#htwswy

[avifaunaa]

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt.2 ]

AUTHORS NOTE: the amount of likes i got on chapter one blew my mind. i'm glad you guys enjoy it enough to have liked / reblogged! i'm still considerably new to writing on tumblr so i'm really happy with what i've been getting thus far! i hope you like this second part!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has mastered the art of falling in love . . . she thinks. Having graduated with a shiny new degree and on your way to work with Tony in his labs, she was closer to you than ever. When an important mission pulls her away it leaves you both realizing how incredibly important it is that you don't skip the little moments you get.

Content Warnings: Mild angst, fluff, overabundance of Natasha being soft, reader referred to with she/her pronouns, smut, top!nat and bottom!reader, fingering [ n and r receiving ], MILD dumbification, MILD dedragation [ r receiving ] strap-on use [ r!receiving ], praise [ r!receiving ], hair-pulling, some finger-sucking

Word Count: ~7.7k

Natasha thinks you like Yelena.

That was her hope, anyway, when she asked her little sister to come finally meet the woman who had caught her eye and managed to peel her open and get even her most buried away memories and desires to be expressed in just a few short months.

It was a few days before you big day as Yelena sat across from Nat, sprawled across an armchair like an unruly child with legs spread open and propped over the legs. She chose where so sit this time despite Nat glancing longingly at her table.

She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace diagonal to her sister's armchair instead. She drank something strawberry-flavored today, a seasonal drink to draw in customers despite the business that the shop never seemed to lose.

She thinks you'd like it -- she hated it.

"So, you drag me here," the braided blonde begins, licking whipped cream off of her cold drink. Then proceeds to stick her finger inside to get more.

"Yelena that's disgusting."

"Who else is drinking this? Huh?" A perfectly arched eyebrow raised at her. "Is there a law against being disgusting? Pah." She popped her fingers in her mouth. "You are rude for interrupting me."

Natasha's eyes float up to the ceiling. Would Melina mind all that much if she killed Yelena?

She believes Alexi would be proud of her.

"As I was saying," the former Widow continued when Natasha did not speak, taking her silence as encouragement, "you drag me here and give me fattening sugary American drinks."

"I figured you'd like it," Natasha said, drink abandoned as she rests her hand on the armchair of the couch. "You eat nothing but Kraft. I try to get you other brands and you threaten to shoot me."

"Because the other brands are cardboard covered in plastic cheese!" Yelena threw her arms up, coffee still in hand, and uncrossed her legs to sit up rightly. "Nat I will never forgive you for trying to trick me into these poor excuses of mac-n-cheese. Truly. I know the difference. I am an assassin."

"Of store bought goods?"

Yelena scowled at her and used her straw to flick whipped cream in Nat's direction. The glob landed sadly on the couch cushion instead of where Yelena likely aimed: her forehead.

"Damn," the younger of the two whispered, stabbing her straw back into place.

"Clean that up," Natasha ordered, gesturing to the napkins left out for patrons on the coffee table.

"Yes mom," Yelena grumbles, but did it anyway and sniffed after a minute of sipping her drink like a scolded toddler. "You were right. This is a very delicious drink."

"How hard was it for you to admit that?"

"Very. But we have gotten off the topic of why you dragged me here and I know it is not just for this as much as I wish it was."

Natasha had to hand it to Yelena for her observance. The two of them were the Red Room's most prized creations of differing generations of Widows but both had been given the same end goal and similar orders at the end of the day.

Her sister was impulsive and quick to jump the gun -- but it normally worked in her favor and could be better in certain situations where Natasha's tendency to react more strategically may be too slow for some situations.

She tapped her index fingers together. "I am seeing someone. Someone who is important to me and I think I could find happiness with her if I continue to undo everything our upbringing has taught us."

Whatever Yelena had been expecting her to announce, it sure as hell wasn't that. The blonde adverted her eyes momentarily either in bafflement or incredulity before masking herself up with a sly smirk.

"Her?" Yelena purred, placing her cup on the side table separating them. "You've really been discovering yourself, haven't you, Sestra?"

"Suka," Natasha shot back, feeling the weight begin to lift off of her chest. She was worried for Yelena's response -- she didn't know if she expected disgust, anger, maybe doubt?

"We are not built for the type of relationships she might seek from you," Yelena finally says, her accent thickening with concern as she struggled not to regress into Russian to speak to Nat. "What have you told her . . . about everything?"

Natasha cupped her own chin with her hand and rested her elbow on the armrest. "Very little, but enough to paint her a picture that tells her it was an evil childhood. I am sure she did some searches on me and read whatever she found and if she did it did not seem to scare her off."

"You could hurt her."

A thorn struck at Natasha's heart. Yelena was truthful in all accounts, and she expected no lies or sugar-coated warnings from her and never would have in the first place. But it still hurt to hear Yelena have expressed what Natasha feared.

"I know," was all she replied, gaze turning to the weak fire in the fireplace.

"Or she could . . . hurt you very badly."

"That's always been a possibility, yes."

Yelena was silent for a moment. The two of them watched the fire as it crackled and attempted to keep itself alive with so little to work on.

"You like her very much," Yelena said -- not asked.

"I do," Natasha admitted and found her throat dry when she swallowed back everything she wanted to say.

Yelena nodded a couple of times, soaking in the words and reading the tone seeped within them. Then, "I will have to kill her very slowly if she makes you cry."

Natasha sniffled, watery eyes turning to her as a laugh broke from her chest.

Natasha watched you walk off the stage and she would not cry. But Gods — the pride she felt as she saw you stride with confidence was absolutely everything and more to her.

Kate had reached out to her and invited her to attend around the same time you had. Natasha had decided to surprise you and made up a quick lie by telling you she would be on a mission.

You were saddened but when she almost broke and ruined her and Kate’s plan, you and promised her that it was okay: everything else after would make up for it.

And now you were crying in her arms as her fingers ran through your silky hair, done beautifully for your day. Your introduction to Yelena was hilarious to her but that was something to look back on later.

Now the four of you sat in Kate’s hotel room. You were curled up tightly against Natasha freshly showered and dressed in one of her hoodies. Yelena and Kate were arguing about what movie to watch and Natasha had to intervene when Yelena pulled out her gun and slammed it on the table in the corner.

“I think I have the final say. We watch Brother Bear,” Yelena said, palm splayed on top of the weapon like it was nothing more than a trading card.

Kate stared at the gun, then at Yelena, then yelled, “Why the fuck are you carrying around a gun like a crazed woman? Like seriously? What the fuck?”

“You’re welcome if someone attacks us and I so happen to have the gun,” the blonde snarked back, nose wrinkling with frustration.

Kate threw her hands in the air then turned to you. “Dude — she just — did you see that?”

You blinked sleepily and were jerked out of Natasha’s warm embrace as the redhead suddenly got up and grabbed Yelena by the scruff. “Ow! Suka! What do you think you are doing?” She yowled as Natasha drags her over to the second bed.

Natasha flings the flailing woman down and crosses her arms. You sit upright and glare at Kate, who went from smirking to abashed at your gaze on her.

“Both of you are being childish,” Natasha said, striding back to the table and snatching the gun. She unloads it and packs the bullets and gun away in her bag. “Yelena that was first year shit you did, pulling your gun out and flashing it.”

Yelena flushed red and crossed her arms, pouting on the bed. “I do not like Finding Nemo. It is sad but not the good kind of sad.”

“Brother Bear is sadder!” Kate exclaims as she walks over and flops face first down next to Yelena.

“But there is vicious bears in it. That makes it fun again. Finding Nemo is just said.”

Natasha retakes her spot next to you, slinging an arm around you and pulling you in tight. “Well tough luck. I think we’re going to go with Spirited Away instead.”

You perked up at the suggestion as Nat worked on logging into the streaming service that offered the movie.

“What is that?” Yelena asked, scooting upward by the pillows and flinging her legs downward so that they landed hard on Kate’s back.

The brunette yelped out, shoving Yelena’s legs and sitting upright with an icy glare.

“Only the best movie ever,” you whispered as you stared up at Natasha covetedly in adoration.

Yelena kept demanding the movie be paused so she could ask questions about it. Anytime Natasha tried to answer, the blonde shushed her and waited for you to explain instead.

You explained patiently for her until the younger Russian was pleased and allowed the movie to continue.

Eventually you all — sans Natasha — fell asleep.

You got breakfast together at one your favorite places in town near campus and by then you and Yelena had developed a closer bond. She asked more about Spirited Away and if it had a sequel.

“I wish,” you groaned, flopping back in the booth dramatically as Kate patted your knee next to you. “The studio that made it though . . . It makes really good movies besides that one. I should show all of them to you.”

“Oh now you’ve done it,” Kate chirped and dug into her breakfast burrito without explaining further.

Yelena waves her off like a gnat. “I’d love to watch these movies with you if it means Kate Bishop will suffer.”

Kate’s head jerked up so quick, indignant and puffy in the chest. “First of all,” she said, echoing you from yesterday as she pointed a tater tot at the offender across from her, “I need you to go jump off a building immediately.”

“Did that. Hated it,” she shot back quickly in a bored tone despite the mischief that gleamed on her features. “What is your second of all.”

“Second of all,” Kate continued, then stopped. She blinked as Yelena’s shit-eating grin grew slowly, “Fuck you.”

Yelena gasped. “Kate Bishop how could you — why —“ she went on acting as if she were taken aback beyond fixing.

You and Natasha found each other’s eyes over your meals and you noticed the look in her eyes mirrored how engorged your heart felt in this moment.

Natasha was true to her word. You got an interview offer from Stark Industries — sent and signed by Tony Stark himself. It was about three weeks after your graduation and move back to New York which was entirely unexpected so soon.

It was early and you had slipped out of the warmth that Natasha exuded like a space heater. Dawn was making an entrance into your bedroom and you turned to look at your sleeping girlfriend through hooded eyes.

She looked so peaceful as she slept — and it was her time sleeping over at that. Her hesitance to do so had led to a necessary conversation as you tried to avoid pushing her too hard.

“I get night terrors sometimes,” she told you as she sat across from you on the bed and you leaned against the wall. “And not just . . . Not ones you see when you look up the signs on the Internet. Mine can be violent.”

You noticed how low her body was haunched as she made her confession to you, hands rubbing against each other and eyes avoiding yours.

“Nat.” Her gaze flicks to you as you push off the wall and get to your knees in front of her. “Do you think you could hurt me? Are they that often?”

She curled a strand of your hair around her finger. She treated you so delicately at times and it pissed you off to no end that there was a reason for it and you couldn’t fix it.

“They’re not often,” she comments while basking in your comfort offered to her. Being with you had made her realize that her touch-aversion was some form of touch-starvation if the person was right. She always seemed to be in contact with you if she could help it.

“Okay,” you finalized, standing up and resting a hand on her cheek. “Then why are you worried? If you have a terror while we’re together — we can make a plan so I can handle it properly. Or we learn as we go.” She then swallowed. “But if you . . . If you’re not comfortable . . .”

“I do,” she promised, leaning into your palm. “I’m just very worried. Hurting you is not something I could ever let myself live with.”

You ran a thumb down her cheekbone. “Then let’s try together. Slowly. Until you feel like that fear is no longer something realistic.”

She stayed over that night and has done so increasingly since. She hadn’t had a mission since before your graduation and she told you to expect her to be pulled at any second.

You took what you could get with Nat — time was precious and she gave you so much of herself.

A chill ran up your spine when the warmth of your bed and Nat’s hold escaped you; you quickly went to your closet to grab your thick and too-large robe and slip it on along with your sandals.

You kissed Natasha’s temple as you grabbed your apartment and mail key and headed out downstairs to where the front desk was already in to retrieve mail forgotten from this week.

You start flipping through it on your way up, pushing the button to your floor and inserting the key to allow it through.

It was mostly junk mail, a couple of offers for interviews at tech companies, and some reminders about returning her dorm keys. You already did.

The elevator dings open for you on your floor and you do not even look up as you continue flipping through. How much mail do you forget to grab?

You listen for the elevator doors to shut behind you and stopped halfway in your tracks when you flipped one of your bills to discover the white envelope with the large STARK INDUSTRIES stamped on the corner and your full fucking name and address on the front.

“Oh my fucking god,” you burst out in a high pitched scream, slamming the stack of unread mail onto the corner of your dining room table where it proceeded to spill onto the hardwood.

Care you did not — your mind was on one thing: showing your girlfriend this piece of news that was going to change your life. You scrambled on sock-clad feet across the hardwood to your bedroom, trying not to knock into corner walls.

Natasha had startled awake at your scream up and hair askew as she pulled out her gun from her pants in the middle of the floor, eyes frenzied and blurred from sleep.

You stopped in your doorway and she stopped too, gun lowered to the floor. You were practically vibrating where you stood, the early dawn sunlight that filtered into your apartment’s windows painting a beautiful portrait Natasha wanted on her walls.

“You scared me,” Natasha breathed as her body relaxed, thumping heart still loud against her chest. She shakily set the gun on the nightstand behind her. “What’s got you screeching like an injured creature, Malyshka?”

You beamed at her with excitement that was damn near contagious, scooting forward on your feet and jerking your arms out quickly with whatever you had in your hands as close to her face as you could get.

The absurdity of the entire show you were putting on in your glee was peaking her curiosity. So Natasha took your wrists in her hands and gently pushing them back about three inches from her face so she could see what it was. “Easy, my love. I need to be able to actually look at it.”

You said nothing back but kept that ear to ear grin and flushed excitement about you which read to your girlfriend that it was very good whatever it was you were bringing to her.

She focused on the envelope in your hands and steadied your grasp to ease the shaking. When her eyes scanned the words across the envelope, a slow grin of her own started creeping up on her face and she lowered your arms.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked you proudly.

You glanced at the letter, then at her, then bit your lip. “I want to, yes. But more than that . . . I really wanna kiss you.”

Natasha smirked. “I should maybe be concerned that a letter from Stark gets you so affectionate, huh?” But she cups your cheeks and brings you in for a kiss anyways, sharing your excitement with you.

The interview took place at the Avengers Compound. Over the phone, Pepper Potts explained to you that you’d likely be working closely to the Avengers and thus with Tony. Where he went you would go. You were fine with that as long as you had access to the labs and could get your hands working.

Natasha was the one to drive you to the in-person interview once your background check came through clean. She was already someone with complete access and Tony wouldn’t have to send Happy or Pepper and increase your anxiety by sitting in silence.

Natasha knew how to filter out the nerves by keeping you occupied. She discussed the features of the Compound with you, and she mentions that you’ll finally get to meet her cat Liho who she’s been discussing in great detail to about you.

You had squeezed her hand and kissed the back of it before you were separated for the interview.

Tony liked you — maybe? You couldn’t tell through his highly-caffeinated, long-winded tour once you sped through the interview with him.

He had asked you mostly engineering questions . . . Oddly enough. No, “where do you see yourself in the next five years? What starting pay is best? What hours do you see working the most?”

“It’s all bullshit,” he said to you, leaning across his office desk with furrowed brows. “I plan on paying you your worth and if you’re as dedicated as you say you are, you’ll have trouble leaving the lab to sleep. And you’ll stay because I am the best there is in terms of what you want to do.”

He clocked it — but you shouldn’t have been entirely surprised. Money wasn’t much to him materially and he sat you down in the lab and watched as you began tinkering with things and babbling about their use.

He hired you within two hours.

Natasha, however, had to come hunt you down by seven at night. She found you and Tony buried into one of his suit’s arms as he was explaining the workings to you and what made it run.

“Agent Romanoff requests entrance, Mr. Stark. Shall I let her in?”

The voice above scared you. You jumped and admittingly almost twisted a wire or two. Tony scratched his chin and said, “I guess I should’ve told you about FRIDAY. That’s FRIDAY. She’s a good friend.”

“Thank you.”

“What is she?” You wondered. There was no indication of another person or even an intercom in the room.

“She’s an artificial intelligence I developed after Wanda’s husband decided he wanted to be a real boy,” the genius replied, leaning against the table to stare down at you. “She makes our lives a little easier but if you don’t want have an extesinal crisis I’d stay away from asking her if she has feelings.”

“Mr. Stark —“ the womanized AI started again, but Tony cut it off.

“Let Romanoff in. Let’s see what I’m in trouble for this time.”

The doors slid open with nothing more than a whisper and your girlfriend strides in. Her hair is up in a ponytail and she looks like she just got done doing something active. You let your eyes graze over her.

“Are you done hogging my girlfriend now, Stark?” Natasha questioned, rounding the workbench to look down at what had you so fascinated for hours.

“I suppose,” Tony said gloomily. “But don’t keep her away too long. I hired her and plan on squeezing her brain of all its important juices.”

Natasha leaned forward over your shoulder to kiss your cheek. Then she quirked a brow at Tony. “Juices stay in her brain or I’ll fuck up your suits.”

“Who makes your Widow Bites, again?”

Natasha pointed a steady finger in his direction. “Don’t test me, playboy.”

“You forgot the rest of the title.”

Natasha ignored him and leaned back down, kissing your cheeks in peppered pecks. The actions forced you to set down your tools and lean into her. “What’ve you been here doing, my love?”

“Mr. Stark is showing me how he makes his suits work and how else that technology can be used,” you told her, turning around on the stool to face her. You grin up at her, a twinkle bright in your eye. “This is so important and . . . God, Nat. I love this. Thank you.”

“Thank her?” Tony protests nearby, a clatter of objects following. “I cannot believe —“

You glance his way but Natasha puts a finger under your chin. “I’m glad your dream is coming to fruition, Malyshka,” she said, green eyes soft. “Would you like to spend the night?”

You stared up at her wide eyed. “Really? With you?”

Natasha’s answering smile was practically feral.

“Get out of my lab,” Tony grumbled. “And don’t come back until you’re decent tomorrow morning. With coffee!”

It’s been a year and you don’t think you could have made a career this successful this quickly. Not without the support of Natasha [ who insisted you could’ve done it anyway ].

But right now you were exhausted and more than anything felt like you needed a vacation. You had time built up waiting to be used but in the year you’ve been working at the Compound, no time felt right.

Natasha had gotten as busy as you not long after you started with missions that she would come home from bloodied and bruised. Patching her up was scarier than her leaving sometimes because you couldn’t tell which injuries were surface and which ones needed the keen eye of Doctor Cho.

You’d been stuck in the lab the last week and Natasha had left a month ago. She had found Wanda Maximoff — the Scarlett Witch who fell in love with Vision but ultimately lost him to Thanos as a sacrifice to save everyone else.

Natasha had looked at you grimly when she told you it was an undercover operation. You were confused, “Aren’t you sort of friends?”

“Yes, which might make it all the more volatile, sadly. She has taken a town under her control and Sam and I are both being sent in.” She leaned down to kiss you but you pulled back.

“A town? That’s . . . That sounds like a lot of power, Nat,” you whisper, uneasiness settling inside your gut. “Are you sure that it’s safe to go in?”

“It’s not safe,” she says slowly, gently. “But Wanda is my friend as you said and she is hurting but she’s lashing out at innocent people in response. It will look better from people she knows to break her from it than S.W.O.R.D. marching in. She is not on good terms with them.”

“I see.” You looked down at her suit and adjusted some things, fiddling mostly. She allowed you to do so even if nothing was really wrong with it. “Are your Widow Bites charged?”

“They could take down a bear,” she promised, then kissed you. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“We’re taking a vacation,” you told her firmly. “I’ll ask Tony when you get back. He won’t protest . . . Much.”

Natasha smirks. “If he does, I’ll kick his ass.”

You watched her and Sam board the Quinjet already missing her. Once the aircraft was out of sight was when you dug yourself back into your work. Tony didn’t ask, but he would force more breaks on you that he didn’t give himself.

Sleeping by yourself had become a lonely affair without Nat; though you did have her ever-watchful companion of the night. Liho cuddled nicely most nights as long as you fed her on time. She was a good motivator to get out of the lab by seven at the latest.

Two months without Natasha and not a peep from her has you hyper focused on anything but her. You designed a new technology you hoped could enable pipes in some countries to not need replacement as much, and keep water fresh with auto-testers.

It was still a work in progress and Tony was not shy to peek over your shoulder and cross out when something wouldn’t work in his eyes — and usually he was right when you got to the phase where you created a prototype.

“Kid.” A rough hand landed on your shoulder. You jolted slightly, spilling screws and bolts and whatever else you had collected onto the floor around you.

“Fuck.” Your hand carded through your hair, messy from a day of non-stop work. “Sorry, Tony. I’ll pick it up. Just —“

“FRIDAY can get it,” he said just as a specialized roomba came humming out from a miniature doorway in the corner and started cleaning up the mess. “It’s like ten PM, kid. Go to your rooms.”

“I fed Liho already,” you murmured, picking at your thumb with your index finger as you went over your fifth blueprint. “She’s fine.”

“Not talking about the cat.”

You broke away from the small, dimly lit zone you had sequestered yourself into and turned. Tony was in some pajamas with fuzzy slippers.

“You know as well as anybody I don’t leave this lab,” he started, awkwardly shuffling his feet. “But look — Nat made me promise that you wouldn’t burn yourself out.”

You furrowed your brow, “I’m not burnt out. I’m fine.” Your head was pounding and you knew you stank since your last shower was the night before — but anything beat going back to that quiet place.

“You’re talking to deputy director of burnt out, I’m afraid,” Tony retorted, gesturing for you to stand. It was a standoff when you sort of just sat there and he waited expectantly. “Don’t make me be your boss, Y/N, seriously.”

You sighed, leaning backward enough to reach the lamp to flick it off and get up. Your muscles ached deeply when you wobbled across the lab to the doors.

“Night, kid,” Tony calls as he sets down the other hallway of the compound where his and Peppers’ rooms are located.

Liho meowed loudly, eyes like lamplights in the darkened floor of your rooms as you entered. She rubbed between your legs and purred thickly before darting off to Nat’s bedroom to wait in bed for you.

One hot shower later and you crawled into the sheets, curling around Natasha’s previously untouched pillows instead of yours. You missed her deeply. So deeply.

You hoped sleep would chase away the longing.

Natasha pressed a few switches and pulled a lever that allowed her to safely gear the Quinjet into a safe landing. She waited for everything to power down properly, drooping in her seat and rubbing at her eyes. One of them still healing from being bruised.

The town was unhexed and mostly unharmed. Just traumatized and distraught by the events that plagued them for two months by the mysterious witch that held them hostage.

Natasha and Sam had gone in so quickly — before Wanda had a second to realize there was a disturbance. They posed as a married couple and played along with her games — the way she ran her show.

Natasha ached deeply for Wanda. All she saw when witnessing these events were acts of a broken woman failed by the world. She understood why the witch had done it. If it had been you . . .

Natasha put her fingers against the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, still waiting for the low beeping signal that would alert her that the Quinjet was finished cooling down.

They hadn’t expected a second witch. Not until Wanda figured out who she was and that was as soon as Wanda realized Natasha and Sam were there — not just creations she forgot she made.

It was a fucking disaster.

Wanda was gone. Again. She had defeated this other witch that seemed to have sought Wanda out for her power but as a result she ran without talking to Natasha.

She could still taste Wanda’s despair and shame.

“Nat.” Someone nudged her. She rolled the chair around and found Sam waiting for her. He gestured to the open backend of the Quinjet. “We’re home now. I think you should get some rest.”

Natasha smiled as she got to her feet, making sure she didn’t forget to do anything before following him out and making the trek across the landing zone to the Compound.

It was too early. Two in the morning — and she would only be crawling next to you in her bed and drinking in your scent and catching up on lost sleep. Hopefully.

Liho was not there to greet her.

It was disappointing — her cat was easily made a traitor it would appear. She dropped her bag on the ground by the door and made her way to the bedroom, leaning in the doorway.

Liho poked her head up, ears pinned back before realizing it was Natasha there and chirped a greeting. Rolled onto her back and purred loudly from her spot in the crook of your blanketed legs.

“Been keeping her company, Liho?” the spy asked, reaching over to skritch her behind the ears. “Good kitty.”

Liho blinked in agreement before releasing Nat to the bathroom, where she did her best to spot clean so she wouldn’t wake you with a full on shower.

She climbed into bed behind you and sighed when you seemed to automatically melt into her as if on instinct.

She was asleep within seconds.

You woke up to more warmth than Liho usually has in one tiny body to provide for you. You moved around and stretched, turning into the warmth —

You shot up.

“Where’s the fire?” Natasha grumbled as she turned back over and buried her face into the pillow without taking at least one hand off your body.

“When the fuck did you get home?” you fell completely on top of her in attempt to body hug her completely.

Nat groaned, but adjusted back onto her back so you could curl up on her chest. A hand went up the back of your shirt and traced the skin of your spine. “Uhh . . . Like two?”

You nosed under her chin, peppering kisses where bruises seemed to lay. “I wanted you unharmed.”

“Tried my best, Malyshka.”

You moved up and closer to her to grasp her chin between your thumb and index finger. She opened her green eyes and smiled crookedly at you. "Gonna just stare?"

You kissed her if nothing else, then to at least shut her up. She responded to the kiss instantly with need that outdid your own.

Her nails found home in the skin of your back, dragging carefully up and down as the kiss was deepened more than it already was. You pulled back, fully straddling her waist and was quick to remove your shirt. She let you.

"So beautiful," you breathed, nosing yourself into her neck and nibbling. She grunted as she pushed your ass closer to her in an attempt to keep you in place.

"You feel so good," Nat murmured back, straining her neck upwards to give you more access. With more openings to proceed and no reason to stop, your lips began a path at the same time your hand started floundering backwards for her shorts.

"Want 'em off," you breathed against her skin. It was too close to a whine for your liking but Natasha obeyed your request anyways and helped you to remove the shorts.

You pulled your lips away to situate yourself and brushed your fingers against her thigh. "Did you miss me?" you asked casually as you went about tracing random designs close but not close enough to where she wanted you.

"You know I did. Every day," she said, that normally composed woman of yours sounding rather out of breath.

You smiled and trailed your fingers a bit closer -- just barely brushing her slit. "I missed you too," you told her, reaching a finger into her pussy and gathering wetness and run it up to her clit.

She drew in air. "Malyshka," she said shortly, "teasing me is not in your favor. It has never worked before."

You ignored her and set a slow pace just as your hips started circling with your finger, adding some pressure onto your hand and more stimulation for yourself. Her hands found home on your hips.

You leaned in close to her ear without stopping, whispering so lowly that she could be forgiven if she hadn't heard it, "I touched myself so much thinking about you when you were gone. It was usually never enough, though. You always know what to do -- how to please me. Isn't it sad how I can't seem to please myself in the ways you seem to know how?"

Fingernails dug into your hips just as you sank two fingers into her cunt, your thumb replacing your index on her clit to keep the slow and steady circles going as you began to thrust into her.

She broke into Russian curses and brought her teeth to your shoulder, digging them in to keep from getting loud. You wished she didn't feel the need to contain herself -- she never had to with you.

"You're doing so good," Nat breathed around your shoulder, eyes squeezed tight as you pushed one hand deep into the mattress and reangled to try and find that one spot inside her that you know drives her insane.

"Fuck, Malyshka, right there," she moaned, abdomen flexing from the strain as you picked up your pace and your strength. She loved rough and you weren't one to deny it when she said words to you that had you putty in your hands.

Even when you fucked her she was in control in the most powerful way.

"I need you to make me come," was drawled in your ear, growing less composed the closer she was getting to her orgasm. You could fell it to in the way she spent longer clenched around your fingers and the way she grew wetter.

"Yeah?" you whisper back, locking in and going for broke as you began at a speed not usually in your range but the sounds and way Natasha clutched you encouraged you on.

"I'm so close."

"Then come for me," you begged her. You need to feel it, to see it, to fucking drink it in like you did with everything that was Natasha Romanoff.

The sting in your hips grew near unbearable as she crossed her legs behind your back and froze up. You fucked her through her orgasm and ensured not to look away one second.

It was a quiet thing, the way she came. Never too much noise but always expressive from the flush in her face and chest to the way her face goes lax in ways nobody else gets to see but you.

You helped her ride down the waves until she sank into the sheets, eyes opening onto the ceiling as her chest rose and fell heavily.

"Have you been practicing while I've been gone?" she wheezed, raking her fingers through her hair as you climbed off of her and licked your fingers clean of her.

"Oh yeah, I've got so much practice," you teased with a cheeky grin. "Me, myself, and my vibrator."

You suddenly had your world spun around too quickly for you to comprehend. Before you knew it, you found yourself looking up at Natasha.

"Stay," she ordered sternly, sliding off of your prone form and making her way to the closet.

You did not argue but you did watch her ass sway as she disappeared.

You were no better than a man.

She returned buckled into a harness, adjusting the straps and you peered up to see which dildo she chose. If it was the eight incher, you think you'd die.

It was the eight incher.

Your head fell heavily back onto the pillows and knew now that Natasha was taking no prisoners today as she settled her knees on the edge of the bed and dragged your ass all the way down.

She saw the look on your face and gained a wicked gleam to her eye. "What -- you thought you'd get away with what you just did? Not have consequences?"

"Kinda," you admitted.

"Appreciate the honesty -- but no dice." She smacked your ass. "Roll over, ass in the air."

You were purposefully slow in your movements, considering that she planned on undressing you and then straight up fucking you in this position and you decided to give her somewhat of a challenge in the process.

"Princess," she warned as she reached for the hem of your shirt. "You're being a brat."

"Sounds like a big problem . . . for you."

She ripped your shirt clean off to your chagrin, and made quick work with your sweats and underwear next. She ran open-palmed hands up the sides of your thighs and ass as she took in the sight of you.

Then her eyes glanced downward to your ass and she kicked your ankles open to where she could see your exposed pussy. Her mouth watered at how wet it was.

"Look at you," she husked, leaning over you and licking a stripe down your back. "So spread open and ready to take me. Do you need my fingers first, baby?"

Your reply was muffled by the sheets. Natasha took a handful of your hair and pulled your head up, "What was that?"

"Fingers first," you slurred and her lips quirked up at that hazy cloud starting to form in your eyes.

"Fingers first . . . ?" she trailed off, tugging just a bit harder.

"Please," you added quickly.

Natasha hummed with approval before dropping your head back onto the bed. "Alright -- since you're so fucking tight and need some fingers to loosen you up, I suppose I can warm you up."

You squeaked something out but Natasha did not force you to elaborate, knowing it was likely just garbled words anyway. She did not tease, did not draw it out. She simply thrusted three fingers in after testing your wetness.

Your body raised off the bed at the intrusion, "Nat," you whimpered clutching the sheets, "too much."

"Too much?" she repeated, raising a brow, "are you sure?"

She let you think about it as she worked her fingers in and out of you, and she removed one to give you a moment to think. "T-three, Natty."

"Are you sure?" she asked again, doing three fingers in and then two. Keeping you both over-and-under stimulated at once in the best way. "For such a smart, beautiful girl you sure are being dumb right now. Can't even make up your mind."

You whined a little into the sheets. "M'sorry. Feels good."

"Aw, I'm sure it does baby," Natasha crooned, lacing her tone with thick false sympathy. "Is that what's making it hard to think? How good it feels?"

She watched you nod into the bed. "S'lot, Natty."

"I bet," the redhead agreed, just barely brushing against your g-spot and never actually giving you enough pleasure to come. "Maybe I should go put my cock away if you're unsure if you can handle even three fingers."

"N-no!" you garbled, tightening around her suddenly. She brushed your hair from the nape of your neck and leaned down to kiss it tenderly. "Wanna take it."

"Oh baby, I want you to take it too," she says, nibbling a mark where she started a kiss. "But are you so sure you can handle it? You're so sensitive today."

"Yes! Yes I can handle it," you promised raptly, ass starting to arch higher and meeting Natasha's thrust with fevered passion. "P-please. Wanna take it."

"Okay, okay, Malyshka," she soothed and moved her lips to pepper kisses along what parts of her face was exposed to her. "Okay. You can have my cock because you're a good girl and good girls get what they need."

The praise sent a jerk through your nervous system at the same time as she pulled out with her fingers intentionally running along your walls.

She eyes the fingers covered in your wetness and resists the urge to lick them clean. Rather she decides to give your mouth something to do by putting them up to you, "Suck, baby."

Just as you took her fingers into your mouth you let out a low noise that was damn near animalistic as Natasha took you with her cock. She slipped in smoothly, eyes twitching at the pressure she felt at the base on her.

With her free hand she slithers down between your body and the surface of the bed so she could start putting pressure on your engorged clit.

She let you adjust before deciding to finally, after a few seconds of waiting, begin slow movements that already had shivers wracking through you.

She decides to talk you through them, to bring you as much pleasure as she possibly can in this moment after two months of not touching you at all, "How's it feel? Is my cock hitting you where it should?"

"S'full," you somehow managed. Well, if you were still talking . . . she pulled all the way out and pushed back in at a punishing pace.

"Gonna try to keep you full, too," she went on as her rotations on your clit began to increase and grew rougher. You were suffocating her cock and if she could truly feel it like a man . . .

"My Gods," she laughed mockingly, "were you this desperate for my touch that you're melting this quickly? I've not been inside you that long, Malyshka."

Whatever noise you made went right through Nat's ears. She was rough and unforgiving now as she practically had you choking on her fingers while the tip of the dildo brushed repeatedly on your g-spot.

Your thighs were trembling with signs that you were close even if you could not so much as whisper a word to tell Nat.

She knew your tells anyway -- just as you knew hers. You were drooling around her fingers and unable to form coherent sentences, you were grinding her hand into the sheets and giving her a rug-burn more than likely, and you were stuttering with every wave of near-pleasure that shocked you.

Natasha decided denying and playing the game of keepaway wasn't on the table today. She wanted to make you come.

It didn't take very long. One good jab of her thumb into your clit timed with her cock hitting just right sent you spiraling into a squealing orgasm that was wracking your entire body.

Natasha was left startled when she found it hard to fuck you through it, growing slippery and soaking the sheets beneath the two of you as another orgasm crashed through you with her fingers still working you.

As the pleasure ebbed away into fuzzy content, Natasha collapsed over your back and breathing against you in a way that brought immense comfort, you slowly came back to yourself.

You nipped her fingers.

Natasha scoffed as she pulled them out, leaning down to give you kisses wherever she could reach. "I make you squirt like a fountain and you bite me?"

You rolled over so that her hands were forced to settle on your knees. The strap-on had been removed at some point in your daze and was thrown aside to be washed later.

"I am never letting you go," you announced, peering up at her with a dopy smile. "That was literally mind-shattering."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "At least you find me good for something." She helped you sit up. "Are you okay?"

"Did you just not hear me say mind-shattering? As in . . . orgasms?"

"Okay, smartass." She pinched your hip and was rewarded with a yelp as she pushed you to your feet. "To the bath with you. I'm changing the sheets and setting us up for vacation then calling Tony. Get a bath ready or else."

You smiled and leaned in the doorway to your bathroom, eyeing her. "You're so cute when you're determined."

"When it comes to the axis my world spins on," Natasha said, growing serious as she walked over to you and rested her forehead against yours, "nothing could pry me away from what I want."

PART THREE

[avifaunaa]

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt.3 ]

Authors Note: Welcome to the third installment to this series! To be honest with you guys I’m not entirely sure how long this series will be — I know it will have at least two more parts but after that it’s a guessing game. I hope you like it! Also like — remember when I said it’ll get softer? Yeah. Uh. That’s pushed back a chapter or two. Uh.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s been a year and a half altogether since your hiring at Stark industries and just a little over two years in which your relationship with Natasha began. However one of Natasha's old enemies resurfaces and plans on striking where it hurts the worst -- and it draws back memories for both Reader and Natasha and forces them to confront their fears.

Content Warnings: the fluff and angst that comes with this series but added in — stalking and discussions of a stalker, general feelings of discomfort and anguish, some splashes of BRIEF humor, arguments, brief violence and a cliffhanger

Word Count: ~5.2K

Breakfast was the most entertaining meal at the Avengers Compound in New York.

You say this with assured confidence and know-how because, at precisely 8:30 A.M. after FRIDAY has managed to set off the universal alarm that can’t be turned off thanks to Tony’s masterkey password being required, you see Earth’s Mightiest Heroes all clamber into the kitchen in differing states of wake and dress.

Steve Rogers for example — he always was dressed in his training uniform and bright-eyed as he greeted you and Nat by the coffee pot.

“He’s always awake by five at the latest,” your girlfriend mumbled around greasy bacon later when she caught you eyeing him suspiciously, “Why do you think Grandpa goes to bed at eight?”

Steve sipped his coffee and peered at Natasha with this sort of bemused expression, as if this was all to common of a comment made. “Early bird gets the worm, Nat.”

You could have sworn Natasha’s eyelid twitched but made the incredibly wise choice to leave it alone and instead refilled her coffee for her — a third cup, black, in less than twenty minutes. She only took her coffee one way at the Compound.

Tony was in a state of frazzled disarray likely brought on by too much caffeine and not enough sleep — a state in which you’ve experienced a few times since coming to work for him when Nat wasn’t around to stop it. Pepper was nearby and dressed in her finest pantsuit, hair done and makeup perfect as she dangled a tie from her wrist.

“Tony,” she called as her husband stole bacon from Clint’s plate and added it to his despite having some already. The man was in a rush, probably to get to his lab. “Tony stop. Your schedule is clear today until eleven. You have that board meeting with . . .”

The words faded out from listening point as Pepper followed Tony, eyes to the ceiling as she guided him to his office instead of the lab like initially planned.

“He stole my bacon.”

Your gaze then turned to the forlorn source of the words. Clint usually never stayed overnight at the Compound these days — he settled well with his family into the farm even after he was pardoned. He hung out with Natasha until the early hours in the morning — doing whatever it is the two do to bond.

Natasha had smelt of bonfire and whiskey when she returned, so you suspected they’d not gone very far at all.

He was in a large t-shirt and his boxers, eyes staring at the grease stains left behind where his bacon once was.

“My bacon,” he repeated, frowning.

Natasha deliberately crunched hard into one of her slices from where she sat between you and him without so much as turning her head to look at him.

You elbowed the ombré-haired spy in the flank, causing her to cough mid-swallow. “Serves you right,” you said as you leaned backwards and swiped some bacon from your plate and threw it on Clint’s behind Natasha.

“You���re evil,” she rasped rubbing at her upper chest and eyeing you. “I was just eating my breakfast.”

“Okay, sure,” you agreed in the tone that clearly reflected your opposite view, but you flashed her a teasing smirk to soften the blow as she scoffed at Clint digging into his gifted bacon.

“How do we turn off the eight o’clock alarm?” Sam asked as he shuffled tiredly in, Bucky right behind him. “I had to beat the shit out of some sorely underarmed terrorists yesterday and I didn’t appreciate having my well-earned sleep disrupted.”

Bucky grunted and shimmied around the man to cross around the counter and look at what was served this morning. He ignored the bacon, had browns, and fruit and chucked three spoonfuls of eggs onto his plate before exiting.

“Eggs only? What the fuck?” You said without really meaning to, mostly because that was a lot of eggs when there was other options offered.

“We listen, we don’t judge,” Clint said as he brandished his now empty plate and removed himself from his spot next to Nat.

You knew the words in which he mimicked from a trend and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Why are you on TikTok? You’re too old for that, it’ll rot your brain,” you replied as you shoved your empty plate toward him too. He scowled at you but took it as if offended.

“My children,” he said in a way that implied it explained everything. “They want to get TikTok famous by showing me on their little videos. Do you realize how many messages my twelve year old has gotten about whether or not I’m still married?”

“Snipe them,” Natasha told him simply, obviously, “and then delete their accounts.”

“The — the weirdos or my kids?”

Natasha smirked at him.

Clint sighed heavily even as you tried to elbow Natasha again. But she seemed ready for such an act and grabbed you in a gentle but firm headlock and leaned her head down, grasping your chin, “You’re being bratty.”

You smiled at her to disguise the fact that you could feel your cheeks heating up at her intense gaze. She didn’t prod at you though, simply offered a peck and released you before getting to her feet. “Clint — I think I want to beat the hell out of you before you go home today.”

Clint sighed again. “Yes, Natasha.”

You were left with Sam and Steve — the two on complete opposite ends of the “awake” spectrum as you cleaned up the countertops you, Nat, and Clint used.

“We should go running,” Steve finally said, gesturing to Sam.

The Falcon in all his honor and glory slammed his coffee cup down and flipped Steve off — who in turn managed the most offended look you’ve ever seen.

“You’re buzzing.”

It was a short form sentence that you believed was intended not at you — maybe at Bruce who had joined you and Tony in the lab today after Tony had finished his meetings.

You let the comment slip away into the music that filtered through the overhead surround-sound system that Tony showed you once on the giant hologram control panel.

It’s taken you six months to completely figure out the settings for the music, you still have trouble pulling up detailed blueprints you upload into it via Friday sometimes.

Your degree was absolutely worthless in those moments, but even Tony waved you off and admitted to designing the panel and system himself and thus it doesn’t work in the way most technology of this caliber would.

It did make you feel better, admittingly.

The music suddenly cut off in the middle of the best part and you twitched, your hand-held laser machine cutting a heated indent into the machinery you were working on.

“Kid,” Tony said behind you when you stared longingly at the ruined metal as steam poured from the red-hot wound. “You’re literally buzzing.” He poked you where your phone was in your white jacket’s pocket.

“Oh. Oh shit.” You sit the laser down and fumble as Tony backs away with some sort of gun looking object swinging dangerously loose in his hand. “Sorry, Tony.”

He made a pew pew noise at you as he sauntered back to Bruce [ who was too ingrained in his work to care ], and responded, “Next time it happens, I take fifty bucks from your paycheck.”

“I’ll sic Natasha on you,” you threatened as you swiped up on your screen to see why your phone was blowing up in the first place.

If Tony had cracked back at you, it went upon deaf ears. The insistent nudging was a barrage of text messages sent from a contact labeled UNKNOWN with no phone number available when you checked.

You were mostly confused initially — you rarely got messages unless it was from Kate and Yelena, Natasha when she wasn’t with you and not on a mission. Even your number was scarcely used by the members of the Compound after you’ve given it to them. They preferred to speak through FRIDAY most days.

The contents of the first ten texts were photos and that is what had your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach as you scrolled down each one.

They were of you — and Natasha together sometimes — but mostly of you. Leaving the Compound, going on dates with Nat, they even have one of you two exiting the shelter with the new scruffy white kitten in your arms. You were beaming in the photo, completely oblivious to the eyes on you from a distance.

So was Natasha.

It made you think . . . Natasha was the most observant person you knew. She would switch sides with you on the sidewalk if she felt like there was something about to go wrong. Sometimes she was right [ Peter came crashing into the windshield of a car while the Green Goblin attacked him. Not even the suit Tony made him was holding up against this menace! ] and would get you to safety before joining in the fray.

But this time . . . This time each photo was taken she was completely unaware which made you wonder how well this person was at hiding among the crowd.

It scared you. You were scared and you only realized this when the photos started becoming hard to stare at as your hands shook under your phone.

You glanced behind you quickly but was relieved to see Tony and Bruce back in their own worlds amongst the technology.

You swiped down more and found no more photos, but actual texts.

The Widow cannot run from her past forever.

It will consume her like ashes over the world and once he has you, she will never again know the meaning of peace and her mind will never rest.

Happy hunting.

Three text messages all to the point -- and very matter-of-fact. Like whoever sent them knew they weren't going to be concerned about threatening a former assassin's girlfriend.

You swallowed the thick lump that shot up to your throat and decided to be logical about this. You emailed the texts to Natasha and hoped she checked it before you came home to your shared rooms that night.

Telling her could end in just as an easy disaster as keeping them from her. In the two years total you have known Nat, something she had made explicitly clear to you more than once is that any threats you get may not be as simple as an internet troll looking to ruffle some feathers.

This had been made entirely too clear when a close call had occurred right after you got hired by Stark and still lived in your own place. It had shaken both you and Natasha out of the feeling of unbreakable bliss.

She had found you a few days after the incident itself, slipping you a glass of wine while she sat an ice cold beer down on the coffee table untouched but open.

For a while the television was the only company you both kept -- then:

"I am . . . I have been meaning to talk more in depth with you about what it means to be with someone like me," Nat finally said leaning forward to grab the beer. It left rivulets of condensation on the glass table. "But I figured when . . . there's been a lot."

You paused the show you were not really watching to really show her you were listening. "You've told me what it means," you replied, not unkind but confused. The wine dangled half-drank in one hand. "We discussed it and I have had meetings with Pepper about--"

"No, Malysh," Natasha interrupts firmly. You took a second to take her in, the way she spoke and how . . . unsettled she was.

She clenched the bottle's neck so tightly she could break it if she wanted to. Her hair was still pulled up and windswept from returning from what she claimed was statements on your behalf to the court about the incident.

She hadn't wanted you near the damn thing -- and at the time you had let her take over with a fierce protectiveness and be your wall, your rock to lean on. You weren't harmed, but you had felt so violated and paranoid for days after that it was enough to leave a scar.

"What that was," she finally said, voice softening but filled with a pain that you could not describe, "that wasn't . . . that wasn't the worst of what could happen to people that get close top-leveled people like me, or Steve, or Tony. For me in particular, I have made twice as many enemies as most of the others have. My first life in Russia as their Widow and assassin and then my second chance here -- as an Agent of the U.S. government and a hero in the public eye."

You took a big gulp of your wine to hide your features shifting with your emotions. You still remember his face showing up at your door, forcing his way in, his breath hot and wet in your face --

"That man -- he wasn't one of those you said," you managed around the rim of the glass, sending a worried glance her way from a few feet away as you regained control of yourself. "You said that he -- he was someone who fit closer to the criteria of crazed fans."

"I did," she agreed. Her shoulders remained tight as she leaned back against the couch. "And that remains true. But we looked closely into what he had you read in front of him before sending it to me. The writing was in blood and there were some things contained in those letters that only could have been known if he was watching you and me together long enough."

The way he licked his lips, those beady eyes gleaming with anticipation as you opened the envelopes one-by-one and read each fucking letter.

Another swallow of wine and you locked away the memory and trauma that came with it.

"Yeah, well, he's probably enjoying life at Rikers instead."

"He didn't go to Rikers."

This made you pause again. Unable to hide your confusion or any other emotion -- your wine glass was empty. Instead you placed it tenderly on the side table and found another focus: Liho and Swayze swatting at one another in their cat tree,

"What do you mean," you said shakily after finding your voice, eyes locking with your girlfriend's, "he didn't go to Rikers? Where the fuck is he? Floating in space? Lost in the system? Do we even know if he's still imprisoned?"

You hadn't meant to be so sharp, nor did you intend to throw the accusatory tone at her in the same sentence. But your heart was racing faster than you could think which meant you couldn't think.

Natasha suddenly scooted closer to you and raised her hand in offer. You regard her for a moment but know you'd give in and need her touch. You link fingers with her and the warmth of her is like a coat of salve on a endlessly painful wound.

"He," she began as she settled into your side, finding her words, ". . . Do you remember when I brought you by before you got hired here? It was a short stay and you met Happy and Pepper. They had paperwork."

"I was on spring break," you acknowledge, nodding. You were in and out before you got a good look at anything, really, so you didn't consider it your first time at the Compound.

"Right. I told you everything we were having you sign," the Widow continued as her free hand started to trace designs lightly into the skin of your arm, "It was an NDA and paperwork that went with it in regards to the government bullshit."

You were still an anxious mess but you tried to draw some humor from what you could remember feeling about the situation. You sent Nat a weak smile, "Sure. Every time I signed my name on a line I felt like I was slowly giving pieces of my soul away to the government just so I could get into your pants and hold your hand." You let a pause fill the air for dramatics. "So worth it."

Her eyebrows shot into your hairline, perhaps impressed by your bold statement but snorting. "I see what I am to you." She stops to press the softest of kisses to your head, as if to soften a blow about to land, "So that NDA. It was in all that heavy packeted wording, but when you agreed to it the government, in turn, agreed to essentially view you as a protected asset under listed circumstances."

She let you mull over words for a moment and you tapped your fingers against the armrest. Maybe you should have read deeper than you actually did.

"What I'm getting from this is that I'm sort of . . . I'm sort of under some special security or whatever?"

"Kind of," Natasha agrees, fingers finally coming to a rest on your pulse. "After we did the required background check and got the paperwork squared away it pretty much meant that you became important to keep from any particular . . . attention. We did what we do with anyone who either works with our agency or is associated with us in some way -- we put a security AI detail on your name and information so that it can alert us if any of that is sought out and leaked. It became confidential the minute you signed and hiding it draws curious eyes on top of seeing me out with you more often."

"So my private information was pretty much zapped out of all existence and anything under my name is watched?"

Natasha nods. "Right."

"Okay," you drew out, scratching behind your ear. "This doesn't . . . what happened that made the dude find out who I was?"

"He didn't use the methods that most of these people do, he went off grid and used paranoia and "wait 'em out" techniques. He was someone I had knowledge about for a while but when I met you I stopped seeing him -- or perhaps I stopped looking over my shoulder." The vulnerability she was showing you right now was so . . . you didn't want her to be ashamed of it. Not for a second.

So you cupped her cheek and tilted her face to her. "You're not blaming yourself, are you? Because it's not your fault, Natasha. You deserve to live a life where you don't have to look over your shoulder every single second." She turned her face into your palm and kissed it so softly.

"I do blame myself," she admitted in a small voice, hiding in your comfort while finding shame in it. "It is very hard not to when he has been a shadow to me that I was used to but should have known would have grown."

"He wasn't using usual means you said," you repeated her words, frowning and stroking her cheek. "He was going to find out about me whether or not you forgot about him. If you hid me, he would've followed you to where you meet me."

"Logic and emotions don't compute together," she said quietly, closing her eyes. You allowed her this moment of silence and rest your head on top of hers, still cradling her head in one hand.

"He found you because I got sloppy," she finally told you.

"He found me because he was relentless and avoided ways of being caught -- he was smart in those regards. You weren't sloppy, he was just . . . he was just good."

Natasha released a breath you did not realize she had been holding. "I'm supposed to protect you -- being with me it comes with those . . . those dangers. If I even slip up once --"

"Then what?" you prod softly, searching her eyes.

Natasha didn't seem able to get the words out. You ran your fingers through her long hair. "Nat, we do this as a team. We're a pair. I know your instinct is to protect me and I love you so much for that. But I need you to know that protecting me doesn't mean it's your duty."

She curled deeper into you and you kissed her head again. "I want to protect you, too. I may not be able to fight the monsters you can -- but I know how to chase them away when you sleep and keep you safe when you come home. So just . . . don't worry when I'm with you. I know I have nothing to worry about. But also," you added, giving her a nudge, "you needn't worry when we're not together either. I have Iron Man."

She scoffed and pushed off of you, retrieving her beer but coming back to sit next to you and cuddle.

"You never said where he went," you told her an hour later, deep into Shark Tank. "The guy."

She lifted the beer to her lips, eyes still locked onto the screen and said, "He went to a place we take enemies of the State. A place that makes Rikers looks like daycare."

You would have tried feeling sorry for him if he hadn't broken your favorite mug on top of the whole 'writing letters to Natasha in blood and making her girlfriend read them' thing.

Natasha was pissed off when you returned at 9PM to your apartments, FRIDAY setting the smart alarm system automatically behind you after locking the door.

She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa with her glasses on in the dark and staring at her laptop. Hair braided but loosely undone, sweater and shorts plastered to her fit form.

"Should I be worried you have no lights on?" you mused as you dropped your back in the entry way and threw your lab coat on top of it before slowly starting toward her.

She sent you a frosty look.

You thought up all of the possible things that you could have done to incite this part of Nat. Usually it had to do with leaving work too late — but this morning you both agreed between 8:30-10:00PM.

Did you leave your shoes on?

You did a quick look down at your feet and — nope — you managed to off the tennis shoes into the hall outside the door before stepping inside like habit.

She had returned to her furious typing by the time you went over a particularly short list of things that you ensure you don’t do to piss off Natasha. She was slow to anger — especially with you. And if she was angry she would hide it until she was ready to discuss it at a calmer time.

So whatever you did really upset her and you can’t remember a damn thing about it. You breathed out through your nostrils and pulled up your big-kid pants as you slowly made a few steps over. Then stopped to ensure she still had space.

“Okay,” you start simply, sticking your hands into your jean pockets. “I think you’re going to have to tell me why you’re mad. I’m no dice on this one.”

She jammed her thump into the enter key and pointedly ignored you. Swayze wailed at you as she twined between your legs, a ball of thick white fur. Liho was not far behind — a dart of black in the dimly lit room.

“Natasha — Nat,” you tried as you bent down to scoop up your still wailing feline and sit down next to her on the couch. “Talk to me, please. I don’t like it when you glare at me like I’m the one in your interrogation room.”

She was slow to give you a reaction but she closed her laptop and covered the room in total darkness. Only then did she say, “FRIDAY, living room overheads, soft yellow.”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff.” The order was executed immediately, and the gentle glow lighting up Natasha’s features less harshly than the screen. She looked less hostile and more tired.

“When did you get those messages?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Surprised only because you’d stupidly forgotten about the entire thing by burying yourself into your work to not have to confront those memories. “I — probably only like ten minutes before I sent them to you in the email.”

“Did you reply to them?” she asked evenly, eyes locking with yours. Green pierced you in a way that made you entirely too nervous.

“No, and I think you know that,” you said slowly. “What’s going on, Nat?”

“We got into your phone records,” the spy told you, resting her chin on her cupped hands and nudging her glasses back up her nose. “The number that messaged you is difficult to track and even one of my agents, Daisy, is struggling to get into this particular set of code that was encrypted into the photos. She’s one of our best, and she’s having problems with it.”

“I didn’t know that the photos were encrypted — they just sent normally like — I don’t know, photos.”

Her lips thinned. “Yes, we didn’t expect you to know which is unfortunately why the problem had gotten worse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked quietly. Your hands no longer stroked along Swayze’s coat, and the cat had wiggled from your grasp after sensing the tension.

Natasha broke her gaze. “Nothing — it meant nothing. All I’m saying is that your phone isn’t safe anymore. They likely were able to sneak through your phone’s security and into all the private information you have stored. Empty the phone. We need to destroy it.”

You rubbed your face and sagged into the cushions, overwhelmed with the coldness Natasha exuded and how she seemed to treat you like you were a civvie and not her partner.

“. . . now, Y/N.” She turned her head away from you as she stood up, glasses removed and went into your shared bedroom.

“So I’m on first-name basis now?” you muttered as you dug into your bag and scrounged around until you came through your phone. You tossed it on the coffee table and stalked into the room.

“Why are you acting like this?”

Natasha was fidgeting with something on her Widow suit. She only did that if she had a mission coming up — and she would usually take the suit down to the armory to restock her belt and pouches.

She let you wallow in the silence besides the rustling of fabric and zippers before she said, “I don’t know how you think I’m acting.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay assassin-spy-superhero-watchdog,” you told her sarcastically, tensing up when she shot you a glare. “You’re being an ass. This is not normal behavior.”

“I’m perfectly fine and it’s just been busy at S.H.I.E.L.D. lately. I’m stressed,” she excused, throwing the suit down on the bed and turning away from you. “Are you tired? You worked late tonight.”

“Natasha I’m not tired enough to not talk to you,” you tried, moving forward. “This is weird. You don’t —“

“I need you to just—“ Natasha looked up and finally, finally, met your gaze again. “—just stop assuming something’s wrong. You’re okay.”

“I’m not the one worried I’m not okay!” You burst, arms flying into the air over your head. “You’re behaving weirdly.”

She clenched her jaw and skimmed past you into the other room, and you stood there in shock at the sudden change your partner was having in attitude.

She was closing down, locking the doors and windows. Your throat was starting to close when you realized how distant and cold she was becoming — and you feared it had to do with everything on the phone she found.

Did the findings spook her? Did the anger at being caught unaware by another person anger her to the point of shutting you out?

You didn’t think you would be getting an answer.

“I’m going to — I need to leave,” you breathed when you found her in the weapons closet in the hall. Despite the armory, she still kept her own stash and you laughed when you first saw it.

“What?” This seemed to get a rise out of her as she stood. Her eyes flickered with a hint of something — but it was so brief that you believed you imagined it. “No, with that text I would be more comfortable if you stayed here.”

“Natasha whatever’s going on is making me uncomfortable,” you snapped, pushing down the lifting sense of doom at the look on her face. “You’re not talking to me. You’re literally — I don’t know what’s going on but I feel like I came home to a weird scene of the Twilight Zone.”

Natasha hesitated as she set her gun carefully back into the case. “Listen, I need you to trust me. I know I’m not giving you answers but I have a reason. I wouldn’t — this is —“ her hands were trembling.

You closed your hand around hers as you got on your knees in front of her. “You’re panicking and shutting down on me. This is not usual for you, Nat. I trust you with my life but I need to understand what’s triggered this behavior.”

She glanced behind you, around the both of you, nervously. Her throat bobbed as she moved her hand until it encased yours in a firm grip. “I know who this might be and I believe it’s connected to the previous incident.”

“But you said the guy was pretty much in a pit,” you replied softly, keeping your anxiety at bay to keep Nat calm. Though you know Nat wouldn’t freak out if you did — she took your panic in stride.

“He is but I don’t think he was the one I should have worried about,” she admitted with a strained tone. For the first time you saw tears start to mist over her eyes. “I think he was — I think he was used to keep me busy.”

“From what?” you encouraged, stretching forward and grabbing her face. “Natasha if you know who’s doing this then you need to get yourself protected, not me. They’re only using me.”

“You don’t understand, my love,” Natasha murmured, forehead resting solidly against yours. “They’re using you but will absolutely kill you. This is an old enemy — but recent enough that they still seek me out.”

“Who could possibly want you dead this badly that isn’t already rotting in the grave?”

Before she could give you the response you wanted, something sharp and pricked suddenly and silently hit your side. Natasha pulled back and grabbed your shoulders.

Her eyes flicked behind you to the large, floor to ceiling windows that faced the forest that surrounded the Compound and realized there was a hole in the glass.

And then something shattered the windows into dust as she threw herself over your body.

Reader and Natasha will return in part four

PART FOUR

[avifaunaa]

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt.4 ]

Authors Note: i'm extremely unhappy with this and i really hope my writing doesn't reflect it as a result. i did my best -- i struggled incredibly with a good chunk of this.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha thought she had prepared for every situation and every circumstance under the sun. She couldn’t have expected this particular one — nor could she have expected the way you would handle it.

Content Warnings: Angst, violence + pain, injuries, descriptions of torture [ i.e. non-graphic, but somewhat described ], feelings of terror and anxiety, freezing / cold, mental breakdowns, medical treatments [ nat!receiving ], hallucinations, and near-death experiences, so . . . trauma. THE WORKS FELLAS

Word Count: ~5.4k

Natasha’s hands were sliced open and bleeding across the soft cream carpeted floors. You would absolutely kill her if you saw it.

But — she ran her hands across the area beneath her where she had been covering you with her body. Blood streaked across carpet and her open wounds gathered more loose glass.

The sting was minuscule compared to the panic that filled her chest as she worked on sitting up. She was distinctly aware of an alarm and FRIDAY’s voice echoing in her ears but —

Noise outside in the hall caught her attention and she was torn between jumping out of the broken window to track you down or face whatever awaited her.

She felt for the case in which her gun had been when you and her had been inches apart, and she saw the look in your eyes when she revealed just how scared she was of this particular threat.

Tony was in front of her, his gold and red metal suit shined to perfection. She could see the mirror image of herself in its’ reflection and she did not like what stared back — a scared woman who looks as if she saw a ghost.

She felt like she did.

“Nat.” Steve, his shield resting against the wall behind her once he realized there was no enemy to fight. He crouched down and reached out hesitantly. Bucky stood not far off, closer to the window, investigating.

“Get Cho in here,” Tony ordered as his head armor peeled back into his suit. FRIDAY commented an affirmative but Natasha didn’t care. Didn’t care as Sam poked through the other rooms and found nothing; he wouldn’t. You were . . . Simply gone.

She curled her hands into fist, pushing the shards deeper into her flesh.

“Shit, Nat,” Tony helped as he got on one knee and went to grab her with an extended hand, the gleam of metal causing a visceral reaction to erupt from Natasha's raw instinct.

She reared back at his quick movement, shooting a palm to her gun. “Don’t. Touch me,” she breathed, and Tony paused as he took her in -- really took her in. Her pupils were blown wide and sweat was slick on her temples.

Natasha Romanoff was running off of pure adrenaline and had nowhere to put it.

Bucky crunched on glass as he slowly turned to face her. He was shadowed in the damaged aftermath but Tony, and even Natasha, could see what ran through his head: he recognized Natasha's responses as though he were seeing himself. Two creatures of the same making.

Tony backed off and allowed Bucky to stride closer instead. His boots were heavy in steps and he made no effort to tread lightly -- if Natasha was thrown into a state that would force her to run or to fight, being quiet and startling her could end in a bloody mess.

Natasha's gaze followed Tony until the billionaire was now farther off where Bucky once was, assessing the damage and talking distinctly with FRIDAY through his suit's comms.

Bucky stood close to Steve as he remained crouched a short distance from their friend -- their teammate -- and said naught as they figured out how to get Natasha out of this room and medically checked. This was an unusual state for the agent and never had they truly had to see her in a state in which she was the one that was unresponsive.

Steve decided he would be the one to try. He was, for all intents and purposes, a leader. It was a title he shared with Tony and even then he didn't like using it with the Avengers for more than a public title -- even when he took charge on missions and led them through battles, he still sought out his companions' input on many things.

This was not one of those situations.

"Natasha." Steve stayed crouched but he made a small movement closer, keeping his hands visible and his movements loud. "We will figure this out together. But to do that we need to get you to Doctor Cho so we can see the extent of your injuries," he said firmly in a tone that he knew she could use as a line of familiarity to grasp onto.

Natasha angled her head toward him and it allowed him to notice under the mess of her hair that she had a cut on her sweat-soaked temple, close to her ear. It didn't look deep, but it bleed.

"They took her, Steve," the spy managed out hollowly. Speaking hurt and Natasha came to realize why: there was an ache in her side just below her ribs. Painful, deep, throbbing. She moved a shaky hand to rest at the area. "They took . . . they took her."

Steve noted her movements and added it to the list for Cho to check over when they could get Natasha on her feet. "I know," he said softly as he reached a gloved hand out to rest on her shoulder. She stiffened then slumped under the touch. "I know, Nat, and we're going to go find her. We're not going to let whoever did this get away with it."

"But you're in shock and injured," Bucky added gruffly above them. "Ain't gonna help her if you can't get your head cleared and some bandagin' for those cuts."

Natasha splayed her fingers open and let the light reflect across the shards striking home beneath her skin.

"FRIDAY didn't warn us," the redhead said lowly, trying and failing to stifle accusation as she uncurled her knees and slowly got to her feet with Steve's help. One hand returned to her side and her breathing was shallow, as if minding the pain.

Steve squeezed gently, trying to comfort but unsure of what to say. She was right -- FRIDAY hadn't warned any of them of this. Otherwise there wouldn't be a giant hole in the Compound's dormitory wing and one of Stark's employees and Natasha's partner wouldn't be so brutally taken.

He wished he had something to offer, "this couldn't have been avoided," maybe . . . but even with Thanos on the loose there was never a breach before today. That is perhaps the worst infliction of all.

“She’s not here,” Sam announced as he finished the last room, shaking his head. “Whoever did this aimed for this room only. Rhodey did a sweep of the outside while Thor cleared the rest of the Compound inside. There’s nobody here.”

“I can confirm Agent Wilson's statement with my own,” FRIDAY commented somewhat erratically, voice uneven and garbled.

Tony ran a metal hand across his head as he glanced between the sparking, hanging speaker that FRIDAY's AI used to communicate in Natasha's rooms and Nat, who's expression had gone blank.

"Continue, FRIDAY," Tony finally said.

The speaker was likely broken in the attack but for now she was still able to be clearly heard, if not a bit chunky and loud, “I checked data links and camera footage from the past forty-eight hours. My data systems indicate no sign of unusual changes in the environment nor do they report any life-force not native to the lands three hundred meters around the Compound. There is no breach within the vents according to Agent Barton." A pause that sent a loud static into the room, then, "The camera footage I went over revealed no movement until the three hours ago outside of Agent Romanoff’s window about fifty meters outside of the perimeter. It would not have set off my alert system, Mister Stark, as the trails that exist within the forest belong to the United States government and are outside of my enforcement.”

The walking trails -- public property that was scarcely used unless a tour for the "Avengers" was given. New York's government did not want to sell that part of the land to S.H.I.E.L.D. even when they offered more money than it was worth. So Tony got creative with his allowance and ensured military-grade structures built around the Compound that would ensure their security and privacy but keep the government happy. Not long after Thanos was defeated, companies started using the trail as a tourist track so that they could "see" the Avengers without trespassing.

Tony scowled, "I should have fought harder to buy those walking paths. Even two layers of cement walls didn't prevent a breach."

FRIDAY didn't respond initially, but she then added, "I apologize Mister Stark, that I could not have seen this outcome."

"It's not your fault, FRIDAY," Tony told the AI as he returned his attention to the view of the forest. It suddenly looked less beautiful -- and his chest tightened at how easily a threat surpassed his attempts at security.

"How would they have known," Bucky wondered out loud, face twisted up in frustrated confusion, "about Tony's measures? We can't even control the weekday wakeup alarms."

An eerie silence blanketed the room, discontent thick in the air. Natasha saw the floor spin beneath her feet and bile was burning in her throat.

"I--I know who could have done this," she finally announced after choking down stomach acid and grief. "I managed to figure it out . . . but . . ."

Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to tell them.

"It's an old enemy -- someone who I've gotten the attention of after I started working under Fury and before the Avengers Initiative was started," Natasha admitted as she shuffled backward to lean against the wall.

"When did you figure it out -- how?" Bucky asked gruffly, metal arm resting on his hip as he kept an eye on the Widow.

"She got some threatening text messages," Natasha answered tightly. "She sent them to me. There were photos of us together -- we were being watched and I had no fucking idea. It was what was said in the messages that made me connect some dots."

Natasha reached up to wipe some blood from her forehead and release a shaky, painful breath. All she could think about was how she had fucking failed you.

"Maybe you should share with the class," Tony commented pointedly, "You know -- so we can help you."

“Tony,” Steve admonished, tone sharp and a patented Captain America glare shot his way.

Tony shook his head and returned to staring outside the window of his damaged building and began to ponder who was smarter than his own fucking AI.

“It’s the Black Lotus,” Natasha said as she leaned against the wall, clutching her ribs and turning her head to stare out at the forest. “She’s the one who did this and it’s because she’s trying to lure me into her trap.”

Ice cold water was a shock to the entire system when dumped on the unsuspecting — and you now understand why it would be used as an instrument in torture.

Your eyes were covered and the fabric started to stick to your skin by your blood and tears.

That is how you woke in this sightless place — cold and shivering, the room damp and humid despite the cold air that filtered through the vents. It was all to much it kept your already muddled brain deep in this confusion and uncertainty.

Sometimes you heard the slick footsteps walking around, the shuffling of metal like tools at a dentist’s office, then a door. This could happen three or four times and not a word was said even if you called out in a shaking voice.

Your wounds would be treated unkindly — slathered in some sort of spicy-smelling ointment that had a cooling effect before it burned. It helped ease the pain but it was not wiped off — it was left on until it dried to your skin. You would take it over dying of sepsis, though.

Other times, a bottle of water would be forced between your lips and you’d be fed some sort of sweet water. It left you thirstier than before you drank it and in a state of drowsiness that lead to long hours [ you think ] of dreamless sleep.

It was impossible to tell time and you didn’t try. Whatever was happening to you was being done perfectly and with tact — Natasha would likely be proud of the effort put into it because you felt like you were losing it.

And then, at one point, the door opened. You stopped expecting one thing over another and prepared for some more mental torture as your head draped back behind you. It throbbed and had a permanent ache from how you sat in one single position for so long.

High heels — those sounded like heels clicking along the cement floor. Wet clicks splashes from the front of the shoes. So you were likely held in an unfinished area somewhere cold.

That was a lot of places in New York alone.

In your thinking you hadn’t realized the clicky sounds of the person’s heels had come to a stop and you could smell something . . . sweet. Nauseatingly sweet and you had to swallow thickly to keep the spinning in your head at a minor amount.

You felt fingers working at something at the back of your head and everything inside of you — all of your energy — was put into not leaning into those hands. You were touch-starved and scared but this person was not your rescuer. If that was the case you’d be out of here by now.

And then blinding light.

Large construction lights in each corner, so bright that you leaned to the side and vomited from the intensity and the force of pain it shoved onto your senses.

“I would offer to turn down the lights,” a heavily accented voice said, “but that would be rather pointless to my needs, I think.”

You spit out some remaining bile and collected yourself, breathing in strong strokes of air through your nose and letting them back out through your teeth.

“Poor darling.” Fingers carded through your tangled hair and pulled, forcing your head upwards. Long, sharp acrylic nails painted matte black grasp your cheeks with the other hand.

Your eyes tried to focus on your surroundings — to note down anything important or unique. But the windows were covered by steel plates and the room was barren.

The outline of the woman was shadowed by the construction lights but you could make out long hair.

“Natalia is an interesting woman with interesting tastes,” the shadowed figure mused, releasing your cheeks but keeping you in place by your hair. “How fascinating that she plays house after so much blood soaks her ledger, no?”

You declined the bait. If you were taken because these assholes wanted Natasha, then they wouldn’t get a fucking word —

A snap of fingers and suddenly you’re blasted with water so cold that it burns your skin like a fire.

You hear screaming and it’s loud, but you don’t ask them to stop because it’s you screaming.

“You sing so pretty when you're . . . pushed,” the woman said as she tightened her grip in your now wet hair as you shook in place from the sheer cold. “If you do not wish to give me information that would free you, well," a shrug, "I simply do not need it."

"Why the fuck," you mustered, shaking violently, "th-the tier ten torture methods, then?" The chair creaked under your uncontrollable shakes, but your captor kept you held tightly.

You heard a snort of amusement just above your own teeth rattling in your skull as your head was drawn up, likely so you can hear her talk. She seemed the type to need to hear her own voice and for others to hear it. "Because I have photos and videos of you ready to send at the click of a button. Each one worse than the other, with an added injury to you as she receives more until she comes to your rescue."

You let her words sink in as another painful chill worked up your body and wracked you. Your mind was sluggish and racing all at once and maybe that was the point -- no opportunity to get a single thought worth while together.

"Why tell me this?" you finally asked, biting the bullet watching your own breath fade away with your words in the air.

The tight grip loosened considerably in your now freeze-dried hair, brushing through until her fingertips came back with the frost that formed as her warm hand melted the strands.

"I do not intend on letting you walk out of here alive, songbird," she answered as if this weren't your life she was discussing with you. "You are acting as bait and I know she will bite until it is dug in so deep there is no escape."

You were so cold. You think your toes and fingers may have fallen off or . . . or maybe she had them chopped off to send to Nat. Either way, you think they're gone. I suppose I won't need them in death.

"Natasha is too smart," you defended. You could waste some of her time, maybe. See if whatever miniscule seconds she entertained you would make a difference to your friends working to find you -- and for Nat.

"She's very smart," agreed your captor darkly, "which is exactly why I had to strike a bit close to home, see? Her sister is a fighter -- trained too well to have been so easily downed. But imagine my surprise when she seemed to forget her own grooming and lifelong training because of you, a little girl with big dreams and offering Natasha something she never had before because she couldn't afford it."

It was as though she had curled her talons around your heart and pierced it until all the lifeblood was spilled, leaving you hollow. Hollow, cold, and burning as tears started to escape down your cheeks and setting your skin aflame.

"Oh, darling, did I strike a nerve?" she asked, toxic syrup poured over faux concern as she gently ran her nails through your hair again. Your scalp felt like it was cut open even though her touch was light.

"Fuck you," you spat, tired and shivering again. "She won't fall for this. Whoever the fuck you are -- she killed Thanos and she will kill you too."

Soft laughter filled your ears, your only response.

You squinted in effort to try and make out more than her form in this lighting but you struggled — she appeared tall to your hunched over form, curled to try and maintain whatever internal warmth you had left.

“You waste your energy and breath on praising her, sweet thing,” she crooned, crouching low enough to peer at you as black spots began to take over your vision. “Especially now that her greatest flaw has been revealed to me and I will ensure her downfall. Thank you for your help, little one.”

Natasha was coerced into medical treatment down in the infirmary while S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives worked on closing off her rooms until the investigation could be finished and the damage repaired.

Doctor Cho was ever loyal to the Avengers and their growing list of misfits. She treated every ailment and injury with precision and perfection while maintaining a closed door policy that kept reporters from sniffing around. Her tongue was sharp and most members of the Avengers Initiative found themselves on the end of it if they ran back to the infirmary after being treated and told to rest.

Tony, Clint, and Parker were the three most often on that side of Cho's scolding and near-violent treatments -- except Peter. She adored the kid.

Natasha was not one of the ones that sought Cho's treatments out frequently. She preferred to lick her wounds in private or allow Bucky to patch her up . . . before you started helping her with that. You were gentle and fussy when Nat returned to you with some scrapes or a few dark bruises, but you'd only ever sent her to Cho once when you thought your simple first aid wasn't gonna cut it.

You were right -- Natasha had needed fifteen stitches in her forehead and Cho had lectured her the entire time.

Now she sat -- without you here to tell her that she needed Cho's treatments because a bandage would not seal this cut. Now she sat and watched blankly as a laceration was stitched, wrapped, and Cho moved onto the next wound.

Steve and Bucky hovered near the doorway and maintained a perfect quiet so that Cho could work without distraction, even though they knew the doctor was the best of her filed and hushed conversation would hardly draw her focus away.

"Alright," Doctor Cho says, breaking the silence as she finishes wrapping the last cut on the spy's arm and taping it down. "Only two or three of these were nasty and drew my biggest concerns. I'm going to give you a quick acting antibiotic injection since I know none of you are great at taking medicine."

Bucky cleared his throat and Nat glanced his way, noticing his pink cheeks. Ah, Cho was calling him out it seemed.

She did not care either way so she nodded her consent. "Whatever the doctor says," she rasped, watching Cho roll over to one of her refrigerated cabinets and pulling out a prepped syringe full of a clear fluid.

Natasha zoned out as the doctor went through the process of giving her the injection, and she did not tune in on Steve and Bucky's murmured talking that had started.

"I want to send you to Miranda for a mental evaluation," Cho announced after she dumped her gloves into the trash. She checked Natasha's pupils with her light again. "You're not as alert as normal."

"I don't need an eval right now," Natasha denied as she slid off of the medical bed and slipped her jacket back on. Tony had dropped off a change of clothes before her exam started and she'd changed out of those blood soaked rags, knowing your blood was in the threads too.

"I disagree," the doctor said, crossing her arms and watching Natasha slowly find her footing. She eyed Natasha then turned and filled a paper cup of water, then moved around and shuffled until she procured a two-pack of basic painkillers. She offered them. "I'm going to send down a message to him and get you set up. It doesn't have to be today, Agent Romanoff, but it will need to be done before I medically clear you for the field."

Natasha stared the woman down, hands trembling and her mind on a very fast decline into distress. All of her upbringing had trained her to prevent things like this -- to make her incapable of becoming such a being of emotion that her brain may one day be unable to process it.

Steve stepped forward and brushed against her as he took the water and medicine from Cho, once again brushing against her as he turned and handed them to his team-mate.

Natasha's hands closed around the objects automatically. "I need to be cleared to go find her."

Cho leaned back against her counter. "I may be under contract to S.H.I.E.L.D and to Stark, but my Oath stands, Agent Romanoff," she firmly, but not unkindly, rebutted. "I cannot in good conscious clear you for any sort of fieldwork or on ground missions. Even ones that are the most important to you -- especially the ones that are most important to you. If you are not sound in mind, it could get you and your team killed."

Couldn't they see she was fine? She had never had an issue being cleared after any mission since Thanos, and she did not think she needed an eval just because of the situation.

"Nat," Steve called quietly, allowing the redhead to let her gaze turn to him. He was concerned. She wanted to turn the concern into frustration, to focus, to get it away from reading into her. "We already have everybody we can on the trail, including Danvers and Shuri. If anyone can help us, they can."

"They don't have everyone, they don't have me."

"That might be best," Bucky told her bluntly as he regarded her with that Winter Solider-esque facade. "You're in a compromised state of mind and the last thing you need is to jump right back in before you can even gather yourself."

"I am not compromised, Barnes," Natasha replied evenly, sliding her mask over herself as she popped the painkillers and drank her water. She had exposed too much, had left her defenses down too long. "I'm just dazed."

"Sort of Bucky's point," Steve said awkwardly. "Listen, nothing can be done now. We've traced what was left to a dead end and right now we're allowing Danvers and Shuri to work their magic. Tony is in the lab reviewing FRIDAY's logs, and Clint and Sam are with agents patrolling and questioning hikers on the trail. What I need from you right now is to stay out of the way."

Stay out of the way.

Natasha reached up to rub at her forehead. "You promise," she began slowly, "that you're looking? Following every small lead?"

Steve met her gaze as his hand ran up her arm, his eyes an ocean of sincerity and pleading. "She's our friend, too, Nat. She's one of us -- she's not just yours."

Natasha's lips thinned out but her shoulders slumped and she nodded. "Fine. I won't do the eval, but I'll get some rest."

"I'm afraid at this point the eval is non-negotiable. Fury's already signed off on the request for Miranda to see you," Cho told her, hands going into her jacket pockets and eyes looking anywhere but at Nat.

Steve put some pressure on her arm and he started turning her toward the door that would lead them out of the room that was located in the Infirmary.

"We'll make sure she shows," Bucky told Natasha as they exited, short and to the point.

Natasha's hands were sliced and patched, but her mind and heart were in tatters worse.

You think that they must have sewed your toes and fingers back on. Or maybe they replaced them with something synthetic, because when you woke next the room was warmer and feeling had returned to your limbs. Your clothes stuck to you with sweat and your skin was sleek with it.

A fever -- you must have a fever. You let out a heavy breath and you could still see the white cloud escaping from between your lips like a ghost of your soul.

Definitely a fever -- a very high one if you were sweating and did not feel the cold.

The inside of your mouth tasted metallic and bitter while your tongue felt like it was swelled three times too big.

"H-hel. . ." you started but when it hurt to speak, when it drew from you too much of your energy and returned pain, you let your voice die.

At some point you swore you saw Natasha. Dressed in a soft sweater you got her one day just because you thought she'd look so comfortable in it, dark brown and thick around the sleeves. She had her hair in a braid over her shoulder, loose strands tucked behind her ears and wispy around her forehead.

"Nat," you say.

She smiled softly at you, kneeling before you in your chair but she did not untie you. She only reached out to brush fingers across your cheek and you waited for the comfort of her touch, but it never came. You saw her fingers stroke but you were not able to lean into it. You fell through her hand instead of into it.

A sob rose up in your throat when you finally understood this for what it was, as her soft gaze and smile kept watching you as you cried for her in pain and calling out to her with no reply.

You could see an illusion of her but your broken self could not muster up her voice or the memory of her skin against yours. It was like a torture in and of itself.

You slept until she left you, waking up less grounded to this world each time you closed your eyes. You knew you were dying, and you knew you were being photographed in the process.

It was the last thing you wanted Natasha to see of you -- but maybe the next time you meet her in life it can be better.

Sometimes your captor visits you -- on the days that you are unable to stay awake for a long period of time. She would talk about Natasha sometimes, other times she would ask you questions about your childhood.

The first time you remember waking up one day, she was sitting in a chair across from you. The construction lights were off and only an overhead light was on, leaving you able to make out her sharp features and high ponytail.

She watched you like she was studying something. You no longer cared to interact. You were so tired.

"It's been three weeks," she started eventually as she twisted a ring on one of her long fingers. "You have very hard-to-kill friends, and I do believe I am out of my element in this. My employer is pleased."

Every word she spoke felt like a jackhammer slamming against your skull. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pain and sleep were all you knew anymore -- maybe this next sleep would prove peace?

"They're outside looking for the way in," she continued after a moment, pausing her ministrations and holding the ring between her fingers. "But it worked very well, I think. Romanoff is with them. I do not think my employer will much care once he has her."

Natasha, you mouthed silently. The woman's ruby lips twisted in a sort of bittersweet smile. "I wanted to kill you quickly -- to prevent this drawn out pain and delirium you are experiencing. He ordered me to keep you alive until your body shut down, and for that I am truly sorry."

Sorry?

"I can see why she loves you," the woman finally finished as she reached down and grabbed something at her feet and lay it in her lap. A clean sound that clawed down your spine as she unsheathed a sharp, long blade. "You are resilient and you kept your faith, and Romanoff's secrets, and those are things I admire in my foes." Her nails ran down the base of the blade.

All you felt in this moment was how much love for Natasha you had, and how sorry you were that you couldn't have survived long enough for her, and that you only wished for more time with her.

"I will ensure you die quick now," a promise with no outward sign of deceit or resentfulness.

She stood up from her chair and moved the blade down to her side, splitting the air as it made home close to her. She rounded behind you and positioned herself until the sharp end of the blade rested like an oath on your hot skin.

You let your head fall back and awaited Death to come see you home.

"Fury will have my flank for this," Steve Rogers told Natasha as Agents blew the door open ahead of them and made the initial contact with any hostiles.

Natasha glanced sidelong at her helmeted friend and decided she would worry about the consequences after she had you back into safety.

Danvers was doing most of the work, honestly, blasting about and easily incapacitating Lotus' men as Natasha and Steve split down a two-way hall.

There was a door open at the end of Natasha's. A cold breeze was drifting out and toward her with an eerie silence that had her stomach in knots the closer she got.

She increased her pace as each room was cleared and reported negative on your presence. It gave her a little more push, a little more anxiety.

She stopped dead in the entrance and nearly went red when she saw what was in front of her. The Lotus, watching her and her blade resting so softly against your fevered skin.

"Natalia Romanova," The Black Lotus started with a grim greeting, "I see you got my messages."

Natasha loosened a bullet and hoped it struck true.

PART FIVE

[avifaunaa]

Natasha + R rambles [ htwswy ]

Authors Note: I’m a little tired from posting that monster of a chapter for Rio yesterday — so until I regain some brain juice back I’ll share some little cutsie rambles about Nat/R from the htwswy-verse! I know you guys love this fic a lot so if you want to know more about it please know my anons are open!

Masterlist

Summary: N/A | rambles

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Content Warnings: a tiny mention of self-harm, but other than that none! Mostly humor, fluff, the good stuff.

• Natasha and you probably get another cat not long after you guys get super duper serious — Liho was so pissed

• Out of the two of you, believe it or not, Natasha’s likely less likely to start an argument and more likely to find a solution to one.

• It actually took a while for Yelena to warm up to you despite whatever we think we see in chapter 1. Natasha is her sister and nobody is good enough for her sister until she can decide they are. “A while” is actually six months — making the offhand Yelena-like comments even when she agreed to your attempts to reach out for hangouts to watch Studio Ghibli movies.

• When she does decide you’re perfect for Natasha [ “I’m glad you approve,” you told the blonde blandly as you sat across from her at breakfast, oatmeal untouched and eyes uncaring, “but we’ve been dating for a year now.” She pointedly ignored you, as she usually does. ] she goes to Natasha herself and says so.

• Natasha wasn’t amused.

• Natasha who doesn’t seek out cuddling at bedtime immediately due to her fear of what could happen if she’s tangled up with you during a night terror. Short of flinging you into the wall and making Tony pay a hefty repair fee, you weren’t sure there was much.

• She admired the size of your balls, honestly, considering she could kill you.

• You laughed at her despite the severity of the situation she felt — whereas you didn’t. You didn’t think she’d be able to before waking up.

• It turns out you were right — she always ended up awake with you somehow touching her. On top of her chest, curled up against her, spooning her, spooning you.

• When Natasha sat you down and told you the full story about her history — from the Red Room until the defeat of Thanos — you didn’t seem to know how to take it. But you did know how to respond to her opening up: you took care of her. You disappeared only to return with a dangling Liho in your arms and plopped her into Nat’s lap while you gathered various items for a lazy day on the couch.

—> “I need you to say something,” Natasha finally admitted after you hadn’t spoken about it for a few minutes, television murmuring in the background as she stroked Liho’s soft fur. “Just tell me what you’re thinking?”

—> You lifted your head off her shoulder to look directly at her. “I think,” you started slowly, picking at your leggings, “that you’re one of the bravest people I have ever met and the good you do in the world despite the amount of wrong it has done to you is a feat that I will always admire and love you for.”

—> It was a beautiful response — and not an “I’m so sorry” to be found in there either. She kissed you just to tell you how much it meant to her. That her past didn’t change how you in her eyes. As your partner, your fiercest protector, and your best friend.

• Natasha Romanoff who comes home busted up form missions and you hackle like a cat and fuss over her, poking and prodding each wound, demanding to know where they came from and “why the fuck did you come see me before going to Cho?” and only when did she notice you were in near tears did she stop coming to you before going to Cho.

• Natasha who finishes trying the coffee menu at her normal spot and approaches you about how it makes her feel.

—> You bring a list of suggestions for other local places in the city to start going to

—> It’s cute how she worries about never going back — but you make a promise that for every new place you try you always go to the usual spot once a week

• Natasha who notices your ticks and understands when you work as a way to self-soothe or self-harm.

• This causes her to visit more frequently and break the streak of the period you work so you can go to bed, or eat some food, take a shower — whatever it takes to get you away from the lab.

• Natasha who introduces you fully to the team. She looks entirely too proud of herself, eyes so lovely and soft, and you as Thor slams down the hammer and dares you to play the game nobody ( but Steve Rogers, but Thor conveniently leaves that out ) can win but him.

—> Natasha comforts you when you go :( after ten long minutes of attempting to peel that stupid hammer off the table while everyone eggs you on, knowing full well it won’t happen

—> “It was not a game you were excepted to win — none of us can,” she assured you.

I LOVE THESE IDIOTS SO MUCH CHAT

[avifaunaa]

hii I had a question about your nat fic, how the world spins one .. I was wondering if it would be possible to keep descriptive information out of it? for instance, in the first chapter it mentions how reader has brown eyes .. which is totally okay if that’s what you want to put! but my way of thinking is that not everyone will be able to put themselves in the story if they don’t have brown eyes, you know? like I have blue eyes and when it mentioned having brown eyes i felt like I couldn’t imagine myself as the reader. I don’t know if this makes sense and I hope this doesn’t make you upset, I just thought I’d ask because I think you would get a lot more interaction if you made that little change ❤️

Hi there! I never want to discourage people from reading anything I write — which is why I purposefully left out everything except eye color.

Reader’s eye color is tied into the first chapter solely based on the location Natasha meets them — which is somewhere safe and a location that means a lot to her + coffee symbolism.

I do not plan on doing this with every fic I write though ❤️ I only did it as a point of symbolism for this particular fic and left everything else up to interpretation. I apologize if it makes it difficult for you to read — I do not mention it but once or twice total and not at all in Chapter Two.