#natasha romanoff x reader

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It Only Takes A Moment

Natasha Romanoff x Shy!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

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“I feel like shit.” 

Natasha commented out of nowhere from the sofa across the room. 

You startled at her unexpected statement. Your cereal-filled spoon froze halfway to your mouth. You’d never had a one-on-one conversation with Natasha since you joined the Avengers six months ago.

Then, you noticed Clint shuffling bleary eyed towards the fridge. Your shoulders relaxed.

He yawned, rubbing his face as he regarded Natasha assessingly. You were perched at the breakfast bar, unobtrusive as usual.

Natasha was on the opposite side of the large space, feet curled beneath her on the tiny sofa. 

A purpling bruise on her cheek and a split lip were the painful remnants of her last mission. She looked pale too, tired in an almost chronic way, despite the empty coffee mug next to her.

“You look like shit, too.” Clint decided at last with a lazy grin. 

Natasha smirked back, obviously satisfied with his teasing response. You remembered your cereal and took another spoonful. Curiosity always burned inside you when you watched the two of them interact. You’d never had a mission with either of them before. You didn’t understand the lightness of their back and forth.

As you chewed on your breakfast, eyes roaming over Natasha’s injured face, you felt concern build inside you.

Clint gave you a friendly nod as he stacked a pile of snacks in his arms and left the room.

A steady silence returned in his wake. You were unbearably shy around Natasha as a rule. Something about her calm confidence and unreadable expression made you feel nervous. 

You knew the other Avengers just thought you were quiet.

Natasha was staring absentmindedly out the large window, her coffee long since finished. You followed her gaze outside, glancing up at the pale yellow sun that was still new in the sky.

You watched Natasha’s mouth twist into a subtle grimace of pain as she lifted her hands to try and tie her hair back in a ponytail.

You felt certain as you watched her that her injuries were more than just a bruised cheek. The worry bubbled inside you.

Eventually, Natasha gave up, letting her hair fall back down around her shoulders in a loose curtain. She looked entirely unlike herself. Until today you’d never seen her hair out of a braid.

You slipped off your bar stool and cringed at the way it squeaked on the tiled floor. You hesitated as you put your dishes in the dishwasher. Every day usually followed the same pattern. You knew Natasha was paying no attention to you, expecting you to leave the kitchen and go back to your room. 

When you turned instead to the coffee machine, you felt Natasha’s eyes flicker back to you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

.

When you walked over to her, fresh cup of coffee in hand, it was the first time you’d ever surprised Natasha. 

You handed her the mug with a wordless smile.

Natasha’s answering smile was soft but her eyes held a subtle confusion. 

‘Thank you.’ She breathed, blowing automatically on the hot liquid. 

Nerves fluttered inside you. You forced yourself to speak.

‘Are you really okay?’ You asked, as your worry escaped you.

For a brief moment, shock rendered Natasha silent. Her head tilted to the side as she stared at you.

You didn’t know where your bravery was coming from. A burning embarrassment began to build inside you.

Natasha’s expression softened suddenly. She hesitated and then started to speak. 

‘I’m okay. Just had one of those missions.’

You nodded in response, your eyes lingering automatically on the painful looking bruise. From the things you’d overheard about the mission, you knew she was underplaying it. You bit your lip. Natasha watched you silently. 

‘Can I help with your hair?’ You asked at last, in another worried burst that you couldn’t seem to control.

A slight flush caught Natasha’s cheeks. Something like shame flickered in her eyes, gone a moment later.

Your breath caught. She was more human than you’d realised. More beautiful too. 

‘Thank you.’ Natasha replied quietly. ‘I think I’ve hurt my shoulder.’

You nodded again, moving to stand behind the tiny sofa. You lifted her hair tie from the side table and slid it over your wrist. 

You felt Natasha’s body freeze at your first hesitant touch. 

You knew she was expecting you to tie her hair back in a quick ponytail. Instead, hardly daring to breathe, you tried something different. 

Natasha’s breath hitched when she realised what you were attempting. 

You started carefully, twisting pieces of hair together.

‘You don’t have to braid it.’ Natasha whispered after a moment, her quiet voice burning with a sudden rawness. You found yourself wishing that you could see her face. 

‘You like it braided.’ You answered simply. 

Natasha held herself impossibly still as you tried your best to replicate her usual braid. You noticed the light goosebumps raised on her skin.

Eventually, you tied the last piece, your fingers lightly brushing against her neck. 

You moved back around the sofa to face her. 

You weren’t sure if it was the flushed cheeks or your imperfect braid that made Natasha look so young. Her gaze searched yours, her eyes vulnerable.

‘It’s not very good.’ You apologised quietly. 

Natasha shook her head.

‘It’s good.’ She countered simply. There was a raw, raised scar on the back of her hand. You wondered how you’d never noticed before.

Natasha nodded to the space next to her on the sofa. She smiled suddenly, a flash of her usual cool confidence.

‘Do you want to watch some TV?’

You nodded, feeling a warm rush at the familiarity of her tone. A barrier had fallen between you. 

As you settled on the sofa, Natasha switched on the television. The daytime show was familiar, often left playing in the background of the room. 

Natasha touched the end of her braid as she watched. Her gaze stayed on the show, a picture of relaxed attention. 

You couldn’t say the same for yourself. Her light joke to Clint played in your head. The bruises, the scars, the pained movements. 

 After a few minutes, another question fell from your lips. 

‘Was it scary?’ You asked suddenly.

You watched Natasha freeze momentarily, a difficult emotion filling her eyes. You watched her blink the feeling away. She didn’t reply. 

You turned your gaze back to the television, stomach twisting for what she didn’t share. 

Eventually, you settled back against the sofa cushions, finally beginning to relax in her presence. Natasha sipped the last of her coffee.

Your usual shared silence returned.

You hoped you hadn’t ruined everything with one question.

The show ended and a commercial break began.

‘It was.’ Natasha murmured unexpectedly. Your head turned towards her.

‘It was scary.’ She whispered into the air.

This was not Natasha. Not the person everyone else saw. This was someone else. You saw her entirely for the first time.

Unspoken sympathy filled your answering gaze. 

You took her scarred hand in yours and rested it on your lap.

[cthulhus-curse]

Surprise, Surprise

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,561

Warnings: Ghostface WandaNat, Darkfic, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Murder, Knife Play, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Strap-Ons | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: In which you find out the culprits of your former partner's death and receive more than what you bargained for.

On the one year anniversary, you failed to open your eyes in time. Regardless of the insistent beeping from the alarm, the voice from downstairs shouting your name along with the mocking chirps of the birds beneath your window, you remained still. The sole humoring of yet another year without your one and only, the person who you once deemed as the love of your life, made your bones chill while your blood ran cold. 

But of course your parents simply brushed it off. They knew of the difficulty you had to carry on leading up to the days of the first anniversary, and yet your mother didn’t do much but bark at you to get ready as the bus was leaving. Another morning in the hellish town of Westview. Oh how you longed to gain independence once the final semester of your senior year had passed. Only a few weeks left and school would be out. Then you’d finally move to the other side of the country leaving all your dismay and fury towards the town behind. 

Upon your arrival at school, a brown bag filled with half a sandwich and an apple you didn’t have the appetite for, all eyes were on you. It hadn’t missed you. The pity each person felt, the laughter behind closed doors at your loss. And yet no one dared utter her name. Kate Bishop. Was it that hard? For someone who hadn’t dared mutter it out into the world since the day of her disappearance, the presumed death you had long accepted to be true, you ought to cut everyone else some slack. 

“Good morning. I didn’t think you’d show up today,” came the greeting from your best friend. Thor was many things, but easy with his words was not one of them. “You know, with Kate’s death and everything. You didn’t take the day off.”

Each sound coming from his wretched mouth made your blood boil. “Yeah no shit Sherlock. I’m here, aren’t I?” You didn’t need to turn as the two of you waltzed down the packed hallways dripping with pity for you to know his worry faltered into hurt. “Sorry. I’m just a bit shaken up today for obvious reasons. Mom and dad didn’t think it was that bad so here I am. They said we didn’t know each other that well for me to be depressed. I mean, fuck, we knew each other since we were kids. How can they say that?”

“I’m sorry,” Thor mumbled, placing a sympathetic arm upon your upper back. “We can skip together if you want.”

“I’m not skipping class. They’ll kill me for that.”

“Oh like they killed Kate?” came a voice you knew so well from behind you. “I can’t wait until her body is found. It’s going to be so gross.”

Since the dawn of middle school, one Natasha Romanoff had taken it upon herself to reign hellfire down your life. A day didn’t go past where your classmate treated you with even an ounce of dignity. Somehow she got worse as time passed, especially once the whole incident with Kate occurred. 

You hadn’t attended school for weeks when she suddenly disappeared back in junior year. Your girlfriend of almost a year, a friend for longer, had left you behind to fend for yourself. Regardless of how many manhunts the police went on, the tedious nights you ran through the forest with the hopes of finding her until Thor had to drag you back to safety, Kate was gone. She probably skipped town so she didn’t have to deal with your sorry ass, was what Natasha always repeated. After weeks of such treatment, you began agreeing. 

“What’s wrong? Oh you’re not gonna cry, are you?” Natasha teased as she smacked your arm. Her reddened hair was up in a french braid, viridescent eyes darting down your body. “How pathetic. Does the little baby need a tissue, huh?”

Before you dared reply with a peace of your mind, there came her savior flying down the hall.

“Nat, stop. Don’t be such a dick.” Wanda Maximoff, the feared bully’s girlfriend, stood between you and the redhead. She flashed you an empathetic smile that you took as Thor’s nostrils flared. He didn’t like the so-called feigned kindness Wanda showered you with. “Are you alright today, sweetie? I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible you must be feeling. You know that if there’s ever anything you need, I’m right here for you. We all miss her so much. We got your back, Y/N.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Natasha grumbled low enough beneath her breath so that it was only hearable to her girlfriend. 

“Thanks, Wanda. You’re always so nice to me. I think I’m just a bit checked out today. Here’s to hoping the day goes by quickly.”

“It will if we skip class,” Thor pointed out. 

“As president of the student body I could never endorse that,” Wanda giggled. As a hand held a few of her books, Natasha’s arm wrapped carefully across her waist, she placed the other one on your arm with friendly banter. “You take care of yourself, honey. Take some breaks throughout the day, drink some water, and focus up on good things. The day will go by before you even know it.”

Never did you notice the hunger which Natasha eyed you with as she found herself exhilarated by the way her girlfriend held you so close – the disgust she felt towards your friend was lost in the air. Gripping Wanda’s waist, she silently begged for permission to strike. A knowing look from the shorter brunette forced her to lay back and wait. Soon enough they’d have you. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“Did you hear the news?”

Those five words were ones you hadlong accustomed yourself to feel great disdain for. Upon the sound of them through the door of the last class of the day, you shuddered. You didn’t dare look up, losing yourself within the dread that overtook your soul. The seat next to your own had been empty throughout the period. 

Thor never skipped without giving you a head’s up. 

Upon hearing through hushed whispers and more stares your way, you ran out of the bathroom. The hint of bile which rose from your throat was held off until you reached a stall where you threw yourself, dumping out all the remaining torturous grief still carried from Kate’s loss alongside Thor’s. News spread quickly through the school, of course they did, but being shown a picture posted on a sock account on social media of Thor sprawled across the football field, eyes wide shut with a pair of knives lodged in his chest made you fall. 

You hadn’t found it in you to remove yourself from the floor. The walls across you turned, mocking your misery. The image of your best friend was clear in your mind. He was sweet, a caring man who wouldn’t dare hurt a fly, a complete lovable idiot who spent his days either playing sports or taking Jane out to whatever movie was being shown that weekend. No one hated him, but then again, no one had a reason to hate Kate either. 

Seeing him that morning so full of life made it impossible for you to humor the death, the macabre gore you had taken a slight look on someone’s phone, upon his cadaver. 

The day had ended there, the school dismissed halfway through the final class. The student body couldn’t be more thrilled to escape their prison as they grieved Thor’s surprise death in their own ways. As you strode through the halls ignoring the loudspeaker, calling your name to the school counselor’s office, and numerous classmates sobbing against the lockers, you carried on a somber expression. No sound was hearable, no hint of emotions or life within your features as people tried expressing their pity your way. 

Wanda’s cheerfulness creepily crawled out as she held onto Natasha’s hand, dragging her away to follow you. They’d get what they wished for, what they had longed for years. It was only a matter of time before they broke you entirely. 

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“I’m really sorry about what happened, kid. I can’t imagine it’s easy to lose the two most important people in your life like that. You know, we’re all here to talk about it if you’d like. Me, your mom, your dad, and some of your other friends. You’re not alone, okay?”

 And yet it felt that way. 

You couldn't muster hearing another word that came from your therapist. Since Kate’s death she had been there every step of the way. Although not by choice, you visited Dr. Danvers twice a week for almost a year. She was nice enough, the sole person who at least pretended to not pity you in a believable manner. But you knew that beneath every ‘sorry’ thrown your way, there was feigned sadness. 

“Do you want to tell me more about Thor?” Carol questioned softly. Each bout of words were like a dozen daggers crackling through your skin, a painfully lonely existence without your favorite two people alive. “We can talk about something else if you’d like.”

“It’s fine.” Those were the first words you had spoken upon your arrival – almost half an hour into the session. “I just miss him. I miss her.” It took all your willpower to not break down in front of your therapist. Never would you dare bring yourself to uttering their names again. “He died the day he went away. How is that even possible? I just…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go back to school and have everyone staring at me like I’m a sad freak. Just the thought of going back makes me think of them. Why did it happen? Why on that day?”

Carol held herself back from speaking, taking a second to revise her verbiage before responding. “Honey it was probably just a coincidence. Maybe someone was playing a sick joke. I really don’t have a good answer for you, I’m sorry.”

All that went through your brain was the image of Thor ingrained, burnt to ashes into your mind. Countless nights had been spent with lifeless eyes staring into the ceiling, boring your misery into your sole safe place. When tormented with agonizing experiences, you simply hid beneath the covers of the bed which shielded you from the outside. Numerous calls and texts from friends and family members had gone unanswered. Not even your parents could do more than to leave a plate of food by your door that was returned half-eaten. 

“Do you have thoughts about hurting yourself, Y/N?”

Within the depths of your darkest desires you wished to pull the knife from Thor’s body and throw it Carol’s way. “Are you fucking kidding me? How dare you?”

“It’s just something we have to cover because-”

“Because what? Jesus, Carol, my girlfriend disappeared a year ago and I had to see my best friend dead in the fucking school yard. And the only thing you care about is whether I’m killing myself or not?” The selfishness of it caused your distress to turn to fury as hands turned to fists. She cared about her job before your own well-being, about making sure you didn’t do anything which could taint her reputation. “I’m done with this. Don’t bother about rescheduling for later this week.”

Storming out the therapist’s office, you didn’t pay any mind to a peculiar couple sitting together at the waiting room, a redhead’s arm wrapped around a brunette. When green eyes twinkled, the smaller woman mumbled. “That's our next target. We can have a bit more fun with this one. Let’s make the bitch bleed, shall we?”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

A gruesome amount of blood coated the horribly sharp beam across her features. Wanda looked down, pleased to watch the pattern her partner followed. She had long memorized what to do, what tools to use, where to carry out such fun, and how to clean up. Never would she get caught with the intricate manner in which the young woman took her victims. Since her rather adventurous adolescence she had grown used to the mesmerizing way a person lost their sanity, their life, at her hands. 

“Right there, baby. One across her neck like that,” she tenderly instructed. “Just like I taught you.”

Natasha had come to her in the early years of high school. The firecracker was easily set off by her constant anger targeted at everyone around her, but as a confident force herself, Wanda tamed the beast that lay within the redhead. Little by little she was morphed into a willing pet who, although impulsive, required care and guidance over their fun pastime. 

Rather than follow the advice, Natasha kept slapping the knife down on Carol’s chest. Unadulterated fury was thrown over the therapist after she had made you cry. The fixation with you had begun in her younger years, always watching you prance around the halls, a lone-wolf who she knew desired to be claimed. No one dare step up and take what the world knew was rightfully hers. Her wishes were solely to get you on your knees, to push you down far enough to the point you required her support to get back up. She wouldn’t let a lowly shrink and your friend get between that. Wanda only went on with her obsession. 

“Don’t tell me how to do it. I’m not an idiot,” Natasha spat between gritted teeth. Her body was coated in a fresh set of scarlet paint. Although she was new to taking such a brutalistic approach to her need for you, she wouldn’t allow herself to be dominated by someone like Wanda. Of course little did the redhead know that she was fully wrapped around her girlfriend’s finger already, their shared grip upon you being far too delicious to let go – the thought of you always fresh in their minds as one got the other off. 

“Watch your tone.” While much softer, Wanda wouldn’t dare allow herself to be treated lowly.  “Here, let mommy help. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me? Don’t you remember that it was me who showed you how to get your prized puppy?”

“Yes.”

Wanda’s smirk was wide at that. To have both you and Natasha under her control was far too exquisite – she drowned in the power she held, playing god as she took the lives of those who defied her. “Yes what?”

“Yes, mommy.”

As soon as the defeated words were sighed, the thumping against the chest cavity of the blonde was put to a rest. Natasha sagged her head as she ran a palm oozing with blood against her face, humming at the safety it brought her. Soon enough they’d break you; soon enough you’d be theirs.

Taking a life in her hands with a lost one beneath, Wanda, the deity, tilted her head. She ran a hesitant thumb across Natasha’s cheek to take in all the exhaustion carried upon those muscular shoulders, her arms weak as she submitted. The shining promise rings upon each of their left hands signified the momentous devotion towards the other. Long had they waited for freedom. 

The separation the two of them had with you was torturous. Unabashed ire was cast upon those who they saw fit to be their lab rats. Nothing but trash which they rummaged through to find the perfect way to have you. Such displaced aggression was only the beginning of their turbulence coming undone. 

“There’s my good girl. Now look at how mommy does it, Natalia. Cut her like this.” Wanda allowed Natasha to remove herself from on top the therapist. The taller of the two kneeled before her master, green eyes in a frenzy as they watched on carefully. The previously dull, red blade was substituted by a mint knife coming from Wanda’s side. Although wearing just a plaid skirt, a white button-down, and high-knee socks covered by Converse, she found it to be a perfect outfit. Nothing could compare to the surprise they’d have for you. “See?”

Wanda took her time, exuding patience across the office as she dragged the freshly sharpened blade across Carol’s neck. Choked sobs, her breathing becoming shallower by the second as she could barely take in any air, was music to the young women’s ears. The orchestra that was desperation mixed with ghastly sloshing sounds whenever the skin was punctured was exquisite. 

With her chest covered with ruptures, Carol was nearly thrown over the edge, Wanda holding her back so she could spend her last few moments facing harrowing pain. 

“That’s beautiful. I like how red it is,” Natasha pointed out as she licked her lips, noting exactly how her partner danced the knife on Carol’s throat – not too deep or shallow. “Is she in pain? How can you tell if this hurts more than what I was doing?”

“You didn’t take your time, sweetheart. You need to go slow, let them feel every single second of it. The poor thing can barely breathe, let alone call out for help. You did good there, but you can’t let yourself get carried away like that. Give your pets special care. Have some fun with them,” Wanda explained as she drew copious bouts of blood from Carol’s neck, the woman losing consciousness as her eyelids grew heavier with the stench of death surrounding the four walls. “The red treat is really yummy too, but not hers. This one is tainted, she hurt our prized possession. That’s why she has to pay. Anyone who keeps us away from our angel needs to suffer the consequences. When we get to Y/N you can taste her. Maybe I’ll even let you take the lead once you’ve had more training. Would you like that, daddy?”

“Yes,” Natasha was breathless with excitement. “Yes, mommy.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

With the end of school looming over, you spent your days crawling across the woodboards of the house. Since the unfaithful day where you had to first hand experience the shame of waltzing around the packed hallways wallowing in your own grief, you hadn’t left the safety of the four walls of your bedroom unless it was to go outdoors for a few minutes, gathering food, and simply returning to your cave. 

A handful of your other friends had visited. Steve brought flowers and your favorite dessert, Bucky by his side offering a sympathetic smile while handing you a bag filled to the brim with only your favorite foods, movies, fuzzy socks, and even a stuffed animal. Little by little, they trinkled by, but as time kept moving forth, they left you behind. 

Thor’s funeral was the only chance you gave yourself to escape the house. Throughout the somber ordeal at the town’s sole cemetery you gripped Jane’s hand, remaining unfazed as she sobbed against your shoulder. ‘Bring him back’, she repeated, the mantra stuck in your mind for sleepless days, arms wrapped around a goat stuffed animal Thor had once won for you at a carnival. The pain which his girlfriend felt, the misery embodied by her pleas and cries over his casket, was an exemplary manner in which the two of you were joined by the hip. 

Even afterwards the two of you strode aimlessly around the area, Jane attempting to let out incoherent words of sadness through choked cries, you didn’t have an ounce of emotions that barreled down what you concluded was a cold heart. You didn’t dare cry at the funeral, the rain allowing you to camouflage beneath its wetness and remain hidden in shame. Tears had already dried up when Kate disappeared. You only wished Thor could forgive you for the lack of sentiment that you displayed. 

Then yet again it was time to return home to your depressed, ragged, unconscious state. 

You parents had long given up on so little as attempting to interact with you. They didn’t have to spew their venomous words for you to realize that being by your side drained them. The agony which you were in was humorous to them. Late nights you find yourself hearing them chat from down the hall in their rooms, mumbling about how you’d be better off moving away, how they were the ones to suffer at the loss of their daughter, not you when never so much as being allowed to say goodbye to your loved ones. 

Rather than incite an argument which would not easily culminate, you hid out in your bedroom until the day they set off on their vacation. You were old enough to be alone, and yet you knew that according to Carol it was best to be surrounded with support – the thought of the woman made you frown momentarily, rummaging through the hot mess that had been your last appointment. Oh how you wished she’d answer your texts apologizing for your outburst with the hopes of scheduling another session. Radio silence was your best friend. 

In the moment your parents went away, you merely hugged them goodbye. Without their judgemental gazes you allowed yourself to further grow, to explore areas of the house you had barely set foot on during the lowest moments of your life. Truth be told most of your hours were spent on the terrace watching mother nature’s cool dance welcoming the summer – Kate’s favorite season. 

When nightfall overtook the town of Westview you sprawled yourself over the bed. The lack of parental guidance gave you the motivation to take everything at your own pace, to sparse out the food through the day, but still make an effort to keep yourself alive. If only your parents didn’t wish to shove a plate of food down your throat every waking moment then perhaps your mind wouldn’t refuse the slightest bit of pasta curated for yourself. 

It was a shame, really. Not taking care of yourself only left room for someone to swoop in and do it for you. With a peculiar redhead and a lanky brunette sitting in a heating car outside your home, they volunteered to take the vacant position.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“Shhh you have to be quiet, baby. Otherwise you’ll wake up mommy and then I’ll have to punish you. Do you want that, sweet one? Oh I don’t think you do. You’re a good girl. I know you can behave for mommy and daddy.”

Stuck in your dreams, the imagined soothing voice of Wanda Maximoff brought you peace. You hummed at it, snuggling closer to your stuffed animal, your guardian, as you pretended for it to be her. She’d be the sole saving grace of your livelihood regardless of the interesting choice of words spewed your way. 

“Pretty girl. Just look at how fucking pathetic she looks. Can we start now, mommy?” At the sound of Natasha’s voice, you frowned. The tenderness within it was not lost in you. “I want to destroy her, to take every single ounce of life she has left and make it my own. When can we take her away?”

“Silence, malyshka. We have to be patient with our angel. She’ll come to us when she’s ready. For now we just have some fun, perhaps train her a bit,” as serene as the words were spoken, the devilish nature that lay beneath was a cause for panic. In all your nightmares you had been feasted with images of an onyx creature with a ghostly mask, but never your classmates. It almost felt…real. “Would you like to start?”

Burning hands crossed your body, pulling down the sheets hiding it along with your pajamas. Within the clarity that you face, a groan came. Eyes fluttered across the dark room as you were groped, hips squeezed when a phantom creature danced against you. A bulge settled between your legs, mocking your existence with a different set of gloved hands that wrapped around your throat. 

When meeting the two figures upon your bed, breaking the illusion of a dream, you screamed – yet no sound came from your taped mouth. 

Your trunks were torn apart, a humiliating wet patch forming upon your underwear that was mocked with insistent laughter. The two ghost-like beasts pulled at it, nearly ripping it off as their pleased noises filled the frightening air. 

“Fill her up, sweetheart.” Wanda’s familiar voice instructed, her face, you noticed, covered with the same sinister mask you had once dreamed of. “Show her who she belongs to. After all we’ve done, don’t you think it’s time to have a little reward? Be a good girl and destroy our pet, daddy.”

“Yes, mommy.”

Natasha followed the steps she had rehearsed many times when using Wanda as a guiding proxy. She helped her robes up, plucking the zipper of her pants that lay beneath and swooping them down. A rather large, girthy dildo sprung from the confines of its makeshift prison. It was jerked off by a rather flushed Natasha whose face contorted into a desperate one. 

As an audience member Wanda sat back and enjoyed the way her perfectly trained animal rubbed your cunt, all slick and drenching itself more by the second. She ignored your muffled pleas and squirms, using sturdy cuffs to restrain you against the headboard of the bed. You looked much better all tied up anyway. 

Wanda found herself enthralled by the fear in your eyes, her own downcast, dark, and dripping with delight. Tenderness touched your wet cheek that was overtaken by tears. Although you couldn’t see her face, the sympathy displayed through the Ghostface mask caused your heart to slow down, to normalize as she overcame you.

“Look at you. You’re nothing but a filthy whore who is begging to be fucked. That’s what I told Wanda the first time we talked about you. She laughed, but it’s true. This desperate puffy pussy is proof of that,” Natasha growled as she swiped a thumb across your slit, coating it with your juices before swirling it against your cunt. Involuntarily your body shuddered; the redhead would never let you live that down. “How many times did you fantasize about this, huh? For mommy and daddy to claim this slutty body once and for all? You’re so pathetic. I’m barely touching you and your little cunt is already this wet. How cute.”

“Oh I want a go at her once you’re done, malyshka,” Wanda hummed, one of her hands landing atop Natasha’s to feel your oozing apex. “For now I think I’ll stick to marking her. Our names deserve to be on our property, don’t you think?”

“Ours.”

Fire trickled across your skin as the tip of the dildo was rubbed against your throbbing cunt. Natasha was desperate to fill you up, so rather than keep her needs at bay basking on foreplay, she simply grunted, slapping her cock against your clit before lining it up against your aching hole. 

No matter how hard you tried to moan, it was all for nothing. 

A knife was produced from Wanda’s belt swiftly as the way they slipped into your room at night. She sat back watching in awe as her partner pumped her entire cock into your depths, grabbing you harshly until the whole length filled your pussy. Tilting her head, a tongue stuck out to lick her lips. It was far too late to dare remove the tape without alerting the neighbors and potentially being caught – not to mention Natasha’s demeanor would turn sour and her hands would quickly wrap themselves around your neck until your breathing ceased – but oh she knew you’d be so loud for them. 

The cool blade of the knife felt wonderful against you. It was hesitant at first, exploring the expanse of your body as you, lying in wait, taking in a deep breath. Nostrils were fueled by pure hypnotic rage. All but your mind gave into Wanda. She was intoxicating, a true image of beauty even covered from head to toe with onyx garments. 

Numerous cuts were left upon your body by a blade that resembled those which were twisted upon Thor’s chest, the ones that were later compared to the wounds Dr. Danvers carried on her mutilated body only days after she had brutally murdered, her body thrown across an alley with nothing, not even her dignity, left the cover the humiliation. 

“That’s it, you little whore. Take daddy’s cock just like that. Oh you’re nothing but a good fleshlight, huh?” Natasha spewed out, slapping a gloved hand across your face before smirking beneath her mask – an action you practically heard in her tone. “You like it when daddy stuffs your tight pussy with her cock? Huh? A cumrag just for us. I can’t wait until you finally give in. we’re going to ruin this slutty pussy for everyone.”

“Maybe we can fill her up with your pups one day, daddy,” Wanda piped up as she maniacally cut your body. You were adorned with bloody carvings of varying sizes, one of those being a heart with the words ‘Mommy & Daddy’s Pet’ alongside ‘Wanda & Nat were here <3’ right beneath the breasts which she groped. “Do you want to have your daddy’s babies, sweetheart?” The lack of hardness within her voice drove you mad. All you could do was nod, a mind completely blank with the way Natasha fucked you. “Yeah? There’s a good girl. So good for her mommy and daddy. Oh we’ll take such good care of you. Now no one can take you away from us. It’s just us against the world.”

It was the first time you happily felt anything in months.

Bloody breasts were squeezed, Wanda quivering with excitement as she encouraged Natasha to keep going. The innocent stench of your scarlet fluid took the brunette aback. She was drunk in it, desperately wishing to tug at her mask to get a taste. Instead she settled for playing with it, although the gloves preventing the feel of your blood disappointed her. One day she’d drain every last drop within you to manically explore your body. 

With a lazy thumb running against your clit, Natasha’s cock stuffing your cunt until you were a sobbing mess, and Wanda’s cheers as she maimed you, you easily give yourself in for the women to take, arching your back and letting out a choked moan once you came undone. And yet that never stopped them. If anything, your admirers had only begun. 

Both spent hours merely using your body as though it was another limp mess for them to dispose of, a fleshlight ready to please them. They switched positions eventually, Natasha angling herself perfectly so as to shove her strap on down your throat once taking off the tape to keep you quiet, your juices coating her cock that you tasted, while Wanda gave your gaping cunt the same treatment with her fingers once removing her gloves. Regardless of how long it had passed and how spent you were, you didn’t dare force them to leave. 

Their visceral need to own every ounce, every breath, every fiber of your soul drove them to claim you. Watching you from afar, taking pictures, settling for others or each other to hide the itch for you was torturous enough. It was about time they got your attention once and for all that didn’t come from Natasha annoying you constantly to get a reaction, or Wanda sweetly interacting with her soon-to-be pet as a means to hold even an ounce of you. 

Once you were barely conscious, heavy eyelids threatening to close as you gargled over Natasha’s dick, it all came to an end. 

“Such a good girl,” Wanda mumbled, a hand caressing your face, thumb brushing against a cheek. Although the mask remained intact, you heard her fiery features temper down. “Y/N, you’re a perfect pet just like I thought you’d be.”

“Hmm just look at that. You’re already tainted,” Natasha pointed out as she ran a hand against your nude, fileted body. The bed was a mess, blood drying out among the sheets, your being stuck frozen without a sound coming past your lips. All you did was grunt, throat hoarse and exhaustion overtaking you. With a proud smile, both women were pleased with how far they broke you. “Should we give her the surprise, mommy?”

“The poor thing deserves it. Look at how much she’s been through. Oh don’t worry, sweetness, mommy will nurse you back to perfect health. Then in a few days we can put even more pretty scars on your body,” Wanda giddily announced. Cupping your face, she leaned in dangerously close until her mask brushed against your fallen face. “We have a little friend here who’s been dying to play with you. Be a good girl and say hi.”

From the shadows a third figure arose. It carried the same mask as the others, its waltz slow to the tempo of the swirling air felt through the crack of your window. It simply remained standing at the foot of your bed, a hand waving you a greeting, excitement fueling deep beneath the face covering. 

Upon the removal of the mask, your tired eyes widened, Natasha and Wanda having to hold you down from moving with devilish mocking looks upon their faces. 

“Hi Y/N.” The voice was once you dearly longed to hear again. “Did you miss me?”

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N walks past Wolf!Natasha…

Y/N kisses her softly…

Y/N: I know…I missed you too

Natasha: I didn’t say anything

Y/N: I know. But your tail says otherwise

Natasha looks at her tail which is wagging back and forth happily…

Natasha: traitor!

[rewiringtoheal]

My Darling, You Enchant Me

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: a little teasing and a lot of pleasing.

Words: 1,453

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, strap-on, soft smut

A/N: The first few paragraphs are from a scrapped piece but I flushed it out and made it for Natasha. Thank you for the support. You guys are awesome.

You are mesmerized by the goddess astride you. The stunning flush that painted her once creamy white skin is breathtaking. Those green eyes you adore are set ablaze as they look upon you begging for release. 

Your eyes trail down her body appreciating the long crimson hair cascading down Natasha’s left shoulder. And the soft full breasts swaying with the motion of her hips as she rides your fingers. 

Your mind is lost in a haze. All you see is her. All you feel is her. The tensing of her thighs, the rolling of her hips, and the feeling of being inside of her is enchanting. 

The walls of her core welcome you like an old friend. They stretch around your fingers with familiarity. Your hand strains as a cramp runs through your wrist but you double your efforts wanting to please her. 

“So good, baby. Don’t fucking stop.” Natasha whimpers. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love” You husk. 

You feel small hands digging into your shoulders, nails tear into your flesh, leaving crescent marks in their wake. Your free hand flutters down the smooth warm skin of her back landing on her hip trying to help stabilize her as she loses herself in you.

The rhythm you’ve had thus far is becoming erratic as Natasha starts to mindlessly hump your hand as she chases her release. Indecipherable words leave her kiss swollen mouth. You know she’s close; with practiced ease you curl your fingers into the sweet spongy spot inside of her. Your thumb slides through slick folds to stimulate her clit. It is the catalyst that pushes her over the edge.

“Fuck, Detka. So good.” Natasha cries out.

She is a sight to behold as she reaches her climax. A sheen of sweat coats her taut body, strands of her red hair are stuck to her forehead, and her eyebrows are furrowed. Full pink lips drop open with a whimper as she basks in her pleasure. 

Small trembles work their way through her body as she slumps into you. She burrows her nose into your neck and the warmth of her breath sends shivers down your spine. You kiss the side of her head, lingering there for a little while, relishing in this closeness. 

You eventually withdraw your fingers from Natasha with reluctance.  She nips at your neck in displeasure causing you to chuckle. 

“Darling, as much as I would like too. I can’t stay inside of you forever.” Fondness coats your voice as you clean your slick covered hand in the navy blue sheets of your shared bed. 

“I know but I like feeling full.” Natasha mumbles into you. 

“Oh baby, I know you do. If you want I can fill you up properly? We won’t even need any lube with how wet you still are.” 

She withdraws from your neck, with a playful smirk, and green eyes filled with mischief. “Detka, the wetness our lower halves are drowning in is as much your fault as it is mine.” That perfect eyebrow of hers lifts sassily. “Don’t even pretend you aren’t going absolutely feral at the thought of fucking me with your strap.”

 Your hands creep up Natasha’s sides, landing just below her ribs, shooting her a cocky smirk of your own. “My little spy thinks she’s so funny, doesn’t she? Mhmm. Something definitely needs to be done about all of that sass…” 

Natasha anticipates your next move but it’s too late. She's caught in your clutches. You roll her over onto her back with a burst of adrenaline and you start tickling her in earnest. The most adorable squeak leaves the redhead before transforming into giggles.

You’re smiling so hard from the sounds of her happiness. It’s a privilege to know that you are the only one who gets to experience this side of her. The playful, loving and goofy woman that most people wouldn’t believe is hidden underneath the black widow persona. Is the same woman you get to love. What a wonderful life you lead.

“Baby, please stop tickling me.” Natasha manages to get out in between giggles.

Your heart fills with undeniable affection as you look upon her. The small smile she so rarely gets to wear outside of your home is present and you adore seeing her look so content. She’s covered in sweat, sticky with your shared arousal, and yet she looks at peace. You couldn’t help but match her energy. 

Your hands slow down, tickling transforms into a gentle caress, the mood between you shifting into something more tender. “Alright, my darling. No more tickling… I think it’s time I finally fill you up. Don’t you?”

Natasha hums in agreement. Her small hands push you towards the nightstand, urgent, you know how much she loves watching you prepare. 

You wink at her cheekily, before reaching towards your nightstands drawer and grabbing your well loved leather harness. Her gaze burns into you as you clamber off the bed to buckle yourself in. 

You reach back into the nightstand drawer, grabbing Natasha’s favorite toy, and shove it through the o-ring. The thick piece of silicone stands erect between your powerful thighs. 

Natasha’s hands are on you within seconds. She’s pulling you as close to her as she can get. Grasping onto your lower back and hips like her life depends on it as you settle between her legs. 

“Don’t worry, my love. I’m gonna take good care of you.” You murmur, allowing yourself to be drawn in. You push forward slightly just enough to grind against Natasha’s clit for a minute or so; making sure that the toy is coated in her slick.

She squirms beneath you; hips rutting against you in desperate need. “Detka, please. I need you inside.” 

You can’t deny her when she asks so sweetly and in truth you want to be inside of her as much as she does. You cradle Natasha in your arms, resting your forehead against hers, loving the intimacy. Her shaky inhale caresses your lips as you slowly push the tip in.

You push forward, at a leisure pace, until you are fully buried inside of her. Nails dig into your hips encouraging you to move. Your initial thrusts are mindful, wanting Natasha to adjust to your thickness, before you set a familiar pace. 

A slow sensual grind of pelvises, as you clutch to one another. You glide your nose along Natasha’s savoring her warmth. Stopping to draw her into a deep kiss; it’s all tongue, teeth and incoordination. 

You trail kisses down her jawline, pausing to suck an irresistible�� earlobe into your mouth, nipping at the soft piece of flesh. A low moan echoes from beside you. You travel down her neck, leaving a wet path of saliva and love bites in your wake.

Natasha’s thighs tighten around your hips; begging you to go faster. 

“Oh god, fuck baby filling me so good.” Natasha keened.

You grunt in agreement. The toy is rubbing against your clit in the most delicious way every time she rocks against you. 

“Shit, babe. You feel so fucking good.” You nuzzle your nose into the crook of her neck. “Taking me so well. No one can make you feel as full as I can.” You anchor your hands on Natasha’s thighs, setting a faster pace, incoherent mumbling spews from supple lips.

“So full. Fuck, Jesus christ” Natasha mewls.

The two of you are rutting against each other like wild animals as you both chase your release. You know it won’t take long for either of you to cum with the franticness of your movements. 

Every thrust into Natasha is met with resistance as her walls tighten around your strap and her thighs start to shake. 

“Come with me, baby” one of your hands trails through dripping wet red curls to rub circles around Natasha’s clit. 

She tenses up with a shout of your name, fingers dig into your shoulder blades, holding on for dear life.  As shockwaves of pleasure ripple through her body. 

You cry out, as your own orgasm overtakes you. The neglected pressure in your loins finally being taken care of.

The adrenaline seeps out of you and the only thing you’re left with is bone deep exhaustion as you collapse onto Natasha.

The two of you curl around each other, breathing heavy, but satisfied.

“Damn, we really need to shower at some point but I don’t know if I will be able to stand anytime soon.” Natasha pants.

“Fuck, I know we are so sticky but I don’t want to get up.” You whine.

She hums in agreement. Neither of you try to move. You just stay there snuggled together and joined in the most intimate way. 

[trikruismybitch]

i'm not even worried because trying to after natasha is going to be a huge mistake.

A Feline Connection Part 8

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You attempt to return to your previous way of life, one without Natasha or Widow, while Whitney discovers an unacceptable revelation.

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

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 4576

Your footsteps are light, barely making a sound as you move through the dimly lit room. The figure lying on the couch is finally resting, her breathing steady, her brilliant green eyes hidden behind closed lids. 

But as you reach her side, you notice the faint pinch of her brows—a small but telling sign of a troubled sleep. 

Gently, you place the curled-up bundle of fur in your arms onto the cushion beside her. 

Widow doesn’t stir much as you settle her near the redhead. 

With a realizing glance at the absence of any comfort on the couch, you go back to your room, retrieving a blanket. 

When you return, you pause for a moment, taking in the person before you. 

Natasha’s face, so often guarded and composed, looks almost softer in rest, though the faint crease in her brow remains. 

Quietly, you unfold the blanket and drape it over her, your movements slow and delicate, as if the sheet might somehow shield her from whatever dreams are troubling her. 

Your hand stills as she shifts slightly, her head turning toward you. For a brief, tense moment, you freeze, holding your breath as you watch her, waiting to see if she’ll wake. 

But her eyes remain closed, her breathing steady. 

A stray strand of red hair falls across her face from the movement, and before you can stop yourself, your fingers lift to brush it back. The touch is featherlight, almost hesitant, as if afraid of breaking the moment. 

Her brow twitches slightly at the contact, her expression scrunching faintly in reaction, though it’s more of a reflex than wakefulness. 

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips at the sight. 

Slowly, you pull your hand away, straightening up, but before you can step back, you feel a gentle tug on your wrist. 

Looking down, you see Widow’s tiny paws wrapped around your hand, her claws pressing lightly into your skin.

Her yellow eyes, now awake, tilt up at you, curious and questioning. She goes to open her mouth as if to make a sound, but you quickly raise a finger to your lips in a silent, shushing motion. 

At your gesture, her small mouth snaps shut, following your request. Widow tilts her head at you before glancing back at Natasha, then back at you. 

Coming to a decision, the little cat shifts on the cushion, her grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly, as if trying to drag you closer to the resting Avenger. 

A quiet laugh escapes you, more a huff of breath than a sound, and you crouch down to meet Widow at eye level. 

You shake your head at her before nodding pointedly at the redhead and giving the cat a gentle wink. 

Widow seems to understand your silent directions, her claws releasing your hand reluctantly, though she takes a moment to nuzzle against your fingers one last time before padding closer to Natasha. 

She circles on the cushion once, twice, before settling in beside Natasha’s arm. Widow burrows herself carefully under it, her small body fitting perfectly against Natasha’s side. 

Almost unconsciously, Natasha shifts toward the warmth, her arm curling protectively around the little cat as her expression softens, the lines of tension in her face easing at last. 

You straighten slowly, watching the two of them for a moment longer. A faint smile lingers on your face as you take a silent step back, turning toward the door. 

Under Natasha’s protective embrace, Widow’s wide yellow eyes follow you, watching your every move until you slip out of the room.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

The guards stationed outside barely spare you a glance as you enter the mansion’s perimeter, and you offer them none in return.

They know who you are—or more specifically, what you are to their boss—and that knowledge alone is enough to keep most of them from daring to cause you any trouble. 

The air inside the sprawling estate feels suffocatingly familiar, the scent of polished wood and faint traces of Whitney’s preferred perfume triggering memories you’d rather leave buried. 

You move through the halls with automatic precision, the pathways etched into your mind from the years you spent living here. Every turn is automatic, every step calculated, your body remembering the routes even if your heart no longer feels at home. 

Reaching your old room, you pause. Your gaze lingers on the door, your instincts prickling with suspicion. 

Something feels off. 

Your hand slowly reaches for the doorknob, twisting it carefully. The lock clicks open with no resistance, though you know for a fact you had secured it before you left. 

A quiet sigh escapes your lips, laced with frustration. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.

Pushing the door open fully, you step inside, your eyes sweeping across the familiar space.

Everything appears untouched at first glance, but your attention is quickly drawn to the figure sitting at the edge of your bed, her presence commanding despite her relaxed posture.

“You’re back early,” you remark, your voice calm, carefully neutral. 

Half-shadowed by the dim light, Whitney’s lips curve into a small, knowing smirk. She leans back on her hands, her fingers splayed against the silk bedspread, her legs crossed elegantly at the ankles.

“And you’re out late,” she counters smoothly, her tone carrying a disarming casualness.

Tilting her head slightly, the gold mask glints in the exposed night light as she studies you with a look that feels too calculated to be innocent.

“Wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

In the past, her question would have sounded harmless to your ears—a simple inquiry you’d answer without a second thought, trusting her completely. 

But now, the words land differently. 

The casual tone feels deceptive, masking something deeper. It’s not a request; it’s a test, a command cloaked in false sweetness. 

For a moment, you hold her gaze, weighing your response. Her expression doesn’t shift, but the stillness in her posture speaks volumes. 

Whitney doesn’t need to explicitly demand answers. Her presence alone does the job. 

“I went back to my place to grab some things,” you reply plainly, your tone deliberately calm as you turn away from her. 

Moving toward the couch, you shrug off your jacket, letting it slide from your shoulders. 

But as your hand grips the fabric to fold it, something makes you pause.

This isn’t one of your jackets.

A small smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush over the familiar black leather, realizing you must have grabbed Natasha’s jacket without even noticing.

The faint scent of her still clings to it, grounding you for a fleeting moment. 

“This is your place,” Whitney’s voice comes from behind you, smooth and controlled. “Anything you needed, I could have gotten for you.”

Before you can respond, her arms snake around your waist, her movements deliberate as her chin comes to rest lightly on your shoulder. 

She holds a neatly wrapped box in one hand, extending it up toward you.

Folding Natasha’s jacket carefully, you place it on the couch, out of Whitney’s line of sight, and take the box from her.

Removing the lid, you reveal a sleek new phone nestled inside.

“It’s the latest model,” Whitney remarks, her tone casually proud. 

You huff softly, disbelief flickering across your face as you close the lid. 

Your phone had mysteriously disappeared a few days ago, and you don’t need to guess too hard about who’s responsible.

Placing the box back in her hand, you keep your tone light but firm. 

“Thanks, but I’ll keep looking for mine,” you say evenly. “There’s stuff on there that’s important to me.”

A soft scoff comes from Whitney as she tosses the box dismissively somewhere. 

“You mean pictures and videos of that cat,” she says, her tone mocking.

Your response is immediate, unflinching.

“Like I said—important to me.”

Her grip tightens slightly at your tone, her voice dropping into a whisper as she leans closer, her breath brushing against your neck. 

“I’m trying to help us start over here,” she murmurs, her tone softening in a way that feels practiced. “So that we can be like we were before.” 

The cool touch of her mask grazes your skin, a stark reminder of who she is to the world—and to you now.

It’s impossible to ignore the difference. 

She straightens as you turn in her arms, her hands lingering on you as if reluctant to let go.

Not able to see her whole expression, your hand lifts hesitantly, brushing the edge of the metal mask that conceals half her face. 

“You used to never wear this around me,” you remark, your voice low but steady.

Her reaction is immediate—her head pulls back sharply from your hand, her gray eyes narrowing in warning. 

“That was before you decided to abandon me,” she snaps, her tone colder now, tinged with a bitterness you’ve come to expect.

Your expression shifts to something unreadable, neutral, as you lower your hand to your side. 

“Maybe we’ve just become different people,” you reply softly. 

Whitney’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Slowly, her hands move to the back of the couch, her body leaning forward deliberately, effectively boxing you in. 

“No,” she counters firmly, her tone quiet but laced with steel. Her gaze hardens, cutting through any remaining facade.

“Just you. I haven’t changed.”

She leans closer, her voice dropping into a whisper, each word delivered with precision.

“I used to be your everything. And I still can be.” Her eyes search yours, unrelenting.

“Just let me back in. Only me.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication, as her gaze pierces yours.

“You owe me that much,” she finishes, her voice soft but pointed, the accusation embedded within her tone slicing through your resolve. 

You close your eyes briefly, the guilt rising like a tide within you, threatening to pull you under.

Her words strike deep, tugging at the cracks in your armor where your past with her still lingers. 

Memories of shared moments—of trust, dependence, and betrayal—flood your mind, blurring the lines between who you were then and who you’ve become now.

Releasing a deep breath, you open your eyes to meet hers. Slowly, you lift your arms and wrap them around her, pulling her into a loose embrace. 

The motion feels mechanical, more an attempt to appease than a genuine act of comfort. 

“Okay,” you mumble softly, your voice muffled against her shoulder. 

The word feels heavy in your mouth, weighted with the concessions you’re making and the pieces of yourself you’re once again offering up to keep the peace.

Whitney’s arms tighten around you in response, her grip possessive as she burrows closer.

Her voice is quiet, almost tender as she whispers, “Good girl.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

One Year Ago

Whitney sits at the head of the table, her eyes scanning the agreement laid out before her—terms negotiated between two minor rival crime families trying to end their long time feud.

The dim light from the chandelier above casts a soft glow on her polished gold mask, which rests on the table beside an opened bottle of wine.

She leans forward slightly, her slender fingers wrapping around the stem of a wine glass. Raising it to her lips, she takes a measured sip, her movements slow and deliberate as she reclines in her chair. 

The quiet moment of control is interrupted when two hands suddenly appear from behind her chair, moving toward her neck.

Instantly, her eyes narrow, the faintest flicker of paranoia flashing through her mind. Her fingers tighten on the glass, her muscles coiling in preparation for defense.

But then a cool touch of metal brushes against her collarbone, accompanied by a familiar voice.

“A lovely necklace for a beautiful woman,” you murmur, leaning into view with a slight smirk on your lips. 

Whitney’s grip on the glass relaxes, her wariness dissipating as she recognizes you. Her gaze flicks to the side where your face is now close to hers, and she allows herself a faint smile.

After clasping the ends of the necklace, you move to the edge of the table, taking a seat. 

Whitney brushes a strand of black hair behind her shoulder, reaching up to hold the necklace to the light. The jewels catch the glow, casting tiny reflections across the room.

“Nice work,” she remarks, her hand sliding effortlessly to rest atop your leg. Her touch is light, almost casual, though the possessiveness in the gesture is unmistakable.

“The job wasn’t too difficult for you, was it?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back on your hands.

“Your tip was spot on as usual,” you reply, your tone carrying an easy confidence. “Though, you’d think for something so precious, they’d have stored it in a high-security bank locker or something. Not just a simple safe in their bedroom closet.”

“The rich always think they’re untouchable,” Whitney remarks, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. 

You place your hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before lifting it to your lips. Your kiss is soft, featherlight, and the smirk that follows makes her eyes gleam.

“Are you?” you tease, your tone warm with amusement.

Whitney’s smirk widens, her posture relaxing slightly.

She loves this expression of yours—the one that focuses entirely on her, the affection in your eyes reserved solely for her.

But the moment is short-lived. 

A black blur suddenly darts across the table behind you, landing neatly on your lap.

Widow nuzzles against your side as she settles, her small head tilting up to look at you with an affectionate chirp. 

Whitney’s lips press into a thin line as you release her hand, your attention immediately shifting to the small animal. 

Your fingers move instinctively to scratch behind Widow’s ears, and a soft, fond smile crosses your face—one Whitney had always believed belonged exclusively to her. 

“Well, Widow also made it easy too,” you add, your voice light as you stroke the feline. “She had the little girl and her family completely smitten with her adorable little face. Once she got in the house, she unlocked a window for me to slip inside. In and out, no alarms, no fuss.”

You squish Widow’s face gently, bending down to nuzzle your nose against hers. 

“Isn’t that right, Widow?” 

The cat lets out a happy meow, nuzzling closer to you, and your soft laughter fills the room.

Whitney exhales sharply, turning her head away in frustration.

The growing sense of regret bubbles in her chest—the regret of ever letting that cat into your life, of allowing her to claim a piece of your heart that once belonged entirely to her.

The thought eats at her, fueling the slow burn of jealousy simmering beneath her composed exterior.

Whitney reaches up, her fingers deftly unclasping the necklace, and with an almost dismissive motion, she tosses it onto the table.

The clatter of jewels against wood echoes sharply in the quiet room. 

Pushing her chair back, she stands with deliberate purpose, her movements measured, her posture rigid.

The sound pulls your attention immediately, your laughter fading as your gaze follows her movement.

Your eyes flick to the discarded necklace, then back to her. Tilting your head slightly, your smile dims into an expression of cautious concern.

“Everything okay?” you ask, your voice careful, as if trying to gauge the sudden shift in her mood. 

Whitney straightens further, her figure towering over you, a shadow of elegance and control.

Her sharp gray eyes flick briefly in irritation to Widow, who is contentedly nestled in your lap, before returning to you.  

“I have some people coming for a meeting tomorrow,” Whitney says, her tone vague, deliberately nonchalant. 

You know her too well to miss the subtext.

Your criminal expertise has always lied elsewhere: stealth, cunning, and precision.

The darker side of her world has never been yours, and you’ve never wanted it to be.  

Your head tilts downward slightly, your gaze drifting to the side as you process her words. You don’t press her for more details; experience has taught you better. 

Instead, your hand moves to the golden mask resting on the table, the cold metal a stark reminder of who Whitney is and the role she has in her world.

Wordlessly, you lift the mask and place it into her hand.

There’s no judgment in the gesture, just quiet understanding. When your eyes meet hers again, you offer her a small, faintly resigned smile.

“Okay,” you reply simply. 

Cradling Widow carefully in your arms, you stand and move toward the hallway leading to your room where you’ll likely remain until she concludes her business. 

The following day, Whitney sits at the head of the same table, her posture composed and commanding.

Her golden mask conceals half of her face this time, its gleam catching the dim light. 

Before her, the two crime family heads sit across from each other, their voices raised in a heated argument as they hurl accusations back and forth.

“We put up that necklace as collateral, and now that we’ve repaid our end, you’re saying you won’t give it back!” one of the men shouts, his face red with frustration.

“I’m saying I don’t have it with me at the moment,” the other counters coolly, his tone dripping with indifference.

“I knew we should’ve never trusted you people!” the first man snaps, his fist slamming against the table.

Whitney leans back calmly, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of her chair.

Her gray eyes shift to one of her guards, who slips into the room silently and gives her an affirming nod. With a flick of her fingers, she motions for him to proceed.

“Gentlemen,” Whitney interjects smoothly, her voice cutting through their bickering like a blade. “I believe I can give an answer to this little situation of yours.”

At her signal, the guard drags a struggling figure into the room.

The man’s head is covered with a bag, his muffled protests filling the tense air. The guard forces him to his knees, holding him firmly in place.

“Let me go! I’m innocent!” the man pleads, his voice trembling.

Whitney rises gracefully from her chair and approaches the tied-up figure. With a single, fluid motion, she rips the bag from his head, revealing his panicked expression.

“Seeing how the last person to have the necklace was you,” Whitney says, her tone icy, “you can see how hard it is for me to believe that.” 

The man recoils at the sight of her, his fear evident as his wide eyes dart toward the others at the table. His gaze locks onto one of the heads, his desperation palpable.

“You have to believe me!” he pleads. “I didn’t take the necklace! It was secured when I checked yesterday!”

The other family head narrows his eyes at the man, his tone accusatory. 

“So he is one of yours. I knew it. He probably already sold it. That piece was worth millions! How do you expect to pay us back?”

The room erupts into chaos as the two men begin shouting at each other, their accusations flying back and forth. 

Whitney remains silent, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she watches them unravel. She waits patiently, knowing the exact moment to step in and present herself as the solution to their disputes. 

It’s a calculated move, one that cements her position as the one they can trust—or fear—to lead them through any crisis. 

A faint creak of the door interrupts her focus. Her sharp eyes flick toward the edge of the room just in time to catch a black blur before it is pulled back, disappearing through the crack. 

Her gaze hardens as she briefly glimpses your face through the opening before you vanish from her sight. 

Her smirk fades instantly.

Cursing under her breath, Whitney excuses herself with a clipped, “I’ll be back shortly,” and strides purposefully after you without waiting for a response.

When she reaches the outside of your room, she pauses, removing the mask from her face. Her expression shifts as she pushes the door open. 

The dimly lit space greets her, and her eyes quickly settle on you, sitting on the couch with your back to her. Your shoulders are hunched, your figure curled protectively around something in your arms. 

She doesn’t need to guess what it is.

Your voice breaks the silence, soft and tinged with quiet devastation. 

“Did you know?” you ask, the words trembling slightly. “When you sent me for that necklace, Whitney…did you know this would happen?” 

She doesn’t respond immediately, but her silence is telling, the weight of it hanging in the room like a verdict.

You’ve already pieced together the truth. 

“Don’t hurt that man, Whitney,” you say, your voice firmer now, though it carries a note of pleading. “Not for something I did. Please…just let him go.”

After a brief moment, Whitney finally moves. She steps forward slowly until she’s standing directly behind you. 

Her sharp gray eyes darken as they linger on the little creature in your arms, the one offering you comfort—comfort that before, she was the only one to provide. 

The cat raises her head briefly at her approach, its yellow eyes narrowing at her before turning away dismissively and nuzzling closer in your arms.

A flicker of irritation crosses her face, a crack in her composed demeanor, before she smooths it away, her expression shifting back to something controlled, deliberate.

Her arms snake around your shoulders, wrapping you in a firm embrace. Her chin rests lightly atop your head as she holds you close, her body caging you in. 

“Alright,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost soothing. 

She feels the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, your body instinctively relaxing into the familiar warmth of her embrace at her apparent acceptance.

Her arms tighten around you subtly, the gesture more possessive than affectionate, as her voice drops to a low whisper against your hair.

“Whatever you say,” she breathes, the words deceptively gentle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

Present Day

Whitney steps into your room, her gaze immediately falling to your figure leaning against the armrest of the couch, your back turned to her.

The soft light from a nearby lamp casts faint shadows across the room, illuminating your distracted posture.

As she strides further inside, her eyes catch on something on the side table—a piece of old newspaper, its yellowed edges curling slightly and its headline stark in black ink: “Tragedy Strikes: Family Caught in Crossfire During Criminal Shootout.”

Her eyes narrow as they drift to the faded photograph accompanying the article. The image is grainy, but the family’s figures are clear—a man standing beside his wife, their hands protectively on the shoulders of a little girl nestled between them. 

The man’s face tugs faintly at her memory, though it’s blurred by time, his panicked pleas of innocence echoing faintly in her mind.

Her fingers curl around the edges of the paper before crumpling the article in her hand.

She thought she had buried all the traces of this incident. Though she isn’t surprised. She knows you must have hidden pieces of it away, unwilling to let go of the memory–of the guilt.

It’s evidence. Evidence of the first crack in your trust in her, a fracture she’s spent trying to patch and conceal.

Regaining her composure, she moves to stand just beside the couch, her imposing figure looming slightly behind you. 

Her gaze narrows when she notices your hand absently tracing the black leather sleeve of the jacket you’re wearing. Something about the way you touch it makes her stomach twist.  

Her lips press into a thin line, her irritation bubbling beneath her composed exterior. She calls your name, her voice sharp yet measured.

Once.

Then again. 

The second time, you snap out of your thoughts, your posture straightening as you turn to face her.

Your eyes blink a few times before focusing on her, as if dragging yourself back to the present. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice soft, distracted. “What did you say?” 

Whitney studies you intently, her gray eyes sharp as they search your expression. She keeps her features impassive, but her mind is racing.

It’s not the same.

You’re here, by her side again, but the look in your eyes isn’t what it used to be. She knows it too well to see the difference—that far-off gaze, the way your attention seems divided. 

It’s a silent confirmation of what she already suspects. 

That not every piece of your heart belongs to her anymore, maybe even less so now than before.

That’s not acceptable. It never was. 

“I have a job I need your help with,” Whitney says finally, her tone carefully casual, though the edge of control is there. She extends a folded paper toward you. “It’s a request from one of my father’s old clients. They’ve asked us to retrieve something for them.”

You take the sheet from her, unfolding it as your eyes scan the text. Your body tenses as you reach the description of the target, realization dawning instantly.

“But this is—” 

“Another chance,” Whitney cuts you off smoothly. Her hand moves with practiced ease, tilting your chin up to force your gaze to meet hers. The pressure is light, almost tender, but her intention is clear.

Her gray eyes bore into yours, sharp and unyielding, her voice dropping to something quieter but no less insistent.

“This time, we’ll finish the job together,” she says, her words laced with a promise—and a warning. “Like we were supposed to.”

There’s a pause, and then you nod, your voice soft but resigned. 

“Okay.”

Whitney watches you closely for a moment longer, her eyes searching for any hint of defiance, but you remain still.

Satisfied, she releases your chin, her touch lingering just a second longer than necessary before stepping back. 

Before she can fully turn away, your hand catches her wrist, stopping her in place. Your voice drops into a whisper, tentative, almost pleading.

“You’ll keep your promise?”

Whitney hesitates for the briefest moment, her rehearsed reassurances ready to spill out. 

But then her gaze flickers to your bed, and she freezes. 

Nestled among the folds of your sheets is something that sets her teeth on edge—a small cat toy, unmistakably styled after a red-haired figure.

The bright, taunting hair is an unwelcome reminder of her.

The sight stokes her irritation, her fingers tightening slightly into a fist.

“Whitney?” you press again, your voice drawing her attention back to you.

She releases her grip, smoothing the tension from her features with practiced ease. A small smile curls her lips, carefully crafted to appear genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Of course,” she replies, her tone deceptively warm, masking the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Her mind races, calculating. There’s only one way to ensure your attention—and your heart—returns entirely to her once more.

To make sure there are no more pesky little distractions.

No more rivals.

And this time, she won’t get caught breaking her word to you.

Not again. 

This time, everything will fall perfectly into place.

Because heroes die all the time. 

No one would question one less Avenger in a dangerous world like this.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

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

a/n: Didn’t have time to make a fic for the holiday so I decided to post this instead. Hope you all have a restful and happy Thanksgiving! 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.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat, @escapereality4music, @caspianalexander007, @henkermen, @xxnaiaxx, @alyssa-bessse, @alianovnasposts, @mrsriovidal, @thelonewriter247

[saphiccarma]

- The Red Means I Love You

Relationships - Mob Boss!WandaNat x Reader

Summary - You almost get killed again before some comfort with your girlfriends.

Warnings: Violence but nothing really

Pt.1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

The rifle was shoved firmly against your shoulder, the material pressed through your tactical suit. You twisted a nob, fixing the scope and letting it adjust properly before exhaling slowly. You had done this hundreds of times before. This was nothing.

Just another person to kill, another person to cross off the list that Natasha gave you. It was someone irrelevant. You had no idea who they were, or how important they were, but all that mattered was Natasha told you to do it. You didn't dig into their life at all - you soon learned that it only made things worse. Even as is, guilt throbbed in your stomach as you waited for your target to show themselves. The cement was hard from where you laid against it. Your shoulders ached from sitting out here all day.

Earmuffs quieted the world around you. The bustling of the streets as people went about their day. Birds circling overhead as they flew around in search of food. Music blaring from the apartments below you. It was all silenced by the muffs you wore. That was a dangerous thing, you couldn't hear a single thing - it left you vulnerable. Natasha had told you to leave them off whenever you weren't shooting, but you were too exhausted to remember.

Natsha had been working you into the ground.

Day and night on jobs. Whatever she wanted you to do. Kill someone? You would do it. Spy on someone for days straight? Yes ma'am. It was never a question of how morally bad the task was. Morals didn’t matter in this line of business. You knew better than to question her. Your body ached with a constant dull pain from constantly moving. You were always doing something. Whether it was in bed or out in the world or training with someone else. There was never a minute for rest for you.

Even still, that was not an excuse to get sloppy.

Evidence of that was a knife pressed against your throat and the earmuffs ripped from your head.

"Hi again," a voice whispered in your ear and you instantly knew who it was, muscles locking up tighter than before, "It's nice to see you." The cool metal dug into your skin, almost deep enough to draw blood but not quite. Your fingers twitched from where they sat on the rifle. "Now, I'm going to remove this knife, and you are going to stand up slowly, hands off the gun."

You waited with bated breath as she removed the knife from your skin, and you heard her take a few steps back. Carefully, you stood, removing your hands from the rifle. The instant you turned around and caught a glimpse of her taunting smirk, you reared your hand back and swung. It landed solidly against her cheek, her head snapping to the side.

She chuckled, spitting blood out onto the ground, "So that's how you want to play it?"

There wasn't even a second for you to react before she was lunging at you, throwing a payback punch. Your cheek throbbed with a newfound pain. The fight that ensued was a mix of grace and pure brutality. Rio's eyes were alight, a devious glint in them that promised pain. You were only focused on not dying.

Her punches landed nearly every time, but she rarely threw them - only when she knew they would hit. It was a smart tactic; you had to give her that. She was a good fighter, graceful in every movement she made. You admired that. Natasha taught you to be graceful, but you leaned on the side of being aggressive. It was odd since you didn't like violence. But that didn't matter when in a fight, as seen now.

The two of you traded blows, Rio dodging yours with little laughs, taunting you. Frustration boiled inside of you and your movements grew less strategic. They were desperate blows; you could tell you were losing. There was no way you could win this. But you weren't someone to give up.

Blood leaked from your lips from a nasty right hook and Rio had a black eye already forming. Both of you stood, breathless, for a moment, taking each other in. Rio had more time, expertise, she was more experienced. You barely had a year, maybe not even that, while she had who knows how long. You didn’t stand a chance.

For a moment, a crazed grin split your lips to match Rio's. Adrenaline pumped through you, buzzing beneath your veins and making you feel alive. There was a rush of what almost felt like joy. Although it was more like exhilaration - joy was the wrong word. There was no joy in fighting. It only lasted for a brief second before the two of you were at it again, dancing around each other in a skilled dance. Eventually, Rio got the better of you.

Shoving at your shoulders, Rio pushed you into a planter box. You spluttered as the wood dug into your bag and knocked the wind out of you. Rio stood above you, licking blood from her lips, and her eyes shining with pure mischief.

"You're cute," She whispered, a tugged her knife out. Your fingers tug into the planter box at the sight of it, chest heaving as you tried to regain your breath. The knife was pressed onto your neck, "Listen to me," Rio crouched and then leaned until she was right in front of your face, breath warm, "This is not a battle you will win. I was sent to kill you, but you're fun, so I'll leave you alive for now." Her words sent a flash of desperation through you and panic seized your thoughts. Gasping, you went to grab at her wrist. You weren't sure what you were going to do, but before you could Rio pulled back, smirking furiously before she was gone. Just like that she was bolting down the stairs.

That did not just happen.

You shut your eyes for a moment only to open them a second later. The sun was slowly setting, the sky a dusty pink with a few hues of blue in there. It was beautiful sight, unlike the blood that slowly leaked onto your lips, metallic and salty as you licked it. Rio had nailed a solid punch to your nose. It mixed with the blood that slowly bled from your lips as well, a small cut there.

Slowly, you shoved yourself off the planter box, groaning at the throbbing pain, but you snatched up your rifle and made your way down the roof. Time to head home. Your motorcycle was waiting for you once you climbed down the several flights of stairs. Going down was just about as hard as going up.  The helmet fit snuggly on your face, almost too snuggly that it was pressing against all your bruises. Regardless, you sped off, making your way to the house.

Natasha and Wanda had been doing digging for months, searching for some evidence as to what was going on. Danvers clearly had a part in it, from what you could tell, but Stark had gone radio-silent ever since that man came to the doorstep of the base. Another name that came up frequently was Agatha, and now this scuffle with Rio only made things clear they were part of it. You had to tell Wanda and Natasha, and maybe you could have some more quality time together.

As busy as they were, they made time for you. Slowly Wanda became part of your routine. She was confusing at first. Hot and cold, sweet and harsh. You never knew what to expect from her, but that was part of the excitement. However, a routine slowly built that you were familiar with. Wanda became as important of a part of your life as Natasha.

Your motorcycle buzzed to a stop as you parked it in the driveway, sliding your helmet off. The rifle strap dug uncomfortably into your shoulder; it was heavy for your tired body. Making your way to the door, you fumbled with the key in your pocket, pulling it out.

Key in lock. Key in lock. Turn the key.

It wasn't that difficult, but your fingers trembled around the key, and you eventually got the lock to turn.

You stumbled into the house, droplets of blood staining your hands and dirt underneath your nails. After you first killed someone, Natasha began sending you out on more solo mission, killing more people. It still hurt, a dull ache constantly thrumming in your chest. Tears would swell in your eyes at night when you lay awake, breathless and naked, while Natasha and wanda slept on your sides. But you were able to shove all the emotions down in favor of the sweet praise you got from your girlfriends when you got home. It made all killing worth it - at least that's what you told yourself.

Your fingers fumbled with the latch on your holster, finally pulling your gun out after a moment. It left the holster with a soft click, and you set the gun down on the table next to the door, taking your belt off next. You dropped the rifle next to the door and threw your keys onto the table so that they clattered softly.

Sinking to your knees, you fell face first onto the cool, wooden floor and turned so that your cheek was resting against it. The cold soothed the warm fire pulsing through your veins. You exhaled slowly, your eyes fluttering shut and you could hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs. You didn't have to look up to know it was Wanda, and she glided past you smoothly, heading into the kitchen. Her vanilla scent lingered. It had become a routine now, where you would just collapse on the floor.

It was part of your process. There was a familiarity to just lying on the floor, something plain and simple. Absently, you picked at your own fingernails, trying to erase the feeling of violence on them, the lingering trail of blood you slowly began to leave. You were so different from where you first started out, despising the business but being forced into it. Now you were killing people for a living. The thought of it made your insides churn anxiously and your eyes flutter shut. It was what you had to do. It made your girlfriends happy. Now that - that made butterflies erupt in your stomach whenever you thought of them. They were perfect.

For the next several minutes, maybe half an hour even, you let the floor comfort you. Swallowing thickly, you pushed yourself off the floor, legs shaky beneath you. It nearly physically hurt, you wobbled towards the living room, hoping on of your girlfriends would be there. Sure enough, you saw Natasha's hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a book resting in front of her from where she sat elegantly on the couch. Her legs were tucked beneath her as she flipped the pages. You staggered over, limbs screaming from the physical battle you just had, and- didn't make it. You fell just before you were able to land on the soft cushions, instead your knees sinking to floor and head landing on Natasha's shin.

You knew she glimpsed your face, but she didn't ask about the blood or the bruises, just offered quiet comfort. You appreciated the lack of questions. If she asked you weren't sure if you would be able to form a coherent answer, not with how exhausted you were.

Her bare skin was cool in a comforting way. You whined into her skin, head limp and body sore with dull pain. Her soft laugh echoed above you as her hand slid into your hair, gently tugging on all the tangles. The touch made your eyes close once again, leaning into her. She brushed her hand through your hair rhythmically, occasionally teasing the hair on your neck and scratching with her fingernails, but still gentle. She lulled all your worried thoughts with a soothing touch. Then after a few minutes, her fingers grabbed at your hair, tugging your head back. You whined petulantly, eyes opening reluctantly.

"Up." Her words were hardly directed at you, eyes still trained on her book, but you obeyed the command. The minute you were on your feet, Natasha spread one of her arms out, a silent invitation. Her eyes were still trained on the book, but you knew she was waiting. You fell into her lap; your legs bracketed her hips as your head landed on her shoulder. She hummed, pleased, and her arm snaked around you, stroking up and down your back while the other held her book.

You sat there for a while, listening to the soothing beat of her heart that was clear and steady beneath you. Every minute or so her hand would love your back to turn the page of the book, the ruffling sound just barely audible to your fuzzy mind. You could feel the fog slowly coming over, all worries leaving you completely with every second that ticked by. There was nothing coherent in your head, just absorbing Natasha's quiet comfort.

Your hands had buried into her shirt at some point, and lips began teasing her neck. It was nothing special, just a needy girl searching for something intimate without starting something you didn't have the energy to finish. Natasha's skin was pulled between your teeth as you alternated between softly biting and shallow sucking. Even as you did something, your eyes were squeezed shut, and soon enough even those small movements stopped.

Wanda came in, her footsteps soft as her baggy pants swished around her ankles. She wore a soft smile on her face, eyes amused as she took in the sight of her wife and you on the couch. Her hands found your hair the minute she came over, sinking onto the couch next to you, drawing a small sigh out of you. You shoved your face further into Natasha's neck. Wanda laughed, amused, but the sound hardly reached your ears.

"Sweet girl," she whispered, "It's time for some food."

It was as if you didn't register her words, still drawn into a certain headspace by Natasha's soothing movements. Natasha gave her wife an amused smile, finally looking away from her book for the first time and setting it down on the side table. Sighing softly, Wanda pecked Natsha on the cheek. Then it evolved into more, their lips melding together and tongues clashing. Both of their bodies pressing against you woke you up a bit and you began squirming in Natasha's lap.

They both chuckled against each other's mouths but otherwise ignored you. You whined quietly and sat up so that you could grab Natasha's collar, politely shoving Wanda away, before you pressed your lips onto Natasha's.

"There's our girl," Wanda mumbled, her hand in your hair tugging you back. An immature sound escaped your mouth as your eyes finally opened. Wanda raised a brow, questioning if you really wanted to go down this road when you protested to her hauling you up. And as unsteady as your legs were, you let her guide you into the kitchen. A warm meal was ready for you. But instead of heading to the table, she led you to the sink, her hands gripping your waist until she hauled you up onto the counter.

You made a small sound of protest, still surprised at her strength. Wanda pulled a cloth from the counter and ran it under the sink water. Gently, she pressed it against your face, softly hushing you when you flinched and whined. It was cool against the warmth of your skin from being shoved in Natasha’s neck, but it helped dull the pain that pulsed through your cuts. She dabbed away at your wounds, cleaning them up softly while Natasha plated some food for the three of you.

"What happened?" It was phrased as a harmless question, but there was a dangerous undertone to Wanda's words. You hesitated, eyes flickering down to look at the ground. Wanda pressed down particularly hard, and your gaze snapped back to her with a glare, "What happened?"

You shook your head, "Nothing."

Wanda sighed but let it go and in turn you let her guide you to the table, setting you down at a chair for food. You inhaled slowly. Everything was fine. You were fine. It was all going to be fine.

Taglist: @macaroni676 @gaylorvader @ashadash0904 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @wolfangnight @rosekjsses @jessycatatiana

[esouliie]

COME FIND ME, MY LIGHT.

(natasha romanoff x reader)

summary | What began as an attempt to bring Christmas back to Natasha turned into something deeper as both of you realised that love is what truly warms the heart this season. By Christmas Eve, Natasha wasn’t just in love with the holiday again: she was in love with you, and maybe- just maybe- you had been in love with her all along too.

tags | christmas fic! hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, dead family trope, alternative universe so no avengers, you’re both a bit sad! :/

notes | i want a christmas love like this so what better way to manifest than by writing a fic abt it hehe. this was also inspired by my fav person’s return to tumblr and her love for the holiday - @please-destroy, thank you for inspiring this by just being you! this is also a part of your gift, surprise!! everybody, go read her stuff now. it’s truly amazing!

word count | 5K

Merry Christmas!! ⊹♡

Since the moment you met, you knew Natasha carried a storm inside her. It was always tamed, hiding just beneath the surface of her eyes. But, from a year of friendship, you’ve noticed that storm that seemed to erupt around this time of the year. Being your only friend, she was always the one to accompany you on your trips out around the city. It’s there where you noticed the way she flinched at carols and avoided the cheerful chaos of Christmas markets you brought her too, by moving through it as fast as she can. The world’s merriment seemed to mock her darker memories. She confessed one night, in a rare moment of vulnerability and a very expensive bottle of wine, that Christmas had always been a painful time for her. Her voice, usually steady and unwavering, softened as she looked at you across the table. She told you about her sister, Yelena—the only person in her family who had ever truly cared about Christmas. Yelena had been the kind of person who could find joy even in the bleakest of places, someone who refused to let the world’s coldness harden her heart.

“She loved it,” Natasha said, her lips curling into a wistful smile as if she could still see Yelena bustling around their childhood home. “The lights, the snow, the decorations. She’d drag me into whatever shop she could find, looking for things to make the house even more festive. Ornaments, candles, the cheesiest, most stupid Santa hats—whatever she could get her hands on.” She paused, her gaze unfocused as though she were looking back through the years.

Yelena had been the one to make Christmas feel like magic. She knew all of the Christmas carols, singing along even if the notes were slightly off-key. This joy followed her into her adulthood, and even when she became sick. Every year, she insisted on stringing up lights around their shared apartment —“even if we don’t have a tree, Natasha, we’ll have lights. You know it’s all about the glow.” She was fearless, mischievous, and relentlessly stubborn in her belief that joy was worth chasing, even if it didn’t come easy. “She’d bake,” Natasha continued, her voice thick with emotion. “Not well obviously— she couldn’t stand for long at the point. Plus, her cookies had always been terrible—but she didn’t care. She’d make a mess everywhere and laugh at herself, daring me to do better. I never tried, though. I always just watched her and took her to bed whenever she was done.” Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass, her knuckles whitening slightly. “She believed in traditions, even when there was no reason to. Especially when there was no reason to,” she added, “she said traditions gave people hope, something to hold on to in the dark. I didn’t get it then—I still don’t fully— but with time, I understood she was trying to help me be okay with the world when she was no longer around.”

Yelena had been more than just a younger sister to Natasha —she had been her tether, her mirror, her light. She was the last person left of her family, and the only one who ever made Natasha feel things she often tried to ignore: a steady warmth, a strong connection, the possibility of life being worth more. She was everything Natasha wish she could be.

And when Yelena died, Christmas died with her.

“There was no one to care about it anymore,” Natasha said, her voice breaking for the briefest of moments before she pushed the emotion back behind her walls, blinking her tears away. “No one to make it mean anything.” You reached across the table, placing your hand over hers. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t meet your eyes either. For a long moment, the two of you sat in silence, the air between you thick. “She would’ve liked you,” she murmured after a while, her voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “Yelena… she always liked people who made things feel… safe.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of her words settling deep in your heart. You realised, in that moment, just how much Natasha trusted you—how much she had given you by sharing this piece of herself. From that moment, you made a promise to yourself: a promise to return Yelena’s light back into her life.

⊹♡

One morning, you found yourself lost on a tree farm. Rows upon rows of evergreens stretched out like soldiers in formation, their frosted branches from the night before glistening in the morning sun. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, the crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound for a moment. Natasha walked beside you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coat, her eyes on swivel but not necessarily looking at the trees. She hadn’t said much since you picked her up that morning, you weren’t entirely sure if it was the early start or the occasion that silenced her.

“This one’s nice.” You said, gesturing to a stately Fraser fir with almost symmetrical branches. She stopped, gave the tree a quick once-over, and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, moving along until you could find the next one. You had planned on finding a tree that you both could put up at her place, but with each step, it seemed like this tree would be better suited living at yours. You tried again. “What about this one?” You pointed to a taller tree, its branches also slightly uneven but full of character. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I guess. If you like it.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t inviting either. You let out a small breath, watching it cloud in front of you before dissipating into the icy air.

“No, we can keep looking.”

Laughter and the occasional clatter of a fallen tree echoed through the air. You couldn’t see them mostly but could imagine families adorned in colourful hats and scarves scattered across the farm. Natasha, however, didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes back to skimming over the trees with a detached disinterest and her surroundings, her mouth set in a way that told you she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Do you want to go home? You asked gently.

She paused, her head tilting slightly as if weighing whether to respond. “You wanted a tree,” she said finally, her voice even. “So we’re getting a tree.”

“It’s not that important.” You said. “If you’re not into it, we can go.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m fine.” She said, her voice clipped. Then, softer: “Let’s just look over there.”

You didn’t press her further.

The two of you wandered deeper into the farm, the trees becoming denser, their branches heavy with snow. You found yourself wondering if Natasha even saw them, her eyes not even bothering with her environment anymore as she kept her head down towards the snow, her mind clearly somewhere far away. “How about this one?” You tried again, stopping in front of a modest blue spruce. Its branches were sturdy, the kind that could hold up heavy ornaments, and its shape was pleasingly perfect. She stopped beside you, her eyes lingering on the tree. She didn’t say anything right away, and for a moment, you thought she might dismiss it like the others. But then she tilted her head, considering.

“It’s okay.” She said, and while it wasn’t glowing praise, it was a step up from fine.

“You sure?” You asked, not wanting to push.

She nodded, her gaze lingering on the tree a second longer. “Yeah. It’s fine.” She finished, before turning abruptly back in the other direction. Later, the workers secured the tree to the roof of your car, their cheerful banter filling the space as you and Natasha stood off to the side. She didn’t say much, but when you glanced over at her, you thought you saw her mouth twitch—just the faintest hint of a smile. “Thanks for letting me tag along.” She said quietly.

You offered her a small smile. “I’m glad you came.”

⊹♡

Snow finally began to settle permanently in the middle of December. It clung to the rooftops and frosted the tree branches outside your apartment. Winter had truly arrived. You hadn’t seen Natasha since that morning; her work had whisked her off to the West Coast for an urgent business trip, leaving you to decorate the tree in your tiny apartment alone. Your living room was silent except for the soft hum of a holiday playlist you’d set to shuffle, but you were used to the lingering echo since moving in.

You missed her terribly.

Without Natasha here, you were unable to focus on anything but yourself: your terrible breakup last Christmas that had you packing your bags and running away to a different state, your argument with your family that had been the last time you’d spoken to them and the reason why you weren’t invited home this year, your sadness that crept up whenever you were forced to sit in silence with yourself. Deep down, you know she could see through you, could see how you suffered much like she did. It’s why you both clicked together instantly. But the difference with Natasha is that she never pried, never pushed you to talk about what you weren’t ready to say. And it wasn’t like you wanted to dwell on these things, but they lived inside you now, demanding attention in the silence.

Your ignorance was bliss, until it wasn’t.

And days when Natasha went away were the worst.

The doorbell rang at a late hour. Behind it stood Natasha, her coat dusted with fresh snow, her cheeks flushed pink from the nipping cold. She looked exhausted, her carry-on slung over one shoulder and her laptop bag in the other.

“You’re back?” You blurted out, wondering why she was here and not at her own place. It was Wednesday after all.

“I wanted to see you.” She admitted, shuffling awkwardly at her confession.

You pulled her through the door, allowing her a second to set her bags down with a tired sigh, her shoulders finally dropping as the door clicked shut behind her. “How was the trip?” You asked as you moved toward the kitchen, already reaching for the kettle and her mug.

“Exhausting.” She replied, shedding her snow-damp coat and draping it over the back of the chair. “And frustrating. Clients were indecisive, as usual, and the meetings went in circles half the time.”

You gave her a sympathetic look as you handed her a steaming mug of tea. “At least now you’re done for the holidays, right?”

She hummed in agreement, her fingers wrapping gratefully around the warmth of the cup. Despite the drink, you noticed her shiver and disappeared into your bedroom. You rummaged through your drawers, pulling out an oversized purple sweatshirt and some grey sweatpants.

When you handed them to her, she raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to—”

“You’re not sitting around in wet clothes, Natasha.” You cut her off, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Go change.”

By the time she emerged, looking infinitely more comfortable in your clothes, you had noticed the snow starting to pick up outside. Large flakes swirled under the glow of the streetlamps, a storm intensifying.

Perfect weather for what you had planned.

You grabbed a spare hat and scarf from the coat rack, along with a pair of gloves, and tossed them at her.

“What’s this?” Natasha asked, catching the items with a puzzled expression.

“We’re going out.”

“Out? In this weather?”

You were already pulling on your own coat and boots, ignoring her protests. “Yes, out. You’ve been cooped up in airports and meeting rooms for weeks. You need this.”

“I need sleep.” She muttered, but she already had her coat, reaching for the hat, her lips twitching as if she was trying not to smile.

“Come on. You urged, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the door.

The streetlights cast a warm golden glow on the fresh blanket of snow, and for a moment, she hesitated. Her reluctant smile cracked through the guarded exterior she so often wore when you were outside. It was like sunlight breaking through clouds. Looking down at her watch, she noticed the time read 1am. “Oh my God, it’s the middle of the night,” she moaned, shaking her head, “and it’s freezing!”

“You’re Russian.” You deadpanned. “Aren’t you genetically programmed to thrive in this?”

She shot you a withering look, but the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her. “That’s not how it works and you know it.”

She turned back around towards your building but before she could move any further, the first snowball struck her shoulder with a soft thwump. She froze, blinking in disbelief. You stood a few feet away, grinning triumphantly, the remnants of the snowball crumbling in your hand. She swung back around, her eyes narrowed, lips parted in exaggerated shock. “Oh, so that’s how it is? These are your clothes you know!” Before you could reply, she bent down, scooped up snow, and hurled it at you. It hit squarely on your chest, the icy cold seeping through your coat.

“Hey!” You yelped, laughing.

“You started this!” She shot back, her voice light—playful in a way you rarely heard.

And then it was war. Snowballs flew in all directions, and the street filled with your laughter, echoing off the quiet houses. Natasha’s aim was deadly accurate, and you were sure she was holding back for your sake. It was quite pathetic. At one point, she feigned defeat only to pounce on you with a pile of snow that left you sputtering.

“You’re a cheat!” You gasped, brushing snow off your face.

“And you’re slow!” She quipped, already forming another snowball to smush in your face.

The cold stung your nose and turned your cheeks raw, but none of it mattered. What mattered was the way Natasha laughed—real and unrestrained, her head thrown back, the sound almost musical in the still night. It was the kind of laugh that felt like a gift, something rare and precious, and you never wanted it to end. Finally, both of you collapsed onto the snow, breathless and flushed. The stars peeked through the gaps in the clouds, and the world seemed impossibly quiet, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Natasha’s head rested on your shoulder, her knitted beanie (that actually belonged to you) slightly askew. “Okay,” she said between gasps, “I admit—that was fun.”

“You’re so welcome.” You teased, shifting to look at her.

“But that’s only because I beat your ass.”

She looked so beautiful in this moment. Her cheeks were rosy, the same shade as her damp hair where stray snowflakes had melted. She was at peace—something you wish you saw more of. You brushed a gloved hand against her cheek, then leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her icy forehead, unable to stop yourself.

“You were right. You’re freezing.” You murmured.

“Maybe.” She replied, her smile small. She shifted closer, laying her head on top of yours. “But I don’t mind.”

⊹♡

With both you and Natasha no longer at work, meant she could hang out with you more often. It was late one evening —you both had spent the day inside your apartment doing absolutely —when she insisted on a walk, claiming the air was getting "stuffy," though you suspected she just needed an excuse to stretch her legs.

Somehow, you had ended up in the suburbs in New Jersey.

“You know, this is kind of perfect.” She said, glancing over at you with a small smile. “No one’s out right now.” You laughed softly, the warmth of her gaze doing more to fight the chill than the layers you’d bundled yourself into. “Yes, well, the suburbs In Jersey are surprisingly magical when nobody’s around.” You joked, sarcasm evident, as you nodded toward the rows of houses strung with twinkling lights. It felt like something out of a postcard, the kind of scene you’d only read about.

The two of you turned a corner and were met with the soft harmony of voices carried on the wind. A group of carolers stood in front of a house, lanterns glowing in their hands as they sang “Silent Night.” Natasha paused, her steps slowing as she tilted her head to listen. Her expression softened, a rare kind of calm washing over her features.

“You don’t strike me as the caroling type.” You teased, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“I’m not.” She admitted, though her lips curved into a grin. “But... it’s nice, isn’t it? Peaceful.”

It was odd. This was the first time you’d seen Natasha act normal with the idea of Christmas.

“They make it look so easy.” She said after a while, her voice quiet.

“What do you mean?”

“They make it look easy believing in... I don’t know. The magic of it all.” She added, as her brow furrowed.

You turned to look at her, the soft glow of the carolers’ lanterns catching in her green eyes. “Maybe it’s not about believing.” You said after a moment. “Maybe it’s just about... letting yourself feel it. Even if it hurts, let yourself feel all of it.”

She stood quietly for a beat before adding, “Yelena loved this song.”

You stayed silent, letting the moment slip away as she became lost in the tune. Natasha's expression contorted with pain as the song finished and the group moved on, but made no move to leave. Without hesitation, you clasped her hand tightly, guiding her away and back in the direction of the city.

You both walked in silence the entire way home.

⊹♡

The next time you saw Natasha was the following weekend when she came over for a sleepover. You could tell the temperature had dropped even more just by the state you found her in at your door. You could only see her eyes. She was wearing your beanie again, with a scarf wound tightly around her neck and the exposed parts of her face. She carried a mismatched tote bag that practically bursted at the seams, the telltale sign of someone who couldn’t quite decide what to pack.

She’d never slept over before.

Well, purposely.

Later that night, in the cozy warmth of your kitchen, you began pulling out ingredients for gingerbread cookies, demanding the taller woman come stand beside you once her ‘bones were warm enough.’ Natasha remained perched on a stool, her favourite mug clasped in her hands, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a half-smirk.

"Our first sleepover. And you’re putting me to work? At this hour? I almost died coming over to see you.” She teased, glancing at the clock.

It’s nearly midnight.

"It’s time for midnight gingerbread.” You replied, beaming as you tied an apron around your waist. "It’s a tradition now."

Now?" She echoed, laughing. "This is literally the first time we’re doing this."

"Exactly, that’s how traditions start."

Natasha rolled her eyes but hopped off the stool to join you, muttering under her breath about wishing she had froze to death on the way over before tugging at your apron strings like a mischievous child, pushing you slightly away from your spot so she could fill it.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The process was chaotic from the start. Natasha’s never baked before, and it showed. The first mishap happened when she cracked an egg with a little too much enthusiasm, sending yolk sliding across the counter. And from then, she managed to do nothing correct without your assistance. You were halfway through laughing when she retaliated by flicking a bit of flour at your cheek.

"Did you just—"

Before you could finish, she grinned devilish and dropped more flour over your head, “oh no, looks like you’ve got a little something there.”

Again, the process was chaotic.

Precision measuring gave way to messy improvisation as flour flew through the air in clouds of white. Natasha was unrelenting, chasing you around the island with a bag of powdered sugar like it’s a weapon. By the time you called a truce, the counters, the floor, and both of you were completely dusted with flour. "You look ridiculous.” You said, laughing so hard your sides ached. She wiped a streak of flour off her nose and smeared it onto your shirt. “Speak for yourself. You look like you’ve never seen the sun before.”

When you finally managed to clean up enough to resume baking, Natasha was benched to mixing the dough— far far away from the flour— but it took her all of ten seconds to abandon the spatula and dig in with her hands. “Are you sure this is hygienic?” She asked, grinning as she squished the dough between her fingers like it’s Play-Doh.

You’re pretty sure she doesn’t know what Play-Doh is.

"Absolutely not.” You replied, shaking your head. But neither of you cared. Somehow, The batter never even made it to the oven. After a mutual taste test—"for quality control," Natasha insisted upon —you realised you (she) had eaten most of it. "So, we’re out of ingredients." You admitted, licking a stray smear of molasses from your thumb. Natasha plopped down on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets with a satisfied sigh. “Good.” She said, licking a bit of dough off her finger. “The batter’s better anyway.” You sat beside her, the warmth of the oven lingering even though you never used it. The kitchen was a mess, the cookies a total failure, but none of it mattered.

You both fell asleep that night with the biggest smiles on your face.

⊹♡

Natasha ended up staying the next weekend too. Christmas fell on a Sunday, the big day seemed to sneak up on both of you, but for now, it was Christmas Eve, and the night stretched on, timeless and unhurried. After watching a few Christmas movies, the two of you found yourselves curled up in front of your fireplace — the fireplace being a YouTube video on loop coming from your television. The crackling flames painted your surroundings in shifting shadows, the room bathed in a burnt orange haze that made everything feel a little softer, a little more intimate. Natasha’s arms were wrapped securely around you, her presence grounding and warm. You hummed an old carol you heard once before under your breath, a lullaby that filled the quiet. Her hand traced lazy circles on your back, her fingers light but steady, as though she was trying to etch the moment into her memory. You watched her, unable to help yourself. The way the firelight kissed her skin, the soft rise and fall of her breathing, the peace in her expression— how rare it was to see her like this. Truly at ease. Vulnerable, but not guarded. You wanted to hold this moment forever, to preserve it for her in the way she deserved, and selfishly for yourself.

Falling for Natasha wasn’t difficult. From the beginning of the friendship, there was a constant undercurrent, a slow burn that never fully ignited, yet refused to fade. You fell in love with her so suddenly—in the quiet moments—that you couldn’t figure out when she became more to you than just a friend. Or if she was ever just that. And over the past year, you’d learned there was so much more to her than the cold, unyielding exterior she presented to the world. No one loved as much as she did. And now, as you sat basically on her lap, the space between both impossibly vast and unbearably close, you realised that falling for Natasha wasn’t just easy—it was inevitable.

“This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, like a thought she hadn’t meant to say aloud. As if she didn’t want to disturb the silence. Her gaze was distant, yet there was a softness in her tone that made your chest burn. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before they could fully form. “You miss her.” You finally said. It wasn’t quite a question, but Natasha understood. Her eyes flickered to yours, that same vulnerability reflecting through. “I always miss her.” She admitted, her voice even quieter now, almost fragile. She didn’t need to say Yelena’s name; you knew. “It’s strange… even after all these years, I still expect her to be here sometimes. Like she’ll just walk in, scolding me for not keeping the lights on all day or dragging me out of the house to help on her latest conquest.”

Your heart cried out with something deep and tender, the kind of feeling no words could ever quite capture. “I’ve got something for you.” She looked at you, her brow furrowed slightly in curiosity as you stood and walked to the Christmas tree. From beneath its branches, you retrieved a small, carefully wrapped box and brought it back to her—one of many gifts you’ve bought for her. “This was supposed to be for tomorrow,” you said, sitting down beside her again, “but I think it’ll mean more tonight.” She took the gift, her fingers brushing against yours briefly before she began unwrapping it. Beneath the paper was a small music box, its pearl-coloured sides adorned with golden, intricate carvings. She opened the lid, revealing a tiny engraving inside: the words “My Light” in Russian reside underneath a picture of Yelena in her youth, dressed as an angel for a school nativity play, her beaming smile radiant and full of life.

Natasha’s breath caught, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the edges of the engraving. “How did you—” she began, her voice breaking.

“You have to twist the key, Nat.” You said softly, closing the lid of the box.

She turned the key, the lid opening to reveal her younger sister all over again; as the music box began to play a gentle melody. But it wasn’t just music—it was a recording, faint but unmistakable hidden under the notes. The sound of Yelena’s voice filled the room, singing “Silent Night” with all the enthusiasm a child could muster for the slow song. Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth, and tears streamed freely down her face as the recording picked up another voice. It was quieter, steadier, but unmistakably hers. A younger version of her sang along with Yelena, their voices blending, only broken by their shared giggles as they sang together, sometimes stumbling over the lyrics. Her shoulders shook as she listened, and you reached for her, pulling her into your arms. She clung to you, her face buried against your neck, her tears damp against your skin, as sobs rocked her slender frame. You held her tightly, wishing you could somehow ease the weight of her grief and the bittersweet joy of this moment.

Her lips trembled as she tried to form words in the broke of your neck. “This…this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. I don’t even know how you did this—” She pulled away from you to glance back at the music box, her fingers delicately tracing the engraved picture of Yelena. “She was my everything. The only good thing I had for so long – moya sestra (my sister), moy malen'kiy svet (my little light.)”

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “I know. And now you have her again, even if it’s just a little piece.” Natasha set the music box down carefully, as though it were made of glass. She leaned forward, confident in her actions, in her love for you—a soft kiss pressed to your lips.

She had never kissed you before.

She wanted to again.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned in, kissing her once again, the taste of salt comforting. “You deserve everything good in this world,” you said softly, stroking the remnants of her tears, “and you deserve love, Nat. I’ll promise I’ll remind you of that every day.”

You placed a delicate hand over her heart and spoke, “I see you. And in this light of yours, I see her.”

She kissed you again, softer and longer than the last, her lips brushing yours; fuelled behind every emotion, every feeling, every part of her heart that now belonged to you, “Thank you for giving her back to me.”

You smiled softly, brushing a stray red curl away from her face. "I promise to make every Christmas something worth remembering, for as long as I can. To remind you there’s always light to find, even in the darkest nights."

She leaned in, resting her forehead gently against yours. "You already have."

You smiled, brushing a stray red curl from her face. “I promise to make every Christmas something worth remembering for as long as I can. And to remind you of her light. With you. With Yelena.”

She leaned in, her forehead pressing gently against yours. “You already have.”

[katethewriter]

Ok… so…

…the next installment of Wish We Could Be Like That is for sure coming!!! No joke. Not a drill. It will be complete with a proposal, a wedding and a fluff ending we’ve all been waiting for! Thank you for all of the support for this little fic series of mine. Even with this extended hiatus. I’m hoping I’ll have it out by Christmas, maybe New Year’s!

One thing: I’m looking for a couple more fluff ideas/dialogue prompts to help round out a few parts. If you’ve got any ideas or something you’d like to see for this series, feel free to send it in ☺️

[ashadash0904]

Idk what kink this is but I need to be following Natasha around on my knees at home. Like domestic dominance? 

In the shower? On my knees watching her

Working at her desk? On my knees watching

Reading a book? On my knees next to the couch

Basically in any position close enough where she can pet me head and tell me in a good girl!

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

OKAY!!! we’re doing it!!! and we’re doing it bachelorette style🥳🥳🥳

here are the girlies who will DEFINITELY be involved:

-Natasha Romanoff

-Wanda Maximoff

-Agatha Harkness

-Rio Vidal

-Kate Bishop

WHO ELSE DO WE WANNA SEE? obviously there are plenty more marvel girlies, but i don’t wanna pick less popular ones if people don’t wanna see them! so lemme know who you wanna see :)

DUMB FIC IDEA ALERT!!!

okay team so i had an idea for a possible series, and it sounds stupid maybe but it could be fun!!!

i’m thinking either a bachelorette or love island themed series featuring all of our fav marvel women, and starring the hottest bitch of them all…y/n.

during this fic i would give you guys options for who to go on dates with and who you want voted off and all of that shit…is it really stupid or do we like the concept?

additionally, would we want bachelorette or love island???

i apologize in advance if this is a dumb idea🥳

[please-destroy]

A Perfect Mix

Natasha Romanoff x Reader + Family

Word Count: 1.8K

This follows on from the last fic I've posted.

.

Noone saw Natasha’s strengths as a mother like you did.

There was something almost clumsy about the force of her love.

When Yelena was born, Natasha had been overwhelmed with the feeling. When she first looked down at the baby in her arms, Natasha forgot how to breathe. You watched the beginning of an uncontrollable love. 

Yelena had always looked up to Natasha with a wide-eyed awe. Even when she was very little, if Natasha came into the room, Yelena’s gaze would find her, following her every movement excitedly. 

Natasha had never expected to be the favourite parent, not even for a brief moment. Yelena quickly reset her expectations. She wasn’t shy in showing her delight for her Mom. You watched her smile and coo and giggle easily just at the sight of Natasha. 

At first, Natasha had been careful, almost shy in her responses to her daughter’s affection. She held Yelena carefully, like she was the most fragile thing in the world. She couldn’t help but give Yelena her softest smiles. 

You loved seeing this side of her. You knew Natasha’s gentleness better than anyone. It was a trait that she couldn’t help with the people she loved. In the past, you’d felt her try to avoid it. A fear of rejection and vulnerability that you could forgive easily.

Yelena made Natasha brave. She loved Natasha and she expected Natasha to love her too.

Natasha never let her down.

.

The very first time Yelena had walked, she’d wandered unsteadily over to Natasha. You’d swallowed a cheer of excitement, scrambling to find your phone to record the moment.

Yelena’s face had split into a delighted grin, thrilled that her newly acquired skill was helping her get to her Mom faster. 

When she made it, Natasha scooped her into a careful hug and you watched her eyes close. 

It was only when you heard her murmur ‘Well done’ in a choked voice that you realised she was holding back tears. 

Yelena was special. Just by being herself, she made Natasha feel special too.

.

You started to become stubborn in your belief that Yelena was a perfect mix of yourself and Natasha.

.

You explained your theory to Natasha one night as you were both on the verge of sleep. You felt Natasha’s gaze clinging to you through the dark, in that hopeful way that made her seem young. You felt her fingers lazily tracing your pulse point.

‘You’re brave and kind. And so is she.’ You explained simply. 

Natasha hesitated at the compliment; her fingers paused for a moment on your skin but she didn’t vocalise any disagreement. Yelena’s emerging personality was undeniably similar to Natasha’s.

After a moment, Natasha cleared her throat and asked. 

‘What about you?’

You grinned in anticipation, your answer well prepared. 

‘Well.�� You started slowly, reaching to find Natasha’s face in the dark, your thumb brushing her lips to ascertain their exact location. ‘She’s incredibly smart, of course.’

You moved closer to Natasha in the bed. You could feel her smile of agreement beneath your thumb. 

Natasha was trying to be lowkey about her belief that Yelena was the world’s next great genius. But you’d caught her the other day, very preemptively, researching a Stark scholarship programme for high achievers.

‘And I know she’s so smart because she figured out immediately that Natasha Romanoff is the best person in the world.’

You kissed Natasha quickly before she could roll her eyes or argue your point. Instead, you felt her smile harder against your lips, clearly aware of your scheme.

.

Even though she’d had it her whole life, Yelena’s faith in her mother always seemed completely fresh. You loved that it had never wavered. 

You could tell it scared Natasha.

You knew the pressure of that faith weighed heavily on her. Yelena trusted her wholeheartedly because she loved the Mom she’d always known. At first, she couldn’t conceive of the person Natasha had been before that.

It was when Yelena turned four that she first understood what her extended family had been hinting at every time they visited. After an afternoon spent with some of Natasha’s closest friends, ‘Avenger’ was no longer a meaningless word to Yelena. Instead, it became a special term of honour used by those around her. 

The leap of understanding wasn’t hard for her. For Yelena, her Mom was already a superhero.

Now, almost relentlessly, she would crawl onto the sofa next to Natasha and ask for stories. 

Yelena had a way of sneaking up on you. Natasha fell for it every single time. Sometimes she’d find herself cornered unexpectedly and catch your eye from across the room. You’d just grin back knowingly. Yelena would twist pieces of Natasha’s long hair as she asked for yet another story from her past. Natasha’s hand would stay pressed lightly at the small of her back, making sure her enthusiastic climbing never ended badly.

Natasha’s voice always sounded gravelly when she told those stories. For a woman trained in hiding her emotions, her subtlety was often forgotten. Natasha’s eyes would flicker nervously over to you whenever she obviously abridged a more traumatic story. 

At first, she was hesitant to ever mention the alien invasion in New York, sure it would give Yelena nightmares. Eventually, she’d brought it up hesitantly, recounting it more like a fairytale than anything else. 

Yelena, of course, latched onto the idea with more enthusiasm than anything before. She built aliens and spaceships out of cereal boxes. Her favourite game was pretending to be an Avenger saving the world from an other-worldly danger. Even when she asked Natasha to play with her, Yelena always insisted on being the Black Widow. Nothing made you laugh harder than when Natasha was relegated to play the role of ‘Hulk’ in her own story.

.

It wasn’t surprising that Yelena asked for a Black Widow action figure doll for Christmas that year. Nonetheless, you felt a kind of sharp pride when you read through her list for Santa. It was more crayon than words but you immediately recognised the red black widow symbol clumsily drawn in the centre of the page.

Yelena asked you twice to put an urgent stamp on her letter, clearly sceptical of non-reindeer delivery services.

.

You didn’t tell Natasha about Yelena’s request, happy to wait for her reaction on Christmas Day. 

You were grateful for Yelena’s love of your wife’s alter-ego. You loved the way that the ‘Black Widow’ had become something more simple in your family; an easy shorthand for your wife’s bravery. 

.

Having Yelena in your lives now made Christmas twice as exciting and intense. You loved it. 

The day began with the simple perfection you cherished. 

Natasha gave you a sleepy smile over a cup of coffee, loose pieces of her tied back hair floating around her head. Her red and white pyjamas were patterned in a Christmas theme. Her fluffy reindeer socks had been a present unwrapped earlier.

Yelena screamed, half wild with holiday excitement, as she unwrapped the Black Widow box. She hugged the plastic casing and turned to you both with shiny eyes and an overwhelming smile.

You smiled back immediately, loving the feeling of sharing her joy. You listened to her excited chatter, holding out the box so you could get a better look.

You didn’t get a chance to see Natasha’s reaction, before you felt a hurried movement to the side of you.

Natasha left the room abruptly and your heart sunk with the dawning realisation that you’d misjudged the moment. You followed her covertly, leaving as soon as Yelena turned to Lila for help getting the doll out of the packaging.

You found Natasha silently shaking in the hallway, her back pressed to the wall. You recognised the emotions that had come to an unexpected head. Natasha would never call this feeling anxiety. Still, her eyes clung to yours, seeking the grounding that you knew how to give her. 

The sinking feeling in your chest crystallised. Natasha looked small, her arms wrapped around herself. 

You realised suddenly, that Natasha didn’t see herself in the stories that Yelena loved. You thought of all the details that Natasha omitted in her careful retellings. 

Black Widow didn’t make her feel brave. Only her family did. 

You moved towards her carefully, hugging her in an expression of unspoken regret and comfort. Natasha fit so familiarly in your arms. As always, you revelled in the nearness of her. Natasha’s warm embrace was home. Her head rested slightly on your shoulder and the comfortable silence between you stretched out. Her breathing steadied in the quiet seconds that followed. You felt calmer too, as if you could feel her slowing heartbeat in your own chest.

Family made you feel brave too.

.

The door from the living room was flung open less than a minute later. Yelena’s unaware delight was almost painfully endearing. 

‘Mama.’ She called out to Natasha. You barely had time to open your embrace before Yelena was confidently sneaking between the pair of you. She lifted the doll above her head so that Natasha could have a better look. 

‘I love her.’ She declared and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread over your face.

You tried to take the pressure away from Natasha as best you could, redirecting Yelena’s focus.

‘Santa must have read your list baby.’ You told her, brushing loose hair away from her eyes. Yelena gave you a secret smile, obviously remembering her earlier worries about the North Pole’s mailing system. 

Your attempt was ineffective. Like a magnet, her attention returned to Natasha.

Sometimes, Yelena didn’t seem quite as unaware as you believed. You weren’t sure what she read in Natasha’s often hesitant gaze. Her arms wrapped around Natasha’s leg confidently and you watched her squeeze tightly. 

‘Don’t worry Mama, I still love you just as much.’ Yelena assured her seriously, cheek pressed against her Mom’s side. 

Natasha met your gaze as her hand moved with instinctive protectiveness to the space between Yelena’s shoulders. There was a lightness in her eyes and you smiled knowingly. 

Yelena’s serious tone was starting to sound a lot like your own. Another part of the perfect mix. 

‘Well, I win because I love you the most.’ Natasha replied playfully, letting any last remnants of sadness evaporate. In one quick movement, that had taken years of confidence for Natasha to do casually, she lifted Yelena up above her head, swinging her exaggeratedly back and forth until she started shrieking with laughter. 

Their matching grins looked like reflections of each other. It was right then, alone together in the hallway, that you realised Natasha’s faith in Yelena was just as absolute.

When she caught her breath, cheeks flushed from excitement. Yelena turned to you eagerly.

‘I need to have a doll of you for my birthday.’ She informed you. 

‘There is no doll of me.’ You commiserated teasingly as you all headed back to the living room together. Natasha’s hand slipped around your waist, just as her other one rested on Yelena’s shoulder.

‘Oh don’t worry.’ Natasha told you, a glint of mischief behind her reassuring smile. ‘We’ll make sure to find one.’

[cthulhus-curse]

Submission

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3,553

Warnings: Top!Reader/Bottom!Natasha, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Strap-Ons, Pet Play Adjacent, Smut, Daddy Kink, Dark!Reader | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: In which you find yourself having fun with your pet, Natasha.

No words were required to be spoken for you to understand what she desired. Then again, although she may not feel the same, in due time she would. It was all about the small glances thrown your way. At first they were hard, confident ones. Never did she allow herself to be seen as anything other than the tough assassin she was molded to, and yet as time went on, when you didn’t present the fear she sought out, her walls fell down. 

Natasha, unbeknownst to her, became your pet from then on.

After a rather difficult mission, you found her waltzing around the compound fresh off the Quinjet. Steve was hot on her heels, preying on the one who was meant to be yours. You weren’t an idiot, of course you noticed the longing looks he gave your toy. Perhaps he’d need to be removed from the equation so Natasha, who carried on discomfort as he attempted to make light conversation, could have some peace.

“How was your mission?” 

Natasha was crestfallen at the question. It hadn’t gone the way she hoped, and yet she was still victorious at the very end. Her side was sore after having fallen through a first-floor window, luckily no scratches landing on her body. She was tired of having such tedious work days without an end in sight. But with you by her side, it was made better. 

You almost towered over Natasha while dragging the zipper of her suit down. Her hair was adorably short, and yet you still ordered her to tie it up into a small bun for your playtime. She stepped out of her outfit, allowing you to undress every inch of her, taking off any gadgets, her boots, and even underwear. The tight fitted suit she wore was truly a favorite of yours, but you preferred when she had nothing on. 

“Will you use your words, princess?” you urged. 

After giving you a hint of hesitation and shrugging everything off her body, looking down with reddened cheeks, Natasha gave in. “It went well, but not as I hoped. Steve was nowhere to be seen for a moment. I fell through a window and,” she eyed the bruise on her side. “I’m sorry.”

You’d have a much-needed talk with Steve after being done with Natasha. Perhaps ending with dumping his body along the Hudson River for daring to mistreat your plaything. You had wished to go on the mission with her, but of course the dipshit that was Cap kept you away. He had kept his eyes trained on Nat since the first day they met, but you knew the only one she wanted was you, far too oblivious to notice her teammate’s ogling. 

“It’s alright, puppy. It wasn’t your fault,” you commented while ghosting your fingers over her wound. “Do you want me to help you forget this? To make it better?”

Natasha’s desperate nod was all you needed to proceed. 

Once you were fully naked and sitting at the edge of the bed, you coaxed Natasha into laying across your lap. She was hesitant at first, scared that perhaps you’d go too far, but you promised she’d be taken care of. It was enough for her to relax. She could always count on your soothing voice to take away all her fears. 

“I don’t want it to hurt,” she said with her ass up in the air for you to take. 

“It won’t, sweetheart. Daddy’s here to make it all better, to help you forget,” you reassured while drawing imaginary circles over her back. “You’re safe with me.”

After getting her all relaxed on your lap, you were ready to begin. The first hit wasn’t rough at all, instead filled with a tenderness that exuded peace within her. Her stress from the mission weakened, Natasha ignoring the throbbing pain on her side. Once in your arms, she knew she was home. 

You loved the adorable little noises Natasha let out each time you spanked her. She gripped your leg, her back arching as a response to your hits. Poor thing gave you a glance time and time again, her mouth agape as tiny ‘more’ muttered came out. You could break her in half, tear her apart limb from limb, and yet her undying loyalty towards you wouldn’t falter. 

Seeing her pink cheeks just sitting there begging to be attacked made you drip. You had to rub your legs together to dissuade the heat between them from growing. She’d be a good girl regardless of how far you took her. 

You didn’t give Natasha a warning when you increased your roughness. Instead, you suddenly swatted one of her cheeks harshly, the redhead frowning and letting out a loud scream. She was so beautiful, an innocent doll for you to play with as you pleased. The Widow had been fully inexperienced when you first got together. You had to be the one to teach her about the ache she felt between her legs and making it better. Even months after that moment, she still kept her purity. 

“That hurt,” Natasha whispered as she looked at you, her green eyes glistening with tears. “Does it have to keep hurting?”

“Yes, baby. Just be a good girl and take it. It’ll make daddy so happy,” you explained before hitting her again. “You want to make me happy, right?”

“Yes,” she grumbled before hiding her blushing face. 

You tilted your head and watched as she jumped after each smack. They only grew more and more until Natasha was a wailing mess. She couldn’t even muster out a coherent string of words to let you know she was in pain. 

“What’s my name, Natalia? Tell me,” you mumbled with a softness only reserved for her. A hand soothed over her backside, traveling up the swell of her cheeks that were red and sore from your hits. When deep within the submissive headspace of hers, she never responded to her chosen name. “Use your words, darling. I’m waiting.”

“Daddy,” she finally replied. The recovery from your torture wouldn’t be a quick one, and yet she basked on how painful it was as she adored every second of it. “You’re my daddy. You protect me and make me happy. No one else can have me. I’m daddy’s pretty girl, your puppy.”

At the words, you hummed with approval. “Good job, princess. And what does my puppy want today?”

“The special toy, please. The one with the treat,” Natasha sobbed without a hint of hesitation. “I don’t want to think about today, daddy. I need you inside me, please. Your fingers, your toy, or even your mouth. Just make it all better. I promise I’ll be a really good girl for you.” 

That was enough to get you to ease her off your lap before walking towards the closet of your shared dormitory at the compound. You ordered Natasha to kneel before the bed. She was waiting obediently in place, looking around the room curiously as though there was not a thought behind those beautiful viridescent eyes. You had clearly seen the wetness building up on her core. If she kept on going well, you’d promise to make her puppy parts feel less sticky. 

You took your sweet time attaching the black straps around your waist tight enough so that the toy you set against the base wouldn’t fall off. It was a rather girthy red dildo which you used, long enough to reach Natasha’s depths with ease. Through the base you filled it up with what would be your pet’s reward, making sure it was full before attaching it to the straps. 

When you finally sat down before Natasha, her eyes widened with arousal, hips moving a bit as she humped the air with need. The adorable way in which she licked her lips hungrily made your heart soar, the woman ignoring the pain on her backside and focusing on you. 

“Open up, sweetness. Time to let daddy use this pretty mouth of yours,” you said while coaxing Natasha. She was quick to do as you said, her plump, wet lips parting as she leaned forward. “Good girl, Natalia. There you go.”

While looking down at her, the redhead kissing the tip of your silicone cock before wrapping her lips against the head, your mind went to the depths of darkness. You wondered for a moment how perfect she’d look if you wrapped your hand against her throat, making sure to squeeze and squeeze until she couldn’t dare take a grasp of air. As much as you loved your puppy, you’d love to see her all maimed and bleeding for you while sprawled over the bed, begging you to stop as you merely keep going as a means to amuse yourself. 

Natasha grabbed your dick happily, her tongue stuck out as she gave it cute kitty licks. She was sloppy when so deep in subspace, her eyes almost hazy as she left copious amounts of saliva behind. While she began slowly taking it all in order to let her mouth and throat get adjusted to the feeling of being full, Nat reached a point of no return. 

Mesmerizing pink lips inched down your strap. Little by little, your baby took more of it. She stuffed her mouth with your cock, humming happily at the way you patted her head with pride. Such a beautiful cock whore, you thought while licking your lips. You could get her to do anything and she wouldn’t hesitate or question you. 

When the redhead bobbed her head up and down, you nearly lost it. Gurgling noises boomed across the walls of the room. She didn’t even stop when she choked on your cock, instead taking a breather before getting back to it. Natasha viciously deep-throated it all, making sure never to break eye-contact with you as she did as she was told. 

“Hmm so pretty for daddy. You’re just a little slut for my cock, aren’t you?” At that, Natasha mindlessly nodded. “My perfect puppy. See, daddy makes it all better. Natalia is only safe when around her owner. Always remind yourself of that or I will.”

Once you were pleased, you pushed Natasha off your dick. She let it go with a ‘plop’ grinning at you while awaiting further instructions. When by your side nothing else mattered. It was just you and puppy against the world – the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D., or the rest of humanity didn’t come to mind for her while eyeing you happily. 

“Did I do a good job, daddy?” Natasha asked with a hopeful look plastered over her features. 

“Yes, baby,” you grabbed her chin and forced her to look up. “You were perfect. Now come here. Time to bounce on daddy’s cock like a pretty bunny.”

You shifted to sit on the bed with your back against the headboard. The strap-on was now fully wet and needy to be wrapped around Natasha, who crawled towards you with a hint of shyness. She rubbed her side a bit, but once you set your hand atop her own, she understood to give you her full focus and ignore everything else.

“Can I sit on it, please?” Natasha questioned as she hovered over your bulbous cock that dripped with her saliva. She grabbed the toy, jerking it off slightly in her hand as her eyes grew wide with amazement. “Please, daddy? I promise I’ll be good. I feel really, really empty. I need you to make it less icky down there.”

“Of course, baby. Come on, let me help you.” You surprised yourself with the tenderness you gave her, grabbing Nat’s hips to guide her. In turn, she held onto your forearms for dear life, looking down between her legs to watch in awe as the tip of your silicone dick rubbed against her pink, swollen pussy. “Someone’s really sticky. It’s adorable, don’t you think? For you to be such a desperate little thing just for daddy.”

“Just for you,” Natasha echoed before letting out a strangled moan. The head of your cock slid up and down her cunt, parting her folds before moving towards her clit. You spent your sweet time teasing it, swirling the dildo around the bud for the sake of further making her drip. “No teasing, daddy. Please. It hurts so bad, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Alright, Natalia. Relax for daddy.”

You brought the woman down onto your wet cock. It was thick and long, stretching out her velvety walls and making her scream in the process. She was adorably shy about it all, not doing much except sitting frozen in place as you guided her. A pretty pup is what she was, so ready to be taken by her owner. 

For a moment the two of you simply sat still. Natasha squirmed but refused to move even an inch. She was so deep within her submissive headspace that all she could think of was you, her mind otherwise entirely blank. Your foreheads were pressed together, Nat dropping sweet kisses on your lips that you were sure to return. You couldn’t wait for the time to entirely destroy such a willing pet. 

When you began moving your hips, Natasha followed along with your ministrations. She kept staring at the area between her legs where your length disappeared inside. Her amusement for the whole ordeal was truly astounding. Your puppy couldn’t stop being so excited as she pointed to her sex, giggling as you thrust yourself deep inside. 

“You’re so big,” Natasha let out a throaty moan as she spoke. She had taken the entirety of your cock by then, loving the way her tight pussy was spread apart for daddy to take. “My puppy parts are nice and full now. Thank you.”

“Of course, pup, but that’s not the only thing that will be filling you up.”

You didn’t care to let out your rough dominant side by then. Natasha’s head was messy either way, all mindless and desperate to be slutted out. As soon as you dug your fingernails harshly against her skin, she knew what was coming – her. 

Deep and animalistic thrusts came from your part. You had to hold the poor puppy in place so she wouldn’t break. The sloshing sounds of your cock digging inside her, pressing against her womb far enough so that a little bulge appeared on her belly. When you touched and put pressure on it, Natasha sobbed. 

Your sweaty skins slapped together as you fucked her with such harshness she would easily forget the horrid mission she had. Natasha bounced on your dick as though her life depended on it, stuck in a lustful trance which held her prisoner of her owner. With green eyes rolled to the back of her head, cunt dripping with juices and wet sounds, her tummy bulging, she was the picture perfect image of a beautiful puppy. 

You didn’t waste your time taking it slow. Instead, you were quick to bring Natasha to her climax alternating between pumping your strap in and out of her hungry cunt that swallowed it whole and stimulating her clit. With the mix of pleasure you gave her, your princess’ walls clamped down against your cock, immediately making her come undone. 

“That’s it, Natty. Cum for daddy,” you urged and yet refused to stop fucking her harshly with your throbbing cock. “Go on, puppy. Fuck, your pussy is so wet and just for me. Only daddy can use and abuse this slutty fucking cunt. So cute and pretty.”

“Daddy!” Natasha cried out as she slumped against your body, riding out the last few moments of her orgasm. She shook slightly, squeezing your arms while you remained deep inside her, the base of the strap brushing against her. “Full,” she mumbled, nuzzling her face against your shoulder. “Treat, please.”

“Hmmm whatever you want, baby.”

The dildo was pulled out slightly from her sticky, aching cunt. Natasha shuddered at the sudden disappointing emptiness, but was quickly substituted by something even more delicious. After you squeezed your cock, letting out her reward. 

Drops of white spurted inside Natasha’s pretty pussy. They were sticky as they filled her up completely, you as her owner making sure to empty your entire seed in her. Your cum left her fully bred, your cock thrusting deep inside just so you could keep any of your special treats from oozing off. 

Natasha was completely fucked out upon you, even drooling a bit from the pleasure you gave her. It was far too much for you to handle. She was innocent and small, so easily corruptible for you. How were you to control your impulses when she was right there ready to be taken over and over again?

“Time to give daddy a treat in return, puppy,” you husked out in a groggy voice. 

Before Natasha could so much as recover or even take notice of what you did, you threw her over the bed. Your cum spilled from her pussy as she laid on her tummy, white drops falling onto the bed sheets you reminded yourself to clean later. With your puppy disoriented and looking around hazily in order to aimlessly find you, you took your chance. 

“Daddy?” Her voice was small as she wondered what you were doing, but as soon as you crawled on top of her, pushing the tip of your cock between her cheeks and against her tight hole, Natasha panicked. “Wait!”

You didn’t care to wait or listen to her sobbing pleas. Instead, you urged your cock inside her ass, groaning at the slick sound it let out as you so much as stretched it out with your tip. She cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure, her hand turning to fists as she tugged at the bed sheets to keep herself composed. 

“What’s wrong, Natalia? I thought this is what you wanted. Don’t you like it when daddy’s cock stretches you out?” You questioned with feigned innocence. The dildo was far too lubricated with the mix of fake cum and her juices upon it, making it easy to slide yourself inside without much trouble. And yet Natasha was tight, her ass only used a handful of times by you. The most she had taken there was a pair of fingers and a small plug, nothing as large as your bulging cock. “Shhh stop crying. You have to take it all if you want to make daddy happy. Come on, be a good girl for your owner. If you do well, then maybe we can play with your collar and leash next.”

“But daddy it’s big,” Natasha wept as her head slumped against the bed. Her face was red with tears that went down her cheeks, eyes bloodshot and glossy. “I can’t take it all, not there!”

“Yes you can.” Although she bawled her eyes out loud enough for the entire compound to hear, you still didn’t stop fucking her from the back, hovering above her frail little body, hands at each side of her midsection, and tearing her apart. “Just a little bit, honey. Let daddy fuck your pretty tight ass.”

Natasha’s mind was so blank, she didn’t even care to think about the pain on her side any longer or the mission. Instead she focused on the moment – on how you fucked her harshly without skipping a beat. You dared squirt the last few drops of cum into her hole, filling both her pussy and ass with your cum. 

Growing much more confident with your position, you sneaked a hand beneath her neck. Natasha was far too gone to dare feel it until you squeezed. No matter how hard she tried yelping with her throat in a tight grasp, nothing came out. Instead she was rendered quiet, only muffled moans coming out while your front slapped against her back. 

Your other hand went under her body. You always did pride yourself in being quite the multitasker, rubbing her clit lazily while Natasha fell apart. With the stimulation against her bundle of nerves, her ass being savagely fucked with your dripping cock, and you choking her simultanously, it didn’t take long for the puppy to cum again. 

This time Natasha didn’t say a word. She only fell limp against the bed sheets, her eyes barely open as she stood between consciousness and sleep. She paid no mind to the way her abused holes were left seeping cum from them when you slid yourself out of her ass, leaving it wide and gaping. 

“Oh Natalia you did so well,” you praised her while moving your hands off her throat and clit, instead soothing them over her back while she squirmed. “Cute little fucktoy for daddy. So adorable.”

All Natasha did was nod slightly at that. She whimpered quietly as you leaned down to press kisses against her back, a hand ghosting over the bruised side of her body that you’d be sure to tend to for the following days. Oh how bad you wished to have hurt her like that. Perhaps taking care of Steve would sate your need to violence. 

“Good puppy,” you hugged her tight from behind, loving the way your baby relaxed at the feeling of her owner’s embrace. “My good mutt.”

[fandomnerd9602]

Natasha: you’re many things but a hunter is not one of them

Y/N: (mock hurt) oh how dare you

Wolf!Natasha giggles…

Y/N: besides I am a hunter. I nabbed the most rare game of all

Natasha: oh?

Y/N wraps an arm around her waist…

Y/N: you

Natasha’s tail wags seductively as she purrs…

[l0velysmut]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

[flow33didontsmoke]

when y/n does something so bad/embarrassing you have to facepalm and close your eyes for a minute

[natti-ice]

every time i remember my favorite person isn’t real