#vodianova

[detournementsmineurs]

Mariage de la mannequin Mariacarla Boscono et du perchiste Claudio Stecchi en Sicile, 2024.

[zoeandsubaloveart]

Natalia Vodianova phographed by Paolo Roversi

[piscessunnie]

“Eyes of Seduction” Natalia Vodianova by Raymond Meier for Vogue Japan, January 2002

[hautescouture]

"in the mood for love" by steven klein for us vogue february 2003

[liaisboring]

[viatamoarta]

[kitsunetsuki]

Mario Sorrenti - Natalia Vodianova (W Magazine 2004)

[bambi-whispers]

i-d magazine covers 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

( gemma ward, gisele bundchen, devon aoki, natalia vodianova )

[a-state-of-bliss]

Natalia Vodianova @ Roberto Cavalli Spr/Sum 2003

[gscbll]

slavic dolls ♡

[midastouch013]

Exes And Stomach Flus

Based on this request

Summary: You just came back from a horrible date, so what happens when you hear your ex throwing up on you way back.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Self-loathing (N). Break ups. Throwing up. Sick Nat

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The echoes of a disastrous date reverberated in your mind as you trudged through the walls of the avengers compound. The evening had been a train wreck, courtesy of a pick-me chick whose incessant need for validation grated on your last nerve.

The terrible evening was a stark reminder of why you had distanced yourself from the dating scene in the first place. But even as you tried to push the memories aside, thoughts of Natasha flooded your mind, bringing with them the pain of your breakup.

It had been months since Natasha ended things, leaving you with more questions than answers. There were no explanations, no closure—just a void where your relationship had once thrived. In the aftermath, you had retreated from the avengers, fearing having to see her, seeking solace in solitude as you tried to heal the wounds she left on you.

And so when you reached Natasha's door, yours just 3 more down, you hesitated. Sighing heavily, ready to go to your room and drown your sorrows with a bottle of wine.

You, however, stopped when a muffled sound caught your attention—a retching, guttural sound that sent a pang of concern through you and before you knew it, against your better judgment, your hand was knocking softly on her door.

"Natasha?" you called out, pushing the door open cautiously. The bed had been abandoned but the bathroom lights glowed, and the sight that greeted you was unexpected, yet strangely familiar. There she was, Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, hunched over the toilet, a ghost of her usual composed self. The sound of her sickness echoed in the room, stark against the backdrop of her vulnerability.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. "Hey," you murmured softly, approaching her side. "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive," she said cold and abrupt, although the weakness showed clearly

And that made you falter, feeling like an intruder in her space. The pain of being near her, yet so far from the intimacy you once shared, threatened to overwhelm you. You considered leaving, seeking solace in the company of someone—anyone—but the sight of Natasha's vulnerability rooted you to the spot.

"Nat," you murmured softly, torn between your desire to help and the ache in your heart. "Do you want me to get Clint or someone else?"

You were sure she'd ask for Clint, Wanda at the least, but Natasha's response was immediate, a desperate plea that cut through the air like a knife, a stark contrast to the previous response. "Please, don't leave me," she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

"Nat-asha, I don't know if this is a good idea," you protested weakly, your heart torn between conflicting emotions.

And for the first time in the last few months, her eyes look up at yours with a silent plea in her eyes. A look you knew all too well—a silent request for comfort, for you to be there in her time of need.

Despite the turmoil within, your heart couldn't ignore the silent plea in Natasha's eyes, nor the desperation in her weakened voice as she begged you to stay.

“Please”

For what felt like an eternity, you battled with your own emotions, protesting weakly against the overwhelming urge to leave. But with each passing moment, Natasha's grip on your hand tightened, her silent plea resonating within you, until finally, with a heavy sigh, you relented.

"I'll stay," you whispered softly, the words barely above a breath, yet weighted with the depth of your emotions.

Natasha's relief was palpable, a flicker of gratitude shining in her eyes as she leaned into your touch. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the quiet of the room, the silence, not for long though, as she hunched over the toilet again.

As Natasha retched again, you winced in sympathy, a pang of sorrow tightening your chest. Without hesitation, you moved closer, your hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she endured another wave of sickness.

"It's okay, Nat," you whispered softly, your voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of her distress. "I'm here. You're going to be okay."

Natasha's only response was a weak nod, her grip on your hand tightening as she struggled to regain her composure. Despite the pain etched on her features, there was a quiet determination in her eyes—a silent acknowledgment of your presence and the strength it brought her.

As the waves of nausea subsided, you helped Natasha to her feet, her body trembling with weakness. With careful movements, you guided her to the bathroom sink, supporting her as she rinsed her mouth and splashed water on her face.

"Can you stand?" you asked softly, concern lacing your voice, when you realised she had finished throwing up.

With a determined nod, Natasha attempted to rise, but her legs wobbled beneath her, threatening to give way. Without hesitation, you stepped forward, your arms wrapping around her waist to steady her.

"I've got you," you murmured reassuringly, your voice a gentle anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

Together, you guided Natasha to the sink, supporting her as she leaned against the counter. With trembling hands, you picked up the toothbrush, applying toothpaste with careful precision.

"Here, let me help," you offered, your touch gentle as you guided the brush along Natasha's teeth. With each stroke, you could feel the tension in her body easing, her breaths coming easier as the discomfort began to fade.

As you helped her rinse her mouth and splash water on her face, you couldn't help but marvel at the vulnerability she displayed—the quiet strength that lay beneath her fragile exterior. She'd only ever shown you this few months after you started dating, and that was after you had admitted that you loved her.

With Natasha leaning against you for support, you guided her to the bedroom, your movements slow and deliberate. You helped her change into fresh clothes, your touch a silent reassurance of your presence.

You settled Natasha into bed, ensuring she was comfortable before taking your place on the opposite side, leaving a significant space between you.Then, in the stillness, you heard what seemed to be a small sniffle, followed by another. And another. And soon enough the sound of Natasha's silent tears filled the room. 

As Natasha's tears fell and she let out her first sob, something she never does, only ever silently crying, your concern intensified, your heart pounding with worry. "Nat, what's wrong?" you asked, your voice soft but urgent, reaching out to touch her trembling shoulder that faced away from you.

She recoiled slightly, as if your touch startled her, before finally turning around and meeting your gaze with eyes brimming with pain. "You… you'll hate me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own cries.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, your own heartache mixing with concern for her. "Tasha, whatever it is, you can tell me," you urged gently, your voice tinged with worry.

“The reason-” she cracked, unsure of what to say, “The reason we broke up-” 

With a shaky breath, Natasha hesitated, her lips parting as if she struggled to find the right words. "It wasn’t you, it was me," she finally managed, her voice thick with emotion.

A surge of frustration and anger rose within you, the pain of her abrupt departure still fresh in your mind. "What do you mean, it's not me? You ended things without a word, Natasha!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion. "You left me without any explanation, and now you expect me to believe it's just you?"

As the words spilled from your lips, a torrent of hurt and betrayal and partially confused with why she was bringing it up in the first place, Natasha flinched, as if your words were a physical blow.

She let out a shaky breath.

"I felt unworthy… like all I could offer you was pain and darkness," she confessed, her voice trembling with self-condemnation. "I'm a monster, and you deserve so much more than that."

Natasha's confession struck you like a dagger, each syllable driving a wedge deeper into your heart. Your throat tightened with unshed tears as you listened to her unravel before you, her voice trembling with pain and anguish.

"I'm broken, Y/n," she choked out, her words a broken whisper against your chest. "I don't deserve your love... I don't deserve anyone's love."

Natasha's words hung heavy in the air, her words a painful echo of her inner turmoil, and you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. The weight of her self-loathing bore down on you like a crushing weight, threatening to break you more than you were by the breakup. And as she broke down before you, her sobs echoing in the darkness, you knew that you couldn't let her face this pain alone.

With sure hands, you quickly gathered her into your arms, pulling her into your chest despite the resistance in her movements. She pushed against you with all her strength, her cries of anguish muffled against your shoulder as she tried to push you away. But you held on, refusing to let go, your grip firm and unwavering as she struggled against you.

With each push, each desperate attempt to break free, your heart broke a little more, the pain of her rejection cutting deep into your soul. But you refused to give up, your love for her outweighing the ache in your heart. And so you held her close, whispering soothing words into her ear as she fought against you, her cries growing louder with each passing moment.

But slowly, oh so slowly, the resistance began to fade, her struggles growing weaker as the tears continued to fall. And as she finally collapsed against you, her body trembling with exhaustion, you held her close, your arms a silent refuge in the midst of the storm.

Gently, you brushed the tears from her cheeks, your touch tender as you cradled her close.

"Nat," you began softly, your voice a soothing balm in the darkness. "You're not everything you claim to be."

With a shaky breath, you launched into a heartfelt monologue, your words pouring forth much like the contents of her breakfast, lunch and dinner, a few moments prior

"You're not a monster, Nat," you asserted, your voice unwavering. "You're one of the bravest people I know. You escaped the Red Room, survived it. When Clint and I gave you a chance, you took it, you took it and never looked back. You're not broken—you're a survivor."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you continued, recounting the countless moments of humor and warmth that Natasha brought into your life. From her dry wit to her fierce loyalty, each trait painted a picture of a woman far far far away from the despicable figure she saw herself as.

"And let's not forget how you save millions of people, on a weekly basis" you added, a note of pride in your voice. "You risk your life all the time, from stopping bombs from detonating to fighting aliens conjured by gods, and because of you, countless lives were spared. That's not the mark of a monster—that's the mark of a hero."

"And don't even get me started on the cute things you do," you teased gently, a playful twinkle in your eye. "Like the way you scrunch up your nose when you're concentrating, or the way you pretend to hate it when I steal the last slice of pizza. Those quirks, they make you who you are. They make you human."

Leaning in, you pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "Tasha, you deserve the world," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. 

"You in the months we were together made me the luckiest and happiest person in the world, just by being next to me. And no matter what lies in your past, no matter what mistakes you think you've made, I'll always see you for the incredible person you are."

Despite the tears still lingering in her eyes, Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at your words, a faint glimmer of light returning to her gaze.

Natasha's tear-stained eyes searched yours, a glimmer of hope flickering within them. "You really think so?" she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," you replied, your own voice filled with conviction. "As a matter of fact, I know so"

She gave you a small smile which didn't last long as her stomach lurched again and she was scrambling out, from under the covers.

As Natasha rushed up from the bed, the urgency in her movements palpable, you couldn't help but spring into action once more. Hurrying after her, you offered your support, holding back her hair as she retched into the toilet once more. The sound tore at your heart, a stark reminder of her vulnerability in this moment of weakness.

Once she had finished, you helped her back to bed, guiding her gently until she was settled against the pillows. As she leaned back against you, her breathing labored, a moment of vulnerability passed between you, her words hanging heavy in the air.

"I still love you," Natasha whispered softly, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the room.

You froze, her admission catching you off guard. "I… I just got back from a date," you stammered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

The hurt flickered in Natasha's eyes, a guardedness settling over her features once more. With a determined look, she tried to sit up, as if preparing to distance herself once more.

But you couldn't let her, you wouldn't. Without hesitation, you reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Nat, wait," you urged, your voice filled with urgency. "I'm… I'm still in love with you too."

And that seemed to click in her head as she relaxed in your arms again but a small tension lingered in the air, the weight of your admissions still hanging heavy between you. And, just as the silence threatened to become suffocating, you felt a spark of mischief flicker within you.

"Well, I suppose that's one way to get back with your ex," you quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

Natasha's chuckle was music to your ears, a soft melody that chased away the lingering tension in the room. "I guess you're right," she replied, her voice laced with amusement, before adding. "I'd kiss you right now if my mouth didn't taste of puke."

The humor in her words caught you off guard, a burst of laughter bubbling up from deep within you. "Well, that's a mood killer if I ever heard one," you joked, the laughter easing the weight from your shoulders.

And so, a toothbrush and paste later, you finally got to kiss the ruby red lips of the love of your life again. Knowing that it only got better from this.

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[piscessunnie]

“Eyes of Seduction” Natalia Vodianova by Raymond Meier for Vogue Japan, January 2002

[hautescouture]

natalia vodianova by mikael jansson for calvin klein jeans s/s 2006

[hannahleah]

Natalia Vodianova photographed by Bruce Weber. Vogue Italia, March 2008

[liaisboring]

[bambi-whispers]

slavic dolls street fashion 🪽