#natasha romanoff image

[hexblooded]

natasha: d&d character profile

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

I Kissed The Scars On Her Skin

Natasha X Reader

Inspired by the lyrics ‘I kissed the scars on her skin, I still think you’re beautiful’ from the song A Match Into Water by Pierce The Veil.

Chapter warnings/Tags: Mentions of objectification/sexualisation, Brief Reference to Natasha’s past and unwanted sexual experiences, talks of body image, Insecurities and anxiety about body image, comfort, fluff (?)

Word Count- 2.6k

I wrote this to try and get out of my writer's block and it's not worked 🫠

Please read the warnings/tags before reading.

Masterlist

Staring ahead at the mirror in the corner of the room, emerald green intently stared at her reflection, observing every inch of her bare body that was on display, wet, red curls clinging to her body as she simply stood in front of the mirror, her usually playful green corrupted into disgust. Hurt, regret and shame crawled down her spine as her gaze flickered from one body feature to another, a lump clawing its way into her throat as pain creeped onto her face as she continued to stare, every second passing only amplifying the whirlwind of emotions flooding through her.

Natasha couldn’t stop the negative and despondent trail her thoughts drifted down as she looked at herself properly, nausea stirring deep within her. She didn’t see herself staring back at her, all she could see was an object, a tool she used to get the mission done, no matter what it took. She didn’t see someone soft or beautiful, someone you’d want to spend hours admiring because they were so pretty and delicate, all she could see was something… to be used. She was sexy and seductive, she wasn’t someone who was tender or gentle. She wasn’t someone lovable, she was something to be utilised for a mission.

Her eyes glossed over as she continued to berate her body, objectifying it herself as everyone else had done to her as she stared and ogled at her own body, trying to persuade herself there was something more to her than her looks. Her teeth anxiously bit down on her lower lip to stop it trembling as she failed to convince herself of anything positive, a stray tear managing to escape her when her gaze settled on one of the many scars that littered her body from her past.

The haunting memories of her past desperately tried to gnaw away at her thoughts but she didn’t pay them any attention as she was too focused on drowning in her other thoughts, drowning in the onslaught of doubts and insecurities eating away at her. She was a weapon and a killer. That’s all she was and all she was ever going to be.

The sound of keys twisting in the door made her aware of your arrival, the redhead not bothering to cover herself up as she assumed you would be happy to see her completely exposed, everyone else would. God, what did you even see in her? Was she just a good fuck? Is that why you hadn’t left her yet?

“Hey, you’re never going to believe what Sam did on the mission-“ You chuckled out as you opened the bedroom door, your eyes widening in surprise at the sight of her body, a smile naturally tugging at your lips before your gaze met her green in the reflection, the sheer amount of emotion swirling in them immediately filling you with concern, your face dropping into worry. “What’s wrong?” You ask softly as you carefully place your bag down on the floor, making your way gradually over to her body, watching her reaction as you approach your girlfriend.

“When you look at me, what do you see?” Her tone was laced with hurt as your brows furrow, your eyes trained on hers in the reflection as you move to stand next to her, being respectful and keeping your gaze locked on those eyes you fell so deeply for.

“I see the most beautiful woman in the world,” you whisper, your voice dripping with care and honesty as you watch her reaction, pain flashing across her face and causing confusion to wash across yours.

“No, no you don’t,” she mutters, lifting her hand to wipe away the tears lingering on her cheeks, brushing it away roughly as she hates crying, she hates showing any sign of weakness. “I’m not beautiful, I’m…I’m disgusting,” she mumbles, your face instantly reacting to her words, disbelief engraved on it as you take another step closer to her body, trying to think of a way to convince her that she wasn’t, she was more than what they made her.

“Nat,” you whisper softly as she stares ahead at the mirror, avoiding your gaze in the reflection as she tries to blink back the tears brimming in her eyes. “Natasha, look at me,” you murmur affectionately, waiting patiently for her to muster the courage to look at your loving and tender gaze, her mesmerising green eventually flickering over to your soft gaze. “Do you trust me?” your voice was barely above a whisper as your mouth moved near the shell of her ear, waiting for her consent before trying to show her how wrong she was.

She was beautiful, not because of her body but because of her heart. Despite everything she thought about herself, she was a kind, loving, and amazing woman, she was someone who managed to steal your heart without even trying. She was everything to you, and you needed her to know that.

When she nods, you show her your hands in the reflection, signalling to her you wanted to touch her before waiting for her to nod again, your hands gently moving to caress her waist when she was ready. Your warm touch felt odd against her skin momentarily, the sheer tenderness and care you managed to put into it made her heart flutter as you kept your gaze on her face, gauging her reactions carefully. It was almost overwhelming to feel so appreciated and seen by you, your hands moving against her soft skin slowly, your fingers moving over every inch of her body in an adoring way, not a hint of lust or desire present in your touch as you explored her body, slowly warming her cold body up.

“Do you know why I said I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?” you murmur as you place a delicate kiss to her bare shoulder, the kiss so innocent and affectionate it almost makes Natasha tear up from the loving blooming within her as you close your eyes, almost lost in your admiration for her. “Because there’s not a single part of you I don’t adore, I love all of you Natasha, not just your body,” you whisper, your warm breath tickling her skin as you kiss her shoulder blade, letting your lips ghost over a small scar you knew haunted her.

You kissed over the scar with as much love as possible, trying to sooth her worries about the physical scar as well as trying to comfort the mental scars that littered her, the feeling of their rough, forceful hands still invading her thoughts from time to time.

You can hear her exhale a shaky breath at your words and actions, her body slowly relaxing further into your touch as you move to glide your hands down her toned arms, propping your head on her shoulder as your mouth ghosted her ear again, watching her reaction to your touch as she lets her eyes flutter shut, trying to engrave the memory of your touch into her mind forever.

“Do you know why I love your hands?” You mumble softly, a smile tugging at your lips as she shakes her head, too scared to speak and ruin the tranquil atmosphere that’s wrapped around the two of you, wanting to let the world fade away. “I love the way you run your fingers through my hair when we cuddle,” you whisper, trying to list all the unique things she does that you adore, trying to express to her your undying love, needing her to realise how much you care about her. “I love how gentle they are when I let you braid my hair, the way you twirl your pen between them in debrief meetings, that when you get anxious you trace the lines on your palms,” you mimic the movement with your own fingers, dragging the tips of your fingers across her hand before up and along her forearm until you move them back to her waist to rest there for a moment, letting everything sink in for a moment before you continue.

“Do you know why I love your shoulders and back?” you ask quietly, letting your fingers trace her spine almost intimately as your body ghosts behind hers, her body subconsciously leaning back further against you, seeking your warmth and comfort. “Because despite carrying the world on your shoulders, you make time for others, you care for everyone else,” you whisper, “But most importantly, you let me take care of you, which I know was something difficult for you to start with. I love how now you let me run my fingers up and down your back because you know I love watching you relax,” your let your thumb gently press into a spot on her back, knowing it was her weak spot and watching as her body crumbles apart at your touch, relaxing instantly into your arms as your hands move to snake around her waist, letting her sink into your embrace.

You hold her for as long as you think she needs it, her eyes still closed as she focuses on the feeling of your steady heartbeat behind her, ears listening attentively to your calm breaths as you embrace her, smiling fondly at her reflection as the disgust on her features dissipated into shyness and love, the suffocating spiral she was trapped in easing it’s grip as your words lured her out of her dark thoughts.

Only when she was ready, did you move away from the embrace, moving around her body to face her, your lips pressing delicately against her forehead to make the corner of her lips lift up that little bit more before you slowly kiss down her body in an appreciative way, trying to express your love for her as you kneel before her, almost as if you were worshipping her.

“Do you know why I love this scar?” you whisper ever so gently, her head tilting to look at you as you peer up at her, honesty overflowing from your eyes as she struggles to process how you could love the old wound on her lower abdomen. “It shows how strong you are,” you mumble as you kiss the scars on her skin, “It shows that you are a good person, Natasha. You saved that man’s life, you risked yours just so he could go home to see his children, I think that’s something to admire and love.”

“Y/n,” she murmurs out but you kiss near the scar again, her hands naturally moving to thread through your hair, wanting to feel closer to you as she lets you continue praising her body.

“I’m not finished,” you mumble playfully, not letting her disagree with your words. “I also love how if I let my fingers brush over the spot above it…” you chuckle out, knowing she was some reason ticklish there, a soft laugh escaping her as her body jerks at the funny sensation, your hands settling at her hips to show you weren’t going to tickle her again. “I get to hear that angelic laughter,” you whisper with a cocky smile, her eyes rolling as she looks down at you, unable to stop the smile breaking out on her face, your comforting words a safety boat coming to save her from the sea of doubts and insecurities.

“That was mean,” she grumbles, scratching your scalp softly as you lean against her body, smiling up at her with nothing but love in your eyes.

“It still made you smile,” you say whilst kissing the spot you had just tickled, your hands moving down to her legs, deciding to compliment one more part of her body, having a feeling your plan had already seemed to have worked. “Do you know why I love your legs?” You hum out, looking up at her and noticing the small hint of mirth in her eyes.

“Why?” She murmurs in a tender tone, your lips peppering a few soft kisses against the soft skin and her tone muscles.

“I love how you wrap them around my body to pull me closer when we cuddle,” you whisper, knowing that, especially when she was tired, she’d throw her leg over your body and slide you closer to her, needing to feel you completely pressed up against her to sleep comfortably. “Or when you use them to trap me to the bed playfully, trying to prove that you could beat me in a sparring match,” you tease, knowing full well she’d kick your ass if you spared against her. You chuckle as you watch her brow raise at your words, her smile endearing as she gets lost in your enamoured gaze, her heart unable to cope with the amount of love pumping through it.

Gradually, you push yourself back up to your feet and let your arms snake around her waist, pulling her body closer to yours as she keeps her eyes on you, trying her best to express how grateful she was to have you in her life, to have you push away all those negative thoughts and clear the fog of anxiety that would cloud her mind.

“You’re beautiful, Natasha,” you whisper, not hiding an ounce of your love for her in your tone, the soft look in your eyes turning serious as you need her to know you mean it. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me think otherwise. I love you, I always will.”

“I love you too,” she murmurs back affectionately, kissing your lips innocently, not wanting anything to escalate as she simply wanted to be with you, to feel loved and cared for. You let her face rest at the crook of your neck as you try to slide your jacket off to cover her body, noticing how she shivered slightly at the gentle breeze that filtered through the room from the window. You let her take as long as she needed in your embrace, only parting when she moved first, deciding to warm herself up by slipping under the covers of your bed as she watched you sit on the edge of the bed, taking off your boots tiredly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles after a moment, realising that you had just gotten back from a long mission, exhaustion evident in your features as she observes you, your head instantly turning at her apology.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” your tone is quiet as you kiss her forehead, letting your hand cup her cheek and thumb brush over the smooth skin. “I’m here for you, no matter what,” your tone conveys your care for her as you kiss her once more, swiftly taking the rest of your clothes off so you could join her in bed, letting your bare bodies press into each other so you could both get lost in a tranquil moment between lovers, gazing into each others eyes.

“Thank you for loving me,” she whispers after a little white, your lips stretching into a soft smile, your head tilting to look at her as she hugs your side, her leg slotted between yours like she always did.

“Thank you for giving me the chance to,” your words are soft as you hold the intimate stare, her cheeks tinting pink before she lets her face press further against your body, trying to hide the sudden shyness consuming her as well as giving into her body’s desire for sleep, the tormenting thoughts from earlier draining her. “Goodnight Nat,” you whisper once you could tell she was drifting off to sleep, your lips pressing one final kiss to her hair before letting your own eyes close, content with being in the arms of your lover. 

[selfcestmovies]

WandaNat #MirrorSex

It starts with a glance.

Natasha stands in front of the mirror in their shared room at the Avengers compound. She had gotten distracted again, while changing out of her Black Widow attire after another grueling assignment in the field. Her muscles tense, eyes fixed on her reflection, but there’s something else in the way she watches herself tonight—an unspoken tension, the weight of unspent energy from their last mission hanging in the air. Wanda entered the room and took a lingering moment to watch her with a small, knowing smile.

“You always do that,” Wanda says, her voice low and teasing. “Stare at yourself like you’re sizing up an opponent.”

Natasha glances over her shoulder, the corner of her lips twitching into a smirk. “Old habits. Need to make sure I can still kick ass.”

Wanda’s eyes glint as she sits up, the red aura of her powers sparking faintly around her fingers. “You’re more than that, Nat.”

There’s a heat between them that’s been simmering for weeks, but tonight, it feels different. Deeper. More dangerous. Wanda’s gaze lingers on Natasha’s body, tracing into the air between them the curve of her hips, the definition in her abs, the way her muscles shift as she moves. Natasha doesn’t say anything, but she feels it—the phantom touch of Wanda's fingers and the weight of the witch's eyes on her.

“I can feel you staring,” Natasha says, her voice dropping an octave as she meets Wanda’s gaze in the mirror.

Wanda stands, crossing the room slowly, her bare feet soft against the floor. She stops just behind Natasha, her hand hovering an inch from her waist, teasing the air between them before finally resting her palm against Natasha’s skin. Natasha’s breath hitches at the contact, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, savoring the feeling of Wanda’s warmth against her back.

“You’re beautiful,” Wanda whispers, her lips brushing the shell of Natasha’s ear. She knew that Natasha Romanoff, despite all her allure and brilliance, needed to hear those words.

Natasha opens her eyes, her gaze locking with her own reflection, watching as Wanda’s hands travel up her sides, her fingers grazing the edge of her bra before sliding back down to her hips. There’s something about seeing herself like this—vulnerable, exposed, but undeniably powerful—that makes her pulse quicken. Wanda’s touch is like a spark.

Wanda smiles as if she can feel the shift in Natasha’s thoughts, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Natasha’s skin. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing yourself like this…”

Natasha doesn’t answer, but the way her breath quickens gives her away. She leans back into Wanda’s touch, her body arching slightly as Wanda’s hands explore her, slowly pulling the black tactical leather off her shoulders.

“You want to see more, don’t you?” Wanda’s voice is sultry, teasing, and Natasha’s eyes darken as she watches herself in the mirror, watching Wanda’s hands on her body.

There’s a flicker of red at the edge of the mirror, and Natasha’s reflection suddenly shifts—not just an image anymore, but something tangible. Her reflection smirks back at her, moving with a confidence that Natasha recognizes all too well.

“What did you do?” Natasha’s voice is low, almost breathless, but there’s an edge of curiosity in it.

Wanda’s grin widens as she presses her lips to Natasha’s neck, her voice a soft purr against her skin. “I thought you might want to play.”

In the mirror, Natasha’s reflection steps forward, out of the glass, an exact duplicate. She moves in sync with Natasha for a moment, equally as confounded by the spell, it seemed, as though testing the boundaries of the enchantment.

The real Natasha’s breath catches as she stares at herself—her double, an identical copy, down to the smallest detail. The mirror-Natasha grins, her eyes glinting with the same mischief that always hides behind the assassin’s cool exterior, but now there’s something darker in it. Something primal.

Wanda’s fingers curl around Natasha’s waist, holding her steady as the Natasha copy continues to step forward from out of the frame of the mirror, closing the distance between them. “You’ve always been good at controlling yourself, Natasha. But what if you didn’t have to?”

Natasha doesn’t answer, her eyes locked on her mirror-self. The double moves in close, pressing against her, the heat of her body mirroring Natasha’s own. She’s standing in front of a living, breathing reflection of herself—every curve, every scar, every inch of her, perfectly replicated.

The double’s hand slides up Natasha’s arm, teasingly slow, before curling around the back of her neck. “You ever wonder what it’s like?” her double whispers, voice low and sultry, sending a shiver down Natasha’s spine.

Natasha’s lips part, her heart pounding in her chest, but before she can respond, her double’s lips are on hers. The kiss is hard, demanding, a mirror of Natasha’s own intensity, and she gasps into it, her hands instinctively grabbing her double’s waist, pulling her closer.

Wanda watches, her eyes glowing faintly as she keeps her hand on Natasha’s waist, guiding her. “That’s it… don’t hold back.”

Natasha can feel her double’s body pressed against hers, the heat, the familiar curves, the taste of her own lips. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating in a way she didn’t expect. Her double’s hands roam her body, mirroring the way Natasha has touched others in the past, but now it’s her own body being worshipped, explored.

Wanda leans in, her lips brushing Natasha’s ear. “How does it feel, Natasha? To lose control? To let go?”

Natasha groans softly, her head tilting back as her double’s lips trail down her neck, kissing, biting, teasing. It’s surreal, feeling the pleasure of her own touch, the way her body responds to itself. It’s like stepping into a dream—one that’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

Her double grabs her firmly, spinning Natasha around and against the glass of the mirror, now back into its original corporeal place. Nat lets the copy pin her wrists above her head with a strength that mirrors Natasha’s own. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, Natasha sees herself—really sees herself—without the walls, without the mask. She’s always been in control, always the one pulling the strings, but now… now she’s letting herself be seen, touched, consumed by her own desires.

Wanda’s magic hums around them, a soft red glow filling the room as the mirror enchantment deepens, heightening the sensations. “Don’t hold back,” Wanda murmurs, her voice a soft command. “Show yourself what you’ve been hiding.”

Natasha leans into the kiss, into the moment, and for the first time in a long time, she lets go.

[daydreamerdrew]

Black Widow (2016) #3

[j-u-s-t--a--g-i-r-l]

Natasha Romanoff as the Winter Soldier.

~ AI GENERATED

[aidigitalfun]

BW

[they-call-me-birdsong]

When I used to watch Aunt Nat and Dani 🩷

@nataliaromanova-official

@thewhitespiderwitch

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

thinking about fat nat, had an idea.

after vormir, natasha needed a break. "just a month off and then i'll be back to avenging again," she told herself. truth is, she wasn't sure that would be enough, wasn't sure any amount of time would be enough to make the flashbacks of fighting clint and falling off the cliff in vormir fade. yes, steve brought her back. the memories remained, however.

-over the month, she goes to her apartment in new york, away from the tower.

-she tries to fill the void first with workouts but when that makes her think of fighting clint she turns to food for comfort.

-well first she has days of laying in bed in the dark and her elderly neighbor (or maybe steve) stops by with soup and she can feel the love put into it and it makes her want to cry but she also realizes how hungry she is.

-she eats. a lot. she doesn't notice any weight gained. to be honest, she's probably lost weight recovering from vormir and laying in the dark alone and she's started getting back to normal. she's taking a break from the team though they call, she doesn't want to see them. doesn't want to see the expression on their faces every time they look at her. feeling full feels good and makes the memories go away.

-needless to say, she takes more than a month off. two then three months pass. the avengers don't visit. they don't know where she is. she checks in to ease their concerns.

-she usually treats herself to the elevator (even pre vormir) because living on a fifth floor apartment can make the stairs become a slog. she isn't opposed to the stairs though, and when the elevator is out of commission one day, she takes herself to the stairs. going up is difficult. harder than she remembered. she looks down at her body, "what have i done?" she is short on breath, having to take breaks on the way up.

-where there were once abs and smooth muscles are stretch marks and fat rolls. her clothes are tight, her belly straining her shirt, love handles pressing into her sweats, and her breasts spilling out of her bra. she squeezes a roll, ignoring the spark of pleasure it brings and focuses instead on the panic of her changing body. the fear of anyone else seeing her like this. she steps on the scale and is panicked when she sees the weight, overweight.

-the eating feels good but she doesn't want to get fat. she starts a plan to lose weight, contacts the avengers and gives them a date six months out: "i'll be ready." losing weight is harder than gaining though, the pounds falling away slowly and she's hungry all the time, her stomach stretched from her weight gain.

-when she comes back, her body's not the way it was, she has some loose skin and stretch marks and a little bit of leftover flab that she squeezes into her suit, tucked away. she's hungry all the time.

-she falls back into the avengers, this time training new recruits and stepping back from doing as much avenging.

-steve sometimes shoots her concerned glances when she's sitting on the couch, his super hearing let's him hear her stomach growl. he can hear her working out hours past when the recruits have left for the day. she wants to look the way she did before.

-months pass, she's lost the weight. not back to normal but she will never be. she feels empty, lost after vormir.

-steve (or tony) one day challenges her to an eating contest and oh my god it feels so good to eat again. she loses control of herself, eating more than she ever has before, letting out burps and rubbing her stomach to make more room. the avengers team slowly slip away, tony making a comment "wow nat you can really pack it away".

- steve scoots closer to nat, slowly starting to rub her belly as she closes her eyes and lets out more burps, trying to make room.

- steve let's her know that he thinks she is hot like this. he thinks she is beautiful when she is packed full and tight, spilling out of her clothes and unable to stand up, belly hard and red, breathless and sweaty.

- natasha lets go. she liked eating. she loved eating, just felt insecure about changing herself permanently. wants someone to help feed her and take care of her. she is tired of working to lose this skin, tired of being hungry all the time. she liked her body. she's trained the recruits, she doesn't really go on missions anymore.

- she wants to fill her body back out, fill in the loose skin and keep her belly full.

- the weight piles on, faster than before. she is sweaty and panting, breathless with a full belly sticking out in front of her. she stops going to the gym, wants to gain weight quickly.

- she loves growing out of her clothes. she loves seeing herself lose fitness.

- steve is stuffing her, she's full and panting, but just wants to push herself a little further. the weight piles on quick, her stomach already stretched permanently from her prior feedings. she wants to irreparably damage her body. her thighs thicken, she can't walk, her waist widens, she spills over the edge of chairs, she turns sideways to fit through doorways, she stops moving almost anywhere. moving becomes hard as her fat sways, she's sweaty and sticky and wobbly and she loves it. love's not being able to breathe as she tries to walk. she loves the weight. loves her new body.

I love this! This is so perfect, I don't think there's much I can add! It's so beautiful and kinky!!!

I love how much you show the trauma affecting her and how it interacts with her thoughts of what other people will think of her only to be overpowered by Steve wanting to take care of her, wanting her to indulge, wanting her to just be herself - be human and let herself enjoy and grow. 😭🥴🥴

[mutantontheloose]

I let Nat and Yelena do my hair

[voicesinthedarkness]

dreams

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

“Tasha…”

“What is it, Clint?”

He leans forward, his woodsmoke scent comforting and warm, and rests a hand on her cheek. Natasha closes her eyes, leaning into his familiar touch.

Then his lips are pressed to hers.

~ ~ ~

Natasha shoots up from her pillow, gasping. What the fuck was that? she wonders, pushing the blankets off and getting out of bed. Usually she has nightmares, the kind where she screams her way through the night—which is why she lives out in the country, so that no one can hear her—but that had actually been a good dream.

Never mind the fact that she’d been kissing Clint.

As Natasha heads out to the chicken coop for eggs, though, she starts to remember things: stuff Clint had said (“I don’t know what I’d do if you ended up in the hospital during a mission.”), stuff she had said (“I didn’t give you permission to die!!”)… the time Clint got drunk and had to sleep over at her house, and then she woke up and he’d gotten into her bed and was spooning her. She’d felt safe then, at least until she realized she was sleeping in the same bed as her drunk best friend. And it was the first night in a long time when she hadn’t had nightmares. It was… weird.

After breakfast, Natasha decides to put it aside for now. Fury said he’d have a mission soon, and she doesn’t need to be dealing with romance angst during that.

9:26AM

Clint: https://www.reddit.com/r/Catmemes/comments/iyug0e/trust_me/

Did he just—

You: did you just send me a cat meme

Clint: yeah

Clint: you got any?

You: …

You: apparently there’s a whole tumblr thread about cats talking like they’re neglected victorian children?

Clint: lol sounds like cats

10:01AM

Clint: thanks for the meme by the way

Clint: didn’t think you’d actually send one

You: I didn’t know you liked cat memes

You: and you asked for one, so I found one

You: you’re welcome

Clint: :)

You: thanks for sending me one

Clint: of course nat

~ ~ ~

Sure enough, Fury calls her a week later while she’s reading with a cup of tea. “Mission in Brazil,” he says, brusque as always. “Urgent.” Click. “Bastard,” Natasha grumbles, quickly finishing her tea and grabbing her mission bag.

Natasha knows he doesn’t boss her around because he’s a man and she’s a “lady”. It’s just Fury, and she likes that he treats her the same way he does Clint.

2:47PM

You: Clit

Clint: ??

You: CLINT

You: we’ve got a mission

Clint: ah ok

Christ. Romance angst and now she’s texting slang for female body parts. On accident, sure, but it’s still embarrassing.

Natasha arrives at the Triskelion soon after and heads up to Fury’s office. Clint gets there a few minutes later and they head in.

“There are Russians in Brazil, calling themselves the Красные ангелы—the Red Angels,” Fury says. “It might be the Red Room, it might not be. Be as cautious as if it were.” Clint and Natasha nod, Clint’s hand brushing hers. She jumps, yanking her hand away and trying to disguise it by running the hand through her red-gold curls. “Here’s the dossier,” Fury continues, handing Natasha a folder. “Be careful.”

~ ~ ~

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Clint watches Nat in the QuinJet’s pilot seat, brow slightly furrowed.

“Nat,” he says finally. “Are you okay?” She nods tightly. “You’ve… never reacted like that. To me touching your hand.” He rests a hand on her shoulder, feeling the bunched-up muscles. “I’m fine, Clint,” she gets out, but she only relaxes after he rubs her shoulders.

In a small clearing, Natasha lands the jet, skillful as always, and they step out into the humid rainforest around Manaus, Brazil. “Yuck,” Natasha mutters, waving away a mosquito. Clint chuckles, watching her pull out a map and compass and examine them, then point to the left. “Okay, it’s that way.”

Five minutes later, they’re peeking through the trees at their destination.

~ ~ ~

It’s a pretty simple mission. Stealth it, grab the USB S.H.I.E.L.D. saw on a security camera, and scoot. Clint ducks through the front door after Nat disables the alarm, then checks for guards. Clear, he signs. She nods tensely, passing beside him. I’ll follow and stand guard, he offers. You get the USB and whatever else they might have? She nods again in acceptance. They dart through the halls together, finding the file room quickly. “Shit,” Clint whispers, glancing around the small space. “That’s too many files to take at once.” Nat makes a small noise, and he looks over to see her holding a file. He can see her name at the top, in big block Cyrillic letters. Making a decision, Clint takes out the whole file drawer, puts the one Nat found inside, and then grabs the USB. “Come on,” he says firmly, nudging her chin so that she’s looking at him. “We need to go.” She dips her head and they exit the small room, padding down the hallway.

Everything’s still quiet, so the mew is like thunder. Nat turns, tracking a second mew to a door. It creaks open and a small black kitten peers up at them.

“Mak?” a voice grunts from inside. The kitten rubs against Nat’s leg, purring, and she freezes, a small mountain of a man exiting the room. The kitten could fit in his palm. He stares at them, uncomprehending, until he sees the files and the USB, clutched in Clint’s hand. “Hey!” he yells, pulling out his gun. Clint grabs the kitten, which blinks at him calmly even as he swings her onto his shoulders. Then she understands and clings to his neck. Two gunshots boom through the hallway and Natasha cries out. “He hit my lower back—just keep going,” she gasps, firing a shot at the knob to the exit so that they only have to push through, instead of fumbling the knob. The mountain slows eventually, probably deciding it’d be better to stay behind and tell his friends.

They get to the jet within a few minutes. Clint bandages Natasha up, then holds her tightly.

“You didn’t say both hit.”

She buries her face in his chest.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’d worry anyway!”

The kitten meows, pressing against Natasha’s side, and she sighs, rubbing behind the kitten’s tiny black ear. “Thanks for grabbing the cat.” Clint sighs too, kissing the top of her head and getting in the pilot seat. “You’re welcome.”

~ ~ ~

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

What in the heck was that kiss on her head supposed to mean?!

Natasha sits on the bench in the jet, petting the kitten and staring at the wall, finally indulging in her angst. Those memories, the dream, sending cat memes… and now this. The way she felt when Clint hugged her.

Do I have a crush?

“What pizza do you want?” Clint asks, and Natasha jumps. He’s landing the jet on the roof of the Helicarrier. “Oh, uh—meat lover’s.” Clint nods and helps her down the ramp.

He orders after the debrief (and Fury taking the file drawer), when they’re off the Helicarrier, since it has terrible Wi-Fi. “Where do you want to eat? Your house?” Clint suggests, and Natasha makes a sound of agreement, senses entirely focused on her hand in his. Oh, god, she’s falling hard.

At the house, Clint gets the pizza from the door, then plates and napkins. They eat on the couch, not speaking, the kitten exploring the house. “Movie?” Clint says finally. Natasha shrugs, turning to hide her blush at the thought of being in the dark, right next to him. She can feel his stare.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks after a long moment. “You’ve been... off ever since I sent you the cat meme.” He shifts closer, his woodsmoke scent relaxing her. “I had a dream the night before,” she says quietly. “About, um, you kissing me.” Clint touches her arm gently. “I didn’t know you had those kinds of dreams.” She looks up at him nervously. “I don’t.” Her breath shudders, emerald eyes locked with his. She’d never noticed how pretty the color was before, a perfect shade of stormy blue-grey.

“Do you remember when you got drunk?” Natasha whispers. “Do I ever,” Clint snorts. She looks away, embarrassed. “I… I felt safe with you. And I didn’t understand. I was confused and a little scared, and I’m sorry.” Clint takes her hand, smiling a little. “Thanks, Nat.” And then they’re just sitting there, in silence, her smooth, cool hand in his, callused and warm.

Natasha knows he won’t make the first move. She can see his desire, and she knows he can see hers, but that’s not Clint. He’d never forgive himself if he kissed Natasha and she didn’t want it. So she slips her hand from his, pulls him even closer, and presses a kiss to his lips. Clint hums softly, happily, fingers playing with her curls. A tear slides down her cheek, the little traitor falling into their mouths. “Tasha,” he murmurs, pulling back but not away. “Tasha, why are you crying?” She stares at him, blinking fast. “I’ve—I’ve never—it’s always been fake. I don’t know how—”A broken sob rips from her mouth, and he pulls her to his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispers into her hair, holding her as she cries.

[darius-1]

"Nothing personal, Matt."

[selfcestmovies]

The two Natashas finally have time at the safe house to... connect.

[dragcnage]

Dragon age Inquisitors + Mercenary AU

[j-u-s-t--a--g-i-r-l]

Natasha Romanoff as Thor.

Natasha Romanoff as Hawkeye.

~ AI GENERATED

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 7

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has to face the harsh reality that she can’t help everyone.

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

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 3790

“Whitney Frost, daughter of Byron Frost—a typical Wall Street tycoon,” Tony’s voice echoes through the phone as he reads out the details FRIDAY managed to dig up.

On Natasha’s screen, she can see multiple files and articles pulled up on Tony’s monitors, the holographic images casting a blue glow on his face as he continues.

“There are plenty of articles about her earlier years. Standard socialite magazine garbage—life of a spoiled rich kid, extravagant parties, lavish vacations. You get the idea.”

Natasha lets out a dry scoff at the irony, her lips curling slightly. 

“Coming from the playboy billionaire who once blew up half of his mansion?”

Tony gasps theatrically, placing a hand over his chest in a wounded gesture. 

“Watch it, Romanoff. I’m helping you here.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha nods. “My bad. Please, continue.”

Tony huffs, turning his attention back to his screens. 

“After her father’s death, she goes dark for a couple of years. No public appearances, no sightings—nothing. Coincidentally, around the same time, reports start cropping up about a new leader rising within one of the East Coast’s major crime families. Descriptions of the leader consistently include one distinct detail: a golden mask, giving them the title–”

“Madame Masque,” Natasha finishes for him, her tone flat.  

“Bingo,” Tony confirms. “Over the years, she’s pulled off some pretty big moves. Arms deals, arson, major heists—she’s dangerous, Nat.”

There’s a shuffle of papers in the background, and Peter’s voice chimes in. 

“I don’t get it, Mr. Stark. If she was already rich, why turn to crime?”

Natasha doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“It’s not always about money,” she says. “Sometimes it’s just about power and control.” 

A brief silence follows, the weight of her words sinking in. 

Tony’s expression darkens slightly, and even Peter doesn’t offer a rebuttal. They all know Natasha is right. 

People like Whitney thrive on domination, bending others to their will. 

Natasha’s frown deepens, her thoughts drifting back to the night before—the memory of you leaving with Whitney still fresh and raw. She exhales slowly, the sting of hurt in her chest flaring again, though she pushes it down. 

Suddenly, Tony’s voice cuts through the quiet. 

“Okay, I can’t ignore this anymore. What are you doing?” 

Natasha’s brows knit in confusion as she glances at the screen. “What do you mean?”

Tony leans closer to the camera, pointing a finger at her with exaggerated disbelief.

“Why are you bottle-feeding that cat like it’s a baby?”

Natasha pulls Widow closer, cradling the tiny feline protectively against her chest. In her free hand, she holds a small baby bottle filled with water, offering it near the cat’s mouth. 

“She still won’t eat complete meals,” Natasha explains defensively. “At least this way, she’s staying hydrated.” 

Widow lets out a faint, sad meow, turning away from the bottle and burrowing deeper into Natasha’s arm. 

Natasha sighs softly, her expression tinged with disappointment as she looks down at the cat.

Peter’s voice pipes up from off-screen. 

“Miss Romanoff, I could go pick up some different kinds of cat food if you’d like?”

Before Natasha can respond, Tony waves him off. 

“Great idea, kid. Take my card and have at it.”

“Awesome,” Peter replies, his excitement evident as he disappears from view. 

As soon as Peter is gone, Natasha raises an eyebrow at Tony. 

“Was that really a good idea?”

Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Eh, it’ll be fine.” 

“So, what is it?” Natasha asks knowingly. She can tell Tony got rid of Peter so that he would not hear whatever it is Tony was holding back. 

“Some tough love,” he says bluntly, his relaxed demeanor shifting into something more serious. He leans forward, fixing her with a pointed look. “Look, Nat, if your friend is running with people like Whitney Frost, you might need to face the facts.”

“Which are?” Natasha’s tone grows colder, her jaw tightening.

“She’s a criminal,” Tony states flatly, the words landing like a stone.

Natasha’s frown deepens, the label grating against her as she reflexively clutches Widow a little tighter. “And?” 

Tony sighs, shaking his head as if she’s missing the obvious. 

“You need to start treating her like one.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow. 

“Did you forget I used to be an assassin?” she counters, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“And now you’re an Avenger,” Tony fires back without missing a beat. “Not everyone’s like you, Nat. Not everyone wants to change.” 

The silence stretches between them, tension simmering as Natasha processes his words.  

Seeing her still hesitant to accept the fact, he adds softly, “You can’t help someone who doesn’t even want it.”

Natasha frowns, her eyes drifting down to the little cat in her arms. She strokes her fur delicately, and Widow returns a faint purr in response, though she still refuses to move much more than that. 

“Send me everything you have on Whitney and Madame Masque,” Natasha says, her determination resolving. 

She’s not going to give up on you so easily.

Tony studies her for a moment, his expression knowing before he sighs and leans back in his chair. 

“Already done.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A deep sigh escapes Natasha as she rubs her tired eyes, trying to dispel the exhaustion. The hours have stretched into the late night, a glance at the window and then at the clock on her tablet confirming just how much time has passed.

Beside her on the couch, Widow is curled into a small ball, her tiny body seeming to shrink further with every passing moment. 

The meal Natasha had prepared for her earlier sits barely touched—a few nibbles at best.

Though, in her tired mind, Natasha can’t help but let a stray thought creep in: maybe her cooking is bad enough to deter a cat. 

The self-deprecating humor makes her sigh again, a sure sign of just how drained she feels. 

Setting the tablet on the table, Natasha leans back against the armrest of the couch, her head tilting to rest against the cushion. She raises an arm to cover her eyes, allowing herself just a brief reprieve, not planning to sleep but needing the darkness to ease the strain from hours of research. 

For a while, the silence wraps around her like a blanket. 

Natasha focuses on her breathing, the steady rise and fall helping her ground herself. 

Eventually, she debates whether she has it in her to dive back into her work for the night when a sudden movement shifts at her side. 

Tiny paws pad up her torso, and then a soft weight settles against her stomach.

A familiar, distinct meow breaks the quiet—a chirping, happy sound Natasha hasn’t heard from Widow in days. 

She freezes, her body going rigid as suspicion blooms in her chest. Breathing slowly, Natasha tries to maintain her sleeping position so as not to give herself away.

Widow’s sudden shift in mood—it could only mean one thing.

“I know you’re awake,” your voice cuts through the stillness, warm and teasing from just above her.

Realizing she’s caught, Natasha exhales softly with a mix of both relief at your presence but also mild frustration at the fact that you were able to sneak up on her again. 

She removes her arm from her eyes, blinking up to meet your gaze.

You’re leaning casually against the back of the couch, your head tilted and resting atop the cushion, a small smirk on your lips. 

“It’s way too early for you to have fallen asleep,” you tease lightly, your voice carrying that familiar playful lilt. 

Your attention shifts to Widow, who’s now eagerly leaning against the cushion to lick at your outstretched hand. 

“Isn’t that right, Widow?” you coo, your tone softening as you address the little cat.

Widow chirps again, louder this time, in agreement and nuzzles against your hand with obvious affection. 

Natasha can’t help but scoff lightly, shaking her head at the way the two of you seem to operate as a perfect team.

Carefully, she sits up, trying not to disturb Widow perched atop her. 

However, the movement brings her face unintentionally close to yours. She stills as she realizes the proximity, her lips parting slightly as the quip she intended to deliver gets caught in her throat. 

Instead, all that escapes is a soft exhale. 

Your smirk falters, replaced by a small, almost sad smile. Your eyes search hers, lingering as if you can see something more beyond her carefully maintained exterior. 

The intensity of the moment steals Natasha’s breath, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. 

Breaking the tension, you lift a hand into view, holding up a bag of takeout containers.

“I brought dinner,” you say softly, the warmth in your tone cutting through the charged silence.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits cross-legged on the couch, a takeout box resting limply on her lap as her attention drifts away from the half-eaten meal inside. 

Instead, her gaze falls on the two of you. 

You’re seated on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, also cross-legged, with Widow nestled comfortably in your lap. 

The little cat looks more content than she has in days, her tiny paws resting on the edge of the table as she eagerly eats the torn-up pieces of meat you prepared for her. 

A wave of relief washes over Natasha at the sight of Widow eating normally again, her movements lively and natural. It eases the knot of worry that’s been sitting in her chest, but as always, her focus inevitably drifts to you. 

It’s a pull she can’t resist, her gaze lingering on the subtle details in your expression, the quiet ease with which you handle the moment. 

Natasha absently stirs the noodles in her box, her mind turning over the question she’s been holding back since you arrived. It gnaws at her, but finding the right way to ask feels like navigating a minefield.

“How…” she begins, her voice hesitant, but the words falter. 

Natasha bites her lip, uncertain whether she has the right to pry into your life any deeper. 

You glance up at her, catching on to the unfinished question. Setting your takeout container on the table, you tilt your head slightly, offering her an easy opening. 

“How am I here?” you ask knowingly, your voice gentle.

Wordlessly, Natasha nods, grateful but wary of the answer.

“You didn’t look at the USB?” you ask, a touch of curiosity in your tone. 

Natasha shakes her head. 

“I was busy worrying about more pressing matters,” she says, her eyes flicking meaningfully to Widow, who’s still munching happily in your lap. “And anyway, it didn’t seem like she wanted me to have it in the first place.” 

You huff lightly at her words, and with an amused shake of your head, you turn Widow to face you, your fingers gently scratching behind her ears. 

“You were supposed to give it to her,” you chide playfully. 

Widow lets out a small, sassy meow, as if to argue her point, and then wiggles free from your grasp. 

Natasha watches with mild curiosity as the little cat pads over to the side table, where the USB has sat untouched for days. Widow grabs the small device in her mouth and trots back toward Natasha. 

Stopping at her side, Widow drops the USB onto Natasha’s lap with a decisive plop before looking up at her with a smug little chirp, her tail swishing behind her. 

Natasha raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile as she picks up the USB. 

“Thank you,” she remarks dryly, her tone soft but teasing.

Widow lets out a pleased meow, circling once before hopping back into your lap, her little body nestling comfortably against you. 

Natasha’s gaze shifts to the USB, her fingers brushing over its surface thoughtfully, before lifting her eyes to meet yours.

“So,” she says, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity, “what exactly am I going to find on here?” 

You glance down at Widow, stroking her head absently as you answer, your voice steady but carrying an undertone of something more. 

“Whitney had a scheduled meeting out of state with some buyers tonight.” 

At the mention of the other woman, Natasha narrows her eyes slightly, reading between the lines. 

“So this is…?”

“Everything you need to finish your original mission,” you reply evenly, meeting her gaze with a serious expression. “The buyers’ identities, their locations, the details of each weapons deal. Enough to track them down and stop the weapons from being used in the wrong hands.” 

Natasha studies you closely, her sharp instinct catching on to the underlying reason for your sudden assistance in her original mission. 

“To shift my attention from Whitney.” 

Your silence at her pointed remark is telling. 

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, the unspoken truth hanging between you. She tilts her head, her voice firmer now. 

“Why are you protecting her?” 

You flinch slightly at the accusation, your hand pausing mid-stroke on Widow’s fur. After a moment, you let out a sigh, your gaze drifting downward. 

“You know, it wasn’t always like this between us,” you say quietly. 

Natasha stays silent, letting you continue.

“Her dad—her real dad—was the original leader of the organization,” you explain, your voice tinged with something softer, almost nostalgic. “I met her when she was training to take over his position. Or, rather, she found me. I was just a simple thief back then. But not to her.”

You pause, your hand resuming its slow strokes over Widow’s fur as you collect your thoughts. 

“She made me an offer—something I never expected. Another opportunity for my life. To join her. She saw something in me. Something…more.”

The words hang in the air, and Natasha feels a pang of understanding, recalling her own experience from the past. 

“It felt good,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Having someone look at you like that, like you’re worth something. Like you could be more than you ever thought of yourself.” 

You let out a soft, bitter chuckle. 

“She’s always been good at that. Making you feel special. Like you’re the only one who matters.” 

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly, her arms folding across her chest as she listens. She doesn’t interrupt, sensing the weight behind your words.

“No matter what she did—how far she went—I always found a way to forgive her,” you continue, your tone darkening. “Until I couldn’t anymore.” 

There’s a long pause, the quiet broken only by the faint sounds of Widow’s contented purring. Finally, you lift your gaze to Natasha’s, the vulnerability in your eyes stark, unguarded, and disarming.

“And then I met you,” you say softly, your voice carrying a bittersweet edge. “And for a while, I felt that same thing again. That feeling from the beginning—when it was just lighthearted, fun, and flirty, intoxicating even.”

Natasha’s breath catches, her chest tightening at the quiet admission. The honesty in your words cuts through the usual banter and teasing, leaving her unsure how to respond.

“But I already know how this ends,” you add, your voice softer now, tinged with resignation. “I’ve seen it before. And I can’t…” You trail off, shaking your head slightly, the words left unfinished. 

Natasha watches you closely, her sharp gaze softening despite the weight of your rejection. She leans forward, her voice low but steady in understanding. 

“It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Her tone shifts, gaining a quiet intensity and insistence.

“But you don’t need to stay with her either. We can figure out a way to disengage the bomb without you returning to her. A way to keep you both safe.”

Your gaze lowers, regret flickering in your expression. When you finally speak, your voice is heavy with sorrow.

“I have to go back.”

Natasha’s lips part in protest, her brows knitting together in frustration, but before she can speak, you cut her off, your tone firmer now.

“Not because of the bomb,” you clarify. “But because of what I did to her.”

You rise slowly, retrieving the tablet from the table, its screen still displaying the research Tony sent on Whitney. Sensing the shift, Widow hops into Natasha’s lap, purring softly as Natasha strokes her fur, grounding herself.

Sitting down beside her, you scroll through the files until you find what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you turn the screen toward her. 

Natasha scans the report, her frown deepening with each line. 

It details a failed raid on a Stark Industries facility, ending in a catastrophic explosion. Operatives were killed or gravely injured. Their leader, however, was not discovered among those found.

“I abandoned her that night,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “None of that would have happened if I had stayed.” 

“You don’t know that,” Natasha counters firmly, her gaze snapping to yours, her hand reaching out instinctively to rest atop yours.

A faint, sad smile tugs at your lips at her touch, and you shake your head slightly.

“I appreciate the thought,” you reply, your voice tinged with bittersweet humor, “but we both know that’s not true—especially considering how I’ve managed to sneak past Stark’s defenses twice now without any problems.”

The smirk you add at the end is small, almost fleeting, but it carries a sting of truth that Natasha can’t ignore.

You’re exceptionally skilled. She can’t deny that.

Your fingers brush hers lightly, tracing the bandages covering her knuckles. A contemplative sadness crosses your face.

Then slowly, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft, almost apologetic kiss against her skin before lowering it back onto Widow’s fur.

“I’m not innocent here, Natasha,” you continue resolutely, your voice low, as if the words are for you as much as for her. “I never was.”

Natasha’s jaw tightens at your words, but she doesn’t interrupt as you continue. 

“I owe her a lot,” you admit, your voice heavy with the weight of your past. “She gave me a chance when no one else did. She saw something in me that I couldn’t. And yet…” Your voice falters slightly, but you press on.  

“I still betrayed her in the end.”

Your gaze shifts to Natasha, your eyes meeting hers with a depth of emotion that makes her chest ache. 

“You deserve more than to wait for me to eventually do the same to you,” you say softly. “More than I already have.” 

Natasha’s chest tightens, the quiet ache spreading as she watches you, her gaze taking in every flicker of pain and regret etched across your features.

But this time, it’s not sadness that rises within her—it’s anger. Not at you, but at everything else.

At Whitney, for manipulating you. At the circumstances that have pushed you to this breaking point. And most of all, at the invisible chains of guilt that hold you hostage, preventing you from seeing a way out.

Her hands twitch, the urge to reach for you almost overwhelming. She wants to close the distance between you, to grasp your shoulders and shake you free from the weight of your past, to tell you that this isn’t your only option.

But she hesitates, her fingers curling into fists as she forces herself to stop.

Forcing you to accept her help, no matter how badly she wants to, would make her no different from Whitney. It would just be another form of control, another pressure you don’t deserve.

And Natasha refuses to become that.

Instead, after a long pause, she speaks with quiet determination.

“What will happen to Widow?” 

You look down at the small cat, curled up peacefully in Natasha’s lap, and sigh. 

“I can’t bring her back with me,” you admit, your voice thick with regret. “But I’ll stay with her as long as I can tonight. Make sure she’s okay, and I’ll explain it to her—let her think it’s like last time, when she stayed with you while I was away.” 

You glance at Natasha, searching for her response. 

“If…you’re still willing to take care of her?”

Natasha straightens slightly, her expression softening as a small smirk forms on her lips.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Your lips twitch into a faint smile at her answer, gratitude flickering in your eyes. 

But Natasha isn’t done. She leans forward, her tone resolute as her gaze locks onto yours.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself,” she says, her words deliberate and carefully chosen. “If you feel guilty about what you’ve done, you can always make it right for yourself. You still have that choice.” 

Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, an unspoken plea woven into her steady tone. 

Natasha’s expression holds no judgment, only quiet insistence and something deeper—hope.

The silence that follows feels fragile, as if it could shatter at the wrong move. 

Widow shifts slightly in her lap, her tiny body curling closer as her soft purring fills the space between you. 

It’s a faint sound, but comforting nonetheless, grounding you in a moment that feels far too heavy for words.

For a fleeting second, Natasha sees something in your eyes—an almost imperceptible flicker, as if her words might be reaching you. 

But then your gaze drops, breaking the connection, and the moment slips away. 

Without a word, you gently lift Widow from her lap, cradling her with the same care Natasha has come to associate with you, and rise to your feet. 

Natasha sits up a little straighter, her sharp eyes following your movements as you step toward the hallway, your figure outlined by the dim glow of the room.

“Try to get some rest, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone steady but carrying a subtle finality that roots her in place. You pause just before disappearing from sight, your head turning slightly as if debating whether to say more.

“You, out of everyone, deserve it.” 

The words linger in the air long after you’ve gone into your bedroom, wrapping around Natasha like a quiet echo. 

She stays where she is, her fingers drifting absentmindedly over the fabric of the couch where you’d been sitting just moments ago, as if tracing the memory of you.

The warmth of your presence is gone, replaced by an emptiness that spreads through the room, making it feel colder, quieter. 

Natasha exhales slowly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the space where you had disappeared from her view. 

She knows you meant those words for her, but the ache in her chest tells her they’re something you’ve denied yourself for far too long. 

“So do you,” she whispers into the empty room, her voice barely audible but filled with a longing that she knows you’ll never let yourself hear.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

a/n: Fair warning, I believe there’s only a couple parts left in this series. But don’t quote me on this cause we all know I’ve never been good at predicting the number of chapters left. Again thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it or if the tag did not work for you, please let me know.

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[darius-1]

"Don't say a word..."