#marie laveau x f!reader

[briaroftheroses]

Request Rules

I’m finally getting around to writing out my request rules! If you would like to request a fic, hc set, drabble, etc. please read over these rules before submitting. Please also check this post regularly as I will add things as I go.

Things I Will Write For

Fem/GN reader, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, dark themes/fics, praise, degradation, use of strap ons, p in v, creampies, throat fucking, both m and f receiving oral, multiple characters in one fic, choking, impact play, dacryphilia, pain play, bondage (nothing with legs specifically being restrained though), blood play (mostly only for AHS fics), d/s dynamics, BDSM, dub-con/non-con, piss, boot play/worship - feel free to ask about kinks not listed here because there is no way i named them all

Things I Will Not Write For

Male reader, character x character with no reader, beastiality, pedophilia, scat, underage characters (except platonically), gore and non-canon character death (except for in the case of things like murder house and hotel in which they would become a ghost), real-life people (such as actors), even though I might write for dom reader please do not request it.

If there’s anything not mentioned here, feel free to ask before making a request.

Specify the general length of the fic you want.

Please keep in mind that requests can take a while and I may switch between writing them and my own personal projects.

Keep in mind that if you’re vague with the description then I am less likely to write what you imagine and it will take me longer.

When asking about unlisted characters, please include the type of fic you would like to request with them.

Characters I Write For

Evan Peters

Tate Langdon, Kit Walker, Kyle Spencer, Jimmy Darling, James Patrick March, Kai Anderson, Austin Sommers (please no spoilers in the requests for any characters after Hotel), Peter Maximoff, Warren Lipka, Luke Cooper - feel free to ask about any others that aren’t here

AHS

Vivien Harmon, Violet Harmon (platonically), Billie Dean Howard, Alma Walker, Lana Winters, Sister Mary Eunice McKee, Zoe Benson, Marie Laveau, Madison Montgomery (depending on the request), Cordelia Foxx/Goode, Misty Day, Fiona Goode, young!Fiona Goode, Amazon Eve, Desiree Dupree, Edward Mordrake, Dandy Mott, The Countess, Sally McKenna, Ramona Royale, Winter Anderson (please no spoilers in the requests for any characters after Hotel) - feel free to ask about any others that aren’t here

Matthew Gray Gubler

Spencer Reid, Chip Taylor, Thorn (King Knight), Raymond (Suburban Gothic), Wes (Dollface), Paul ((500) Days of Summer) - feel free to ask about any others that aren’t here

Criminal Minds

Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer Jareau, Elle Greenaway, Cat Adams, Megan Kane - feel free to ask about any others that aren’t here

WWE

Rhea Ripley, Dominik Mysterio, TJD (only if including Rhea), Liv Morgan, Becky Lynch

this list will be updated regularly as i watch more shows/movies/seasons of ahs, so feel free to check regularly :) also feel free to ask about characters not listed, but there is no guarantee i will write for them.

[novoaa1writes]

sugar fixes everything (... hopefully)

pairing(s): marie laveau x reader

summary:

while out running errands one muggy afternoon in the baywater district, you come across a less-than-welcome face. 

you’re loath to tell marie about it, as you know it’ll make her absolutely furious. 

you figure that maybe if you butter her up first with treats and kisses, she won’t take it quite so poorly. (you figure wrong.)

contains: fluff, angst & light (hinted at) smut

word count: ~2,300

rating: mature

warnings: fiona being kind of an asshole, passing mention of men being creeps, swearing, light (hinted at) smut, a bit of possessive!marie

notes: bro why aren’t there any marie x reader fics 

— —

It was a day like any other in the Crescent City—hot and muggy beneath a sweltering sun in cloudless skies above. 

You’d been running errands all around the Bywater District for the better part of the afternoon—depositing money in the bank, refilling your prescriptions at the CVS, stopping by for some sweet tea and easy conversation over at Old Missy’s.

You’d just been taking a detour through the French Quarter before heading back to the 9th Ward—because sure, maybe you’d been living in New Orleans for just over seven years now, but even still, the city’s contagious spirit never failed to galvanize your mood. 

Even now, you couldn’t help frequenting little trips over to Jackson Square. You’d gape up at the St. Louis Cathedral in awe, listen to jazz players on the streets, pop into quaint little shops to browse their awe-inspiring wares along the way. 

Hell, sometimes you'd even cough up the insane $20 charge (tourist culture is no joke) for a Tarot reading. 

Marie always scoffs when you rush back to tell her your newest readings—because of course, she could conjure a bona fide fortune-telling to put the rest of them to shame if you asked it of her. And it was precisely for that reason that you never did. 

Regardless. Tarot readings are fun, and they make you smile. (Well, most of them, anyhow.)

This time, though, you make your trip through the Quarter fairly short.

You promised you’d meet Marie this afternoon even if only for coffee, as she was too caught up in witch business to do much else. 

That was more than fine with you. Sure, you’d have preferred to see her for longer, but you’d take what you could get. 

With her in mind, you allow yourself a small pit-stop at Café du Monde—an immensely popular eatery bordering Jackson Square that sells the best beignets you’ve ever had. 

You don’t order many—just four in a neat little to-go box. You know that the moment you show up with them in tow, Marie will groan and chastise you. She’ll go on about how she needs to watch her figure, insisting that “all these sweets are gonna make me fat, ma chérie.”  

She always eats them with you anyhow. 

(And, if she’s in a particularly good mood, she’ll let you lick the remaining powdered sugar off her pretty lips.)

With two bags and a warm to-go box in hand, you make your way along Decatur Street. 

Despite the heat, it really is quite a beautiful day out. 

The streets are alive with a jazzy tune; there’s an adorable family taking a selfie on the street corner… the city’s natural charisma spreads its way into your very bones like a contagion—the best kind of infirmity. 

The sun falls warmly across your skin as a slight breeze ruffles the hem of your uniform skirt—a little black thing that barely reaches mid-thigh.

It’s not your typical dress—a tiny skirt and black tank (no logo, thankfully); but you’ve been wearing it to work over at Eddie’s enough over the past few years that you don’t really mind it. 

Besides, despite the color, it’s perfect for days like this—hot, sunny, damp.  

Sure, some men are pigs about it, and you get enough misogynistic comments at work to make even the patience of a saint run dry, but you manage just fine. The money’s good, your boss is nice enough (if not a tad behind on the times), and at the end of the day, you get to go home to the most beautiful woman in the entire city. 

God, even just the thought of her has your face breaking out into a blinding grin and a warm, giddy feeling exploding in your chest.

It’s her you’re daydreaming of when it happens. 

You’ve just passed by the French Market, and are nearing the edge of the Quarter Proper, when a woman dressed all in black approaches you. 

She’s got shoulder-length blonde hair, a sweeping cloak that looks hotter than hell (especially on a day like today), and big black shades covering her eyes. 

And the way she’s moving… slowly but surely, like a predator stalking its prey. Like she knows you can’t run from her no matter how hard you try. 

It’s something of a bland ensemble on its own—really, anyone from Miss Robichaux’s Academy might be seen donning it on any given day—and her large sunglasses do a solid job of concealing her identity, as they cover at least a third of her face. 

It doesn’t matter. You know who she is. 

You’ve never met her before (an intentional happenstance on Marie’s part), but her reputation far precedes her. 

“Why, hello there, Y/N,” the woman greets, coming up to you and tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear like you’re old friends. 

You tighten your grip on the bags and your takeout box, but otherwise don’t make a move. You know better than to run. “Fiona Goode.”

The woman chuckles, baring a toothy grin. “That’s my name,” she confirms in a tone that’s as much chiding as it is teasing. “Don’t wear it out.”

You swallow thickly, looking her straight in those big, stupid glasses. You’re irked to note that your reflection in them looks a hell of a lot less intimidating than you’d like. 

“What do you want?” you ask. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

Fiona raises a single brow. If she’s at all put off by your impudence, she does well not to show it. “On your way back to the 9th Ward, I presume?”

You shrug. “Maybe.”

Fiona chuckles again. “I like you. You’ve got spirit.”

“I don’t care,” you tell her firmly, making as if to bypass her and continue on. “I’m leaving now.”

She shifts to block you, boring down on you with a shark-toothed grin. “I’ll walk with you,” she says. It’s not really an offer so much as it is a command. “After all, it’s so terribly dangerous to be out on these streets alone—pretty girl like yourself. I’m sure I’m not the first to tell you that.”

You grit your teeth, fix her with a glare. “I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?”

Fiona throws her head back and laughs, curling an arm around your shoulders. 

It’s all the confirmation you need as she tugs you close and begins to walk down the sidewalk, forcibly dragging you along with her.  

— —

You maintain the charade for a block… maybe two. 

But the moment you’re in a less crowded locale, you jerk out of her grip and turn to face her with a snarl. “What do you want, Ms. Goode?”

“Ooh.” Fiona takes off her sunglasses, folding and tucking them into the purse on the crook of her arm. Her eyes are a gentle shade of brown, lids shaded in expensive-looking black powder. “Feisty. I can see why Marie Laveau is so taken with you.”

“So, that’s what this is about?” You shake your head, glaring off to the side where two children kick a tattered soccer ball in a grimy back alley. 

“What are you to her, exactly?” she questions loftily. 

You turn back to look her in the eye when you say, “None of your business.”

Fiona appraises you for a beat or two, then advances closer. It takes everything within you not to retreat a step, even if it’ll land you directly in the street. “Everything is my business.”

“Why? ‘Cause you’re the Supreme?”

Fiona raises a single brow. “So, she has told you everything.”

You shrug. “Not everything, I’m sure. She has her secrets, and I have mine.”

Fiona doesn’t even seem to hear you; what’s more, the way she’s looking at you… intent and probing, a morbid fascination in her beady-eyed gaze. “She must really care for you.”

Despite the way your chest flutters at her statement, you remain impassive. “Are we done here?”

Fiona’s lips twitch, threatening a smile—but she retreats a step and brandishes her sunglasses once more, sliding them onto her nose. “Yes, darling,” she coos. “I think we’re quite finished.”

Dismissed, you turn and speed-walk down to the street corner and take your first right—though, not before Fiona can call after you, “I’ll be seeing you again very soon, sweet girl.”

The moment she’s out of sight, you break into a jog. Your pills rattle in the tote, the beignets thunder around inside their little box, but you really don’t care. 

You need to get as far away from her as possible. 

— —

“She did what ?!” Marie hisses, fury alight in her gaze as she tosses a half-eaten beignet down onto her plate. There’s a bit of powdered sugar smeared above the Cupid’s bow of her top lip. Under any other circumstance, you might find that quite adorable. You still kind of do, honestly.

As it is, you have to fight the instinctive urge to wince. “Marie, it’s fine—”

“It’s not fine.” She practically spits out the last word before getting to her feet and beginning to pace—a bad sign. 

You’d decided to try slipping the whole ‘your archnemesis came to see me’ thing into the conversation as smoothly as possible when you showed up at the salon—buttering her up first with kisses and light conversation and a fresh (if not a little banged-up) beignet, then tactfully broaching the topic. 

Then again, the rage splayed across Marie’s regal features is evidence enough that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference either way. 

“That fuckin’ bitch,” she growls. “She’s got no idea who she’s messin’ with—”

“Marie, please,” you try, setting aside your beignet and getting to your feet. “You’re gonna wear a hole through the carpet.”

Marie stops briefly, glances down at said carpet—a beautiful, Persian-style rug—and promptly continues her pacing with a growl. 

“Fuck the carpet,” she snaps, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. You can’t help but lose focus for a moment at the definition of her arms… the way her muscles jump and flex with every slight moveme—Ahem. 

Focus, you scold yourself. 

“Baby, she didn’t even hurt me—”

“Yet,” Marie reviles, finally stopping her pacing to bore down on you. It’s of little consequence. You’re not scared of her. You know she’d never do anything to harm you. “She has no right to even look at you, much less—”

She stops herself there before her temper can get the best of her, inhaling deeply. 

Seeing an opportunity, you step into her space, gently tucking the stiff braids back over her shoulder until you can loop your arms around her neck. 

She looks down at you with conflict in her eyes, and you don’t dare look away. It takes a beat or two, but finally, her strong arms come to curl around your waist—pulling you flush against her body even as her arms tremble around you like you’re spun from glass, like she’s scared she’ll break you if she holds you even a little bit tighter. 

No matter. You’ll take what you can get. 

“I’m fine, Marie,” you tell her earnestly, tilting your jaw up to let her look you in the eye so she knows you mean it. “She didn’t harm me. I promise.” 

Marie purses her lips, but nods. You don’t think she quite believes you. 

“I was a little scared, sure,” you admit, keeping your body lax as her arms tighten around you—holding you impossibly closer as if to remind herself that what you’re saying is true: that you’re here, and you’re okay. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle, okay?”

You decide to save the part where Fiona said she’d be seeing you again ‘very soon’ for later—not too much later, but maybe tonight, at least. Marie’s got more than enough to worry about, and besides—there’s nothing to be done about it right now.

If Fiona Goode wants to see you, she’ll find a way—come hell or high water. 

Marie still looks torn, but eventually she nods, lowering her forehead to press against yours. “Anything like this happens again, you call me,” she says, voice trembling with emotion. “Got it?”

You lean in to place a feather-light kiss upon her lips, lingering just a little to lap up the bit of powdered sugar over her mouth. 

“Okay,” you agree once you pull away, licking any remnants of powder off your own lips with a self-satisfied grin. 

Marie huffs out a laugh even as the solemn—almost contemplative—look in her eye remains. “You’re mine, okay?” she murmurs after a quiet moment, her eyes searching yours. “Just mine.”

Immediately, you nod, lunging up for another kiss that’s wet and open-mouthed and desperate—just the way you like it. Her hands slip beneath the hem of your tank, creeping up your back until you whimper in her mouth—and fuck her, but she knows exactly what she’s doing to you, if the smirk pressing into your parted lips is any indication. 

“Yours,” you pull away to whisper breathlessly before crashing your lips back into hers, suckling the tip of her tongue just the way she likes until she lets out a groan that reverberates through your bones—setting your very body alight with desire and want.

There’s something ferocious—almost wild—about her as she backs you up against the nearest wall, assaulting your lips with kisses hard enough to bruise, and tearing at your clothes until they’re nothing but tattered bits of fabric littering the floor. 

(Whatever. You can go shopping before dinner.)

And you… well. You think that your feelings on the matter are perfectly clear—what with the way you’re whining and mewling and grinding against her thigh, smearing her tawny skin with your copious slick, begging her to let you touch her back because you need it so fucking bad. 

Hm. Maybe you should piss her off more often.

— —

end notes: CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW DEFINED ANGELA BASSETT’S UPPER BODY IS??? HER ARMS ???? 

anyway, if you’ve ever been to café du monde, you know their beignets are fye. if you haven’t, you GOTTA go dude. they slap. also the french quarter (jackson square particularly) is lit at all hours of the night, especially during NOLA

also did anyone else find themselves lowkey attracted to papa legba and his super deep voice? asking for a friend

link to masterlist

[walkerwords]

“Hear No Evil” Negan X Deaf!F!Reader

Word Count: 1768

Negan x Deaf!Reader

Summary: You are deaf in the apocalypse and you are working on your tech when Negan and Carl pay you a visit. Negan takes a bit of interest in you, but you could care less and just gives him what he need and ignores everything else. However, it seems he kind of likes it. 

Warning: nothing

Song I Wrote To: “Marie Laveau” by Merci Raines

Note: I am not deaf myself, but i have a good friend who is and helped me out with this one. This is just something I wrote while I was waiting for my dinner to cook. not my favourite, but here we are. There probably won’t be a second part.

------

You were bent over an old sprinkler timer in your makeshift workshop in your garage.

You were trying to figure out a way to re-purpose the device to be a light timer so those on guard wouldn’t need to manually turn on the spotlights while on late-night watches. Michonne had mentioned the Governor having something similar at Woodbury and so when you brought the idea to Rick, he trusted you to be the one to figure it all out. 

Lately, Rick had been giving you more and more tasks that appealed to the skills you had acquired before the Apocalypse. Having a Masters in Engineering was something that you took a lot of pride in and you were definitely a coveted member of Alexandria because of it. Sure, there were people like Daryl and Rosita who knew their way around mechanics and weaponry, but you were well-skilled in all aspects of your field. You could fix an engine, rewire a house, and even tune-up the solar panels all before a lunch break. It was something that had made you quite essential in the new world.

However, while you were an asset, you still had to be careful around new people Alexandria would bring in out work with. Being born deaf was not something you expected to ever be a challenge until the Dead began walking. You had gone through extensive speech therapy as a child and well into your late teens. You were fluent in sign language and could read lips. Your cochlear implant worked very well, that is until your battery was damaged in a walker attack four months prior and your world was completely silent since. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was frustrating and you just had to be even more vigilant on runs. 

When you had met Rick shortly after his group had been run off the Greene family farm, the former sheriff was surprised that you were even alive. He doubted you for a long time when you joined their group. Rick was always worried that you wouldn’t hear when Walkers were around or that you would be too much of a risk on runs, but every time they had run into trouble, you had proved him wrong. 

You were an excellent shot, not to mention you were a wizard when it came to improvised technology. You had managed to set up a night vision camera when they waited out the cannibals from Terminus. That alone had saved Michonne’s life when one had tried to sneak up on her. After that, Rick didn’t question you again.

Then, when you returned home after a run with Sasha and your hearing was once again gone completely, Rick had slipped back into old habits. You were essentially on desk duty now. The only action you had seen since being at the Alexandria Safe Zone was when you had helped dispatch the Wolves and protected Tara and Denise as they worked to save Carl the night the herd invaded the town. Since then, it had been all wires and buttons for you.

You hadn’t held any of that against Rick, but when Maggie was sick and they were ambushed by the Saviors, you were furious. Your father had been a sniper. You knew how to move silently and how to handle yourself. You knew that they had been outnumbered the night the man known as Negan had smashed in Glenn and Abraham’s heads. There was no way any of them could have fought off all the Saviors, but you couldn’t help but think if you had been nearby with your rifle, you could have at least killed a few. Maybe even Negan himself. 

However, you didn’t really know what to think about the man with the baseball bat. You hadn’t seen him and you didn’t know him. What you did know was that he was a murderer who killed two people you cared about and the others were terrified of him. The only thought that kept you going through this new reality of being under the Sanctuary's thumb was that before they met Negan, Rick Grimes was the one everyone was scared of. 

You still believed that was true. 

You blinked a few times, trying to refocus on your work when a vibration rattled your desk, gaining your attention. You turned towards the open garage door to see Carl Grimes set down a wrench he had used to knock against the pipes. He waved at you with a warning look in his eye. You nodded to him and then noticed the large man looming behind the teenager. He was tall with broad shoulders and a scruffy beard. His height alone was intimidating, but the way he carried himself reminded you of horrid men you had met on the road and it sent a chill down your spine. 

Though, it was what was in his hand that made you freeze. A baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire hung loosely in his grip. Your jaw tightened as you slowly stood from your stool, dropping your work completely and raising your hands in front of you. Looking back to Carl, you placed your fingertips to your temple and then pulled it away, folding down your three center fingers. The sign for “why?” 

“(Y/N),” Carl began, signing as he spoke. “The Saviors are here for a pick up,” he explained. Negan was watching Carl’s hands in confusion before it clicked and you nearly gagged at the smile of pleasure that appeared on the killer’s face. 

“What do you want?” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t too scratchy today. You hadn’t spoken in a few days. Most of your original group knew enough ASL to talk to you. Daryl, Carl, and Rick were near fluent and Michonne and Maggie were the next best. The only other person who had been nearly as perfect as you were was Beth who had a deaf best friend growing up. Days like these were when you missed the younger Greene sister the most. 

“Do you have those extra walkie batteries?” Carl asked. you looked between Carl and Negan, your hands clenching. you wanted to yell at Carl, send your hands flying faster than he would probably understand, but you knew it was unwise to show too much emotion in front of Negan. Last thing you wanted to do was fuel his rage or whatever he was exuding at the moment. So you sighed and walked to the other side of your workshop. Carl waited by the door, but Negan made his way around the garage, picking up odds and ends. You kept him in your view from the corner of your eye, making sure he didn’t break anything too valuable.

Hauling a box from behind a half-finished motorcycle you were working on for Jesus, you dug around for what Carl had asked for. You drew four spare batteries and kicked the box back into it’s crevice. You marched over to the kid and nearly slammed the batteries into his chest. “Anything else?” you asked. 

Negan then appeared once again. His back was turned to you, so you missed what he said, but Carl sighed and slipped the batteries into his bag so he could get his hands free. He then gestured to you. “(Y/N), this is N-E-G-A-N,” he fingered spelled, “Negan this is (Y/N),” he introduced gesturing to Negan once again. “She’s our engineer.” Negan then fully turned to you and appraised her. 

“A deaf engineer? There’s a joke in there somewhere,” he said with a twisted smile. You gritted your teeth.

“Funny,” you quipped, “is that why you interrupted my work, to make stupid jokes that I’ve heard my whole life?” Negan seemed surprised at your answer. He narrowed his eyes at you and then looked back to Carl. 

“She can read lips,” Carl explained and Negan almost looked impressed. 

“So, you can spy on conversations from a long ways away?” Negan asked, nearly vibrating with excitement. you crossed your arms, sitting into one hip. 

“I’m deaf, not superhuman,” you said, “now if that’s all, I need to finish my work.” Carl went to leave when Negan rested a hand on the kid’s shoulder, halting him. 

“Well, it looks like someone has already made their mind up about me, hey, kid?” Negan said, still grinning at you. 

“That tends to happen when you murder my friends,” you said, not backing down. Negan laughed and ran a hand over his face. 

“You know what? I like you,” Negan said. 

“Oh great, lucky me,” you said as you turned your back on both of them. Negan went to say something else until he realized it would be futile. You picked up your jacket and slung it around your shoulders. When you turned back to Carl he was looking at you with worry as he usually did when he could tell you were getting pissed. You then hooked your finger toward him in a question mark and then tapped your thumb to your forehead, your palm splayed wide. Dad? 

“He’s with Judith, Olivia had to go help pack up the pantry,” Carl said.

“Thanks,” you said as you moved past the two men who had invaded your space. However, Negan wasn’t done and grabbed your arm. Carl went to stop him when you nearly jumped back three feet, snatching back your arm, your eyes wide and alarmed. Carl was infront of you in a second, explaining that you were okay, not bothering to speak, only moving his hands. You tracked the signs and calmed down slightly. Carl then turned to look at a surprised Negan, keeping his hands visible to you. 

“Grabbing deaf people when they’re not expecting it while living in a world where the Dead walk around trying to eat people isn’t the most comfortable thing,” Carl explained, but it didn’t matter because you were already heading away from them, your hand on your knife. Carl watched as you sped towards his house, looking for Rick. 

“So she actually can’t hear,” Negan said, surprised. Carl looked at him, his one eyes narrowed. 

“You thought she was faking it?”

“She has the implant,” Negan said, gesturing to his own head. 

“Her battery got damaged a few months back. She could hear pretty well from the day I met her until it got broken. We haven’t been able to find a replacement for it yet. That also means she’s not the friendliest of people right now, especially to strangers.”

“I don’t blame her,” Negan grinned, “but you know what? I like her!”

[novoaa1writes]

masterlist

this is my masterlist, which will be updated periodically as i write more. please heed the warnings before reading. all readers are written as mixed race and female unless specifically indicated otherwise. 

⚹ = fluff

𝜏 = angst

■ = dark fic

∃ = explicit (18+)

⚲  = non-binary reader / reader’s gender not specified

lucifer

mazikeen x reader

“hey. wanna bang?”

6:41 on a thursday morning ⚹ ⚲

criminal minds

jemily & reader

comeback kid

shameless (u.s.)

mandy milkovich x reader

“f**k you.” ⚲

american horror story

the countess x reader

twisted love ∃

ramona royale x reader

jealousy ∃

marie laveau x reader

sugar fixes everything (... hopefully)

dc

barbara kean x tabitha galavan x reader

sirens�� den ■ ∃

harley quinn x reader

control ■ ∃

happy accidents ⚹ ∃

harley quinn x poison ivy x reader

peaches ■ ∃

house-training ■ ∃

marvel

michelle jones x reader

protector ⚹ ⚲

daisy johnson x reader

honest ⚹ ⚲

peggy carter x reader

heaven ■ ∃ ⚲

queen ramonda x reader

worthy ⚹ ⚲

queen’s orders ⚹ 𝜏

(half) anniversary ⚹ ⚲

wanda maximoff x reader

candles ⚹ 𝜏 ■ ∃

natasha romanoff & reader

find you again (series)

“black widow jr.” | child’s play | the cost of building bridges | rebooted | ARZAMASSKAIA | the best laid plans... | demonology

natasha romanoff x reader

bruised knees ∃

build-a-pet (series) ■ ⚲

day 0 | come, sit, stay

yelena belova x reader

everything ⚹  ⚲

havana ⚹ ∃

“always.” ⚹ ∃

valentine’s ⚹ ⚲

yelena belova x natasha romanoff x reader

no one believes me ■ ∃

young, innocent things ■ ∃ ⚲

wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader

the itch ■ ∃

ours ■