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just-aake · 1 month ago

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Whispered in Russian

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha teaches you how to speak some Russian during your time together on a mission.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. Not sure if it was what you expected but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, cursing, Russian translations from google (because I unfortunately do not know the language)

Words: 3250

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.”

Natasha’s Russian accent flows effortlessly, her voice smooth and confident as she speaks to the front desk receptionist. Her tone carries the ease of someone completely at home in the language.

It’s a voice you’ve grown intimately familiar with—not just as her teammate for years but also as her partner.

Which also makes it easier to pick up and piece together some of the words, though you’re still far from being fluent.

Reservation for Natalia Romanova, you translate silently.

The receptionist offers a polite smile, tapping away at her computer until she finds the reservation. With a nod, she retrieves a key card and slides it across the counter to Natasha.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.”

You listen intently, trying to match the sounds to meaning, but the words come faster than you can process. Your grasp falters after the first few phrases.

Welcome…Romanova…key

You almost have it, but the rest slips through your mental filter, lost in the quick flow of syllables. Before you can catch up, the receptionist continues in a kind but rapid tone.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.”

At that, Natasha’s lips quirk up in a small, amused smirk. The expression is subtle but unmistakable, and it draws your curiosity.

You glance at her, silently asking what amused her, but she offers no explanation, only thanking the receptionist with a graceful nod as she takes the key card.

“Spasibo,” Natasha says, her voice as composed as ever.

Thank you.

That part you recognize immediately, the basic phrase standing out like a familiar face in a crowd.

Natasha’s hand finds your waist as she guides you away from the desk, her touch grounding and affectionate.

Still, your mind lingers curiously on the exchange.

Once inside the room, you dive into setting up your equipment for the mission, carefully pulling out the listening gear from your bag.

Meanwhile, Natasha checks the room methodically, her eyes scanning for anything amiss. She ends her sweep at the window, drawing back the shutters slightly to observe the building across the street—the one where the targets work at.

“What did the receptionist say to you at the end?” you ask, your curiosity finally spilling over as you adjust the calibration on the gear.

Natasha glances over her shoulder at you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She takes her time responding, watching as you work with meticulous focus.

“She said if we needed anything, we could call the front desk,” Natasha replies casually, her tone almost too neutral.

You pause, narrowing your eyes as you turn to face her.

“That’s it?” you ask, skepticism lacing your voice. “Then why did you react like that?”

The smirk you’d noticed earlier reappears, tugging at the corners of her lips. Natasha steps closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Zhena,” she repeats slowly, enunciating the word with deliberate care. Her breath is warm against your skin as she presses a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. “It means ‘wife.’ She called you my wife.”

“Oh,” you reply, your heart fluttering at the thought.

You fall silent for a moment, processing, before quietly repeating the word under your breath.

“Zhena,” you murmur, practicing the pronunciation like a secret you want to keep safe. You say it again, slightly louder, trying to mimic Natasha’s intonation.

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches your reaction, her smirk giving way to a small, genuine smile.

Once satisfied with your attempt, you nod firmly, confidence growing.

Your gaze shifts to the small table in the corner of the room, and something catches your eye. You gesture toward it, brow raised.

“Well,” you say, “that explains the bottle of champagne.”

Natasha follows your gaze, her chuckle warm and rich as she spots the chilled, unopened bottle perched beside two crystal glasses.

“Hill said this was the only room available,” she replies, her fingers tracing soft patterns at your sides. Her voice drops slightly, the edge of a smirk returning to her lips. “Guess that means we’re playing newlyweds.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning against her as you ponder the situation.

“Alright,” you nod thoughtfully, “and it won’t look suspicious if we don’t leave our room much since, technically, we’re on our honeymoon.”

Natasha’s smirk deepens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She tilts her head closer, her lips brushing lightly against yours.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she murmurs, her tone dropping into a suggestive lilt.

You roll your eyes, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays your amusement.

“I meant it’s a good cover for our mission,” you say pointedly, pulling back just enough to regain your composure. You gesture toward the gear on the table before raising a brow at her. “Or did you already forget the reason why we’re here in the first place?”

Natasha doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, her smirk shifts into something a little more daring as she tightens her hold on your waist before pulling you flush against her. Her lips ghost over yours again as she leans in, just close enough for her voice to drop to a whisper.

“I’m multitasking,” she teases, the husky tone sending a shiver down your spine before she closes the small distance between you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Some time later, after you two manage to refocus on the mission, you settle in to monitor the listening equipment.

The two of you wait patiently, earpieces in place, scanning for the key information you need.

But after a few hours of static-filled recordings, indistinct conversations, and absolutely nothing useful, Natasha notices your shoulders beginning to tense with exhaustion.

She rests a hand on your arm.

“Take a break,” she offers softly. “I’ll keep watch for now.”

You hesitate, but the encouraging smile on her lips convinces you.

“Alright,” you relent, stretching out your stiff shoulders before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once inside, the hot water works wonders, the steam easing the tension in your muscles.

You feel the stress of the mission starts to melt away, but as you finish, you realize you’ve made a small mistake.

You forgot to grab your change of clothes for the night.

With a sigh, you wrap the towel around yourself, water still clinging to your skin, and step out of the bathroom.

The cool air sends a shiver through you as you pad quietly toward your bag.

Natasha’s back is to you as she speaks on the hotel phone.

Her voice flows smoothly in Russian, soft but clear, and you catch a few familiar words—borscht, pelmeni, blini—dishes you’ve heard her name before.

As you rummage through your belongings, it hits you: she’s ordering dinner. You smile to yourself, amused by the domesticity of the moment, even in the middle of a mission.

Not wanting to take any longer, you quickly grab what you need, tossing your bag back in its original position as you hear Natasha finish up.

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…”

The abrupt edge in Natasha’s voice pulls your attention, her sudden exclamation making you look up in curiosity.

Her words have stopped mid-sentence, her lips parted slightly as her eyes roam over you. Her gaze lingers on the droplets of water still glistening on your skin, the curve of your shoulders, and the towel that clings just a little too loosely to your body.

It takes her a moment to catch herself. Natasha clears her throat, her voice steadier as she quickly finishes her conversation.

“Prostite,” she mutters into the phone. “Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.”

You pause where you stand as you attempt to piece together what she just said. Your limited Russian skills manage to translate fragments: leave…food…door.

It’s enough to guess that she told them to leave your dinners outside the room so they won’t come in and see all your equipment set up.

But you also notice that there’s one word missing from the sentence—the one she exclaimed earlier.

It lingers in your mind, unaccounted for, and you try remembering how Natasha said it.

“Blyat…” you repeat, testing the word carefully, sounding it out until you nod in satisfaction, confident you’ve got it.

A low groan comes from Natasha, prompting you to look back at her. Her eyes are noticeably darker now.

“Bozhe moy…” Natasha mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly in exasperation.

Your brow quirks in amusement at her tone, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a curse word—just something someone would say when they’re surprised or frustrated,” Natasha says stiffly, her voice a little strained, though she manages to seem mostly composed.

Her eyes eventually betray her, though, drifting back to the droplets of water sliding down your skin.

“So what’s the translation?” you press, crossing your arms at her vague response. The motion inadvertently shifts the towel, loosening it further.

Natasha’s jaw tightens. Her gaze flickers to the towel, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her control clearly fraying.

Even though she looks like she’s about to close the distance between you, it’s clear she won’t answer your question, which makes your expression fall lightly into a mock disappointed pout.

“You said you’d help me improve my Russian during this mission,” you remind her, your tone innocently light as you step closer to stand in front of her.

The memory of her promise lingers in your mind—how she’d caught you practicing in secret and insisted you ask her for help whenever you needed it.

Her lips twist in hesitation, probably also remembering her promise, and for a moment, it seems like she might resist.

But then she relents with a sigh.

“It’s basically like saying ‘fuck,’” Natasha explains, her voice low and even. She fixes you with a pointed look, her gaze burning as she adds, “As in, you surprised me, standing half-naked in the middle of the room like this.”

A laugh escapes you, though your cheeks warm at the intensity of her gaze. You move to hover a hand above her chest, tracing a finger lightly against the edge of her tank top.

“Were you surprised…or frustrated?” you ask, your tone full of mischief.

Natasha shoots you a warning look, one that says you already know the answer.

“I don’t think learning Russian curse words was part of your original goal here,” she counters, her voice tight.

“Who says I haven’t learned some phrases already?” you reply with a playful shrug.

Her eyebrows lift, intrigued. “Like what?”

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate. “I’m still practicing my pronunciation.”

Natasha smirks, leaning closer. “I can help.”

The listening equipment chooses that moment to beep suddenly, interrupting your conversation, as it signals incoming noises.

“Too bad we’re still on the clock,” you quip with a teasing smile.

Natasha’s attention flickers reluctantly to the gear, her expression briefly clouded with disappointment.

You take the opportunity to head back to the bathroom and finish up.

As you go, a smirk tugs at your lips, the Russian phrase you’ve been practicing simmering in your mind.

Just as you step through the doorway, you hum thoughtfully, your voice low and deliberate as you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for Natasha to hear.

“How did it go again...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…”

You don’t need to turn around to know the effect your words have. Natasha’s sharp intake of breath is unmistakable, and your smirk widens in satisfaction.

Behind you, Natasha freezes, her lips parting slightly, her entire body going still as she processes what you just said. The weight of your casual tone and the boldness of your phrasing leave her momentarily stunned.

By the time she regains her composure, you’ve already disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.

A low, disbelieving chuckle escapes her after a moment, followed by a quiet grumble as she mutters to herself, “Of all the times to be on a mission…”

Natasha shakes her head and exhales, grabbing the earpiece with a resigned sigh.

Sliding it back on, she tries to focus on the task at hand, her eyes scanning the equipment as if sheer willpower could drown out her thoughts.

But her gaze betrays her, drifting back toward the bathroom door.

It lingers there, her resolve wavering as the temptation to follow you creeps in, tugging at her self-control.

Her mind conjures an image of you inside—water still clinging to your skin and your voice low and teasing as you repeat the Russian phrase for “fuck me” over and over again.

The imagination is enough to make her swallow hard, her grip tightening on the table’s edge.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Natasha forces her attention back to the mission, her eyes narrowing as if determination alone could block the distractions.

And she does succeed in regaining her composure eventually, though, every now and again, your voice echoes in her mind—soft, playful, and full of mischief.

Each syllable you murmured is as clear as if you were still standing there, taunting her with that dangerous smirk.

The corners of her lips twitch despite herself.

You’ve always told her how much you love hearing her speak in Russian—how the sound of it stirs something in you.

Natasha had always found your words amusing, but hearing you just now, with your hesitant yet deliberate tone, she’s beginning to understand exactly what you meant.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After dinner, Natasha takes it upon herself to continue monitoring the listening gear, insisting that you rest up first after the long trip here and the exhausting setup.

Her tone left little room for argument, so you relented, knowing how stubborn she could be about these things and the fact that she is more than capable of staying concentrated on the task for longer than you can.

Hours pass, the rhythmic static and indistinct chatter from the equipment blending into the quiet of the room.

Natasha barely notices how late it’s gotten until she feels your arms wrap gently around her shoulders from behind.

You lean in close, your warm breath brushing against the side of her head as you carefully remove her earpieces.

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” you whisper softly.

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, pleased smile at your perfect pronunciation. Turning to face you, she raises a brow, her expression amused.

“Did you learn that specifically for moments like this?” she teases.

You smirk back at her.

“With how often you lose yourself in work, I figured learning how to call you to bed should be one of the first things I perfect.”

Natasha shakes her head fondly, a quiet laugh escaping her lips.

“Of course you would,” she murmurs, but there’s no mistaking the affection in her voice.

Obliging you, she removes the rest of the gear and allows you to pull her gently from the chair toward the large bed.

As she moves, her gaze flickers to the nightstand, catching sight of your tablet screen. The familiar display of the language-learning app you’ve been using to practice Russian glows faintly in the dim light.

Settling in beside her, you lie back against the pillows while Natasha props herself up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand. Her green eyes glimmer with a soft light as she looks at you, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I’m sure I can teach you Russian better than that app.”

Her comment makes you laugh lightly.

“I know, but our free time doesn’t always line up for me to get a lesson from Ms. Romanoff,” you tease, smirking.

“It’s Mrs.,” Natasha corrects, her playful smirk matching yours. “Don’t forget, we’re technically married right now.”

You smile, your gaze softening as you look at her.

“Right. How could I forget that you’re my ‘zhena?’”

The word slips out in a playful, teasing tone, but it has an unexpected effect.

Natasha’s heart flutters so much at hearing you call her your wife in Russian that she has to look away for a moment to regain her composure.

Her expression is tender when she looks back at you, her other arm moving around your midsection and pulling you closer.

“I have time now,” she offers, her voice low. “Anything you want to learn?”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you consider.

“Alright, how do you say…‘you look beautiful?’”

Natasha’s smile widens slightly.

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” she replies smoothly.

You repeat the phrase under your breath, scrunching your face slightly in concentration as you practice. Once you’re confident enough, you turn to her with a gentle smile.

“Ty vy-glya-dish’ prekrasno,” you say, your pronunciation close but not perfect.

Natasha chuckles softly in amusement when she realizes you just wanted to say the phrase back to her.

“Are you trying to make me fall for you even more by complimenting me in Russian?”

You smirk playfully. “Depends. Is it working?”

Huffing lightly, Natasha rolls her eyes, though there’s a clear fondness in her exasperation. She looks away briefly, but you catch her cheek gently, turning her gaze back to yours.

“How do you say…‘I love you?’” you ask softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and affection.

Natasha’s expression softens further, her features open and vulnerable as she answers.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she says, enunciating each syllable carefully for you.

“Ya tebya lyu…blyu,” you repeat slowly, trying to mimic how her lips move, but the last syllable doesn’t quite land how it should.

Natasha chuckles lightly, her hand moving to cup your chin.

“When you say ‘lyublyu,’” she explains gently, “you have to purse your lips more.”

You try again, adjusting your pronunciation, and then glance at her for confirmation.

“Like that?” you ask innocently, unaware that you had said it perfectly, making Natasha’s heart beat a little faster at the sound of your voice saying those words to her in her native language.

“Say it again,” Natasha murmurs, her voice soft.

Focusing intently, you follow her previous instructions.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Just as you say the last sound, Natasha leans in suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Your smile grows against her mouth as realization dawns that she made you repeat it for her benefit.

“Mmm, you’re teasing me when you're supposed to be teaching me,” you murmur lightly in reprimand.

Natasha pulls back slightly, her green eyes glinting with playful mischief.

“Maybe I just love the way you say it,” she counters, her tone low and warm.

You huff lightly, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation before scooting closer.

Natasha relaxes fully into the bed, letting you rest your head on her shoulder and tuck your face into the curve of her neck. Her arms wrap around you, holding you in a soft embrace.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Natasha’s voice breaks through, gentle and curious.

“What made you decide to learn Russian?”

There’s a brief pause as you consider her question, and then you tilt your head to look up at her, your eyes filled with affection.

“Russian is a part of who you are, Natasha,” you say earnestly. “Where you came from. To learn another way to connect with you…” You trail off, your soft smile widening. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

Natasha’s heart swells at your words, and for a moment, all she can do is hold you closer, her fingers brushing lightly over your back.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but still filled with the depth of her feelings for you.

You settle back against her, smiling into her shoulder, your voice gentle as you reply.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: got distracted by a cute request and made another little fluff fic. thank you for reading! Now I'll get back to working on my series. 😅

Also here are the translations below:

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.” - Reservation for Natalia Romanova.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.” - Welcome, Mrs. Romanova. Here are your room keys.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.” - If you or your wife need assistance, please call the front desk and we will be happy to assist you.

“Spasibo,” - Thank you

“Zhena,” - Wife

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…” - Yes, just leave it—fuck...

“Prostite, Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.” - Sorry, leave the food at the door. Thank you.

“Blyat” - fuck

“Bozhe moy…” - My god...

“...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…” - ..fuck...me...fuck me...

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” - Come to bed with me

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” - You look beautiful

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” - I love you

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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bigsmallbigger · 1 year ago

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Jacques-Ange Levasseur: Anna Ivanovna Babanina on her wedding day, wearing a traditional kolbasa zhena apron.

Private coll.

#18th century #curvy woman #wedding dress #kolbasa zhena

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fangdokja · 13 days ago

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To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world of blood and power, you became his perfect wife—calm, obedient, and indispensable. But beneath your icy façade, a deadly game of lies and survival brews, and he’ll never know that you’re the one who could destroy him.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. The Bride of Blood - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,459

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, sexual themes, BDSM

♡ His Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who first noticed you during a violent upheaval in the criminal underworld, where blood was spilled more than ink on treaties.

You were the perfect wife—elegant, calm, and obedient.

His men whispered about your grace, but he only saw the subtle precision in your movements, a dancer in a minefield.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who felt a perverse sense of peace watching you tend to his wounds after a firefight.

"You’re reckless," you murmured, stitching his torn flesh with steady hands. The sharp tang of alcohol filled the air, mingling with the metallic stink of blood.

His laughter was low and cruel. “And yet you keep mending me, zhena moya.” You didn’t flinch under his gaze, but your fingers trembled ever so slightly, betraying a crack in your otherwise impenetrable façade.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who surrounded himself with walls of loyalty and fear, yet you slipped through them like a shadow.

Your quiet efficiency made you indispensable; your loyalty, unquestionable. You never balked at the grotesque reminders of his power—the severed hands of a traitor, the guttural pleas of dying men.

"Why do you stay?" he asked once, watching you clean blood from the floor with detached precision.

"Because I vowed to," you replied, voice devoid of warmth. He smirked, taking it as devotion, never suspecting the mission beneath your skin.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who made you his wife in a spectacle of opulence and terror.

The wedding was a gilded cage, a feast of gold and crimson.

He kissed you beneath a chandelier made of diamonds and glass, while outside, his enemies burned in their cars, charred bodies marking the territory of his love. You smiled as cameras flashed, but your stomach churned at the sound of distant screams.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who trusted you enough to let you into his inner sanctum. Late nights spent poring over ledgers and strategic maps became a routine.

"Tell me, what do you see?" he’d ask, his voice honeyed with suspicion.

You pointed out weaknesses, vulnerabilities, your mind calculating probabilities faster than his most seasoned lieutenants.

He called you brilliant; you called it survival.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who can’t keep his hands off you, as if touching you is the only way he can prove to himself that you’re real.

His fingers are always tracing the curve of your spine, ghosting along the edge of your jaw, a silent claim. His touch lingers, heavy with possession, even when his mood is lethal and his hands are stained with blood.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who wakes you in the middle of the night, his body already pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. The sheets are kicked aside as he drags you beneath him, his weight suffocating and intimate.

“You’re my peace,” he says, though his touch is anything but gentle. He takes you slowly at first, savoring every cry, every tremble, before his control snaps and he devours you whole.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who fucks you in places you shouldn't be touched—

Against the marble counter in the kitchen, your hands slipping on the smooth surface as he drives into you; in the backseat of his bulletproof car while his driver pretends not to notice the muffled moans and the rhythmic creak of leather; even in his private jet, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he degrades you in Russian, the words dark and guttural.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who loves watching you come undone beneath him, your carefully crafted mask shattering in his hands.

He knows you try to hide your reactions, to remain composed, but it only spurs him on. “Don’t hold back, lyubov moya,” he says, his voice velvet-soft and cruel.

“Let me hear how much you need me.” And when you finally break, crying out his name, his smirk is equal parts victorious and feral.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who becomes almost animalistic when his jealousy flares. One stray glance from another man and he’s dragging you to his private quarters, tearing at your clothes.

“I’ll remind you who you belong to,” he growls, his hands rough and demanding. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, marked, and utterly consumed by him, your body a canvas for his obsession.

“Mine,” he’d growl, over and over, as if the repetition could make it true.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who has a near-obsessive fixation on filling you, stretching you, owning you in the most primal way.

“How are you not pregnant yet?” he muses darkly, his fingers tracing circles on your inner thigh. He pulls you onto his lap, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Maybe I need to try harder,” he whispers, thrusting into you without warning, his eyes burning into yours as he takes you again and again, his movements relentless, determined.

“You’ll give me an heir one day,” he murmured, his voice thick with possessive desire. “A little prince or princess with your eyes and my ruthlessness.”

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who couldn’t keep his hands off you, even during the most mundane moments.

Cooking breakfast? He’d slide behind you, his hands wandering beneath your robe. Reading a book? He’d tug it from your grasp, his lips finding your neck as his body pressed against yours.

"You’re a distraction," you muttered one night as he pinned you to the bed, his lips trailing down your stomach.

"And you’re my obsession," he replied, his voice dripping with lethal promise.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw sex as another way to own you, to remind you of your place in his world. But even he couldn’t deny the way your body haunted him, the way he craved your touch like a drug.

“You make me weak,” he confessed one night, his voice low and raw as he traced the curve of your spine. “And I hate you for it.”

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who began to suspect that you were too perfect.

The way you navigated his world of violence with clinical detachment. The way you always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even before he did. It wasn’t love, he realized; it was precision. A scalpel disguised as a wife.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw glimpses of something darker beneath your calm exterior.

The first time you shot a man—clean between the eyes to save his life—he swore he saw something flicker in your gaze. Was it fear? Regret? Or was it just the ghost of the person you’d been before? He couldn’t tell, but the thought consumed him.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who pressed you for your past one drunken night, his voice slurred with vodka and possessiveness.

"Who were you before me, malyshka? What did you dream of?"

You lied through your teeth, weaving a story of lost parents and humble beginnings. He crushed your hand in his, murmuring, "You're mine now. I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you." You forced a smile, choking on the irony.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who unwittingly began to unravel his own empire in his obsession with you. His paranoia sharpened with every stray glance from his men, every unfamiliar scent on your clothes.

"Do you love me?" he asked one night, his breath hot against your neck.

You hesitated—only for a second—but it was enough.

His grip tightened, bruising your arm. "Say it," he demanded, voice a low growl. "Of course," you whispered, the words like glass shards in your throat.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who built a kingdom of fear and blood but found himself undone by the ghost of a woman who had never truly been his.

A woman who kissed him with cold lips and watched him sleep with calculating eyes.

A woman who loved the mission more than she could ever love him.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool

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thebadgerclan · 2 years ago

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Early Morning

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Summary: You’re woken in the early morning, but you don’t mind...

Smut!

Dawn had barely broken when you stirred, Aleksander’s arms tightly wound around your middle. Even in sleep, he clutched you to him greedily, and you might have drifted right back to sleep had it not been for the press of his cock against your hip. Your husband was moaning softly in his sleep, grinding against you, his brow furrowed with pleasure. Slowly, you tilted your head to press kisses to his neck and jaw, running your hand up and down his chest.

Aleksander soon woke, groaning low in his throat, and he tugged you impossibly closer. “Y/N,” was the first thing he said, followed by a long moan when you pressed your lips against the hollow of his throat. Your husband brought a hand to your chin and tipped you face back up to kiss you, and he kissed you for several unhurried minutes, one arm keeping you pressed to his body, the other trailing up and down your side, occasionally dipping between your thighs to gauge your arousal and to tease.

Your husband was panting at this point, having been grinding against you as he kissed you, and you could sense that he was nearing desperation. So you hitched your leg over his waist, both of you still naked from the night before, silently granting him consent. Aleksander sealed his lips over yours as he slid into you, both of you moaning softly at the stretch. In the bluish pre-dawn light, you could just make out your husband’s features: his brows still furrowed in pleasure, his eyes, pupils blown, locked on yours, his lips parted as he moaned softly with every rock of his hips, the thin inky lines of his scars.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, not entirely realizing you’d said it out loud. “You’re so beautiful, Sasha.” Aleksander whined, resting his forehead against yours. “Moya prekrasnaya zhena, ty chuvstvuyesh' sebya tak khorosho.” My beautiful wife, you feel so good. He’d lapsed into Old Ravkan, the lilting syllables like music, and you sighed, resting your hand on your husband’s cheek.

His thrusts were gentle and shallow, his cock dragging deliciously in and out of your cunt, pleasure lapping over you in gentle waves. Aleksander kept you held tightly in his arms, whispering praises in Old Ravkan as he fucked you slowly; your chests flush, eyes locked, lips pressed together more often than not. “I love you,” he whispered, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment. “Moya dragotsennaya dorogaya, ya tak tebya lyublyu,” My precious darling, I love you so much.

You could only let out a soft moan, rolling your hips so Aleksander’s cock hit that spot within you, and your head lolled back. But Aleksander gently righted your head so he could see your face and the soft, gentle pleasure painted upon it. Aside from your husband’s praises and both of your moans, no words were exchanged: they weren’t needed. Aleksander knew when to shift his hips, when to speed up, when to slow down to bring you the most pleasure.

When you came, it was a gentle, slow climax, so unlike the orgasms Aleksander usually gave you. But that didn’t mean it was any less pleasurable. No, when you came, it was with a cry of your husband’s name; the leg thrown over his waist hooking to pull yourself closer, your entire body trembling in his embrace. Aleksander came soon after, spilling himself within you with a grunt of your name.

For a moment, both of you were still, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms, and when Aleksander made to pull out, you laid a hand on his wrist to stop him. “No,” you whispered. “Stay inside.” Aleksander fought the wave of arousal that crashed over him as he nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Alright, milaya,” he said, gently lifting you so you were lying atop him, his cock still within you.

You soon drifted back to sleep, warm and content in Aleksander’s embrace. When you woke again, the sun was shining through the drapes, and your husband was thrusting into you shallowly. You hummed softly, and Aleksander paused. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, and despite just having woken, you felt your cunt throb around him. “Don’t stop,” you replied. “Never stop.” Aleksander kissed you as he rolled you onto your back, the blankets slipping from his shoulders to reveal his gloriously naked body. As he began fucking you, your husband whispered three words against your lips: “Never, my love.”

#aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone #general kirigan x reader #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction

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yelenasdiary · 2 years ago

Text

Piece of My Heart

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: This was not how Natasha thought life would pan out for her, a life without you was never in her cards.

Translations: dorogoy (sweetheart), malyshka (baby girl), zhena (wife),

AC: An idea I couldn’t get out of my head, sorry for the harsh Angst!!

"Gezz baby, you're kicking a lot today!" you spoke to your swollen stomach, a hand supporting your lower back as you finished cleaning up the mess from lunch. It wasn't ideal being cooped up in a small trailer with your wife and being on the run from the government while heavily pregnant, but you couldn't bear to do this without her. You refused to carry out the remainder of your pregnancy without Natasha holding your hand in the hospital while you both welcomed your new-born baby into this crazy world.

Natasha wasn't a fan of the idea of taking you with her, but nothing scared her more than refusing her pregnant wife. It wasn't easy going under the radar with you, but it worked, and the trailer seemed to do just fine for the meantime. In fact, Natasha was short of grateful for being able to have you all to herself. It gave her a chance to prepare herself for a whole new world, parenthood. She loved walking around the surroundings with you, waking up to you beside her, talking nonsense to your stomach while you twirled with her hair, making future plans with you, making promises with you, just simply being with you before her second love would steal her heart.

"I bet you miss mama already huh?" you rubbed your stomach softly as you made yourself comfortable on the bed again. Your due date was 3 days ago, and you were well over being pregnant, you just wanted to meet your little love already. "She'll be back shortly and hopefully with that ice cream and banana milkshake" you smiled softly before letting your eyes close for a moment, still rubbing your stomach to sooth their kicking. "God I hope she's back soon, that milkshake would be really nice, wouldn't it" you chuckled lightly before letting yourself drift into a slumber.

Natasha returned, quietly entering the trailer in hopes not to wake you if you were asleep. She placed the ice-cream and milkshake on the table before your calls for her made her smile.

"Hi darling, I got yo-"

"My water broke, don't freak out but I need you to get so-"

"What?! Baby, are you okay?! Let's get you to the hospital!" Natasha stressed rushing to the small wardrobe to collect some belongings. "Natalia, honey, look at me" you spoke, your words going in one ear and out the other. "Natasha!" you raised your voice causing her to stop her actions, "we're not going to the hospital, I'll be damned if I let us get arrested while I'm in labour! I need you to listen to me"

"But dorogoy, I don't ca-"

"NATASHA! PLEASE!" you screamed in pain before throwing your head back on to the pillow, "I need you to get some warm water and some towels, right now, please" you looked at her with begging eyes. Natasha nodded and rushed into the kitchen while you started doing your breathing exercises that you learned in the early states of your pregnancy, Natasha has never wished for help more than right now. Your screams echoed through the trailer, her heart skipping beats knowing she'd be meeting her son or daughter today and she didn't care if she was caught while you were in labor, she just wanted you in the hands of professionals.

She returned with the face of any mother who was about to meet their baby, she gently and slowly pulled your sweatpants pants off and threw them into a wash basket for later. "Baby, how long ago did your water break?!" Natasha looked up at you with a slightly frown, "45 minutes ago! YOU TOOK SO LONG TO GET BACK!" Your voice got louder as another contraction ripped through your body, your fists gripping the bed covers as Natasha tried her best not to freak out.

----

Hours past full of screams and cries of pain, Natasha kept you cool with cold towels while holding your hand any chance she got. "Okay, malyshka, I think it's time to push, I can see their head" Natasha looked up between your legs, finally it was time. You took a moment to remember everything you'd learnt over the course of your pregnancy, nodding to Natasha when you were ready to push.

"Are you ready?" you asked her before doing anything else, "I'm not pushing this baby out if you're not ready Natalia, I need you to bed ready, please, are y-"

"Hey, listen to me dorogoy, I'm ready" she interrupted with a soft smile, "I'm more than ready to meet our beautiful baby, I'm ready to quit and give you both the life we talk about. I'm ready my love, more than ready" she assured you; tears filled your eyes from so many mixed emotions. Your wife has never looked more beautiful to you than right now, ready to take this new chapter of life with you. "I'm going to push now" tears rolled down your cheeks as you smiled softly at her.

Natasha braced herself with the towels and warm water as you began to push, your screams getting louder and all she wanted to do was hold you. Breathing with you and wiping the sweat from your forehead but instead she had her eyes glued to the exact moment your baby would enter the world kicking and screaming.

"Oh baby, they're beautiful" Natasha looked up at you, "just one more big push" she added, her eyes full of true love. You pushed, one last time, your scream faded out from the screaming cries of your new-born baby, you let out a big sigh of relief and watched in tears as Natasha cut the cord and wrapped her gently in a towel. "Look mommy, meet your daughter" Natasha smiled, tears of her own streaming down her face as she gently handed you the new baby girl.

"She's beautiful" you sobbed with joy the moment your eyes landed on her. Nat kissed your temple and wiped your sweat with a clean towel, "you did so well my love, look what we did, she's here" she kissed your lips softly before you both looked down at your daughter in awe. "Baby, can you please take her? I feel a bit dizzy" you tiredly looked at your wife. You knew something was wrong, but you didn't want to worry Natasha, you gently placed a soft kiss on your daughter's head as Natasha carefully took her into her arms.

"Let's get you both cleaned up" Natasha smiled as she wrapped another clean towel from the pile beside you, she dipped the towel into some warm water and began to gently wipe your daughter's face. You watched for a moment, taking in the sight of your wife and daughter with a faint smile, "I love you so much, Natalia" you spoke weakly. Natasha turned with your daughter in her arms to see your eyes closed. "Y/n, dorogoy, d-don't sleep just yet" she gently placed your daughter in the stolen bassinet she found weeks ago.

It was only then Natasha noticed the pool of blood coming from you that something was wrong. She rushed to you, grabbing all the towels she could to stop the bleeding, every towel soaked with the color red. "Baby, come on, please wake up, please!" she begged, your daughter started crying as you lay there with a faint smile still on your lips, it was too late.

----

The cold silence filled the trailer, Natasha sat outside on a chair by the door, tears endless streaming down her face as your daughter slept peacefully in her arms. Mason emerged from the tears, confused on Natasha's desperate 911 page to him. "T-take her" her eyes looked up at him, the life sucked right out of them. He didn't ask any questions, he didn't say a word, he took her sleeping daughter in his arms. "Don't come in, just, I don't care, just don't" she mumbled as she opened the door to the trailer, again, Mason didn't say a word.

Natasha closed the door and locked it, her eyes traveling up the short hall to the bedroom where you lay. She grabbed all the left over clean towels and brokenly walked into the bedroom where she respectfully cleaned you from the blood and put your favorite pair of her sweatpants on before she sat beside you, pulling your lifeless body closer to her.

"My beautiful zhena" she gently brushed your hair back, "I'm so sorry, I should've just taken you to the hospital" she hated how cold you felt, "I love you so much my love, you're my life, my reason to wake up, my everything" her voice broke as more tears poured down her cheeks like a waterfall, falling onto your cold skin as she kissed your forehead.

She laid with you until she knew it was time to let Mason take your body for her, bury you in a place she could visit you once all this was over. "Where do you want me to take her?" Mason asked as he handed your daughter back to her. "Bury her under the oak tree at the lake by the compound. I want her to face the water, don't leave anything behind and don't say a word to anybody. Play her favourite song and bury her with this" Natasha explained, her tears not stopping as she hands Mason a baby tee that said, "mommy gives the best hugs".

Mason nodded and Natasha slowly walked away from the trailer while Mason carefully carried your body back to his chopper. She refused to watch, refused to let your daughter see her mother be taken away like this, "I'm so sorry angel" Natasha placed a kiss on her daughter's forehead as she rocked her gently.

"Are you going to be okay?" Mason asked quietly. Natasha shook her head, "I'll wire you the money when I can" She changed the topic, "no, not for this. Maybe I should stick around, make sure you're okay" the man suggested having never seen Natasha in this state, it worried him. "No, I don't need you to stay here, I need you to bury my wife because I can't. I need you to make sure she's safe and home because I'm here with our daughter who doesn't even know her mother died. Please, I just need you to do this for me, don't come back here, we won't be here" Natasha's tone was stern. Mason knew better then to argue.

----

A week passed by quickly but for Natasha it felt like not a day had passed. She didn't enter the bedroom anymore, the door remained closed, and she made herself comfortable on the small, uncomfortable sofa the trailer had. Your daughter, still waiting to be named kept Natasha from sleeping more than 3 hours. Natasha did everything she had too with what little she had. She wasn't one for praying but she prayed every night that she could return to the compound to be with you, she needed help and help was only a knock on the door.

"Wanda? Wh-what are you doing here?" Natasha answered the door with a frown, "you haven't answered any pages or messages. You look like hell" Wanda joked but Natasha didn't react, "What are you doing here?" she asked sternly.

"Natasha, we're free. You're and Y/n are no longer wanted"

Natasha's eyes flickered at the mention of your name making Wanda frown, "what's happened?" Wanda took in the state Natasha was in. Dark circles around her eyes, her stained tee and sweats quickly worried Wanda, "Nat" she spoke softly. Natasha shook her head as the tears streamed down her cheeks once again, her knees weakening as she watched Wanda come to the realization. "No" the witch shook her head as tears welled at her eyes; Natasha just nodded slowly as her endless stream of tears spoke more words than she could.

Wanda instantly pulled Natasha in for a hug, the widow wishing it was your arms wrapped around her as she broke down in her friend's arms. "You should've called, Nat" Wanda rubbed her back trying to keep strong for the redhead. It wasn't until a moment later that the cries of a new-born came from the inside of the trailer. Wanda looked up, her heart breaking even more as Natasha gently pulled away and made her way inside the trailer.

The cries of you baby girl broke Wanda's heart as she stepped inside the trailer, Natasha turned around slowly holding her daughter carefully in her arms as she looked up at Wanda. "I can't do this" Natasha spoke so softly that Wanda almost didn't hear her, she didn't stay still for another second before Wanda found herself gently scooping the baby from her friend's arms, "make her stop, please" Natasha's begging eyes filled with grief screamed at Wanda.

"She cries all the time, she doesn't sleep more than 3 or 4 hours, and I don-"

"It's okay" Wanda stopped the redhead from finishing her sentence, "I've got her" she smiled softly as her eyes took in the features of your week-old daughter filling the room with silence when Wanda started to gently rock her in her arms. "She's beautiful, Nat" Wanda commented, her tears slowly streaming down her cheeks.

"Mhm" Natasha mumbled, "I take it you got here by jet?" she asked ignoring the loving look on Wanda's face.

"Yeah, Clint's waiting" Wanda's eyes never leaving the now sleeping baby in her arms.

"Take her back to the others. Just take whatever you need, I don't care"

Wanda looked up at Natasha, "Nat, you're coming with us" she gently placed the little girl in her bassinet before looking back at Natasha. "I know you're hurting" she spoke as she walked over to her friend and fellow Avenger before placing her hand on top of Natasha's, "you need time, I understand. Let us help you, let us be there for you and that beautiful little girl you have. Don't shut yourself off now Natasha, not after how hard you've worked to let yourself come this far. Y/n would tell you the same thing, you know that" Wanda continued.

"I don't want to hear it, I don't' want to go back to the compound and hear how loved and valued Y/n was, I don't want to hear how they made everybody feel some kind of way or how their smile lit up the entire room because I know. I know, okay? I know that they had the power to make everybody around them seem special, I know they had this way about them that made you forget the shit we see! I don't want to hear how sorry everybody is that I lost them, I can't do it!"

"Then don't, we'll go home and give you the space you need. I'll look after your baby girl in the meantime, but you have to promise me one thing" Wanda looked deeply into Natasha's eyes and saw a lost soul, a lover waiting for her lover to return.

"What?" Natasha sighed.

"You talk to me, you let me in. You know Y/n would never let you slip. Nat, they were my best friend, you are my best friend and they made me promise that if anything ever happened to them that I would take care of you, they made Clint promise the same thing which is why we're here. If anybody is going to get you come back with us it'll be them" Wanda smiled so softly it was almost faint, "come home Nat".

"They are my home Wanda" Natasha sobbed, letting herself crash into Wanda gripping onto her like her life depended on it. "I know" Wanda whispered as she comforted her friend, "I know" she repeated.

----

"How's the mini widow this morning?" Tony smiled softly at the sleeping baby in the pusher as Wanda shushed him for being too loud, "I just got her to sleep, if you wake her, you deal with her" she warned in a whisper.

"Alright, what about big wi-…how's Nat?" he asked in the same lowered tone as Wanda, his joke not at all seeming funny to call Natasha a widow at this time.

"She won't even look at her let alone acknowledge her. It's been three weeks since they came home and mini widow is a month old, she needs a name before she actually gets used to mini widow"

"Want me to have a chat with her?" Tony offered.

Wanda shook her head lightly, "and push her further down the hole? I don't think so" she joked, "watch the baby, I'm going to try and get her to eat something" she added before patting him on the shoulder. "Hey, I have things to do!" Tony tried to stop Wanda from leaving, "you wake her, don't come crying to me Stark!" Wanda replied as she made her way to Natasha's room.

If Natasha wasn't in her room, she was either in the gym or by the place Mason buried you. Everybody was warned by Wanda not to hover around her or remind her of the wonderful person you were, for that, Natasha already knew how wonderful you were. She only spoke to Clint and Wanda and a few words to the others, but it was tiring for her to try and show any form of emotion. Clint was the one who was able to get her into the gym again, letting her take out her anger and hurt on a punching bag.

"I already ate but thank you" Natasha spoke softly to Wanda while she dried her soaked hair with a towel. "Beat me to it today" Wanda placed the breakfast roll on Natasha's desk, "So, how do you feel about seeing mini widow today?" she asked while watching Natasha grab her hair brush from the end of her bed.

"Wands I ca-"

"Natasha, she needs you. You're her mother, she doesn't us, she wants you" she interrupted her.

"Wanda! I can't!" Natasha snapped, "I can't look at her and not see Y/n! I can't look at her and not think about Y/n and how we were supposed to raise her together! The moment I saw her she reminded me so much of Y/n and the only moment I want to remember is the short 15 seconds I had with them both. Now please, stop asking me every day if I want to see her because I can't do it" Natasha's eyes filled with tears, "I miss her so much, I'm just not ready to let her go" she added.

"You're not letting her go, Nat. Y/n is always going to be a part of your life, they are going to live through you, through me, through the others and that beautiful angel downstairs. I know it's hard, I can't imagine the thoughts you are having but that little girl has lost her mother and if you think I'm going to let her lose her other mother, you must think I am stupid. So, I'm going to ask you every damn day if you want to see her because she is your daughter and I'd do the exact same thing if it were Y/n in your shoes right now" Wanda's tone was stern but meant care. Natasha was being stubborn, and Wanda knew you'd never allow her to continue to slip into the dark hold grief can hold over somebody.

"We're going for a walk around the compound today, if you want to join us, you're welcome too" Wanda added before leaving the room. Her heart racing, worried Natasha would have her throat for overstepping the line but instead she left the room leaving Natasha to fall to her knees in tears. She begged you to help her find the strength to be there for your daughter, to help her push through that heart ache whenever she laid eyes on her, to help her be the best mother she could. She needed you.

----

Natasha walked into the compound's kitchen with shaky hands as she looked at Clint. It had been another week since Wanda made Natasha realize she needed to gather the strength to be there for her daughter. "Where's Wanda?" she asked softly, Clint looked up from his newspaper almost a little too proudly to see his best friend asking for Wanda. "She took mini-Widow for their morning walk" he smiled softly. It was the only information Natasha needed as she made her way outside and saw Wanda pushing the stroller slowly.

"Soon enough you'll be able to run around here, you're growing so quickly little miss" Wanda coo'd as Natasha approached them slowly. Her heart wasn't racing, nor were her hands shaking anymore. With every step she took closer to the stroller and Wanda she felt at ease, a presence she could only hope was you.

"Wands" she spoke making Wanda turn to face her, "do you want to hold her?" she asked. Natasha nodded and watched as Wanda carefully scooped the mini widow from the stroller and handed her to Natasha. Tears instantly filled her eyes when she looked down at her daughter, "Hi my little angel" Natasha whispered before placing a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be inside if you need anything, okay?" Wanda rubbed Nat's back before walking away.

"You're so beautiful, you look just like your mommy" tears fell onto the tiny girl's tee as Natasha carefully started to walk around with her in her arms, rocking slightly. "Look how big you've gotten, my strong girl" she coo'd, "I'm so sorry mama needed a moment but I promise I'm never going to leave you again. I hear you've got a little nickname" she smiled softly.

Natasha returned to the building a little over an hour after walking around the compound's property with her daughter. Cries for food alerted Wanda as Natasha gently knocked on her door.

"Uh, I'm not sure what to feed her but I think she's hungry"

"I know that cry anytime" Wanda smiled softly, "I've got bottles of milk in the fridge, I'll show you" she added.

Wanda showed Natasha what to do with her bottles and how to make them, how warm to have them and a general run down on every detail of the still unnamed baby.

"Thank you, Wanda, I mean it. Being there for her and giving love when I couldn't, I needed that talk" Natasha looked up at Wanda while she fed her daughter for the first time since being back. "I know, you don't have to thank me. I'm her aunty Wanda, she loves me" Wanda scrunched her nose with a smile, "but you really need to name her because I don't think Y/n would love her getting used to mini widow" she added. Natasha chuckled lightly, careful not to disturb her feeding daughter.

"I was thinking. Y/n and I spoke about names a lot but never settled on anything and with everything, I think" she paused and took a moment to look at her little girl before looking back at Wanda, "Y/n Wanda Romanoff. After the two most important women in her life" she added with tears.

Wanda couldn't help but smile, "little Y/n, it's beautiful Nat. Now we just got to hope that little miss Y/n here doesn't get her mama's stubbornness" she joked. "I'm making no promises, at the end of the day, she is a Romanoff" Natasha playfully raised a brow.

"You never scared me Natasha, but Y/n did and she's part Y/n and part you plus she has the Avengers as her family, that's a lot scarier than you" Wanda chuckled. In that moment, Natasha knew that even though a piece of her heart died with you, nothing in the world mattered more than the little girl you brought into this world. With the love and support Natasha had surrounding her, she knew you left her in good hands and your voice would always run through her mind whenever she needed you.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #fanfiction #marvel #black widow

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