Nataha X Reader - Blog Posts

Oh woww!! I love your new Colourful series, it's really good!! I'm really interested because their relationship started off really fast and quick so I'm looking forward to where it goes👀

The way you set up the whole reveal of Natasha's personality with the temptation of snooping online and in person, then feeling disappointed when the relationship and Nat's personality doesn't quite meet expectations was also done really well- If you meant it as a re-occurring theme lol🥰

The "lore" of the red soul bonds and the destructiveness (murder suicides) contrasted with the super strong life changing bonds was something I really enjoyed as well. I'm not sure if this is meant to be a dark Nat series, but I'm really enjoying seeing her true colours, she is so charismatic- suave (as you said💕) and like a dream almost yet she seems so jealous and possessive of what is "hers" like the first few chapters where she is uncharacteristically anxious, it is written super well!! I feel like Natasha is already very attached to reader because this is her first soul bond, and I suspect something she was super looking forward to after defecting from the red room

Also I'm not sure if you remembered an old comment I made on your other series but I'm really happy to read a somewhat 'darkish' series about Natasha falling for reader this time! Your writing has also gotten a lot better, the scene transitions are smoother and make more sense!! I'm also a personal fan of the plot as I'm interested to see how you write Nat falling for the ""original"" this time, we all know what happened with Katya haha

I tried to send this as an ask twice but my tumblr is acting out so I'm doing this as a reblog instead😅

Colorful - Mini Chapter 6.5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 Part 5 Part 6

But it turns out, there are a lot of expectations.

You wake up to more missed calls and text messages than you’ve ever had in your entire life.

ClaireBear: HUNTY! WTF?!

ClaireBear: CALL ME BACK THIS INSTANT OR I AM GOING ON TIKTOK ABOUT HOW MY SISTER IS THE BLACK WIDOWS SOUL BOND

ClaireBear: I swear to fucking all my lort hoebag if you don’t call me back by tonight I’m telling MeeMaw and I’m going over there with the receipts.

Ugh. 15 year olds are fun. You do need to call her though.

Yari: SO I was about to text you because I was a little concerned that you haven’t come home in like a week, but I don’t pry. But girl. Next time maybe tell me before I see it on TMZ. We’re friends… also are you moving out? Also are you still coming tonight?

You are friends. New friends but, she’s your roommate and you like her and you really should have let her know you weren’t dead this week.

Grubs: LOL OH MY GOD (shit ton of emojis)

Texts from unknown numbers and people you kinda knew in high school, your cousin in Birmingham and…

Ponyboy: Fuck you. I would have told you. I would have told you first.

Fuck.

You crawl out of bed, Natasha still sound asleep beside you, and go take a shower, scrubbing away the makeup you didn’t bother to take off last night.

She’s still sleeping when you dress yourself back in her clothes and walk into her kitchen to make her coffee and toast.

When she finally does emerge from down the hall, you’re reminded again of why you don’t really drink and you smirk a little into your coffee at her obvious struggle.

But she looks so cute like this -- soft and a little disoriented -- messy red braid, baggy gray shorts, smudged black eyeliner. She looks very normal. Very human. Very attainable.

But the texts and calls are rolling harsh in your stomach and they are a rude reminder of something you already knew--. This was too fast. You weren’t ready. And you didn’t trust your gut which is making itself so well known now you’re not even sure you can drink anymore coffee.

Still you smile when she walks up behind you in her cozy, vulnerable space, and wraps her arms around you and kisses your cheek. You are so happy, so relieved, that despite all of your discomfort and uncertainty, when her lips touch your cheek and her hands brush the bare skin of your abdomen, your bond doesn’t seem to reflect your concerns. It’s the same smoky, shiny red that it usually is.

And you want to keep it like that forever.

You’re so sick of watching gold turn to sand.

But this started way too fast and even though you know she won’t agree, you have to slow it down if it’s going to stand a chance.

You tried that before once. You thought everything would be ok as soon as that beautiful boy touched you and your souls connected. As far as you were concerned, you might as well have gotten married at that frat party covered in beer wearing someone else's dress. You were destined.

And you tried so hard for so long and so did he and it got… so ugly.

Maybe if you’d actually taken the time to fall in love with each other instead of just assuming that you should, you could have both saved yourselves a lot of pain.

And you promised yourself you would never again be the girl who lived for her soulbonds. You’d make your own way in the world.

Then the second you meet your next soulbond you're tripping all over yourself to do the same thing - keep them happy, make them love you - even though you know how that ends.

Pain pain pain. On both ends.

You squeeze the hands she has wrapped around your waist before carefully untangling yourself and making your way further into her kitchen to pour her a mug of coffee. (Her own coffee. That you’d just taken the liberty to make).

She takes the mug from you graciously and sits herself at her kitchen counter before asking, “So what should we do today?”

You tense a little and school your face before turning back around from the coffee pot to face her and say as casually as you can, “Well, I need to go back to my place in a few.”

She looks confused. “What? Why?” She asks.

You sigh.

“Natasha I haven’t been home since Wednesday. It’s Saturday morning, I have literally been wearing your underwear, Babe,” you laugh a little. “I just need to go home for a while.”

“OK,” she’s quick to agree, “Let me just change real quick, I can take you by your place to get some stuff.”

“No,” you cut her off a little more harshly than you meant to but you stop yourself and start again. “No, I can take the train, the station is right across the street. It’ll be faster anyways. Also, I have plans tonight.”

She goes still and her eyes narrow and you know what she’s thinking when she asks in monotone, “What plans?”

He’s here now. She knows. And that’s what she thinks your plans are.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and get defensive. Because those AREN’T your plans and you’re allowed to have a life. You drain the rest of your coffee.

“My roommate, Yari, she’s a photographer,” you calmly explain. “She has a showing tonight in a little gallery in Chelsea. You know, cheap wine and shitty cheese plates, but it’s a big deal for her.”

“Oh,” Natasha’s stiff shoulders sag. “That’s great. Can I come?”

What, no. And also how rude....

“Um,” you start. “I don’t… I don’t think that’s the best idea. This is a big moment for her, and, in case you haven’t noticed, you and I tend to pull a lot of focus. I don’t want to upstage her at her own show.”

It’s the truth but it’s only one of them and it’s the easier one and you just hope she can accept that as gracefully as she took her coffee.

“Yeah, ok that makes sense.” She sounds disappointed but not mad. “So you’re coming back here after, then?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure,” That’s a lie. You’re sure you aren’t. “I don’t know what the after party plans are.” She looks so sad, “But either way, let’s get brunch tomorrow, ok?” you give her what you hope is a reassuring smile.

“Yes. Absolutely!” she agrees quickly. “I’ll pick you up in the morning at 11 if… if you don’t come back tonight.”

You flash her a big grin as you make your way out of the kitchen and towards the elevator to leave. “Sounds great!” you say. “See you in the morning!”

“(Y/N),” she stops you as your hand pushes the down button. “I really do hope you come back here tonight.”

“We’ll see!” you say much more cheery than you feel just as the elevator doors slide open to take you back down into the world.

Tags: @hoeforwandanat @krispytidalwavesheep @blackxwidowsxwife

This is so good, dark but kind natasha is so sweet and you write her so well❤️

No Rest for the Wicked

Natasha x reader AU Drabble

Ghosts

You couldn’t believe the price. Not for a place like this. Not in this city.

And that alone should have sounded all the warning bells in your head. No one would sell a house like this here for that minuscule amount.

But you were so broke and so desperate and maybe it seemed too good to be true, but take the good that comes your way, right?

Everything was perfect on the walk through. You were in awe. Such a magnificent place in the middle of town.

And you did ask, at the end. Because dreamer or not, you aren’t an idiot.

“I want it.” You told the real-estate agent. “It’ll cost everything I have - everything they left me, but I have to know- why is it so cheap?”

She is pristine. Black pencil skirts and clear stockings- hair in such a tight bun it actually tightens the skin of her face. (Cool trick, you register for years later. Will have to remember that one someday.)

Anyway

She is not the type who seems to be easily frazzled but she is noticeably uncomfortable at your inquiry.

She clears her throat and fixes her already perfect hair.

“Someone died here,” she confesses. “Violently.”

Oh, that’s all? You don’t believe in ghosts.

“We’ve had 3 other buyers pull out in escrow,” she continues. “Who knows. Maybe she’ll like you.”

Yeah you’re still not buying it - the story that is- not the house- you are definitely buying the house.

“I’ll sign and give you the down payment right now,” you state with confidence.

You move in that afternoon.

And the place feels like a dream. It feels like a fresh start- a balm to your soul after all your loss.

There are some— strange occurrences. Your glasses moving from your nightstand to your bathroom sink. Drawers that you swear you never touched hanging open, your dog— really seems to hate this place.

But you chalk it up to trauma- you’ve just experienced a huge loss and of course your headspace isn’t good.

But everything else here is.

You love your house, your new job is going great, and you just started dating this person who (fingers crossed) seems good for you.

So what if your house is haunted?

You tell yourself that everyday.

Until you finally see her.

And she is… beautiful.

But so terrifying because there is not doubt in your sleepy mind when you walk into your kitchen one morning (when your dog seems particularly upset) and see this red head beauty already standing at your counter in a white night dress, holding a knife, —that she’s dead.

You fight the urge to run and it’s a good instinct, you think. Because she’s looking at you so hopefully. Like you can see her.

And you are usually quite eloquent and articulate but all you can manage to say is,”Are you her? Did you die here?”

And oh my goodness don’t antagonize a ghost but… she just gives you a kind smile and says, “yes. I’m Natasha. I’ve been watching you.”

You swallow and say, “I know,” before joining her at the counter to drink coffee.

And after that—- you kind of become—- friends?

You welcome her presence and when she materializes you just… hang out and watch TV. She isn’t scary.

You want to know, but you never ask how she died. That seems so private and like something maybe she will tell you eventually. When you’re better friends.

She starts showing herself to you more and more and you honestly like her. Like of course it’s weird she’s a ghost (or a product of your medication) but she starts to become the best friend you’ve ever had.

You can tell her everything because she can’t tell anyone else. She’s dead.

But her physicality is real. And when she is present she can touch you and it’s so nice to be held.

You watch old movies with your head on her shoulder and her arms around your waist but— she’s always gone in the morning and you wake up alone on the couch.

You finally convince yourself out of your dead girl day dreams when you get a better psychiatrist (and better meds) and you meet someone —- who is a dream.

She never comes around when they’re there but you can feel her—- hovering. And you convince yourself you just need a higher prescription.

You’re crazy. Meds are your saving grace. There is no ghost in your house. You just went a little nuts for a while.

But then he has to go on a business trip to Dubai. For a month.

And your back alone in that place.

Except she won’t let you be alone. She’s back and she’s angry. And you don’t know how to apologize to a dead person when you’ve done nothing wrong.

But she haunts your every move. She won’t let you sleep.

Until one night you are so terrified and so desperate you just scream, “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

They’re the last words you’ll ever speak alive.

You never asked her but suddenly you see clear as day the man she married — choking her— to death.

Just as you feel her hands around your neck.

You’re so cold when you come out of her memory and you know, you know without even having to think about it - you’re dead.

You turn to the side and she is laying next to you with a soft smile on her face, brushing a little bit of your hair away from your eyes.

“You killed me,” you croak out.

“Yes,” she acknowledges.

“Why?!” You plead

“You asked me what I wanted. I wanted you. Forever.”

You’ll never even get to know if there is a heaven. You’ll always be trapped in her hell.