are limited, but you'll catch him looking at you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. He's waiting for you to be his mom again, to be that woman who ruffles his hair and makes him eat his vegetables, who plays Mario Kart and goes to the LEGO store with him.

Lilia is too young to fully understand, too small, too hopeful. She curls up beside you without hesitation and hands you books you very well know she could read on her own. You still flip them open and read the stories to her, quietly hoping that it'll help. Sometimes, it does, and you suddenly see a much smaller version of her in that same spot next to you.

One day, you catch Natasha in her office. She's been spending more and more time in there, mostly when you're busy around the house. When you walk in, she closes the notebook on her desk and turns to look at you. Her eyes soften and she smiles and, oh, you forget about the weight in your chest. You feel the love between you, decades old and steadier than anything, and in that moment, it's enough.

You smile back and pause in the doorway. You still feel like you don't belong into this house, like you're an intruder. You know that's not the case, but your mind is as much of a traitor as it is a stranger.

"What are you doing?", you ask, head leaning against the doorframe.

"Writing", she replies and turns around in her desk chair. "You okay?"

There's that question again. You force another smile.

"I'm okay."

"Hungry?"

You should be. It's almost dinner time. You shake your head — you're rarely hungry these days.

"No."

Natasha nods, then gestures at you to come closer. You hesitate before approaching her.

Her eyes study you in a way that makes your skin tingle. The silence in the room is only adding to this strange, but not unwelcome, feeling. You avert your eyes before everything can become too much.

When Natasha speaks up again, she sounds choked up. "Come here."

You look at her.

"Please", she adds, almost pleading.

Another step. You sit down on her lap and glance at her. Her arms wrap around you, safe and solid. Something flashes in your mind, something warm and familiar, and you freeze to make it last.

"You know what this feels like?", you mumble when you're certain the feeling won't slip from your grasp again.

Natasha raises her eyebrows. Her hand gently runs up and down your back. "What?"

You rest your head against her shoulder. You know her scent, that much you're sure of. "A house."

"Mhm?"

"With a lake", you continue, struggling to explain. "I remember a mattress.”

She closes her eyes and turns her head, her nose nuzzling your hair. Tears aren't something to be ashamed of, but she won't let you catch her crying again. All of this hasn't been easy for her, either.

"Anything else, love?"

"A mattress on the floor", you mumble. "God, my back hurt."

"Yeah." She laughs, but it's a broken sound, muffled by your hair. "Mine did, too."

"Why'd we sleep on the floor?", you ask, still confused.

"Don't ask me", she murmurs and kisses the top of your head. It's an absentminded gesture, but her heart feels lighter when you lean into the touch. "We just forgot to buy a bed, I guess. We got used to the mattress."

"I think I liked it."

"You did?" Natasha smiles, her lips pressing against your cheek. "So did I."

. . .

A few weeks pass. The fog starts to lift, the haze thins. Things become easier, memories clearer.

Masha, still pink and squishy, wrapped into a towel. Nurses and bright lights. Salty tears on your cheeks, Natasha's hand on your head.

A canoe, old and shabby but staying afloat. Summer air on sunburnt skin. Aloe gel on shoulders and a wooden dock beneath your feet. Sweet kisses, slow and unhurried.

Seeing yourself in a wedding dress for the first time. Trying it on three kids later, with a body that's changed. Natasha standing behind you, closing the zipper. Fabric that feels much more snug. Her lips brush against your shoulder.

"You got even more beautiful. Must be magic at play here."

An elementary school. You can't tell whether it's yours or one of your kids's, but the fading chalk drawings are pastel and the air is musky after it rained.

A drive-in. A diner. A jet, with an odd symbol everywhere. Emergency room visits and first words, lullabies and a tattoo shop, stars and wilted flowers. Natasha and you in a dark hallway, Natasha and you bathing Archer for the first time.

Memories that come back gradually only to disappear again. They're not permanently gone — but sometimes, keeping them alive is hard. It hurts to look at your daughter's face and briefly forget her name, it hurts that you can't make pancakes the way you used to, it hurts you don't know your son's favorite movie or the name of the football club your daughter plays in.

Your photo album, some pictures faded, some corners creased from years of handling, helps. You sit on the couch, legs crossed and fingers tracing the images in front of you.

A picture of Natasha, her arms wrapped around a younger version of yourself. Trees in the background, and a blanket with a baby sleeping on it — Lilia, maybe half a year old. You squint, trying to remember that day.

A tap against the doorframe makes you look up. Masha stands there, arms folded, watching you.

"Hey", she says. "You okay?"

"I'm alright", you quickly say, blinking the sudden moisture away from your eyes. "What about you, honey?"

"Fine. Finished one of the books on my summer reading list." She moves to sit down next to you and peeks at the pictures. She taps the one you were looking at. "That's a good one", she says, smiling.

"I don't remember much", you admit.

"Yeah? Well, we decided to go on a picnic." Masha points at the trees. "A bird managed to crap on Lil's stroller."

"Language", you say without really having to think about it. Masha's smile widens. You can see something of Natasha's in her eyes.

"That was very you, mom", she says, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Come on, you gotta know what I'm talking about. Archer got chased by a dog. Mama had to grab that beast's collar. The owner threatened to sue her."

"Yeah", you say slowly. You glance at her and smile tentatively. "I think Archer climbed a fence."

Her eyes light up. "He did, yes. And mama dragged the dog back to its owner and absolutely bawled him out."

You nod, the weight on your shoulders having lessened. You remembered something else — not much, but it's a little step in the right direction anyway.

Masha flips to another page and points at a picture. "Here. Try."

You study the image carefully. It's another one of you and Natasha, but this time, you're on a dock. You can barely see your faces, since they're turned towards one another — her nose brushing against yours, your smile wide, tiny wrinkles around your squinting eyes. A lake stretching out behind you, with a kid's head poking out in the distance.

"Oh", you mumble. You hesitate, but the warmth in your chest tells you to keep going. "It was summer. There was this- this house...and a lake. We spent our summer there."

"We spend every summer there", your daughter reveals. "Except for the one where you had Lilia."

"Right", you mumble. "Was there a storm that night?"

"Yes!" She nods, her red ponytail bobbing up and down. "The power went out. And-"

"And the kids were scared, so we lit candles", Natasha finishes the thought from across the room. You turn around, spotting your wife in the doorway to the living room. In her hand, the notebook. She tilts her head and smiles, something thoughtful glistening in her eyes as she watches you chase your own memories. "We told ghost stories."

"Archer couldn't sleep", you whisper.

"He slept in our bed", Natasha confirms. "He stayed there the entire summer, even if he kicked me all the time."

"Yeah", you mumble, looking back at the picture. Suddenly, it's all so vivid in your mind. You can pierce together fragments until they form something akin to a full memory.

When you meet Natasha's eyes again, something in them has changed. She looks resolute as she steps up to the couch, the notebook still in her grasp.

"There's something I want to read to you", she says, sitting down next to you. Masha gives her a curious look.

"Oh, really?"

"You're going to bed", she tells your daughter. "This is something I want to discuss with my wife, not your mom."

Masha looks like she's about to protest, but then her shoulders slump in defeat. She understands what Natasha means. She gets up, kisses you both on the cheeks and then heads upstairs. Once her bedroom door has closed, Natasha opens the notebook.

"I wrote this", she says, briefly glancing at the pages. "It's pretty long, if I'm being honest."

"What is it?", you ask, doing your best not to peek.

"Uhm..." She hesitates. "Our story. Beginning to end. The entire thing."

You stare at her, baffled. Your wife is telling you that, somehow, she managed to squeeze 23 years of history into one single notebook. Highs and lows, tears and laughter, everything you went through together to get here.

Then, you tear up. You remember pieces of those more than two decades. Natasha remembers enough to write a book about them.

"Okay", you mumble, sinking into the couch. Natasha squeezes your knee, looking like she's close to tears herself. She clears her throat and open the first page, skimming it.

"'We met at a fun fair'", she begins. "'You wore a dress. I hope you won't be too mad about me saying this, but you had zero aim."

You smile and shake your head, your hands covering your face. She keeps going.

"'I tried to ask you out. You resisted, obviously. You were stubborn, and so was I. There was a risk to going out with a complete stranger, but I loved taking that risk.'"

"Ferris wheel", you whisper, voice muffled.

"Yeah." She nods. "'You left again, with your friend. I felt like the most unlucky idiot in the whole world. But then I saw you again, on the ferris wheel, and I decided that it was now or never. I got up-'"

"And climbed." You brush the tears away. "Could've fallen and broken your neck."

"I didn't", she argues softly. "I made it over to you."

"You smelled like sugar", you add. "Like...beer and sugar. It was so odd."

Natasha lets out a quiet laugh, but it's a pleasantly surprised one. She looks up from the pages, her eyes searching your face. "You never told me that."

"I didn't?" You glance at her, eyebrows furrowed. You can still smell her scent from that moment, how sugary and bitter it was at the same time. "Huh.”

"That's good", she says, encouraging you. Reading about your memories seems to coax more of them out of you. "Want me to keep going?"

"Yes", you immediately say.

And so she does.

Your first date, in a diner. The first kiss afterwards. Nights of sneaking out, staying with her.

The house by the lake. The mattress. The three years of separation in between, and your engagement to Simon.

Peter telling her about everything. Meeting again, kissing, sleeping with each other.

Breaking off the engagement. Leaving town, heading to New York. Staying with SHIELD for a while. The weeks that followed.

Memory after memory. Some feel like echoes, others like dreams. Some pop between your fingers like bubbles, others seep into your bones, like they've been waiting for you to find them again.

You don't remember all of it. You've blocked many things out completely — like the fact that Natasha had dinner with your family once —, which leaves you feeling unsettled.

Some of it seems too meaningful to forget. But then again, you couldn't remember Natasha was your wife when you first woke up after the accident. Now, you can at least recall saying 'yes' in front of the altar, and how you danced afterwards, and how your lipstick had stained the corner of her mouth.

Eventually, she closes the notebook. She's only gotten through less than twenty pages.

"There's more", she says, looking at you. "A lot more."

You nod, rubbing your face. "I feel like I won't be able to remember half of it."

"You don't have to remember it now", she says gently, her hand reaching out. You grab it and keep it in your lap, playing with her fingers like you used to.

Like you used to — there. Another memory.

"It's hard", you admit. "It's like I'm chasing ghosts. Like...like I can't catch them before they disappear."

Natasha hums, staring at the wall for a moment. Covered in family pictures, many of them taken in that one beloved place. The one place you've visited almost every summer, where you've gone through so much, experienced so much. A place you've returned to at various stages of your life. A place that, without any doubt, will always be there.

"You know what might help?", she says absentmindedly.

"What?"

Your wife looks at you and squeezes your hand. "Being there", she says, her smile tentative but knowing. "The house. The lake. The dock."

You swallow, looking past her at the pictures. At this point, you feel like your brain is teasing you. You can feel the thick summer heat, hear the sound of cicadas and the water lapping against the shore. But the memories actually associated to those distant sensations? You can't grasp them.

"It'll help?"

"It might."

You hesitate, but something inside you pulls towards the idea. To the familiarity of it, even if the familiarity feels foreign right now.

"It can't hurt", you admit. "I mean, it's summer anyway."

"The kids don't have school", Natasha adds. She leans in and kisses you way too briefly. You've grown more used to physical affection again, but she's still scared of making you uncomfortable. Her hands feel warm and solid on your sides. "I'll pack, we're leaving in the morning."

. . .

It's you who points at that one roadside diner you've been going to for the past ten years.

The looks you get from your family make you pause. Nobody speaks, they all just stare. Finally, Natasha squeezes your thigh.

"Bet I can guess your order."

"No way", you tease, simultaneously trying to remember your usual. Cheeseburger? Maybe fries? Definitely no pickles.

But Natasha, knowing you better than the back of her hand, rattles down your order without having to think about it. The word 'milkshake' triggers something, and you smile softly as you lean back and gaze at her.

"You'll share your whipped cream?", you ask.

"Wouldn't be a proper date if I didn't", she mumbles, grabbing your hand.

Normally, a flirty little comment like this would be enough to earn gagging noises from the kids in the backseat. But they know that everything is still fragile, so they stay quiet.

Arriving in front of the house makes you close your eyes. The sight is painful, but it sparks so many memories that it's almost overwhelming. The porch, the wooden steps, the trees surrounding the house.

"We're here", Archer says, turning off his Nintendo.

"Yeah", Masha mumbles, looking at the house with a thoughtful look on her face. "Still the same."

The kids unbuckle and get out of the car. They're all eager to return to this place, this house that feels more like home than anything else ever could.

You look at your wife and open your mouth, but for a moment, no sound escapes from your parted lips. Her face blurs, and so does her name. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut again, your hands trembling.

"Natasha", you manage a few seconds later. You forgot her name. Even if only for a few seconds, you forgot her name. She swallows and nods. She noticed — of course she did. She's been hyper aware of everything surrounding you since you got into that accident. "Oh god, I..."

"Hey", she says, leaning over to pull you into a hug. You bury your face in her neck and fight the rising panic. "You're just nervous. It's okay, I promise."

"It's so foggy", you mumble, breathing her in. "I thought this was supposed to help."

"We're not even inside yet, love." She pulls back and kisses you on the cheek. Outside, you hear your children's voices as they run around the front yard. Masha stops on the stairs and turns to look at you, the breeze tousling her red hair. Worry fills her eyes when she realizes you're still in the car.

"What if I don't remember?", you ask, your eyes meeting Natasha's again. "What if the memories stay gone? What if..."

She brushes some hair out of your face and smiles softly. The sadness in her eyes is unmistakable, but so is the steady love there.

"Then we'll make new memories. Come on."

She leads you out of the car and wraps her arm around your shoulders. The kids chatter excitedly as she unlocks the door to the house and lets them all storm in. Again, it's a small space — two bedrooms, one of which you added when you got pregnant with Lilia, as the space had started to feel a little too snug.

It's cozy, lived-in...and even familiar. The feeling of stepping into this space never changed.

It feels like a memory — that was your first impression you ever had of this house. Turns out you still remember that.

Your eyes sweep across the room. The kitchen you renovated, the little living room, the windows that provide a view of the lake. The dock. Even the hammock is still intact, though the pattern of the fabric has faded over the years.

"Where's the canoe?", you mumble. Before Natasha can answer, you speak up again. "It fell apart, didn't it?"

"It rotted", she says, nodding. "It was fine the summer before."

"Shame."

"I agree."

"Mom?"

You turn and look at Masha, who's holding a mug in her hand. A chipped mug.

"Yes?", Natasha says, rubbing your arm.

"Can I make coffee? I'm kinda tired."

"One cup", you murmur, resting your weight against your wife's side. She leans in and kisses your temple. Then she walks you outside, to the dock and the lake. She shows you the letters you carved into one of the wooden boards, which are the initials of all your names. She makes you sit down and dip your feet in the water, causing a memory of Masha doing the same thing — only as an infant — to light up in your mind.

You watch Archer sit in the hammock and stare up at the sky. Lilia joins him, and they squabble over who gets to sit in it. A cat appears from the bushes that are on the other side of the lake, and they both get up to try and lure it with 'pspsps'-noises and a bag of pretzels.

You go back inside and make dinner. You recall the first fight you had, which makes Natasha laugh and pull you into a kiss. You curl up on the couch, with Lilia in your lap and your head on Natasha's chest, and watch the same black and white movie you watched in the drive-in way back.

"Still old", she mumbles into your ear. You smile and tilt your head up. Her lips press against your forehead.

Once the kids are in their pajamas, you all gather in the main bedroom. Archer drags his mattress into the room, so Masha and Lilia follow in suit, and now you're all cuddled up. Your oldest daughter brought your beloved mug along, this time filled with milk instead of coffee.

Your voices are soft, the words hushed. The kids have started chattering quietly — well, Lilia not really; she's out cold.

You look at Natasha again. Her eyes meet yours, and you recognize everything your brain can't remember.

Can't remember yet, you remind yourself. You've gotten this far, and you'll get further.

"I love you", you mumble. "I know that much."

"I love you too", she whispers, her lips pressing against yours in a brief kiss. You close your eyes and sink into this feeling. It's a feeling you may not always remember, but will always recognize. "You don't need to know me for me to love you."

Masha and Archer both cuddle up at Natasha's side. Your daughter reaches for your hand and you squeeze it. When Natasha starts humming the tune of a Russian lullaby she used to sing to the kids when they were still little, you close your eyes and quietly hum along. The melody returns easily, and the memory comes to life again, vibrant and warm.

A nursery, a swaddled baby, a nightlight in the shape of a sailboat. Drops of warm milk on wrists, feverishly reddened cheeks, the uncertainty that comes with being a new parent.

Outside, the water laps at the shore. The moon bathes the room in a milky light. No light pollution out here, thankfully.

The kids go quiet. Natasha pulls out the notebook and opens it, finding the page where you left off during the car ride. You glance at it, then lean up to kiss her cheek. Her voice is a quiet murmur when she begins telling the story of your first months of marriage. Not all of the memories return as readily, but that's okay. Listening to her retell them may be enough for now.

You turn your head and bury your face in her chest. Her heartbeat is a rhythm you'd recognize in a thousand lifetimes.

You thought it all started at the fun fair, where you met. But lying here, with the lake outside and the mattress on the floor, with the chipped mug in your sleepy daughter's hand, you realize that this is where it began.

The walls hold secrets that never touched the notebook. 

It all started in a small house by a lake, and it ends there as well.

[just-aake]

Endearing Entanglements Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 2 of Endearing Entanglements. Being on the run is tough. Natasha eventually has no choice but to call for some help.

Warnings: fluff, light angst, implied sexual themes

Words: 3430

The night air is cool against Natasha’s skin as she stands beneath the cover of shadows near the corner of the empty street. The dim glow of a distant streetlamp barely reaches her, leaving her concealed in the darkness. 

She adjusts the hood of her jacket, the recently cut strands of her dyed blonde hair swaying slightly as she turns her head, scanning her surroundings with caution.

Being on the run has been brutal—physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

Especially after the Raft prison break, forcing her into a constant state of movement with no real moment of rest. 

Supplies are limited, safe havens even more so. 

Every day is a delicate game of survival, narrowly avoiding authorities, slipping past Ross’ men, and making sure those with her remain out of harm’s way.

Keeping her teammates safe is one thing.

Keeping those who willingly choose to help her is another.

Mason has already paid the price for his involvement, detained for his so-called “assistance” to her. Though he had managed to get released, Ross’s watchful eye was now firmly planted on him. 

That alone is enough reason for Natasha to hesitate before reaching out to any of her remaining contacts. 

The risk was simply too high.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

The sudden, sharp sound of shattering glass cut through the quiet night, instantly snapping Natasha’s attention upward. 

Her muscles tense, her hand instinctively hovering near her concealed weapon as her eyes lock onto the source. 

From the fourth-story window of the old brick building across the street, a shadowed figure propels through the new opening and into the air, twisting mid-fall with practiced precision. 

In one fluid motion, they fire a grappling line, the cable anchoring into the adjacent wall, allowing them to swing effortlessly into a controlled descent. 

At just the right moment, they release the line, landing with a smooth roll before rising swiftly to their feet.

Flashbangs detonate inside the building behind them, the brief bursts of light flickering against the windows, followed by the frantic shouts of those left scrambling inside.

Natasha’s gaze drifts from the chaos back to the figure standing just a short distance ahead.

A low hum of satisfaction escapes you as you casually brush the dust from your clothes, barely fazed by the intensity of your escape. 

You take a quick glance around before your gaze finally meets hers.

A grin, wide and utterly unapologetic, spread across your lips.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Without hesitation, you close the space between you, hands gently cradling her face. 

The moment your fingers brush against her skin, warmth surges through her. 

Then, without another thought, you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss.

Natasha stiffens for just a second, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy.

But then, the tension melts from her body, her lips parting in a quiet gasp—one you eagerly take advantage of, deepening the kiss with a hunger neither of you had the luxury to indulge in for far too long.

Her hands find their way to you, fingers gripping the fabric of your jacket, pulling you in closer as if afraid to let go. 

It was grounding—this moment of familiarity in a life that had become nothing but uncertainty.

But then, as her hand brushes against your side, you suddenly break the kiss with a sharp intake of breath.

Natasha pulls back just enough to see the flicker of pain flash across your face. Her brows furrow, concern instantly replacing the haze of the moment.

“Careful, love,” you murmur with a soft chuckle, exhaling through the lingering sting. “I think I may have reopened the stitches on my landing.”

A familiar mix of exasperation and affection flickers in her expression, her fingers tightening slightly on your jacket.

“Of course you did.”

Even as she sighs, there is no mistaking the way her hold on you remains steady, unwilling to let you go just yet.

But then, a sudden movement flickers in the corner of her vision. 

In an instant, Natasha’s instincts take over. She yanks you sharply to the side, the sudden motion forcing you off balance just as her hand flies up, launching a compact taser disk at the oncoming figure. 

The moment the disk connects, an electric surge crackles through the air, the assailant convulsing before collapsing to the ground with a dull thud. 

The whole exchange happened in mere seconds.

You barely had time to register it before glancing over your shoulder at the now-unconscious attacker. 

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you turn back to her, eyes flickering with something both teasing and admiring.

“Still exceptional as always, love,” you muse, tilting your head slightly as your fingers twirl a lock of her blonde hair between them. “Even with the new look.” 

Natasha huffs, rolling her eyes, but there is no real annoyance behind it. If anything, the ghost of a smirk threatens to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, well,” she exhales, shaking her head as she glances down at the unconscious attacker. “That was my last one, so we need to move.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before grabbing your hand, her grip firm as she leads you down the dimly lit street.

You follow without hesitation, but as you shift your grasp, threading your fingers more securely through hers, you half-expect her to pull away.

She doesn’t.

If anything, her hold only tightens slightly, bringing a small smile to your face.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha curses under her breath, jaw tightening as she wrestles with the lock on their current safe house door. The rusted key refuses to fit properly, scraping against the metal edges of the keyhole with stubborn resistance. 

Her fingers clench around it, frustration mounting with each failed attempt.

You lean casually against the wall beside her, arms crossed, watching her struggle with a barely concealed smirk.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she mutters without looking at you, catching the amusement in your expression from the corner of her eye.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply smoothly, but the teasing lilt in your voice betrays you.

Natasha sighs, shaking her head. She knows you too well to believe that. 

Then, just as you part your lips, no doubt ready to make some remark about the questionable state of the safe house, she cuts you off.

“Don’t.”

The single word carries enough warning to make you chuckle lightly, though it does little to deter the glint of amusement in your eyes.

“You really should’ve contacted me sooner, love,” you say, tilting your head as you watch her struggle with the lock a moment longer. “None of my safe houses are like this.”

As if in defiance of your words, Natasha gives the door one final, forceful shove with her shoulder. The force is enough to finally unstick the warped frame, sending the door flying open—along with Natasha, who stumbles forward with a sharp inhale of surprise. 

Before she can steady herself, a firm arm wraps around her waist, catching her mid-fall. 

You pull her back upright and against you effortlessly, holding her steady from behind before letting the movement shift into something softer—a lingering embrace as you rest your chin on her shoulder.

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed your calls,” you murmur, your breath warm against the side of her head.

Your lips brush just under her ear, pressing a fleeting kiss there, light but deliberate.

Natasha exhales softly, the tension in her shoulders gradually loosening as she settles into the familiar comfort of your arms. 

For a brief moment, she allows herself to relax, to sink into the warmth of someone who knows her beyond the mission, beyond the fight.

But then, an awkward clearing of a throat shatters the moment.

Natasha stiffens instantly, instinct kicking in as she steps forward, pulling away from your embrace and pivoting toward the open doorway. 

Steve stands there, shifting slightly on his feet, a plastic bag of supplies in one hand while the other runs across the back of his neck, an awkward expression settling across his features.

“Uh…we can come back later, Nat,” he offers, tone uncertain.

Beside him, Wanda stands with her arms wrapped around herself, making no move to step forward. She isn’t as outwardly uncomfortable as Steve, but the curiosity in her eyes is evident as she glances between you and Natasha.

Before Natasha can respond, you speak first, stepping forward with your usual ease, a charming smile effortlessly finding its way onto your lips.

“That won’t be necessary,” you say smoothly, voice carrying an air of lighthearted confidence. “I’m here to help all of you, after all.”

Steve’s brows lift slightly, skepticism flickering behind his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you can practically hear the unsaid questions forming in his mind. Wanda’s lips twitch ever so slightly as if amused by the boldness of your declaration, though she keeps whatever she’s thinking to herself.

Still, their silence tells you what you already know: they aren’t entirely convinced.

But that’s never stopped you before.

Your smile doesn’t falter as you turn to Natasha, giving her a quick wink before adding, “We can start with moving you all someplace a little more…comfortable.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before Natasha sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose briefly before giving you a look that’s equal parts exasperation and reluctant amusement.

“Alright, let’s go to one of yours.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You gesture towards different parts of the new safe house, your voice calm and efficient as you lead them through the space.

“Bedrooms are over here, each with their own bathrooms,” you say, motioning toward the respective areas before stopping at the center of the modest yet well-kept living space. 

Three neatly packed duffel bags sit on the coffee table, their contents carefully prepared. 

“And these,” you continue, patting the bags lightly, “are some fresh clothes for each of you. Your new IDs are inside.”

Natasha scans the safe house, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. She isn’t surprised at the level of quality—it’s exactly what she expects from you.

Secure, quick, and discreet. 

You never do anything halfway.

A sharp vibration cuts through the air, the muffled sound of a phone ringing.

Casually, you pull it from your pocket, giving the screen a brief glance before pressing a button to silence it.

Without another thought, you slip it back into your pocket as if the call never happened.

Natasha’s brows knit slightly, her attention lingering on you. 

You don’t leave clients waiting. Efficiency is what you pride yourself on. Quick responses and seamless transactions. 

Ignoring a call? That’s unlike you.

Before she can question it, Wanda speaks up, drawing your attention.

“Is there hot water?” she asks, curiosity evident in her tone at the severely missed luxury since being on the run.

You turn to her with an easy smile. 

“Sure is, love.”

Natasha’s brow twitches almost imperceptibly. The term of endearment directed at Wanda doesn’t go unnoticed, and though she keeps her expression neutral, her eyes flick toward you, subtly watching your interaction with the other Avenger.

You hand Wanda her duffel, and as if sensing Natasha’s gaze, you turn and meet her eyes. 

A knowing glint flickers in your expression as you offer her a small smile.

Wanda, oblivious to the silent exchange, nods in thanks before disappearing into one of the bedrooms.

Meanwhile, you step over to the far side of the room, pull out a black case, and place it on the table.

“Now for my favorite part,” you say with a smirk, unlocking the case and turning it toward Natasha. “Your equipment.”

Seeing her usual, neatly arranged weapons draws a faint smirk to Natasha’s lips. She steps forward, fingers brushing over the familiar weight of her batons, trusty firearms, and multiple taser disks.

“You always know what I like,” she murmurs, amusement lacing her tone.

“Of course,” you reply with a wink before shifting your attention to Steve, who has been sifting through his duffel with quiet curiosity.

“I’m afraid a Vibranium shield might be a little harder to come by,” you muse, watching as he inspects the items inside. “But I’m sure I can get a new protective suit for you—something more subtle for fights while on the run, Captain.”

Steve glances up, nodding slightly. “Appreciate it.”

You clap your hands together, pulling a measuring tape from your pocket with a flourish. 

“I’ll just need your measurements, love.”

Natasha’s lips twitch downward slightly, the term now directed at Steve. As you approach Steve, she catches you throwing a quick glance her way as if watching for a reaction.

Attempting to hide her expression, Natasha averts her gaze, making herself look busy as she checks over the equipment in the case.

Steve shifts awkwardly as you begin taking his measurements, lifting his arms and adjusting his stance as you direct him.

After a beat, he clears his throat. 

“So, how long have you and Nat known each other?”

You hum in thought, not looking up from your work.

“Going on three years now, I believe.”

Steve’s brows lift slightly before his gaze flickers toward Natasha, as if piecing things together. 

“And are you two…?” He trails off, the implication hanging between you.

A low chuckle slips from your lips as you shake your head lightly. 

“No, nothing like that, at least, not exclusively,” you say, your tone lighthearted, though something unreadable flickers in your gaze as you glance at Natasha. 

“Right, love?”

Natasha stills, her fingers pausing against the equipment. She hadn’t expected to be pulled into the conversation. Lifting her gaze, she holds your eyes for a moment before looking away.

“Yeah,” she mutters softly, carefully placing the weapons back in their slots. With a quiet click, she shuts the case.

Silence settles between the group, the only sound in the room coming from the rustling of fabric and the light tapping of your fingers against the tablet as you take notes.

Then, the sharp buzz of your phone vibrating against your pocket breaks the quiet.

This time, Natasha doesn’t miss the way you glance at the screen, the briefest flicker of something unreadable crossing your face before you shut the device off again.

Her arms cross over her chest as she levels you with a pointed look. 

“How much is all this costing you?”

You pause briefly before looking up at her with a smirk.

“That’s nothing you’ll need to concern yourself about.”

As you finish up and straighten, a flicker of a wince crosses your face—so brief most wouldn’t catch it.

But Natasha does.

Her sharp eyes hone in immediately. Without hesitation, she strides forward, grabbing your wrist before you realize it.

“Wha–”

She doesn’t give you the chance to protest, pulling you swiftly toward one of the rooms and shutting the door behind you.

The moment it clicks shut, she turns, hands reaching for the hem of your shirt.

“Hold on, lo—”

Natasha ignores you, lifting the fabric and confirming what she already suspected.

“You did open your stitches,” she accuses, her voice edged with irritation and concern. Her fingers hover over the square bandage at your side, red seeping through the gauze.

Before she can say anything else, your hands cup her face, tilting her chin upward so her eyes meet yours. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

“You’re cute when you care,” you murmur, brushing your thumb against her cheek. Then, with a teasing grin, you add, “But it’s not as bad as it looks, love, honest.”

At your dismissive tone, Natasha holds your gaze, searching for something—an explanation, a reason—until she can’t help but voice her thoughts.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers.

The unspoken words pass between you, heavy with meaning. Why are you risking yourself? Why go to such lengths? Why help her?

Your expression softens. Instead of answering with logic or reason, you simply pull her closer, resting your forehead against hers.

“Because it’s something I can do for you,” you say simply.

The sincerity in your voice makes her breath hitch.

Before she can respond, you close the distance, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s a kiss that speaks of familiarity, of understanding, of a connection beyond words.

Natasha’s hands tighten around the fabric of your jacket as she deepens the kiss, pulling you closer. A soft sound of approval rumbles from your chest, your hands sliding to rest at her waist.

Then, breathless but smirking, you pull back just enough to murmur against her lips, “Do you want to try out the hot water together?”

A faint smirk forms on Natasha’s lips.

Without a word, she grabs your wrist and tugs you toward the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha’s fingers move idly, tracing faint, absentminded patterns across your bare skin where your top has ridden up slightly.

The slow rise and fall of your chest against her keeps her grounded, your warmth settling into her like an anchor.

She watches you, curled into her arms, the soft glow of the dim light casting gentle shadows across your face.

There’s something about this moment—quiet, unguarded—that makes her reluctant to break it.

But she does. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

Your breathing shifts slightly, and your eyes flutter open, hazy with drowsiness as you turn your head toward her. A flicker of curiosity crosses your expression.

“For coming when I called,” Natasha continues, her voice steady but quiet. “I know it wasn’t the safest move for you.”

Her hand drifts lower, brushing lightly over the fresh bandage at your side, her fingertips ghosting over the wound with a delicate trace.

A soft chuckle rumbles in your chest. You close your eyes again, nuzzling closer, tucking your head into the crook of her neck as if you belong there.

“Anything for my favorite client,” you murmur, your breath warm against her skin.

Natasha doesn’t reply, but the way her arms tighten around you speaks enough. She presses her cheek against the top of your head, her fingers still tracing along your side, committing this rare moment of peace to memory.

A comfortable silence settles between you. The kind that feels full rather than empty, where neither of you feels the need to fill the space with words.

Then, the stillness is broken.

The muffled buzz of a phone vibrating from the pile of clothes strewn across the floor cuts through the quiet.

You exhale a deep sigh, your breath brushing against her collarbone before you reluctantly pull away.

“I should get going,” you say, sitting up and stretching your arms lightly. Your tone is casual, but Natasha doesn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in your movements. “I think I’ve left my other clients waiting long enough.”

She watches as you gather your things, a strange tightness settling in her chest. There’s something she wants to say—something that lingers on the tip of her tongue.

Don’t go. Stay a little longer.

But the words don’t come.

Instead, she hesitates, her hands clenching briefly at her sides before she exhales softly.

“I…” she starts, but then she pauses, her gaze flickering away as she struggles with what exactly she wants to say to you.

You glance up from your phone, head tilting slightly as you wait for her to finish. There’s patience in your expression but also a quiet knowing—like you already understand what she’s trying to say, even if she doesn’t say it aloud.

Finally, she settles on something simpler.

Something safer.

“It was good seeing you again.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, but there’s something else in your eyes—something unreadable. You step closer, closing the distance between you effortlessly.

Lifting her chin with a gentle touch, you lean in, pressing a slow, delicate kiss to her lips. It lingers, warm and unhurried, before you pull away just enough for your lips to barely ghost over hers.

Your usual teasing smirk makes its return as you murmur against her mouth, “Don’t leave me waiting too long for your next call…”

Another feather-light press of your lips follows—a touch so fleeting yet so certain. And then, in a quiet whisper.

“…my love.”

And just like that, you’re gone.

The room feels quieter without you in it, as if something vital has been pulled away. Natasha stays where she is for a moment before exhaling, pressing a hand against her chest.

Her heartbeat is steady.

But she can still feel the ghost of your lips, the weight of your presence lingering in the space you left behind.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading! Hope you all have a Happy Valentine’s Day!

Taglist : @caspianalexander007

[yummymitzy]

It means everything to me.

Summary: The team decides to play a truth or dare game to end the night after one of Tony’s parties. Throughout the game, reader felt eyes on her, but she doesn’t know that they came from a certain redhead. Would something grow between them once the night falls?

Warnings: G!P Nat, SMUT, hair-pulling, back shots against door, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, Nat jus bein rough n jealous, 18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 3,154 

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Rogers!Reader

————♡————

Stark parties at the compound were so very often hosted, it could have been for any occasion. As long as Tony thought it was a good time to celebrate, he’d host a party for that night. Today just happened to be one of those nights.

You, your brother Steve, Bucky, and Wanda were sent out on a mission four days ago. You four came back to the compound and deemed the mission successful, which made Tony practically jump up and exclaim that he’d host a party for tonight for another mission gone well.

You were definitely a party person, the life of a party whether you were drunk or not. But goddamn? The last party the team hosted felt like yesterday to you, when it was actually last week, but that was still close enough right? 

As of right now, you were getting ready for his party, as you take a quick glance at your phone, it was 5:45 and the party was at six, so you definitely had enough time to be ready by then. You set down your phone as you went straight to your closet, your makeup already done.

After rummaging through your dresses, it took you a few minutes before you came across your dress of the night and put it on. It was a backless maroon dress with a slit that went dangerously high on your upper thigh, the back of the dress incredibly accentuated your ass to which you appreciated. 

Overall it was a great dress, who were you going to impress? You weren’t sure but you had an idea though. You strolled out of your closet and heard a knock echo through your bedroom, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You still had way more time you wondered as you went to open the door.

There stood Bucky clad in a dark blue suit, hand still raised in the air as if he was going to open the door. Regaining his composure instantly, he drops the hand and leans against your doorway.

“You clean up nice, Buck. Didn’t think you still knew how to groom yourself with all that time you were up in the ice.” You tease lightly as you step back from your door and heading over to your vanity, putting in shiny gold earrings to complement the red.

“Hey… Don’t get used to it though.” He acts slightly hurt before switching to a joking manner. “But do hurry up, doll. At this point the party will be waiting up on you.” 

“I’m done, was just putting in earrings. Now cmon, I need a drink.” You slip on your red bottomed heels and brush past Bucky as you head down the corridor of the elevator, laughing slightly as he tries to catch up before the doors close.

As soon as the elevators open to where the party was being held, you went straight to the bar, in desperate need for a drink. Your eyes widen slightly before you smirk, realizing that Natasha had been put on bar duty.

Natasha was glammed up, hair curled down to her back, a long fitted emerald dress that showed off all her curves, it ran down to her knees and glimmered in the light. Her bright red lipstick complimenting it as she also has on some emerald earrings. 

You approach the bar, surprised Natasha hadn’t caught sight of you yet, until you stood right in front of her eyes, smirking. 

“Hey Nat, what got you doing bar duty tonight?” You lean against the bar counter, your arms crossed. The action making Natasha stare down at your breasts hungrily before she snaps her attention back onto you.

The thing was that you and Nat had this thing going on, where you’d both go back and forth with trying to flirt with each other. You never knew when exactly it started, Nat just started calling you pet names and being more touchy one day.  

But what she didn’t know was that the game got real on your side. You didn’t know what changed but you started becoming more flustered with her advances and even started blushing, something you never did. Until you realized, you liked her.

It had come a shock to you at first but as time passed, you came to terms with it and just played along with Natasha. It wasn’t like she liked you back, you doubt it, hell she might even be cuddling it up with Bruce.

“Fella did me wrong.”

“You got a real weird taste when it comes to your people Nat.” You laugh as you sat upon one of the many stools in front of the counter.

“It’s not all bad, and my taste in people are quite immaculate if you asked me, Y/n” She raised an eyebrow as she prepared your usual whiskey neat, before sliding it over to you as you laugh.

“Alright, alright, I’ll catch you later, Red” You stood up, your whiskey in hand as you go out to the couches and plopped yourself right next to Sam.

————♡————

You had completely lost track of what time it was, the party was long over and the after party had just started. 

You were sat in between Sam and Bucky with Tony on the far side of the couch. Across from you had been Bruce Natasha and Clint, while to the couch on the right of you was Wanda, Vision.   The couch left of you consisted of Tony, Thor, and Steve.

The team was so drunk they could barely uphold their conversations with one another. Thats how bad it was, and it was embarrassing that you were especially drunk too. 

Soon after, Tony stood up from his side of the couch and stepped forward while raising both of his arms. He proposed a game of truth or dare, refuse to do it, you take a shot. Your lips curled up into a smirk, you honestly couldn’t tell if you were too drunk or not but you did know that you wanted to play. 

After hearing the majority of the team agree, Tony had prepared a line of shots, just enough for the first few people before starting off the game. 

“Truth or dare, Capsicle.” Tony stared at Steve, a smug smirk planted on his face as he awaits Steves answer.

“Truth.”

“Is it true that Bucky was the cause of those “mosquito bites” when you came out to breakfast the other day?”

Bucky shifted in his seat at the mention of his name which made you shake in laughter as he playfully smacks your arm, catching the eye of Natasha.

“Yes.” Steve admitted, his face flushing a deep color of red as he leans back into the couch, before regaining his composure and picking his victim. “Wanda, Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” She raised an eyebrow as a slight smirk plays on her face.

“I dare you to give somebody in this room a lapdance. EXCEPT Vision.” Making Wanda widen her eyes slightly as she turns her head to look at Vision, to which he nods in confirmation, letting her know its alright. 

Wanda stands from her seat, slightly surveying the area before her eyes land on Sam, she approaches you with a torturously slow walk as she pretends to walk to Sam, before snapping her head to you and finding her place on your lap. 

Your eyes widen in shock as Tony tells Friday to dim the lights and play a song. You didn’t know what song it was, you were hyper focused with Wanda on your lap. You thought she was going to pick Sam, why you?

Across from you sat Natasha, you noticed she was fuming in her seat as she watched Wanda’s little show. Her knuckles turned white due to her deathly grip on the couch while a scowl was firmly planted on her face. If Natasha had been put into a cartoon, she would have definitely had smoke coming out of her ears.

Natasha was on her last straw when it came to the dance, all she wanted to do was stand up and rip Wanda off of you and take you for herself. As soon as she brushed away those thoughts, Wanda’s dance had already ended. But what she didn’t see was you sighing in relief after she retreated to her seat. 

————♡————

You and the team got a few more rounds in and this round ended up having Natasha as the victim.

“Truth or dare, Natasha.” Clint said as he bites his cheek to compose himself for her answer.

“Dare, arrowboy.” She smirks as she turns her whole body to face Clint as he begins cackling.

“Swap clothes with the person you find most attractive in this room.” He grins, visibly proud at his dare.

Natasha stands wondering her next move as she looks towards Wanda, her best friend. “Just go for it, whats the worst that could happen.” Wanda says in her head while she subtly nods her head towards you. 

Natasha thought it over once more before she strutted straight to you, her hips swaying as she walked, practically hypnotizing you. She held out a hand in your direction, her eyes meeting yours as they held an unspoken gentleness.

You took her hand as you lifted yourself up off the couch, you never realized how drunk you were until you were on your feet. You were slightly swaying as you tried to regain your balance, which was quick with the help of Natasha as she supported you with her other hand wrapped around your waist.

As you regained your balance, you noticed that you still were holding hands with her but you don’t find it in yourself to point it out. You move to take Natasha to another room nearby, her following behind you close by.

Once you both stumbled into an empty room, that was when you sobered up a little, but Natasha seemed drunker than ever.

“Are you sure you still want to do the dare? I could get Wanda to take you to your room.” You whisper, as you look up to meet Natashas gaze. 

You saw something change in Natasha’s eyes, from a drunken look to what you think is hunger?

The emotions that were brewing up within Natasha during the lapdance burst out of her as she shoved you against the door of the room, trapping your body between her and the door. 

“Nat!” You yelp, not expecting a reaction like this from Natasha.

“Ya know, I didn’t really like how Wanda was just grinding up on you..” She husks, her face inching towards yours as your gazes to each other never faltered. You can feel her hand hovering over your waist, soon stopping to rest there on the curve of your hips.

“But you wouldn’t really mind that would you, huh?” She smirked as she buried her head into your neck and kissing it slightly, leaving back bright red lipstick marks, she had also left some hickeys unbeknownst to you.

You sigh, leaning into her touch unknowingly and running your hands through her fiery hair before you pull her up gently and crash your lips onto hers.  

Natasha’s lips were as soft like they looked, you could have honestly gotten obsessed with them right then and there. You deepened the kiss as one of your hands slid down to her waist to pull her impossibly closer.

You were so focused on Natasha’s lips kissing you that you didn’t feel a hard bulge pressing up against your upper thigh. But soon enough was when Natasha started getting slightly desperate, subtly grinding against you as you felt the bulge become more insistent.

That was when you pulled away, slightly concerned. “Are you sure, Nat? You’re drunker than I am.” You ask, your eyes flickering between hers and her lips. 

“Yes baby, I’m sure. Plus I was at the bar handing out drinks, not downing shots with you and Wanda.” She whispered, her attitude rising with the added mention of Wanda. Her teeth grazing the skin of your neck as she nips at it before she pulls away entirely, making you whine.

“Awe detka, so desperate already? Did you get so desperate because of Wanda?” She snarled, as she flips you around by your hips, pushing your face into the door as she kept a deathly grip on you.

“Mphm! No, Nat. It’s all you.” Your voice is muffled against the door as she sternly keeps you pinned there. Your hands flat on the door to keep you stabilized as Natasha starts grinding her clothed bulge on you.

“Damn right it is.” She mumbled as she gave a harsh slap to your ass making you jolt forward into the door as you yelp. Before she continues grinding up on you.

Soon enough, Natasha reaches over to your front and over to your breasts as she gave them a quick squeeze before she trailed her hands to the straps of your dress. You peeled your hands away from the door to allow Natasha to practically rip the dress off of you.

The sight of you braless with a lacy red thong might as well make Natasha drool as her hands went straight to your ass, massaging the flesh and pulling a quiet whimper from you.

With quick efficiency, her dress was off in the blink of an eye, her boxers had an insanely large tent forming, to which you could already assume was by you. 

She takes off her boxers as quickly as her dress as she positions herself behind you on the door. Leaning down, her hands find themselves on your waist as her lips find the shell of your ear, her cock just centimeters away from your dripping heat as her breasts press against your back.

“I can tell you want this as much as I do, detka. You’re practically leaking onto the floor.” She husks into your ear, she doesn’t wait for an answer as she stands up straight and slams her cock into your wet cunt making you press your cheek against the door as you moan out.��

Natasha begins to pound herself into you, the sound of skin slapping, your moans, and Natasha’s grunts echo the quiet room as she ruts into your tight cunt.

“You’re so fucking tight, detka. Я не могу насытиться тобой. (I can’t get enough of you.)”She growls as she lifts her hand from your waist to pull at your hair, pulling you up to meet her front, her breasts brushing against your back once more as your back completely arches. 

The new position allowed Natasha’s cock to thrust even deeper into your cunt, her thrusts were powerful, each movement drove you up the door trembling with pleasure.

She started pounding up into you at a more intense pace, making you moan in shock, the action making you push back against her cock. Her hand that wasn’t in your hair lifted from your hip, and came down on your ass once again, sending a hard slap to it as she massaged the flesh immediately after.

“Ah! Fuck!!” You cried, the pleasure was too much to even suppress your moans as you kept pushing your hips back to meet Natasha’s relentless pace. “Oh, please Nat!!” You scream as she drove into you.

“Nat, I’m gon..gonna cum, please can I cum.” You begged, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Natasha fucked you dumb. 

“Go ahead and cum, baby.” 

To which you complied, your release had been intense but yet so full of pleasure. You trembled at reaching your climax, but to your surprise. Natasha kept rutting her cock into you as her thrusts got more and more sloppy as the seconds passed, her grunts turning into whines. 

“One more baby, just for me, c’mon. I know you’ve got another in you, please.” She pleaded as her thrusts grew more sloppier as she leaned her head down into your neck, placing delicate kisses on it as she tries to muffle her whimpers. 

You give her a loud moan in response, the overstimulation soon turning into overwhelming pleasure as you feel your second orgasm of the night building up in your lower belly. 

“Fuck..Im gonna cum detka. I can feel you clenching around me,” She babbled slightly, her red hair fluttering over the expanse of your back as she sets a faster pace for her relentless pounding, now nibbling on your neck to prevent her moans from spilling, her hand gliding in front of you as it frantically rubs at your clit.

“Fuck!!” “Cmon baby, cum, cum on my cock.” You and Natasha cried out as you reached your second climax of the night, your tight cunt clenching impossibly more around her shaft as your juices flow out of your pussy. 

The action made Natasha cum directly after you, the clenching of your soft velvety walls around her dick made her burst her seed into your womb as she let out a loud moan into the juncture of your neck. 

Natasha waited a minute before pulling out slowly, the overstimulation strong as she trembled slightly. She knew you were terribly overstimulated too with the way your legs were shaking. 

She watched as the both of your combined juices leak out of your cunt, a little bit of it landing on the floor as she fingered it back into you, making you moan once more. 

You rested your forehead against the door in front of you before slowly turning around to face Natasha, all while still leaning on the door. Natasha had always been a beautiful sight, especially now. 

Her hair was slightly tousled up, her cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red, her lips were smudged off of her lipstick, and her eyes held a deep softness and slight lust in them. You could always get lost in Natasha’s gorgeous eyes any day.

“Natasha, I just want to ask if this will mean anything to you. I wouldn’t want to have you like this with it not meaning anything.” You ask in a soft whisper, afraid of hearing the answer you dreaded the most.

Natasha saw the genuine sadness in your eyes as you whispered the question, the sight made her heart crack. It took her a second to respond as she gathered her words.

“I’ve loved you ever since Steve showed up with you in the living room. I always hoped that you returned those feelings I had for you. What happened between us right now, means everything to me, Y/n.” Natasha spoke softly, as if she were going to break a porcelain doll if she was any louder.

“I love you too, Nat. So much” You admit, walking up to Natasha and instantly closing the distance between you both. The kiss wasn’t lust filled at all, it was full of love and passion, something that you and Natasha always had for each other.

[marvelfilth]

Torn (18+)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader, Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Warnings: set during AoA, kryptonian!reader, love triangle, established Natasha x reader - fwb situation, somewhat toxic!Natasha, smut, violence, jealousy

Summary: after your home planet is destroyed, you find a new home in Asgard, but when your brother brings you along to Earth, you find more trouble than you expected.

Masterlist

"F-fuck, Y/n. Right there… Yes." The woman below you pants in your ear, nails scraping down your back to grip your butt possessively.

Your hips move faster, deeper with each thrust, making her moan. "You could've told me you were coming back today," you grunt.

She digs her nails into your skin and you hiss in annoyance, slapping her inner thigh. "Do that one more time and I'm not fucking you for a week."

The spy lets out a throaty laugh that turns into a scream when your thrusts suddenly become harsh and uncoordinated, your hands pressing down her hips. Her tits bounce with each push, her perky nipples begging for attention. You look up to her tear stricken face, enjoying the sight of her reddened cheeks and bleeding lips.

"It was- fuck… u-undercover," she's breathless, stuttering, "... secret," she manages at last, pulling your face down to her breasts, knowing you still have something to say.

You're annoyed and maybe a little bit hurt, but you still let her guide you, eagerly sucking on the tender skin, grazing her nipples with your teeth.

Maybe she'll finally agree to talk to you after.

She comes with a stifled cry, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and gets up as soon as her body stops shaking.

You have a lot of things to say, but your mouth is suddenly too dry and your throat too hoarse, so you sit on the edge of your bed and watch her dress.

"Thank you," she kisses you on the corner of your mouth, lingering, nose nuzzling against yours when she pulls away.

She looks reluctant to leave and you hope she doesn't.

The door clicks shut on her way out.

×××

"No daydreaming on the mission briefings." Clint snaps his fingers in front of your face, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blink, eyes refocusing to see everyone staring at you in question.

"What?" You ask, shifting in your seat.

"Stark wants to know if you like your new suit," Natasha asks with a smirk on her face.

You look up at the screen in front of the room and there it is - yet another heavily modified piece of clothing you undoubtedly going to destroy on your next mission.

You can admit it looks better than the previous one, the red is much deeper and the blue is not as obnoxious, but they still clash, not coming together as seamlessly as the one you wore back home, but that's the best Stark can offer and you're thankful he's even trying, so you nod in appreciation and send him a grateful smile.

"Think this one will fall apart mid flight?" Thor teases, reminding you of one of your most embarrassing moments.

It happened when you first joined the team. Tony made you wear a suit he made, claiming it was good to match with the team, so you've listened to make him happy and fit in better. It's a good thing you wore your underwear from Asgard that day.

"Now that it's settled we should move on to the purpose of this briefing," Steve waited until he had everyone's attention before continuing, "now that Thor is finally here we can finally take back the Scepter…" he continues with the details and you easily tune him out, focusing on the redhead woman across from you instead.

The corner of her lip is still quirked up, her eyes trained on Steve as he gestures to the map on the screen behind him. You look down at your hands on the table, fiddling with your thumbs.

You wish you were better at reading humans.

“You okay?” Clint leans into your side to whisper discreetly.

You nod, managing a convincing smile. “Didn't get much sleep is all.”

He glances at Natasha not so subtly, his brows furrowing. You think he's the only one who knows about the two of you, or, at least, he suspects.

“You know what you're doing, right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, not knowing at all.

×××

You're hovering over the base, looking through the walls for Scepter, when you first see her.

The girl looks about your age, you think, maybe a little younger, and she is busy talking to a silver haired man. They look too out of place, dressed like high schoolers and unbothered by the attack. You frown when the girl whispers a quiet "take care of the big guy" to the boy, your mouth dropping open in shock when he runs almost fast enough to go unnoticed by you. Almost.

Deciding it's your time to intervene you warn the team before landing in front of the back entrance, eyes trained on the girl behind the door. You don't know what she's capable of and you find yourself intrigued. The door opens with a squeak and you wince, mutterings a curse under your breath.

She's out of sight by the time you enter, but you can still hear her erratic heartbeat.

"Come out," you say, tilting your head to the right. You heard enough to know she's hiding in the shadow.

You hear her gulp before she steps into your field of view, her shoulder grazing yours as she comes to stand in front of you.

She is beautiful, you think, taking note of redness in her pupils.

"You know who we are," you wait for her to nod before continuing, "you can come with me." You offer your hand, palm up, and wait for her to decide.

She scoffs and her eyes turn redder. "What makes you think I want to?" There's red around her fingers now and you find yourself curious to find out what she can do.

You smile. "You will come with us one way or another. I'd prefer not to hurt you."

You realise your mistake as soon as the words leave your mouth.

Suddenly, there's red everywhere and you're out of the building, flying through the door to the other end of the backyard. You feel a pressing weight on your chest, and when you look down you see red wisps enveloping your body, keeping you pinned to the ground.

You look up when a shadow falls on your face.

She crouches with a smirk planted on her smug face, and moves your hair out of your face. "You can come with me," she offers, mirth in her eyes and you let out a breathless laugh, closing your eyes and tilting your head back.

"I'm afraid I have to say no," you whisper after a moment, strangely content at the mercy of your enemy.

She hums, waving her hand over you and you feel the weight disappear.

When you open your eyes she's no longer there.

×××

"You just let her go?" Natasha asks later that night, her head nestled on your chest after hours of hiding her moans in a pillow as you pounded into her.

You snort. "She's a witch, Nat, I don't think I can keep up with magic."

She lifts her head to look at you, eyes searching for something you're not even aware of. "You're the fastest person on this planet. Faster than her brother, and certainly faster than her."

You look away, closing your eyes in embarrassment. You didn't even think about your speed when you faced the witch.

You feel her get up from bed, and you open your eyes, reaching for her, "Natasha- " Her eyes flash, and you close your mouth.

She shakes her head. "She distracted you. And you let her go," she huffs and bends down to pick up her panties.

You get up and catch her wrist. "Can you tell me what's going on?" You ask, searching her eyes for an answer, but you're an alien and she's the best spy in the world so you're left even more confused.

She opens her mouth for a split second before snapping it shut. She pulls away and puts on a shirt before finally speaking, "I saw the footage."

You frown.

"Didn't know it only takes a little flirting and a pretty face to make you let an enemy go," she hisses through clenched teeth.

Your mouth drops open in shock.

"Are you-" you let out a breathless chuckle at the mere thought before finally getting yourself together, "are you jealous?"

You can hear her jaw grinding, can hear her nails dig into the soft skin of her palm.

And yet, you still can't believe what she just said.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, Natasha," you say, and a split second later you're dressed and out in the nearby field, searing up towards the sky.

You don't see her falling back into the pillow you layed on mere seconds ago, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

×××

There's a party the next day, and a part of you just wants to hop in your pod and disappear in the depths of space.

Another part of you wants to see Natasha happy and content, basking in the warmth of your arms. You know she'll never allow anyone to know about the two of you, but still, hope blossoms in your chest when you first see her go down the stairs. She moves right past you towards the bar, and you see Banner approach her with a nervous smile. His flirting is awkward and you pity the man, awaiting Natasha's response.

She flirts back.

"So… You and Romanoff?" Steve comes to stand beside you, smiling his fatherly smile, and you fight the urge to run away.

"You should tell her," he presses on, "she's not the most open person in the world, but from what I know about her, I think… there's a good chance for the two of you to be happy."

You've told her.

She doesn't like you back.

You shoot him a quick, awkward smile. "I'll think about it."

He nods, satisfied and walks up to the pair, his eyes widening when he overhears the last bit of their conversation. He winces and looks back at you, knowing you probably heard it all by now.

You shake your head at the concerned look he sends your way, and walk to sit on the couch, closing your eyes for a moment, letting your hearing go wild, listening in on an argument on the other side of the city, anything to remove yourself from this situation. The argument doesn't last too long, the engaged pair making up not even ten minutes later and you move your attention back to the party.

When you open your eyes Thor is sitting beside you, daring Clint to pick up his hammer. You sit up straighter, curious to see where it might go.

"Everyone knows it's some kind of a trick." His fingers wrap around the handle, but the hammer doesn't move an inch, much to the archers embarrassment.

Tony appears seemingly out of nowhere to make fun of Barton and you join in on the laughter, enjoying the rare moment of happiness, momentarily forgetting about your not so fun predicament.

Thor winks at you, enjoying this way more than he probably should, and hands you a bottle of Asgardian beer.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Natasha join your little game, Steve hot on her heels. She looks a little out of place, eyes laced with uncertainty when she sees an empty spot by your side. With a slight push from Steve she sits, careful not to touch you.

Banner is left standing a few feet away.

"It's simple physics," Tony grins, attempting to lift the weapon. His eyes narrow when it stays in its spot.

You rub your eyes when he decides to embarrass himself even further, calling Rhodes for backup and putting on his suit. The ridiculous game goes on, and Steve decides to try, you don't bother to watch, but then you hear metal scraping against the fine wood of the coffee table. Your head snaps up to look at Thor and immediately you know he heard it too, his eyes going comically wide for a split second before closing in relief when Steve doesn't pull harder, letting the hammer stay in its place.

"Natasha?" Banner nudges the redhead.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your bear. You want to go and finish the drink in the solitary of your room, maybe let out a few tears, but you promised Thor you'd stay until the very end, knowing he's set to leave in a few short days.

"I don't want to know the answer to that question," she says before taking a sip of her beer.

"Y/n?" Thor invites you to try, but you shake your head no, an excuse already on your tongue when you first hear it.

The screeching is loud enough to hurt humans, but to your enhanced hearing it's pure torture. You fall to the floor, covering your ears, letting out a silent cry and Natasha is by your side immediately, pressing you into her side, trying to ground your hearing. You hiss in pain, your head feels like it's being slit open, and you think Natasha is saying something, but you can't focus on a single thing.

The next second you feel her lips against yours and the sound is gone, replaced by Natashas frantic heartbeat.

"Focus on me, baby, come on," Natasha whispers against your lips, words barely audible. You nod, trying to regain your senses.

Her kisses move lower to your chin, then to your jaw, her fingers skimping under the hem of your shirt, setting the skin of your lower stomach on fire.

"Stay with me, baby," she mumbles in your ear.

There's a fight going on around you, robots flying around destroying everything in sight, but the only thing you see is Natasha's glistening eyes as she pulls away to check on you.

Then she's pulling you up and out of the room, narrowly missing a piece of metal flying her way, your eyes flicker around and you stop in your tracks, ready to join the fight and end it in seconds, but then there's a tug on your hand.

"They'll handle it. Let me take care of you."

You nod, feeling hope blossom in your chest.

Maybe Steve's right.

×××

They handled it and now you're off to Africa, getting ready to fight a villainous robot made of vibranium. The jet is weirdly silent - Tony's sulking in the corner, unusually quiet, Steve stares him down from his seat, jaw grinding in annoyance and you wonder what happened after Natasha led you to her room. You tried to pry away, ready to run back and join on the planning, but she didn't budge, staring you down until you relented and fell against the sheets, her fingers making quick works of your belt buckle.

Now though, she's back to acting like she doesn't care, her eyes trained on the skyline and you can't even pretend you aren't hurt.

"We are close," you warn the team, already searching for the target. Your eyes lock on the pair talking to Ultron. "The twins are there, on the second floor, talking to Ultron. We need to hurry."

Natasha looks at you for the first time since you boarded the jet. "Stay away from the witch. We'll handle her."

You scoff at her tone, mildly pissed at her bossing you around. "You're ordering me around now?" you force through gritted teeth.

Her eyes narrow and she looks like she wants to say more, but Tony pushes her out of the way to jump out of the jet, Thor and Steve following right behind him, and she's left glaring daggers at your back as you hurry along.

You look for the witch the moment you land.

She's easy to find, hiding in the shadows, waiting for a perfect moment to strike, while her brother runs around wrecking havoc.

"Little witch," you call out, startling her enough to make her jump up.

Her eyes flash in annoyance, but the second she sees it's you her lips stretch in a one sided smile. "I have a name, you know."

You nod, your lips stretching into a full blown grin. You remember how your last conversation ended, but you don't care much about the possibility of her hurting you.

"I won't," she says, like she just read your mind.

You suppose she might have, she is a witch after all.

She shakes her head, letting out a huff of laughter, "There's a lot of things I can do," her eyes flash dangerously, her smile now with a hint of malice, "make sure not to cross me." She winks and turns just in time to step out of her brother's way.

You blink, cursing yourself for getting so distracted again, and dart after her brother. It is an easy ordeal, and mere seconds later you have him pinned to the ground.

"You really should let me go," he grunts against the concrete, wiggling against your hold.

"I am an alien, not an idiot," you scoff, easing your hold on him just a little.

He stills for a moment, craning his neck to take a look at you, "An alien?"

His eyes are full of wonder, and suddenly you're reminded that the two of them are young, the same age you were when you first stepped foot on Earth.

You sigh, looking around for a cage of some sort or a piece of metal to bend around the runner.

"Why are you helping them?" He asks, wonder replaced by anger. "Do you know what he did?"

There it is. An old basement with a bulletproof door.

"Making a bomb and launching it at civilians are two very different things, you know?" You quip and his eyes flash in indignation, but before he can start his rant you push him inside, locking the door and bending the metal for a good measure.

"He did some shitty things in the past, but at least he never joined the Nazis."

You walk away, painfully aware of the truth in your words. Now that you've said it out loud you're faced with the fact that the witch you've grown to like just after two short interactions is not a good person.

Shaking your head you make your way up, one down, two to go. You squint in the dark, trying to spot Ultron, but he's nowhere to be found and neither is Tony, so you mentally brace yourself to face the witch again, but the second you step on the landing you see Thor's slumped form.

"Hey!" You shake his shoulders and slap his face for good measure and his eyes open. He's blinking rapidly, like he just woke up from a long nap, his eyes glossed over.

"Y/n!" He whispers feverishly, and pulls you in a bone crushing hug. "You're okay, of course you're okay. That witch. She warped my mind," he pants, pushing you away, "You need to make sure everyone else is okay."

You look him over, and once you're sure he's not hurt you nod, pulling him up to his feet, and take off in the direction of Natasha's heartbeat.

You stop in your tracks as soon as your eyes fall on the trembling woman. Tears stream down her face, but her eyes are focused on the floor, unblinking. She doesn't move when Clint presses her into his side, doesn't flinch when he hauls her up to her feet, but when her eyes register you she jumps as if burned, clutching at Clint.

You take a step closer, your own eyes watering, but she looks like she might throw up if you move any closer.

Clint sends you a look and shakes his head, mouthing, "I've got her."

She limps past you, shaking so violently you're sure even a human can notice.

They move past you and suddenly all you see is red.

Moving faster than the speed of light you have the witch pressed against the wall, her fingers clutched in your vice grip.

She looks up, her eyes wide and terrified.

Good, you think.

"What did you do to her?" You growl in her face, pushing her into the wall with your whole body.

No way you'll let her escape this time.

Her throat constricts. "I- Her biggest fear. I showed her her biggest fear." She sinks her body against the wall, trying to wrangle her hands out of your grip. Her heart is thrumming violently and you can't tell if the tiny skip of a beat is a result of her fear or her lie.

"She'll be fine in a few hours, I swear." Her eyes lock with yours, so unbelievably green, and you feel yourself slipping away. "Just let me go," she asks, pushing her body forwards, her fingers slipping away from your hold. Her face tilts forward until your lips are almost touching. “Let me go,” she whispers. You don't see the wisps of her magic swirl around her fingers, too focused on the way her lips move. Too many thoughts swarm your brain, but you find yourself focusing on one. You want her to close the gap.

"That's right, you want me to kiss you." Her lips almost brush against yours in a gentle peck. Your grip on her weakens completely and you're enveloped in her arms. Suddenly, she's everywhere. In your arms, in your head, in your heart. "I'm sorry about this," she whispers before pushing you off the ledge.

There's red everywhere and you find yourself falling and falling…

…and falling until your back hits the ground with a painful thud.

"Y/n! Get up. Come on." Your father helps you up, tilting your head to check the injury, but you can't focus on his face, all you can see is purple.

The planet under your feet rumbles, splitting open yet again, making your father forget about tending to your bloodied forehead in favor of hauling you up over his shoulder.

"No." You push against his shoulders when you finally realize where he's taking you. "No! I'm staying with you," you cry out, wiping the tears out of your eyes.

The sight in front of you is a nightmare. A sick, deranged nightmare. You can see the man responsible for this hold up the purple stone higher in the air, another powerful wave destroying everything in its wake.

"We have to fight, dad! We have to stop him! What about mom?!" You scream until your throat hurts, but your father doesn't budge, pushing you through double doors leading to the pods.

"We will fight," he promises, putting you down. "But you… you're destined for greatness, my child. You can't die fighting a losing battle." He places a kiss on your temple, pushing a syringe into your side.

You stare at him in betrayal, fighting against him with all your might, but your limbs get too heavy and your eyes start closing on their own.

You're pushed in the pod and your father types coordinates for Asgard. "They'll treat you as their own," he chokes, trying to fight tears, "I love you, my sweet girl."

"Y/n!"

You sit up, gasping for breath, eyes darting around the room.

"Y/n, a little help!"

Tony's voice sounds from your comms and you shudder.

"I can't-" you sob, looking around you, searching for the witch, but she's long gone, and all you can do is sit in the dark and hope someone will come and get you.

"I don't know what you saw there, kid, but our green friend might chew me up any second now. I really need you," he pleads.

Your hands shake and your legs tremble as you stand up, forcing the memory to the back of your mind. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall and tear through the roof, unaware of a pair of eyes watching you leave.

[thenatashamaximoff]

Not All Birds Fly; The Collection

Summary: Sometimes, denying the truth is easier than accepting it, but how far are you willing to go to live a peaceful life when she no longer exists?

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, blood

Total words: 13,991

Status: in progress

you do not have permission to repost/translate my work or claim them as your own.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3