Natasha Romanov X Reader - Blog Posts

to play the fool pt 3

| natasha x fem!reader | request by @strangegardentaco | part one, two

warnings: blood, injury, IDIOTS

a/n: final (?) part! hope you guys enjoy

You collapse through your window, a tangle of legs and arms, and sprawl across the carpet.

The ceiling is murky in the dim afternoon light. You can still smell smoke, woven into the fabric of your suit, the twists of your hair.

You don't know how long the two of you lie there, unmoving. Natasha is a dead weight across your bruised ribs. You can smell something else, too: blood in your nostrils, on your tongue.

The sun must go down at some point: it's as if you blink, and the darkness closes in. It wakes you up. When you can no longer see the outline of the couch in the dark, the tunnel-panic clamps hard down on your heart. You grip Natasha by the shoulders and push her with trembling arms until she rolls onto the carpet beside you, and you shove yourself upright, your breath hot against the inside of your mask. You pull it desperately off, fingers catching in your hair, and discard it. You tug at the laces on your boots by the light from the window, trying to calm your heart, to catch your breath. You can still feel the rock against your palms, the soil sneaking down your shirt.

The boots come off and you get to your feet, stumble your way to the light switch. Your pulse staggers on doggedly, faster than you can count. You flick the switch and the room floods with light. You sink against the off-white wall and press your face to the cool, lumpy paint. You don’t dare close your eyes.

Beyond the couch, Natasha is draped over the floor like a dead thing, red ponytail splayed across your carpet. You stay by the wall, your eyes on her, until your heart has slowed and your chest has loosened and your head is firmly on your shoulders.

You move across the room on shaking legs, using the furniture as crutches, towards her. You roll her onto her back, yank up her sleeve and search for a pulse: your fingers leave smears of dirt and blood across her pale wrist. You feel the beat, shallow and weak under your thumb. Good. Good.

Your brain won’t work, neurons firing sluggishly. You have to wake up. You have to assess the situation.

All you really want to do is collapse on the floor next to Natasha and sleep.

But you won’t. You tug your gloves off, wincing as they peel away from your ruined fingernails, and check Natasha’s airway. She’s breathing. You try to think.

You’ve done this before, a hundred times. You’ve stitched yourself up. You’ve dug bullets from skin, you’ve cleared grit from wounds, you’ve done CPR and cracked ice packs and set bones. You can do it.

You hesitate only once more, when your hands move to unzip Natasha’s suit. God, if she ever wakes up, she’s going to be so mad at you. But you take a look at her grey, peaceful face, and worry overtakes embarrassment. You pull the zip down: beneath, her undershirt is ripped and bloodied and dirty with sweat and soil. You peel the suit off her shoulders and down, scanning for wounds - a slice down her upper arm, a huge splay of bruises over her stomach, grazes on her elbows and knees and hips. Little nicks on her legs, seeping blood. Another larger knife wound stretches over her ribs when you roll her onto her side.

And that leg, the one that had been trapped under a rock when you’d first found her: it’s bruised and the knee is bent at an odd angle. Dislocated, perhaps.

She’s battered. You hate it, a deep well of anger that rises like a bucket drawing water the more you uncover. You hate that too, that you care so damn much. She doesn’t care about you. She barely tolerates you - she only ever talked to you to keep you out of trouble. What right do you have to care?

You eventually decide to move Natasha to the bathroom: that’s where your first aid kit is, and the light is bright in there and you have a multitude of fluffy bathmats that you can use to carpet the floor. You hook your hands under Natasha’s arms, brace your legs and pull. You drag her across the carpet, through the kitchen and into the bathroom. You lay her down halfway through the door, and drag the first aid kit and a few bathmats out of the cupboard, laying them haphazardly across the floor. Then you grab Natasha again and haul her in the rest of the way.

You collapse down beside her, your spine to the cold bathtub, knees up, and rest your head on the lip of the bath. You catch your breath. Natasha’s blood seeps into one of your bathmats and you groan, but make no move to shift her. Your energy is spent.

With tired fingers, you tug the first aid kit towards your feet. You unzip it, flip it open. Suture packs and bandages and single-use ice packs stare back at you. This is useless. You can barely lift your head.

But you manage it. It takes you hours. You clean Natasha’s wounds, slather her bruises in arnica, stitch her up, all the while keeping an eye on her sleeping face. She doesn’t so much as twitch, not even when your hand cramps in the middle of a loop through the knife wound on her ribs. Deep sleeper, you think, and you want to slap yourself for noticing anything about her. She’s not your friend.

So why is she unconscious on your bathroom floor? Why did you crawl through a hundred metres of rock to rescue her?

“Fuck you,” you say. Her body doesn’t reply. You don’t want to feel like this, panic sitting perpetually in your throat like a stone lodged there. You shouldn’t have gone. You should have let the Avengers fend for their damn selves, like Natasha was so adamant that they would. You rest your head against the lip of the bath again, and your eyes glaze over. You mustn’t sleep, though: sleep means dark.

The pain reaches you late. Something aside from the grazes and bruises and blood still sitting heavy in your nose. At first you think it’s a remnant of the knot in your throat, of the tide of adrenaline receding slowly and sadly and leaving you on the brink of useless, useless tears as you stare at Natasha’s stone-still face. But it’s not.

It becomes a burn, a sting in your side first, then a flare that becomes impossible to ignore. You unzip your jacket, letting gravity pull your heavy hand downwards.

You’re bleeding. You register this slowly, the soaked and half-dry patch of your dark top, the wetness uncomfortable on your hip. “Ow,” you say, to the empty room. You poke, and the pain intensifies, fades back to ground state. You hiss in through your teeth as you roll your shirt slowly up.

It’s a long gash down your side, the edges of the wound pink and raw like a burn, steadily seeping blood. The gun. The shot. The burst of energy from your eyes. The bullet must have grazed your side, deep. “Ow,” you say, and it drops from your lip as a whimper. With fresh blood on your fingers, you fumble for the first aid kit and drag it towards you, searching one-handed for gauze to soak up the blood. Your shirt keeps slipping down. Frustrated, you pull the shirt up and grab it with your teeth, then press the gauze hard to your side. It hurts, burns, and you grunt through your teeth, tongue against the roof of your mouth. Your eyes flicker sideways to check that Natasha is still sleeping.

The stitches are torturous, dipping in through your ragged skin and drawing the sides of the wound together as you pinch with one hand, your eyes watering and tears spilling onto your cheeks. Your stomach is a mess of blood and water that you’ve splashed on to clean yourself, your pants soaked with it. You swear into your top, damp with saliva. You feel filthy, your nails black with dirt, snot and blood welling in your nostrils. You finish the last knot and think desperately of a shower.

But you should wake Natasha, before she chokes on her own vomit in her sleep or something. You can’t leave her unconscious on your bathroom floor.

You strip your ruined shirt off and tie it around your face, trying to ignore the stink of blood in your nose. You don’t know why you bother to hide at this point, but something about the covering makes you feel safer, surer of yourself. You don’t bother with your hair.

You take Natasha by the shoulders and shake her, once, twice.

“Natasha,” you say, your voice slightly muffled by the shirt. “Natasha!” Louder. Nothing. You grab your phone from where you’ve discarded it on the edge of your bloodied sink and search for an alarm sound: the most annoying, repetitive ring on there. You press play. It rings. And rings.

Natasha’s eyebrows move, shift into a frown. Her eyes open into slits. You don’t turn the alarm off, not yet. The ringing becomes louder, more insistent, and she blinks twice, lips parting, tongue passing over them. Her eyes slide to you, a little unfocused.

“Asshole,” she says, her mouth barely moving.

“Huh?” you say, playing it up.

“Turn that the fuck off.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply sharply, and you cut the alarm off. Natasha says nothing for a few seconds. She licks her lips again, stares glassily up at the ceiling. You wait, ignoring your pounding, anxious, traitor heart.

“It’s bright,” she observes.

“Your knee is dislocated,” you say. “I would’ve put it back, but I didn’t think that would be a pleasant wake-up.” Her eyes shift back to you. You try to ignore them, how brilliantly green they are, how keen and observant even in their half-focused state. Impossible.

“Why are you still wearing that?” she asks. Her voice is rough. Your fingers touch the shirt over your face.

“Who was the kid?” you counter. Natasha sighs. She digs her elbows into the floor and shoves herself up into what looks like a painful sitting position. She notices the blood and water and stitches and bruises and perhaps the fact that she’s in her underwear.

“Oh,” she says. Her fingers drift across the line of stitches over her ribs. You might be imagining it, but you think you see her shudder.

“I have a paramedic certificate,” you say. “And like - a shit ton of experience. I go to a lot of protests as a medic.”

“You shouldn’t have done that while I was asleep,” she says.

“I don’t have any anaesthesia,” you reply, slightly irritated. A thank you would be nice. But Natasha doesn’t thank you. She rises fast, face clenched in pain, flips up your toilet lid and retches into it. Her spine curves, the vertebrae showing starkly under her pale skin. Muscles roll as she convulses again, but you don’t hear the splatter of vomit. She must be dry-heaving - by the look of the bruises on her stomach, that will hurt.

She stills eventually, panting into your toilet bowl. Her hair snakes down her back, the nape of her neck damp with sweat.

“Do you want some water?” you ask.

“No.”

“Okay.” You wipe your hands on your ruined bathmats. “Do you want a shower?”

“Leave me alone,” Natasha says. Her voice echoes in the toilet, but is somehow still incredibly small. You frown at her curved back, heat rushing to your face. How can she make you feel this stupid in your own home?

“Fine,” you say. The bathroom is far too small for two people. Too cramped, too bright, too hot. You get unsteadily to your feet and leave, shutting the door hard behind you. She slumps to the floor with a rustle, and you walk away before you can hear anymore.

You wash off in the sink, your ruined shirt discarded in the kitchen bin. The water lands cold on your feet and you don’t care, can’t bring yourself to care. The world is bright beyond your window, even this late at night, the glitter of street lamps and windows and billboards. Maybe even the orange glow of fire. This is where your effort to become a meaningful part of that world has landed you. Splashing yourself with cold water in the kitchen sink, banished from your own bathroom and bleeding like an idiot.

You turn the tap off and pat yourself dry with a tea towel that ends up in the bin as well, smeared with blood. You fetch a towel from your room, lay it over the couch and lower yourself gingerly onto it, rest your head back. The room is well lit, warm now. You won’t sleep. You want to, but you know it won’t come. You probably won’t sleep easy for the next week.

Inevitably, as you gaze out of the window from your seat, your thoughts return to the idiot woman hacking up blood and nothing in your bathroom. You can’t hear her, so she’s not showering, not throwing up. You have a sudden awful vision of her lying passed out on the blood-soaked bathmats, frothing red at the mouth, and you have to stop yourself from getting up to check on her.

You sit there as the sun comes up. Natasha doesn’t come out, even as the hours drip past, and eventually you make up your mind to talk to her. You pull your mask back on, grimacing at the dried blood and smell of sweat in it, and you walk to the bathroom door on unsteady legs.

“Natasha?” you say, tentatively. No answer.

Then, just as you’re about to call again; “Yeah,” she says, from within the bathroom. You hesitate, trawling for what to say next.

“You can have a shower if you want.”

“You can come in if you want,” she replies dryly. You take that as an invitation and open the door to find her sitting with her back to the wall, head tipped back. Her face is still ashen. You expect her to say something, an apology maybe, but instead she sits there with her damn wounded pride and stares you down.

“Nice mask,” she says. You seriously consider kicking her out at that moment, but the feeling fades just as quickly as it comes on. Because her eyes drop almost shamefully and her fists curl in her lap. It’s not an apology, not a thank you, nowhere near to anything you’d accept for either of those things, but for some fucking reason you can read those movements like words on a page and it softens your resolve to be harsh with her.

“Shower,” you say shortly. “You stink.”

“You stink,” she fires back at you. You turn and leave again before you can snap at her.

You hear the shower switch on as you’re eating an apple and glaring aimlessly through the kitchen window. Natasha doesn’t shower for very long. You’re only halfway through your apple when you hear the water shut off again. You stay where you are, hear her climb out of the bathtub, feet squeaking on the ceramic.

She calls your name. You take a large bite of the apple and toss it into the trash can. You take your time walking to the bathroom, and when you open the door she’s wrapped herself in the shower curtain and is scowling up at you from her seat on the edge of the bathtub.

“What?” you say, your voice faltering from the anger you’d meant to inject. Her eyes are large and her lashes are wet and her bare, pale shoulders are scattered with freckles and small wounds and you rip your eyes away from her.

“I didn’t want to use your towel,” she says. She shifts, and the curtain rustles around her.

You roll your eyes and turn to leave. You pull a towel from the hall cupboard and throw it through the door at her: she catches it before it hits her face, with a wince.

She clutches it to her chest and you raise your eyebrows at her.

“Anything else, your majesty?”

“Why are you so angry with me?” Natasha asks, and that heat, that hatred with yourself that you’ve lain your thoughts out before her, rises again from your stomach.

“You-” you say, but your throat is thick with emotion now and you know you can’t explain it.

Natasha tilts her head at you. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this,” she says.

“What?” you exclaim. “Are you serious?!”

“I told you to leave,” she fires back. “It’s not my fault you’ve got a hero complex like all the rest of them-”

“Hero complex?” you spit. “You’re the one who ran alone into an explosion to save a baby! Let me have this, you said that! Hero complex my fucking ass.” Natasha opens her mouth again and you step back and slam the door on her, your heart trembling in your chest with rage.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

She doesn’t emerge from the bathroom after that until you swallow as much of your pride as you can and hand her sweats and a t-shirt without looking her in the eye. You feel like she’s trying to catch you off guard, constantly now, and you half expect her to drop her towel or something just to shock you, make fun of you. But she doesn’t. She takes the clothes and waits until you’ve left, and then she wanders out of the bathroom in her borrowed clothes, limping on her bad knee. You look over at her from the couch, where you’re spooning cereal into your mouth under your mask.

You frown. “Your knee,” you say before you can stop yourself. She looks surprised like she expects you to snap at her again.

“I put it back,” she replies, with a shrug. Like it’s nothing. You gape at her for a second, then pull yourself together when you realise she can’t see your expression.

Shower. Dress. You’re still practically half-naked and you’re cold now, and you suddenly don’t want to be the only one undressed. You set your cereal down and move past her to the bathroom.

“Ice in the freezer,” you say, and you shut the door behind you. You pull the mask off and wipe with relief at the condensation on your face.

The shower is glorious, warm, and the pressure harsh on your shoulders. It’s freezing at first, which makes you jump and curse - Natasha must have taken her shower cold. You spend as long as you dare under the spray, ever conscious of running up your water bill for no real reason. When you step out, you see that Natasha has left her towel folded on the window sill. Her ruined suit is nowhere to be seen until you pedal open the bin and you see the suit, the ruined bathmats and a length of bloodied bandage.

“Huh,” you say to yourself, quietly, without meaning to. You pull on a jumper that won’t rub your stitches and loose shorts, and you step out of the bathroom. The steam follows you out like a cloud. Natasha is slumped in your armchair with your frozen bag of peas on her knee, the early morning sunlight glowing across her face. Her eyes are closed.

You pull open your fridge and reach for a beer.

“I feel like it’s a bad idea to drink right now,” she says.

You look over. She still hasn’t opened her eyes. “Shut up,” you say. You flick the cap off on your counter and drink deeply.

Natasha shifts in her seat, to face you. That’s when you realise you forgot to put your mask back on. You freeze. Your stomach lurches.

Natasha stares at you for a second too long, her mouth moving like she’d been about to say something. Then her eyes flick away, almost guiltily. In the silence that follows, you both try hard not to acknowledge it. But your face feels cold and bare, under the stare that lingers even as Natasha sets her eyes firmly on the arm of the couch.

Your heart thunders like a drum.

“Thank you,” Natasha says, almost too quiet to hear.

“What?” you say, shock reflexes taking over even as the words register. Natasha looks at you again, eyes narrowed, like she thinks you’re messing with her. And sure. It would be easier to mess with her, draw it out of her again and again and revel in your victory but-

-you don’t want to. You don’t even know what she’s thanking you for: some idiot, pretentious part of you could imagine she’s thanking you for the honour of seeing your face - as if she ever would. Maybe the stitches, the clothes, the shower, maybe she’s thanking you for dragging her out of that hot, damp hell-hole on trembling legs.

“You’re welcome,” you say, and you take a long sip so you don’t have to see her face change.

More silence, thick as a wall between the two of you. You don’t want to think of her shaking and trembling against you, how determined you’d felt right then in the dark, but the images come anyway.

“What happened to you?” she asks, and she nods at your side, where the deep graze and the stitches are. You look down. You remember all the questions you have for her, that’s she’s so adamant not to answer.

“Bullet,” you say. “Grazed me. Some idiot in a hood.”

“You don’t know who it was?”

“I was a little too preoccupied to ID them,” you reply, a bite in your voice. You’re not angry. You’re just thinking real hard about how heavy Natasha had felt against you. Like a corpse. You tilt your head at her. “They wanted to know where that baby was. You feel like filling me in?”

Her face closes off. “No,” she says.

“Right. So I got shot for nothing.”

“Did you blast them?” Natasha asks, ignoring your comment.

“They’re dead,” you reply, dully. You look at the floor. She’s fallen silent. “I didn’t mean to, I just-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

You can’t look at her. “Hawkeye will have found them by now.” She rustles the bag of peas, rearranges them. “What did they want with the kid, Natasha?” Now that she can hear you, is awake and looking you right in the eye, or attempting to, her name feels naked coming from your mouth. Raw and too personal.

“Doesn’t concern you,” she says.

“It does,” you say. You wait for anger, but your body’s too tired for it. “Please just tell me what’s going on.”

She shifts again, and pain materialises on her face with the movement, for just a second. You rest a hand on the countertop and wait it out.

“Fine,” she says eventually. “Sit down. You’re dead on your feet.” That irks you, for a reason you can’t decode.

“I’m fine.”

“Sit down.”

“Jesus Christ.” You move to the couch and throw yourself down, glaring at her. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she says dryly. She molds the bag of peas to her knee and begins to explain.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

She falls asleep on the armchair to let you digest what the hell you’ve just heard, and the sun comes up through the window like a torchbeam. You call into work at eight, holding your nose closed, and tell your manager you have a shitty cold. He answers with a grunt and hangs up. Easy enough. You toss the phone onto the cushions beside you.

The silence coating your apartment seems to buffer the noise of the outside world, of car horns and voices. Natasha sleeps fitfully, half-woken every few minutes by the sunlight on her face, but you’re too exhausted to get up and close the curtains. You finish your bottle and set it down on the coffee table, where it sweats condensation.

You don’t know when you fall asleep, but you wake with your heart in your mouth and your hands fisted in the couch cushions. You suck in breaths through trembling jaws. Visions of tight tunnels and blood under your nails and Natasha’s ashen face fade as you blink them away.

The armchair is empty when you come to your senses. Something overcomes you: a wave of disappointment maybe, or regret - and then you hear the toilet flush and you feel monumentally stupid. You’d missed her for a second there. What right did you have to miss her? Why should she make you feel that way?

Natasha emerges from the bathroom, drying her hands. “It’s midday,” she tells you, and your heart lurches in shock. “You don’t sleep very well.” She leans a hip on the kitchen counter and pushes a hand through her hair, observing you through quarter-closed eyes.

“Neither do you,” you say. Her eyes narrow. “Can you get me a drink?”

She turns away, turns on the sink faucet and fills a glass with water. She rounds the edge of the counter and hands it to you.

“You know what I meant,” you say, but you take it anyway.

“You’ll get a beer belly,” she says, her voice flat. She must be tired if she’s too exhausted to tease you properly. You pull your sweatshirt up and poke at the muscle on your stomach.

“I think I’m okay,” you say. You raise your head to take a sip of water and Natasha’s eyes move from your stomach to your face. She looks awkward standing there: and that’s not a word you’d ever think to use to describe Black Widow. But she doesn’t look like Black Widow right now - she looks like a woman barely scraping five foot six in a t-shirt way too big for her, and the sun is turning her hair copper-gold through the window. She looks normal.

“Stop staring at me,” she says.

“You first.”

She breaks the eye contact.

“What are-” you don’t know what you intended to ask. You stare down at your water and collect your thoughts. “Do they know where you are?” you say eventually.

She raises one eyebrow at you. Your heart does awful, traitorous things in your chest and you hold her gaze for as long as you can. “You mean the Avengers? I don’t let them track me.”

“Okay,” you say. “You know, you can sit down if you want.” Your stomach growls. The corner of her mouth twitches up. “I’m hungry,” you say. “Sue me.”

“So eat.”

“Too tired.”

“God, you are pathetic.”

That should piss you off. It doesn’t. You give her a lazy grin and secretly wonder to yourself how the hell all this happened to you.

Natasha smooths down a loose thread on the seam of her (your) sweatpants. They’re rolled up twice at the waist. “Thank you,” she says. “For coming back for me.”

“Choose a better way to die next time,” you say, instead of something nice or gracious or meaningful.

Natasha sighs. “I don’t know why I bother with you,” she says, sinking onto the arm of the couch, above you.

“I’m irresistible.”

“You’re an idiot.”

You think about calling for pizza, a half-smile on your face. You wipe it off quickly, but not before she sees.

“I wouldn’t have left you there,” you say. Her eyes drift away. Makes you think about who else left her behind before. You don’t think promises mean much to her: they’re only words. Like threats. Blackmail. You don’t think words get under her skin as much as they do yours. “Swear.”

“I know.” She looks down at her hands. “I tried to stay awake. I thought you weren’t coming, in the end.”

You have this stupid, terrible urge to reach out and take her by the hand and tell her - what? What would you tell her that would mean anything?

It doesn’t subside. The moment passes. You slump into the couch.

“You know, you didn’t have to hide your face,” Natasha says. “When we got back.” She’s stumbling over words.

“Yeah, you already knew what I looked like,” you reply. You shrug. “It just felt better, having it on.”

“I didn’t know what you looked like. You know, you’re not too bad at the whole secret identity thing.”

You frown. “Then how did you find me the first time?”

“I followed you,” Natasha says casually. “You were bleeding everywhere. You weren’t moving very fast. I guessed which apartment was yours.”

“You guessed?” you echo. You imagine Natasha turning up in Nadia Henstridge’s apartment next door: the woman is verging on ninety - seeing Natasha in her boots and leather jacket sitting in the dark would probably send her headfirst into a heart attack.

Natasha grins. “I’m a very good guesser.”

“Sure,” you say. More silence: you hate the silence. You don’t want to hear your own heartbeat, or Natasha’s breathing. “The mask made me feel safer,” you say. I didn’t want you to be disappointed, you don’t say.

Natasha looks down at you. She reaches out and touches your cheek, softly with the pads of her fingers. You stare at her, your heart in your ears, drowning out everything. “You look better without it,” she says.

You want to kiss her. You realise that, what that stupid, burning heat in your chest is. Once you’ve found that urge, you can’t stop thinking about it, even as she withdraws her hand and looks away.

Do something, you scream at yourself. All this inward thinking is driving you insane. Say something.

You reach for her hand, and you intend to tug her round to look at you, but you pull too hard and she overbalances, sliding off the arm of the couch and onto the seat beside you with a surprised yelp.

“What the hell?” Natasha exclaims. Her bright green eyes are narrowed, cheeks flushed - God, she looks incredible.

“Um,” you say. You can’t do it. You can’t do it.

“Um,” Natasha says, mocking you, and she slides a hand into your hair and pulls you in to kiss her.

It’s easier than you’d thought it would be. Her face fits right to yours. Her lips are warm. You can feel where it’s split, taste the blood. You kiss her back, one hand wrapped around hers, one settled on her knee. Your chest tightens, loosens, excitement firing like sparks in your brain.

She pulls away from you. You take a second to open your eyes.

“Idiot,” she says. You frown at her. “I’m gonna kiss you again,” she says. You make an agreeable noise and she pulls you in, hand on the back of your neck. She steals your breath. She kisses your bottom lip, the corner of your mouth, and your fist curls in the fabric of your sweatpants.

The two of you surface, still centimetres apart, and you suck in a breath. “Thank you for coming back for me,” she says, against your mouth. Her hand loosens in yours.

“Always,” you say.

“You have really nice abs.”

You laugh, a crazed little giggle. She grins at you. You kiss her again, mouths half-open, smiles half-formed.

The next time you pull apart, she runs her thumb down the column of your throat.

“I’m still hungry,” you say, to distract yourself from the feel of her skin on yours.

“I’ll buy you pizza,” Natasha says.

“To thank me for saving your life.”

“No, this is to thank you for saving my life.” She tilts her head sideways and kisses your neck, and a gasp of surprise falls from your open mouth. She laughs, sending vibrations through your skin, into your bones.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

She orders pepperoni. You accuse her of playing it safe and she swats you with a pillow, and the two of you eat out on the fire escape and watch the day roll past. You rest your head on her shoulder.

“This is fucking good,” Natasha mumbles around a mouthful. She wipes her fingers on the pizza box and reaches for another slice. She crams half of it into her mouth at once.

“You eat a lot for such a small person,” you observe. Natasha throws you a playful look of disgust.

“You’re like, an inch taller than me.”

“An inch can make all the difference,” you joke. She slaps your shoulder halfheartedly. A truck horn goes off in the distance. There are three wisps of cloud in the sky, and the metal of the fire escape is warm beneath you. Natasha’s clean hand winds its way into yours.

“I like you a lot,” she admits, quiet. Your heart swells instantly.

“I like you too,” you say. You squeeze her hand. Silence, once again. You know what you’re both thinking. Natasha words it first.

“They’ll be looking for me,” she says.

“I know. You should go.”

She sighs, and her breath ruffles your hair. “I will. I don’t want them coming after you.”

“I thought you said you don’t let them track you,” you say. A little, helpless worm of fear squirms into your words. You try to squash it.

“Hawkeye can find me,” Natasha says. “If he tries really hard.” She snorts to herself.

“Where will you go?” you ask. “I’ll give you some shoes.”

“Manhattan,” Natasha says, almost dismally. “I’ll come back, though.” She looks at you. She presses her face to your hair. “Promise.” You smile at the sun, eyes half-shut. You hope she catches it.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

You lend her sneakers and help her into a coat and you swallow jealousy when you open the door for her. They have her all the time, see her smile and hear her talk: why don’t you get a little more time?

You kiss her hard, so she’ll remember, so she will come back, even though you know she will. Her hands curl into your shirt, and she grins against your mouth. When you separate, she licks her lips.

“I wanted a good one,” you say. She tugs on a lock of your hair.

“I’ll come back for you,” she says, in earnest.

“I believe you.”

And you watch her walk away, until she’s all the way out of sight down the corridor.

requests | masterlist

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar  @maggieromanov  @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizli @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st  @rysnwilder  @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @picnicmic   @smallestavenger @lainjupi   @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @emril-osvigne

notes: PLEASE REBLOG IM REALLY PROUD OF THIS ONE. pt 4? idk what I would write though

reunion

nsfw nat/f!reader

note: uh.. foreplay? idk i didnt edit this or read this, it was in my drafts and i never finished it because I’m lazy also i think this was supposed to be mediocre gfs verse but i forgot where i was going with this so here u go

Keep reading

conk

tags: sfw dark!nat/f!reader

summary: you strike back. accidentally.

note: please fictional bde gf kill the bug in my room. also take a shot every time u see the word spoon, also unedited

Keep reading

to play the fool pt 2

| natasha x fem!reader |

warnings: injuries, idiots, claustrophobia tw

a/n: I know I wrote this but DAMN just kiss already

Keep reading

OPF request, natasha braiding R's hair after a shower together with some discussion about their past during the braiding? Also some of the head lean backward, pulling on braid for a kiss please :) If you'd like (I would also love it) the showering scene with them both being dumb and nearly getting soap in their eyes or something lmao

yesssssss, this is beautiful!

| natasha x fem!reader | only pretty faces |

warnings: mentions of death

You hear Natalia switch the shower on, the water thundering through the pipes, and you slip out of bed and pad down the corridor to the bathroom. Still no lock on the door: you push it open with your fingertips and inhale the steam that billows out. You step in and shut the door with a click behind you: Natalia’s shadow twists in the shower.

“Hey,” she says, from behind the half-drawn shower curtain. “You scared me.”

You pull your clothes off, let them crumple in a pile next to hers, and tie your hair back.

“I’m not scary,” you say. You lift a leg over the lip of the bath and step into the spray: it’s hot and forceful. Natalia reaches for you, grabs your elbows and pulls you closer. She kisses you, her face warm and wet. Her hair is soaked down, soap bubbles drifting off her shoulders - you reach out and smooth them away with your palm.

“No,” she says. She runs her fingers over your eyebrows, dripping water into your eyes.  “You’re not. You’re cute.”

You pull an awful face at her, but you don’t draw away. Eventually, she smiles at you, kisses you again with that smile still on her face.

“Want me to wash your hair?” she asks, palms flat against your sternum. 

“Yes,” you say. You push your forehead against the strong bridge of her nose. She presses her lips to the space between your eyebrows. “Let me sit down. It’s early.” She laughs.

“Okay.” She presses lightly on your shoulders and you go willingly, sinking to the floor of the bathtub. You trace her thighs with your fingers as you drop, and then you twist so your back is to her, your knees up to your chest. The spray of water is rapidly wetting your hair. Natalia tugs it gently out of its hair tie and digs her fingers into it, sorting through the snarls and knots. Then she sits behind you, lays her legs out alongside yours, and starts the wash.

Her hands are strong and steady, lulling you back into a steady doze. You lay against her chest, allowing her to enclose you, less like a cage and more like a shield against the wide white wall behind the two of you.

Each cycle of the wash is gentle and thorough. You must sit there for at least an hour, but she doesn’t complain of wasting the day or sitting in discomfort in half an inch of warm water. This intimacy is strange, close and naked but not sexual, easy in a way that makes you want to sink into her, crack her open and climb inside. You grip her legs to ground yourself from those images.

Natalia’s hands paused in your hair. “You good?” she asks. The spray beats down on your shoulders

“Good,” you say. You squeeze her knees playfully and in retaliation, she smears bubbles over your cheeks.

“Idiot,” she says, affectionately. You lay your head back on her shoulder and she grins down at you.

“You’re dripping soap in my eye,” you say, blinking rapidly. Your eye begins to burn.

“Oh, God,” Natalia says, sticking her hands into the shower stream quickly to rinse them off. “Sorry, sorry-” She cups her palms and splashes water over your face, too much, and it goes spilling into your mouth and up your nostrils. You splutter, scrambling up into a sitting position and scrubbing at your face. Behind you, Natalia begins to giggle in between her apologies. You twist and spit a stream of water in her face.

When the two of you step out, washed and scrubbed pink and breathing hard from your little water fight, Natalia grabs her towel. You tug it out of her hands. She raises her eyebrows at you quizzically.

The words almost stick in your throat. “Let me,” you say. Natalia hesitates - hesitates like she never does - and you grip the towel, so fearful of her withdrawal.

“Okay,” she says. You nod.

You dry her, feet first, then shins and strong calves and thighs, and as you progress, she watches you carefully. Observes you like she’s learning. You dry her stomach, her ribs, her spine, pausing to touch the rise of muscle beneath her skin. You keep your touch deliberately gentle. Her shoulders lose their tension when you wipe the water from her collarbones.

“Done,” you say, and you fold the towel over the rail and step away. She’s watching you still, hands in fists by her side. She seems to shiver, and you crouch to pick up her fresh clothes and offer them to her. She takes them, but doesn’t put them on, rather holds them out in front of her as if she’s afraid they contain a spider or a venomous snake. “Nata,” you say. Her eyes are wet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she says faintly. “I-” she cuts off her words and stares down quickly at her feet. “Nothing’s wrong. That was sweet. That’s all.”

Those words break your odd little trance, shrugging off the moment like a gossamer layer. You grab your t-shirt and pull it on over your head, your hair dampening the collar.

“Do you want cereal?” you ask, moving past her out of the bathroom door. 

It seems an age before she answers. “Yes,” she replies, her voice soft, frail like an icicle.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● 

You fix her cereal for her and by the time she’s dressed and wandered through the door of the kitchen, your hair has dried in tangles down your back. She surveys it instead of your face.

“Do you want me to braid it?” she asks, without making eye contact. You shove her bowl towards her and she sinks into a chair, receiving it with both hands. “You remember? We used to braid-”

“I remember,” you say. “I remember most of it.” That’s not at all true. You remember gentle fingers in your hair, your own hands fumbling through soft red and black and blonde locks. You also remember the snap of a neck in your hands, the dead stare of a little girl with her hair still in braids, fresh from the night before. And you remember pain and pain and pain.

Natalia lifts her spoon to her mouth.

You chew meditatively on your toast. You want her legs around your hips again, your head on her shoulder. You want to lie against her, within her, forever. “I’d like that,” you say. 

She smiles at you, relief dawning on her face.

She sits you down on the floor in the living room and switches the TV on. The punch bag is laid underneath the window like a sedan. Then she sits behind you, knees around your shoulders with a comb and a hairbrush and bends your hair to her will.

Natalia is gentle with you: always gentle. She pulls knots apart with her fingers, brushes your temple with her knuckles. 

“I remember this,” you tell her, and her hands still in the half-done braid. The TV twitters on. “This was one of the good memories.”

“One of the only ones,” she says softly. She carries on, twists and turns, locking your hair into itself. “You really remember this?”

“Only the concept,” you say. That at least is true: the braids are your memory, not the hands that made them, not the faces they framed.

“I braided your hair,” Natalia says, after a long pause. Far too casual. “You wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. Except for Kira.”

“Except for Kira,” you echo. You don’t remember Kira. You don’t want to ask: some sickening part of you imagines broken bones and blood in the snow. Natalia finishes the plait and gathers up the rest of your hair.

She pauses.

She tugs lightly on your hair and you tip your head back obediently, until your crown is in her lap and she’s staring down at you. Your neck stretches and strains.

Natalia leans down and kisses you, a touch more like a steal. You reach as far as you can to kiss her again, but she withdraws and pushes your head back up.

Her fingers card gently through your remaining hair, gathering three strands. “You don’t have to remember if you don’t want to,” she says quietly. “God knows I’d rather be ignorant.”

“I’m not ignorant,” you reply. You watch the TV move and flicker with dazed eyes. “I remember the pain. I remember that I don’t want to go back. Anymore.” You’ve dragged yourself from the mud: no, she did. She rescued you.

“I know,” Natalia says. She strokes your cheek with her thumb and you lean into her touch. “I’m grateful for you.”

requests | masterlist

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @rysnwilder @ima-gi–na-tion @paryl @picnicmic  @smallestavenger @lainjupi   @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115

notes: listen guys, I am so unmotivated right now. I’m so close to finishing TPTF and I’m so frustrated about this but here’s a little thing to keep you hooked. (also I linked my ko-fi in my bio if you felt like giving me money UNRELATED to fic writing because I am NOT MAKING MONEY OFF this, okay marvel?)

random OPF hcs because I can

| natasha x reader | only pretty faces |

warnings: the absence of correct grammar formatting. zero capitalisation because r is free so therefore i am free.

Keep reading

to play the fool pt 1

| natasha x fem!reader | request by @strangegardentaco

summary: You’re not an Avenger. Not even close. But sometimes, damn, you really wish you were so everyone would stop getting on your ass.

warnings: blood, violence, spidey-baiting, r is an idiot

a/n: this was the greatest request I’ve ever received. I wrote way too much and I’m sorry. Probably will have a part 2, maybe a part 3. Also I’M ONE FOLLOWER AWAY FROM 150! i know that’s probably not a lot to most people BUT IT IS TO ME so I posted this because people always follow me after I post my fics :)

Keep reading

and it bears repeating how hard my heart’s beating

synopsis: you and Natasha had always had that spark between you, now it’s brighter than ever.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: some angst, fluff.

warnings: none.

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

———————————

Keep reading

only pretty faces: saccharine

| natasha x fem!reader |  part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven |

summary: She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll–

warnings: r being completely batshit insane AGAIN lol, FLUFF FINALLY : rated [T]

a/n: god im over it now i just wan them 2 be happy

Keep reading

Natasha x reader.

Natasha has a nightmare and reader hears from her room so she goes to comfort her and they both fall asleep in the end

warning: best friend!natasha x fem!reader, best friend to lovers trope, slight angst? mutual pinning, and sad nat :(

Her room is quaint but ever so full of her personality. With her white coated rug and fancy little Eames chair, you frown knowing that even in her sleep, Natasha finds no serenity.

Instead as you enter and find her whimpering and turning under her duvet, you rush to her aid. Worry present on your features before you wake her up in fear that she might hurt herself.

“Natty?”

You’re hopeful that your voice will lull her back to the land of the living and when it does, a sigh of relief falls so effortlessly from your lips.

Victory is short lived when you find her looking at you in distress. With brows pinched and lips quivering, a hand cups her cheek out of empathy.

“You okay?” You ask, though you’re more than aware that she isn’t. You’re giving her the opportunity to open up to you, on her own terms and on her own field. “Bad dream?”

She nods carefully, but melts within your touch. It flutters something inside of your chest, mixing with the guilt of falling in love with your best friend.

“Was about you,” she confesses. Her eyes flutter close in shame but you’re there to remind her that she’s not alone.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Natty,” you say, voice gentle and understanding that this, her trauma and her past, is a hard experience to go through again. You’re in no place, regardless of your friendship with the woman, to condemn her back.

She nods, grateful for your understanding. Though her fears return when she realizes that once you leave, she’ll be alone once more. Another night spent cold and heartless, a feat that she struggles to deal with every day until you came into her life.

And so through a quivering lip and flushed cheeks, she turns to you in hopes of an answer. “Will you stay?”

You freeze in your spot. Never have you slept in her bed with her beside you. Sure you’ve done it in the couch during nights dedicated to spending time with her but never alone in her room where vulnerability and trust are at stake.

Unsure, you look at her to confirm that you had heard correctly. “You want me to?”

Natasha shrugs, nearly embarrassed but still ever so truthfully in what she wants. The mere thing you adored about her, her honesty and while to some, her bluntness.

“If that’s alright with you,” she says.

Her words make a grin sprout on your chapped lips, but it’s when you nod that confirms your eagerness.

“I would love nothing more.”

on your desk

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: a secret admirer has been dropping off cute notes and flowers off at your desk every day, but you cant help but want there to be one specific, unreachable and untouchable person to be behind it all. 

warnings: fluff, uncertainty, secret admirer!!! basically shy!nat 

word count: 3.8k 

omg nicole look!!!. its your shitty coworker au- eNJoY shsjdjbd OF COURSE NOT PROOFREAD- it’s me c’mon ajsjjdn

There were flowers on your desk, again. And like every time after the first few, your heart picked up when you saw them, in nearly the same arrangement as they usually were. And like Wanda (and occasionally Sharon, if she wasn’t already head first into her computer) did every morning, she craned her neck over to look at you and your open-ish cubicle, where you stared at your desk and tried to decide who on earth could have sent you flowers for the millionth time. 

“You don’t know anyone who could have sent these?” She asked, an entertained and slightly knowing grin on her face as she looked at the typed note that always came with the flowers, no matter how short or to the point it was. On some days, the note would read “you should never stop smiling”, and on others, it would be half a page about how amazing you were at work and how much you were appreciated by your peers. There was no telling what you were going to get, and it managed to be a surprise every day even though you expected it. You shook your head.  “No one at all?” 

No, you didn’t think you know anyone who would have liked you enough to have flowers lying out for you every day, but you knew for a fact that you sure wished it was a specific person, just one. But you knew it wasn’t her. There was no way that Natasha Romanoff was the one buying flowers and typing you cutsey notes, no way at all. That just wasn’t her, and you knew it. Besides, you were always the first to work even if you didn’t make your way to your office first. You would have seen Natasha and her parked car if she was bringing flowers to your desk in the morning. And- it just wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. 

 She was serious. Very stoic, very driven, incredibly pretty, and even smarter. Somehow under all of her seriousness, she managed to light up the boring office (that occasionally had calls from irate customers that you always handled). She had all the traits that men were afraid of women having, and at first, that was what drew you to her. She knew what she wanted and more times than not, she knew where she had to go and what she had to do to get the things she wanted.

Keep reading

how bout nat and reader being best freinds who get dared to kiss at a party and they fuck when its over

warnings: older!bestfriend!nat x younger!petite!reader, size difference, slight angst, and nipple play.

Your eyes go wide and your lips part as the attention turns to you. With the silence of their impending thoughts, you can’t help but flush at the idea of kissing your best friend in front of everyone else.

No matter how in love you were with the redhead, the idea of such an intimate moment being shared with people like the team made you shake in embarrassment.

“Well?” Tony gave you a look and between that and those of your friends and colleagues, you turned to Natasha with doubt.

You were only met with quite the opposite; her brows were raised, and her lips were twitched into a grin.

“You trust me?” Her voice was a mere whisper intended only for you.

Your eyes travels from those of your friends to that of your best friend. Her emerald eyes staring at you with vigour and empathy.

It was soft. Making you warm with comfort.

So you nod, smiling soft before she returns the gesture with her wicked grin. She mumbles something incoherent to you before cupping your face towards her with passion.

Before you knew it, her lips were stuck on yours. Gentle, arousing, and swelter at all times, Natasha kissed you like it were her last.

There was devotion and fervour in her touch. The press of her plump lips against yours made you nearly forget about the prying eyes of both your friends and colleagues. The only reminder of their presence was the sound of their cheers before you pulled away with a heaving chest.

Natasha grinned and smiled but you were teary with tears that made you rush out of the room in embarrassment. The silence of the room returned once your presence departed.

...

The bathroom welled with your sobs as you palmed your face. With your lonely presence separated from your colleagues and best friend, you couldn’t help but wallow in the sad reality that Natasha would never feel the same.

Of course why would she? She was this sophisticated older woman with merely more experience than your own; yet, it was already baffling that she found enough trust and comfort in being your best friend despite the age gap.

You were simply too lost in your own thoughts to even have heard the rapping knock on the door. It was when she called your name out of concern that you realize her ever mending presence.

“Let me in, honey. It’s just me.”

Your hand wavered as you reached for the door knob. When the door swung open and you were met with a worried sick redhead, there was no hesitation as she stepped in and crowded your space.

“I know.”

You looked at her, confused.

“I feel the same.” She tells you. “I know it’s wrong, I felt bad because you were this young girl and I-I... You’re supposed to be my best friend, my everything but all I want is you. All I see is you and I-I didn’t know...”

You curled your hands with her own. The look in her eyes wide and lustful despite the somber words that fell from her plump lips.

The silence returned and within a blink, her lips were on yours and your back was pressed against the wall. A loud boom echoes through the room but neither you or her could care as her lips kissed you with less resistance.

With no Tony nor Steve to watch, the redhead slipped a hand under the cropped shirt you were wearing. Cold and inkling fingers touched the plains of your stomach and over the ribbed skin of your ribs. You shivered in response and gladly, welcomed her fingers as they circled your nipples to arousal.

“Natty,” your voice was meek in call for her. She didn’t care, she only adored how small you sounded under her. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” her reassurance brought you millennia worth of comfort. However, it was the way she peeled off your shirt and her own and rubbed both bare chest against each other that made you melt.

With pebbled nipples chafing against your own, you were overrun with stimulation as Natasha slipped a wandering hand under your lounge shorts. The frail knitwear brought you no comfort in knowing how far you had drenched your underwear that there was even an evident spot between your shorts that was dark grey.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” she confessed between heavy breathes. “I needed you. Couldn’t keep my eyes off from the way you moved.”

You flushed under her confession. You didn’t realize how much the two of you were alike until now. She had been pinning over you the way you had. The only barrier was the age gap and no matter how much your friends reassured that you and her age gap was no feat for any type of relationship, it felt wrong seeing your best friend that way - let alone an older woman.

“So small,” she whispered against your ear. “Always so sweet for me, honey.”

You pulled away from her touch with lustful eyes. The coil in your stomach making your whole body vibrated with need and arousal.

“Take me home, Natty.”

loose cannon

| natasha x reader |

summary: she’s not a great teacher. you’re not a great learner. but to be fair to yourself, she’s very distracting.

warnings: weapons handling, cursing : rating [T] 

a/n: uhhhh i have no shame. enjoy

Keep reading

Staring is Bad

Pairing: Professor!Natasha Romanoff x Student!Reader

Summary: you have a thing for your English Literature professor and it doesn’t help that she’s the kind of person to notice

Warning: cursing, flirting from Nat, mentioned porno title but thats it

A/N: … because yes? HAHAHAHA this is the flirting story I was talking about so I really hope you guys like this short one!! (Someone pls flirt with me so i know whats like ;;-;;)

“Y/N?” Your best friend asks as she waves her hand in front of your dazed face while the other students are starting to file in.

You sigh dreamily as you continue to stare at your English Lit prof from the farthest part of the huge lecture room. “She’s so pretty”

As a third year university student taking up Mechanical Engineering, you were given the chance to pick any elective of your choice. Your best friend is an English major so you both thought it would be fun to try and take a class together, resulting to your best friend choosing E104.

This class specifically is notoriously known for always having its slots full before 10 minutes are up so its an absolute miracle you both managed to get in. You remembering judging the class because why would a class have that much slots yet still get filled up, and well you immediately shut up the moment you entered the room to see Ms. Natasha Romanoff writing her name on perfect cursive on the blackboard.

Your best friend rolls her eyes at you as she sits besides you, taking out her notebook and pen for class. “I’m starting to regret this honestly”

“Come on” you tease as you look at her with your chin on the palm of your hand. “You love me, and it’s not my fault you’re in a relationship with a boy for 5 years and counting. Cut me some slack here”

“Keep it in your pants then because I want to pass this class without getting in trouble okay?” She chuckles softly as she pokes your cheek with the cap end of her pen. “Now focus, class is about to start”

You smirk back at your friend as Nat turns to face the lecture hall of 100 students with a smile. “Good afternoon everyone and welcome to English Lit”

She puts the chalk down onto the chalk ledge and grabs a book from her table as she walks to the front of her desk, leaning back slightly to half sit. “We will be discussing The Fall of Icarus, has anyone read the book before?”

Around 10-15 students raises their hands before Nat nods her head to signal the students to lower their hands. You start to zone out as you stare at Nat, appreciating how good she looks in a nice and crisp white button down, tucked into her black slacks that accentuates the length of her legs and shows off the black pumps. She’s wearing the kind of blazer that drapes over her shoulders with 2 slits, one on each arm, making it look like those cape-like blazers and it exerts professionalism but some kind of sexiness in return. Her red ruby lips moving as she continuous on with the lecture and her hair framing her face as if she’s the kindest and smartest person in the world.

You unconsciously sigh dreamily as you melt further into your seat, making your best friend roll her eyes fondly at you with a soft chuckle. Before she could nudge you to bring your focus back, it seems like Ms. Romanoff noticed as well.

“You there at the farthest row, the mechanical engineering major” she starts as her booming voice takes you back to earth, your eyes widening slightly as you straighten your posture and clearing your throat slightly. “What is your take on the symbolism of the story?”

You jump at Nat’s voice and quickly look at your best friend for help who slightly raises her hands, just barely off the table, surrendering. You sigh in defeat as you quickly glance at the blackboard to see the title of the book, silently thanking God that you know a little bit of something on this book thank you hamilton.

“Well for me” you start as you start fiddling with your pen. “When Icarus and his father made their escape out of Sicily with the warning of not flying too close to the sun due to the material used for the wings, you can possibly apply it in a relationship”

You lost your train of thought when your eyes meet your professor’s, suddenly realizing the shade of green it holds and the unexpected presence of emotions it has. Nat smiles before mouthing ‘go on’ the moment she noticed you stopped causing you to blush slightly.

You shake your head and continue on. “Anyway so in the case of Icarus, he’s shown to be the kind to have dreams and aspirations while his father would bring him back to earth where reality is. In a relationship, you can’t always have your head in the clouds and daydream so in a way, you can’t fall in love with the concept of love brought around by media or literature in this case, but fall in love with what you have on earth at that moment or else you’d fly too close to the sun”

A few moments of silence pass, your heart racing at the sudden anxiety of you fucking things over. As you’re about to quietly ask your best friend if you did mess up, your professor suddenly claps her hands with a smile on her face.

“You seem to be quite insightful with literature for a mechanical engineering major” she teases causing the class to laugh as you blush profusely.

“But, I appreciate that so thank you Ms…” she trails off as she raises an eyebrow for you to continue her sentence. You smile shyly as you introduce yourself by your full name.

“Right, Ms. Y/N” she starts as she puts the book down onto the table. “So as what Y/N has mentioned, Icarus’ character is the kind of character to fantasize, daydream even”

She continues on with the lecture as you finally let out a sigh of relief while your best friend besides you pats your thigh with a mischievous grin. “She totally noticed you staring at her”

You roll your eyes at her, nudging her by the shoulder as she gasps just loud enough before profusely saying her apologies as the students nearby stare at the both of you. You grin in victory before looking back at the lecture, placing your chin back onto the palm of your hand with your elbow resting onto your table as you stare at your absolutely gorgeous professor once again with a happy look.

“She’s so pretty”

A month into the semester and this is totally your favorite class. Things has been going really well considering you haven’t been caught ogling at your hot professor even though you’re probably very obvious at it.

She’s currently walking up and down the aisles of the lecture hall, her sleeves of her very professional looking blouse rolled up to her elbow making your heart race at how infatuated you are for her. Since the lecture will go on for a few more minutes, your restless self decided to start daydreaming. You would look out of the window, stare outside for a bit then look back at Nat but would catch her eyes for a few moments before looking away. You couldn’t help but tilt your head slightly, curious and even intrigued.

“I wonder if she can read minds of her students” you thought as a joke, a quirk on the corner of your lips thats a concealed smirk as you try to not laugh at how stupid it is.

“If you can hear my thoughts, say something” you thought in your mind jokingly. Surely Nat of all people wouldn’t… right?

Lo and behold, Nat suddenly walks up to your aisle as she calls for another student to do their recitation. She ends up standing by the empty seat besides you where your bag is currently sitting on, leaning over slightly so only you could hear what she has to say.

“Has your mother ever taught you that staring is bad?” She stands back up after a quick wink and acknowledges the answer of the student as she walks back down.

Your jaw just drops as your entire face pales at being caught, your best friend besides you trying her absolute hardest to not burst out laughing but still couldn’t contain her laughter causing her to shove her head into her arms so she muffle her laughs.

“No fucking way” you mumble to yourself as your best friend lifts her head off her desk, the biggest smirk present on her lips.

“She totally noticed” a smug grin forms on her lips after you playfully hit her arm while a blush forms on your cheeks.

“Alright class” Nat says as she stands by her desk while the other students start to pack up. “Don’t forget to turn in your essays about your chosen book next week. See you then! Oh and Ms. Y/N, please stay”

That made your friend burst out laughing as you quickly tackle her and mumble shut up frantically. You sigh in defeat as she bids you goodbye, leaving you and Nat alone. Dread starts to fill you entire being as you walk closer and closer to Nat, eventually standing by her desk as she bids farewell to the last student who stayed back for a question. The click of the door closing echos throughout the room, as if it was sealing the fate of whatever were to happen next.

“Ms. Y/N” Nat says, acknowledging you as she walks back, standing in front of you. You notice the heigh difference between the both of you where Nat absolutely towers you because of her monster heels. You swallow deeply as you start to fiddle with the end of your sweater.

“A-am I in trouble Ms. Romanoff?” You wince slightly at your stuttering, but also because this sounds like the start of a horrible porno. Nat leans against the edge of her table with a smirk on her lips.

“Do I make you nervous, Ms. Y/N?” She asks with a cocky tilt on the head making you narrow your eyes slightly at the older woman. Her smirks widen at that. “You’re not in trouble, but I’m sure you have a question for me based on the look you gave me earlier”

You blush furiously at that as you run a hand through your hair. “W-well yea, how did you know what I was thinking?”

Nat stands up and you can just smell the perfume she’s wearing, the coffee and caramel lingering in your personal space as you think ‘oh god this is the start of that weird porno, the Student gets fucked by her Professor kind’. She gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, causing your eyes to snap at her as she gets your attention.

“It’s written all over your face in every class, that’s why you should take this” she says as she hands you her sleek black business with her name and number on the front. “And call me, alright? You’re an adult, right darling?”

Your eyes widen as big as saucers at the nickname as a little squeak uncontrollably goes up your throat and out of your mouth. You quickly cover your mouth as you nod frantically.

She smirks at the power she has over you. She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you against her as she tucks her hands into your back pockets. You feel your face heat up at the feeling of Nat’s hands indirectly against your bottom, the motion of Nat pulling you against her caused you to place your hands against her chest as you don’t go slamming against her. Nat leans down as she’s leaning into your ear, whispering softly and in almost in a seductive matter.

“I’ll see you in class, Ms. Y/N” she pulls back from you completely before you could do anything and you just feel your heart beat against your chest frantically as you stare back in a dazed look, wondering what the fuck just happened. However, you nod back before waving and grabbing your bag to leave.

As you leave, you suddenly noticed the weird feeling of something bunched up in your back pocket since you normally don’t put anything there. As you walk, you slip your hand in and feel a bunched up piece of paper. Taking it out, you open it and immediately stop your tracks as your eyes widen while reading the note.

“8 pm, my office. Don’t be late, darling”

can we imagine seggsy time with nat and she puts a vibe on your clit but then straddles you so it’s on her aswell…. 😮‍💨

OH YEEEEAAAH

Can i pls request an older!Nat x younger!reader (legal age gap). Praise/degradation kink, cum filled strap, squirting, overstimulation, daddy!Nat and LOTS OF AFTERCARE. Up to you if reader is top or bottom.

If you feel uncomfortable with something you can skip it, i’m so sorry in advanced.

warnings: older!nat x younger!reader, major age gap, slight dark themes but nothing too obvious, secret relationships, praise/degradation, overstimulation, slight dom/sub dynamics, cum play, cream pie, oh god this is so fucking disgusting ew i’m sorry

Theres something about the way Natasha moves against you. The push-pull stride of her hips that meet your own. The caress of her hand against the spine of your back while you bury your face in her neck.

She does it so carefully and so calculated that a shiver mixes in with the orgasmic pleasure that settles in the pits of your stomach.

She’s been fucking you for the last half an hour. The faux cock attached to her, splitting you open in a need to make you cum. It’s the way that you’ve nearly cum five times, for only her to pull back in the last minute.

You’re practically shaking as she holds you. Your small body, caged in her large frame, the action has you whimpering her name for attention.

“N-Natty... Ple—ase..?”

The redhead looks at you, an unwavering look on her features as her brows rise. Her eyes widen then drop to where the two of you are closely connected.

“What do you want, baby?”

“Need you, please,” your begs sound so pathetic as they echo the small hotel room. The older woman finds pleasure when you find a look degradation on her face. “Be a good girl for you...”

She considers it. For a moment, just a split second, you think you’ll finish then and there. But she sits back on her thighs, and then pushes your back flat against the cheap hotel bed. Her large hard wraps over that spot on your hip; gripping tight enough to leave bruises.

“Just a little bit more for me, alright, bug?” It’s not a question she wants answers, but the older woman does nod as if you’ve said yes. You have no choice but to take it as her hips slam hard against you. The pace starts up against, and there’s a silent scream that parts your mouth open.

You’re sure if you and her weren’t stuck up in a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city, then the sounds of skin slapping and grunting would be enough to ensue a police investigation. But you’re lucky the redhead had chosen a place so quaint yet so secretive.

Almost as if she’s been here before.

The thought makes your way and then it goes; too busy wrapped up in the sensation of the older woman thumbing at your swollen clit. So sensitive, so overstimulated, the action makes you whine and push her hand hand.

“I’ll be good, p-please...”

There’s a look of hesitation, then Natasha cocks her head. “Yeah? Gonna let me cum inside?”

You nod, eager. “Y-Yeah, anything, Natty - Just—”

Then there’s a hand circling over your neck, and another pawing at your chest. The fabric of your baby tee scrunches under her rough touch.

“Okay, bunny. I’ve got you, yeah?”

Tears swell in the corners of your eyes as she speaks. The smile on her face widening at the sight of you before she scoops your tiny body, and presses your front against her own.

From there, her hands work you up and down the faux cock. The girth and length of the toy splitting you open, and caressing that little spot where the curve of the toy just hits right. It doesn’t help that your clit ribs so deliciously well against Natasha’s stomach, making you cry and cry out of pleasure before you shake in a climax.

When all you see is white, and your body vibrates in stimulation, the older woman just melts against you in an embrace. The sensation of your orgasm and her cum painting your insides practically throws you into overdrive; your head dizzy and eyes cloudy.

“Green, baby?”

You nod, whimpering when she moves against you the slightest. “Your—”

You cry out when she pulls out and you feel her finish spill out; wetting the sheets and her below you. You can barely see straight but when you do, and you finally see clear of the redhead, she’s already for a finger or two back into your cunt; pushing and playing with cum as she smears it everywhere.

She looks in awe.

“Natty?”

Her eyes travel back to you. Then and there, you know you won’t be getting any sleep.

beefy nat and a tiny reader at a supermarket

warnings: beefy!nat x filipina!reader, this is more of general!nat but whatever i enjoyed this anyways

You were practically at awe at the selection of snacks on the wall. With your eyes wide and mouth agape, Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle at your little dance when you found the snack that you had been craving since a week ago.

“See, Natty?” You turned to your girlfriend with a grin as you hugged the bag of V-Cut chips to your chest. “I told you Seafood City had them.”

The redhead shook her head playfully. “Well, you didn’t really give me much choice when you dragged me into the car, now did you?”

You gave her a shrug as a smile lined your lips. You knew no matter how much you annoyed her, she couldn’t resist you.

Which is how you ended up dragging her through five different aisles, throwing in whatever snack you wanted without care as she just watched and pushed the cart in tow.

“What’s that one, baby?”

You turned around with a pack of strawberry flavoured Mogu Mogu in your arms, your eyes wide as you looked down.

“It’s a drink, Natty. Tastes like those aloe drinks with the aloe chunks? Think you’ll like them.”

She smiled and nodded, letting you drop the pack of drinks into the cart before moving on.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

hey 😘😘😘

(REAL)

Control Me

Pairing: Natasha x reader

Summary: You wanted to help Natasha gain back control so you let her control you

Warning: 18+ smut, restraints, face slapping, finger fucking, oral, dom/sub ish - Reader and Nats first time

A/n: This wasn't supposed to be smut, but it turned into smut *shrugs*

I didn’t have much time to edit so hope there aren’t too many mistakes

3,964 words | Masterlist

——————————————————————————

When you met Natasha you thought you had her all figured out. She was confidence personified walking around the compound as if nothing could touch her. It wasn’t until the two of you became close that she started to show more of herself. Her playful side was your favorite.

The team was shocked the first time they saw Natasha hug you. She wasn’t known to be a cuddly person but you knew the truth. Natasha loved to cuddle. When she felt distressed or frustrated, she would come to your room, crawl into your bed and hold you. The first time it happened you thought it was a dream. When you asked her if she was ok, she simply nodded and confessed that you made her feel safe. You could relate, she made you feel safe too.

You were currently in the common room when Natasha came through the elevator looking the most exhausted you’ve ever seen her. She had been away for a week on a mission with Steve and by the grunt he gave you as a greeting, you knew it must have been physically and emotionally exhausting.

The redhead could barely keep her eyes open as she waddled over to you and collapsed on the couch, planting her head in your lap.

“That bad huh?” You asked Steve.

“Longest mission of my life.” He mumbled, “You got her?”

“Always.” You said, caressing her back.

You let her sleep while you finished your movie, turning it down to the lowest volume so you wouldn’t disturb her. Her soft snores made you grin knowing she would deny them once you teased her about it.

“Nat.” You whispered, lightly nudging her as the credits rolled.

She grunted, burying her face in your stomach.

“Five more minutes, milaya.”

“It’s been an hour, love. I know you would rather be in bed. Unless you want Thor waking you up at five am.”

She looked up at you pouting knowing you were right. You wiped away loose strands of hair as they tickled her nose and tucked them gently behind her ear.

“Can you stay with me?” She asked.

“I wish I could, but I have to be up by five too. You need to rest.”

“I don’t care.” She said, sighing.

“You’re a light sleeper, Nat. You’ll stay up with me and feel grouchy all day.” You chuckled.

“You’re right, you’re right.”

Natasha pulled herself up and stretched her aching muscles. Dirt and grime painted her neck and arms, and dry streaks of blood mapped her torso.

“Maybe take a shower before bed yeah?” You teased.

She scoffed nudging your shoulder but swiftly smelled herself groaning.

“I’m taking a vacation.” She grumbled.

You went your separate ways once you reached your floor. Natasha gave you a hug goodnight and you settled into bed. You wished you would have said yes to staying with her but you knew it was the right thing to do. When the redhead didn’t get proper sleep it was dangerous for everyone around. The last time it happened, Thor almost needed a new cloak and Tony a new pair of hands.

The night went on and you found yourself unable to sleep. It was hard when she wasn't next to you. You haven’t gotten much sleep when she was away when you think about it. You checked the clock groaning when you saw it was one am. Training day was the worst to wake up to. You shifted trying to get comfortable when suddenly you heard a bloodcurdling scream.

A chill ran down your spine as you rushed to Natasha’s room. What you saw when you opened the door broke your heart. You’ve seen her vulnerable but you’ve never seen her look so fragile. She was shaking, beads of sweat dripped down her forehead as she clung her knees to her chest rocking back and forth. She hadn’t noticed you yet and you treaded lightly so you wouldn’t alarm her. Her eyes were wide and barely blinking as she stared at the wall. Her bottom lip quivered as silent tears ran down her cheeks.

You felt guilty that you hadn’t stayed with her like she asked. From what you’ve seen in the past, her nightmares were bad but this one was different. You’ve never heard her scream like that before.

“Nat.” You whispered, sitting slowly on the edge of the bed.

Your worry grew as she continued to stare at the wall. Natasha was always aware of her surroundings. The fact that she still hadn’t noticed you let you know she was still trapped in her mind.

You slowly rubbed her back, knowing it was something she liked when she was upset. She visibly started to shake and your heart ached in your chest. Your strokes became firm as you guided her back into reality.

“Natasha, it’s alright. It’s ok, you’re safe.”

Her green eyes snapped to yours and she jerked away from you. She shook her head as she ran it through her damp hair.

“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.” She stammered.

“I heard you scream. I just wanted to see if you were ok.”

“I’m fine.” She said, looking away from you.

You sighed moving closer to her. It was rare that she ever shut you out, but when she tried it was usually about her past. It took her a long time to open up to you about it, but even when she did she didn’t say much. Only enough for you to understand the horrors she faced there.

“You’re not fine and that’s ok.”

She licked her lips standing up from the bed, turning her back from you to take off her damp shirt. Her hands were shaking as she shuffled through her dresser to find a new one and put it on.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” She choked out.

“We’re best friends Nat. I think we’re past that.” You said, trying to reassure her.

She turned around, folding her arms and silent tears fell from her eyes. You’d give anything to make them go away. To make her feel better.

“Talk to me please.” You pleaded.

A storm swam inside her eyes as she looked at you. Your breath hitched only ever seeing them this way when she faced an enemy.

“I had a nightmare - about the red room.” She said, chewing her bottom lip, “how they would make us do certain things in training.”

You pushed past the anger you felt. This wasn’t about you, but you silently vowed to destroy that place when given the chance.

“Was it about the other girls? How they made you-

“No.”

You shifted on the bed, swimming through your mind trying to figure it out. Widows were known for two things, death and seduction. It suddenly clicked and your stomach twisted in knots knowing what it had to be about.

“It’s ok, Nat. I understand.” You whispered.

Her eyes narrowed and she stalked towards you.

“Do you?” She demanded.

“I know you Nat, you hate not being in control. What they made you do with those men-,” You paused taking a beat as her eyes shone with aching vulnerability as the storm subsided. You didn’t need words for her to know you figured it out, “That’s when you felt the most out of control, isn’t it?”

She nodded, wiping away her tears.

“I hate that it affects me this much. It’s just a dream but it’s like I’m back there, underneath them.” She whimpered.

“Come here.”

Natasha took a deep breath, walking closer to you. You held out your hands and you sighed in relief as she unclenched her fists and rested them in yours.

“What do you usually do when you wake up from them? How do you gain the feeling of control back?” You asked.

She shrugged, looking at your paired hands.

“Before I met you I’d usually wait until it passes.” She said, “It takes a while then they feel this real.”

“Holding me helps?” You asked.

“Yes. It- It doesn’t take away the feeling entirely but yes, having you in my arms helps.”

You squeezed her hands rubbing the back of them. Natasha was the most important person in your life and all you wanted was for her to be ok. You had an idea but you weren’t sure how to suggest it. You were lost in thought not noticing how Natasha stared at you, searching for what could possibly be on your mind.

“What is it, Y/n?”

“I - um, I have an idea, but it might be too weird-

“Tell me, please?” She asked.

Her eyes pleaded for anything to help make it better. You nodded, shifting at the anxious bloom that arose in your chest.

“You could control me.” You whispered.

Natasha’s breath hitched and your heart hammered in your chest as you watched her process your words.

“You mean dominate you?” She asked, her lips were parted and you shifted on the bed.

“Yes. I - I was reading this book on bdsm-“

Her snort interrupted you and you narrowed your eyes feeling embarrassed.

“Shut up.” You mumbled.

“I’m sorry, dorogaya. Continue, please.”

You smiled shyly, clearing your throat.

“There was a chapter that talked about how it can be akin to therapy. That it can help people who feel out of control in their workplace or life in general, gain some of the control back. Same for someone who's always in control, it can be a release for them to give it away.”

Natasha took in your words, really thinking about what you said. You swallowed thickly watching emotions play out on her face and you started to think you shouldn’t have said anything.

“Ok.”

You blinked, staring up at her not knowing if you heard her right.

“Ok?”

“I want to try it.” She said.

The flush on her cheeks made your heart flip in your chest.

“Ok.” You whispered.

“Alright, I um - please tell me if it’s too much or you change your mind.” She mumbled, and you could see insecurity swimming in her irises.

“I promise, Nat. I trust you.”

You looked at her openly wanting her to see that you were really ok with this. She nodded sharply and you let go of her hands.

You sat and waited, watching as she flexed her jaw and licked her lips. You would have waited all night as she processed. This was about her. You would let her go at whatever pace she wanted.

“Take off your shirt.” She husked.

You swallowed thickly, taking it off, and shivered as the cool air raised goosebumps on your skin. You were left in only your underwear and you blushed as she took in the white cotton topped with a pink bow.

“Lay back on the bed.”

You did what she said, your breathing shallow as you watched her eyes change. They were hard and focused as they raked over you.

“Hands above your head, and don’t make a sound. If you do I’ll stop.”

You nodded, squirming as she grabbed a piece of rope from her closet. She tied you to the bedpost and tugged making sure you were secure. You pulled at them, a twisting feeling in your groin arose at how vulnerable you were for her.

The bed dipped as she crawled on top of you and you gasped seeing arousal in her eyes.

“What did I say.” She growled, smacking your thigh.

You bit your lip to stop from whimpering and tried to show on your face that you were sorry.

Her calloused hand traced up your thigh making you shiver. She stopped at the fabric of your underwear, pulling it away from you only to let it go with a snap. She traced up your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps, and cupped your breast roughly in her hands. You felt heat between your legs as she squeezed the soft tissue, humming as you tried desperately not to make a sound.

Her eyes stayed on yours as she pinched and pulled your nipple, already hardened by the chill of the air and her previous touch. Your mouth opened, no sound escaping as she added more pressure before lifting her hand to wrap it around your throat.

“You’re being so good for me.” She cooed.

You licked your lips, watching as she traced the movement with her eyes.

“You like being a good girl for me?” She asked.

You nodded, squirming underneath her. All you wanted was to help her gain back control but you had no idea it would feel like this giving it away.

She raised her body, hovering over you. The fabric of her shirt made you shiver as it scraped against your overheated skin. She ran her free hand up your thigh cupping your center.

“You’re so wet for me, detka.” She husked, pushing the fabric to the side.

You bit down on your lip, knowing by the end of this you were bound to draw blood.

The weight of her hand left your throat and in one swift movement, she ripped the fabric off of you, tossing it to the side.

Her hand returned to your throat and she increased the pressure as she traced your slit up and down collecting your wetness on her fingers. She ignored your clit and you wanted to beg her so badly to touch it.

“What is it, pretty girl?” She cooed.

You clenched your thighs as she teased your opening. You bucked into her, your walls clenching when she grazed your clit.

“Hmmm. Is this what you want?”

Her thumb pressed into your sensitive nub, circling around it in slow languid circles. You closed your eyes nodding when she pushed down adding more pressure.

“Look at me.” She demanded.

You opened your eyes, your mouth open wide as she quickened her pace.

“You want me to fuck you, detka?”

You would have screamed yes if it were allowed. The way she was making you feel made your head spin.

“I bet you do. You like being tied down underneath me. That’s what made you so wet isn’t it?”

Her moan took your breath away as she pushed past your barrier with her finger. You moved your hips against her and tried desperately not to make a sound.

“Look at you fucking yourself on me. I never took you for a whore, Y/n.”

A whimper ripped from your throat before you could stop it.

Natasha glared down at you, removing her hand from your throat to swiftly slap your cheek. Her face was hard and intimidating as her gaze burned into you.

“You get one more chance. Do you understand me?”

You nodded frantically, thankful she wasn’t going to stop.

“Good girl.” She taunted, adding another finger.

Your walls clenched around them, trying to suck them in deeper.

“You’re so tight.” She moaned.

You threw your head back, clenching your hands into fists as she started fucking them inside you. She didn’t hold back as she pounded into you. Your breast bounced and the bed creaked with every thrust she made.

“You feel so good.”

You wanted to tell her that she did too. The heel of her hand pressed against your clit and you lifted your hips meeting her thrust for thrust. She fucked you like she knew exactly what you liked and she felt better than any toy you’ve ever used.

“You’re doing so well, detka. So good for me.”

Natasha watched as tears sprang from your eyes as you tried desperately to be quiet for her. She curled her fingers feeling your walls flutter around her and she knew you were close. The feeling she had fucking you like this was unlike anything she’s ever felt.

“Look at me.” She demanded.

Your eyes snapped to hers and your hips stuttered as her thumb flicked your clit. You tasted iron as your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip.

“You’re so close aren’t you.” She cooed.

You pleaded with her in your eyes, nodding as she curled her fingers again, hitting the spot that would normally make you cry out.

“You don’t get to cum until I tell you to.” She sneered, “but I want to hear you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth then closed it shut, afraid that she would stop even as she said those words.

“It’s ok, detka. Let me hear those pretty sounds. I want you to beg for me to let you cum like the good little slut you are.”

You moaned, relieved you no longer had to hold it in.

“Please Nat, please let me cum, you feel so good, please.” You choked out.

Natasha moaned, fucking you harder as sighs and whimpers fell from your lips.

“Do you think you deserve it?” She taunted.

“Yes.” You whimpered.

“I don’t know, pretty girl. You’ve disobeyed me twice already.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you, please let me cum.”

You felt your walls clench around her as the words fell from your lips. You’ve never been this turned on before.

“You’re so sweet, dorogaya,” she said, smirking down at you, “so pretty when you beg.”

You lost rhythm in your hips, feeling the coil inside you tighten. You desperately wanted to cum for her. You were dripping down her hand, the sound of how wet you were filled the air making blood rush to your cheeks.

“Please, Nat.” You whimpered.

“Ok detka. Be my good girl and cum for me.” She demanded.

You screamed her name as your body came at her command. The euphoria you felt was borderline overwhelming as your orgasm crashed down on you. Your walls clamped down and fluttered around her fingers trying to suck them in more as she slowed her pace. You whimpered as she removed her hand from your throat to caress your cheek.

Natasha smiled down at you as she pulled out her fingers and sucked them in her mouth moaning at your taste. You blushed, as she licked them clean.

“Delicious, detka.” She said.

She removed her shorts and underwear in one go and you drooled at the sight of her. You could see her slick on her thighs and you couldn’t believe you were the cause of it.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

You whimpered, doing what you were told.

She shifted above you, placing her thighs on either side of your head. You moaned at the sight of her parting lips as her wetness dripped on your chin.

“You made a mess, detka. Clean it up.”

Her hips lowered and you moaned as her center lowered onto your mouth. Her taste was tangy and uniquely hers as you ran your tongue up and down her parted folds. You circled around her clit, moaning as you sucked it into your mouth lathing it with your tongue.

“Fuck Y/n!.”

You tugged your wrist wanting to touch her and whimpered when they met the resistance of the rope.

“You want to touch me don’t you?” She teased.

You nodded as she chuckled darkly above you.

“That slutty little mouth of yours is touching me detka.” She moaned.

You whimpered, letting go of her clit grazing it between your teeth. You lowered your tongue to her opening, teasing it as she thrust down against it. She looked down at you, grabbing ahold of your head as she narrowed her eyes.

“Inside.”

You pried her open with your tongue, whimpering as she sunk down on you. You curled it, wanting to feel as much of her you could and Natasha cried out, bucking against you.

“So good, detka.” She moaned, rolling her hips.

You shuddered as she used you to get off. Fucking your face with abandon as her free hand held onto the bed frame. Her walls were tight against your tongue and you knew she was going to cum. Her whimpers and moans made you clench your thighs. You wanted to hear these sounds for the rest of your life.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/n!”

Her hips stuttered and her slick dripped down your cheeks and chin as she came around your tongue. Her hips slowed dragging out her high and you licked every drop you could as she rubbed herself all over your face. When her movements stop, she grunted lifting off of you and shifted down to straddle your hips.

You knew you were smiling like an idiot when her jaw twitched to stop her from smiling back.

She leaned over untying you from the bed and you sighed as blood rushed back to your aching limbs.

“Are they sore, dorogaya?” She asked, rubbing them.

“Only a little, but not a lot.” You mumbled, shyly.

Natasha kissed your forehead and lifted off you, disappearing into the bathroom. You blushed when she came back with a wet towel. It was warm as she traced it against your face and body cleaning you up. She was so attentive it made your heart flutter in your chest. You whimpered as she parted your folds, still sensitive from how hard she fucked you.

“Shh, you’re ok, kotenok.”

Your blush deepened at the nickname she gave you shortly after the two of you met.

“There, all clean.” She whispered.

She threw the towel to the side of the room and laid down beside you cupping your cheek. Her eyes were soft as she looked at you. All the pain from before was completely washed away and you melted at her smile.

“It helped?” You whispered.

“Better than I imagined. Was that ok for you too? I didn’t do anything that made you unconformable did I?”

“No. It was nice.” You said, licking your sore lip.

“Nice?” She teased.

“I - it. It was good, Nat. Really good, but I didn’t want it to be about me.”

“It was about the both of us, detka. You’re the most important person in my life. I know that this was to help me gain back control and it did, but during I just really wanted to make you feel good. Like it felt for me.”

“I didn’t know it would feel like that.” You said.

“Neither did I. I thought I was going to cum just making you cum. Hearing you beg was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

You blushed, trying to duck your head into the pillow but her hand stopped you.

“I um- it made me realize a few things about myself.”

“It made me realize a few things too.” She mumbled.

“Like what?”

“That you’ve been more than just my best friend for a long time.”

Natasha looked at you with so much love it made your heart ache. You felt the same and wondered why it took you both so long to get here.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked.

You melted at the shy look in her eyes and nodded not being able to speak.

Her lips were soft as they melded to yours. You wrapped your arm around her waist pulling her closer to you as she deepened the kiss. She was soft and gentle as she cradled you in her arms. Taking her time as she explored your mouth with her tongue.

When you both pulled back to breathe, Natasha looked at you shyly.

“Um, can we do that again when I have another nightmare?” She asked.

“Nat, you can control me whenever you’d like.”

She smiled brightly kissing you softly before laying on her back to pull you into her arms.

“You’re calling off training tomorrow. I’m going to hold you for as long as I want and if Tony has a problem with it I’ll dismantle his suit again.”

----

Hope you all enjoyed it!

Masterlist

The Blind Date - Series

gif creds: @lcufeysons

Summary: Hilarity and a whirlwind adventure ensues when your best friend Sam sets you up on a blind date.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

HI HAPPY NEW YEAR- mediocre nat and r having a night out and r saying goodbye after nat drops her off but not saying she loves her and nat is like ?? hello??

hello thats very cute and in character but i am so tired ive been ready to collapse for like over a day so whatever tf im writing after this is what ur getting

This Friday date night goes a lot better than Nat's McDonald's fuckery from last week. You take her to that bar she likes near work, paying for the french fries you shared and the first two rounds. There was some game playing on the TV that you don't really follow but Nat clearly does because she laughs every time one of the teams fails. You don't think she really has a sports team she roots for and she admits she just picks the one with nicer uniforms to care about anytime sports comes on the TV.

When her team of the night wins, she plants a kiss on you that has someone at the bar hollering. You wince when she pulls away to glower at the man.

After that, you'd looped your arm around hers and you'd had a nice walk through the park. Skipped rocks in the pond. She had done a better job. In character, of course, but annoying nonetheless.

Tomorrow, she leaves for a mission, so she has to head to the tower tonight to pack up her gear and you've got an empty house for the foreseeable future.

It's sad.

You spend the car ride to your house gripping her hand and staring at the streetlights. Nat turns up the radio and taps the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

Nat leaps out of the car the moment she pulls into your driveway while you twist around to grab your tote bag from the backseat. When Nat comes and opens your door for you, you smile and take her hand.

Still, there's a sense of melancholy falling over you already. You sigh for the fifteenth time tonight and Nat just squeezes your fingers.

"I'll be back before you know it," she says into your shoulder while you fish your keys out of your bag.

"Now I have to take the bus to work," you say, sullenly.

"Tony would probably get you a car service if you asked."

You huff. Sometimes, you can't tell if she's fucking with you or if she's really that dense. One of the downsides of how casual the two of you are with each other, how often you poke fun at each other.

"What?" she huffs when you stomp to the living room to throw your bag on the couch.

"Now I have to fuck myself if I get horny." You spin quickly to glower at her. "And don't even say anything about Tony. We both know you'd probably commit some sort of atrocity if I ever did that just because you're emotionally constipated."

Nat scowls too. "Pot kettle black much."

The both of you squint at each other for a few long moments before you give in--always you first--and cross the distance to where she's leaning in your doorway.

Nat watches, impassive, as you pick up her hands. Lets you tug her closer to your body. "You know I own a cellphone, right?"

"Phone sex?" you mumble into her shoulder. "On the job?"

You can basically hear her eye roll. "No. You are so not getting off while I'm gone. But you don't have to act like I've got a terminal illness just because I'm going on a business trip."

Business trip. As if her business trip isn't some life-endangering superspy mission in god-knows-where, Europe, involving superhumans and, like, missiles.

"Come on," she says, pulling back so she can bump your chin up with your linked hands. "Send me pictures of your meals or whatever the hell normal people do."

"You'd just leave me on read," you grumble.

"I'll send you pictures of MREs so you can ignore me too." She's aiming for levity.

You are too down in the dumps to do anything but force a tiny smile and lean in for a quick kiss. She has to go soon. Too soon.

Nat tilts her head to catch your eyes. There's a hint of concern on her face. "Back before you know it."

"Don't break into my house again," you say, hoping your smile is more convincing this time. She's a superhero. No need to worry about a clingy girlfriend.

"No promises." She presses in for another kiss before stepping back, releasing your hands. "Bye, baby."

"Okay," you say with a heaving sigh, leaning on your door. Usually, you would watch her get in her car, wave at her through the window, and then disappear down the street.

Today, Nat does not move an inch. Looks at you expectantly.

She raises her eyebrows. "...bye."

You frown. "Bye?" you say slowly.

Still, she waits.

"Don't die," you offer. No movement. "...I would be sad."

Nope.

"I might even cry."

"Jesus," Nat growls out, spinning on her heel and storming off your porch. She's actually mad. You can tell.

You fumble with the door, making sure it's unlocked, before chasing after Nat. She's already at the wheel by the time you're knocking on her window.

She gives the wheel a look so searing, you're surprised it still has the gall to exist. Then, she rubs at her eye with an aggravated fist. Then, the window rolls down and she looks over at you with a tired look.

"What did I do?" you ask immediately, hands curling over the car door.

"Nothing."

You reach out to touch her cheek, something inside your chest aching something fierce when she flinches. "Nat," you say softly, voice thin from how much this hurts. Unexpected hurt, really. Pot kettle black, indeed. "Come on."

"I," she starts, stops to wince, continues with more gusto: "I will miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you reply quickly, hand tilting her face to look more fully at you. "If you died, I think I would never recover."

"I won't die," she murmurs into your palm, eyes pinned on you now.

"Promise?"

Nat smiles, a small roll to her eyes. "Sure, I promise."

"Okay." You nod, tipping onto your toes and tugging her face in to meet you in a chaste kiss. "I love you, okay? If you break your promise, I'll kill you."

Nat looks at you like you've hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Disguised, of course, by a wry shake of the head. "Haven't broken a promise to you yet. Won't start now. But also that made no sense."

"Get off my property, truther."

Nat grins, then, yanks you in for another hard kiss before letting you back up a few steps.

Her taillights disappear around the bend. Your heart feels heavy in your chest. She'll be back before you know it.

this is for the lgbt

yo dark nat. kind of domestic, not very serious, kind of dumb, but it’s borne of a thought i had. unedited because i’m lazy and thought you all deserved smth lolll

Keep reading

the holidays with older!nat

Like A River

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.9K

A/N: This is part of a lovely prompt challenge I’m doing with @quietlyimplode. A bit of angst and a bit of fluff, contains some heavier themes.

There were two of you. You knew that from the start. You did not ask about her.

You were in love. You wanted to be.

Keep reading

Mom Nat and Dad Bucky notice their daughter is very stressed from school and they take it upon themselves to relax her and make her feel good :)

warnings: INCEST, mom!nat x dad!bucky x daughter!reader, slight cuckholding, and oral sex.

DO NOT READ if this triggers you. Your media consumption is your responsibility.

With his head between her legs, the redhead threw her own back in pleasure as the super soldier gave her cunt a languid lick. She was nearing to her finish just as both Natasha and Bucky heard their front door slam shut in surprise.

Bucky pulled away from his wife and shared a look, their heads both turning to the sound before they stood up and pulled down Natasha’s dress.

“Honey?” Natasha peaked her head into the room, worry evident in her tone just as she saw you laid stomach flat against your king size bed.

“Babydoll, you alright?” Bucky’s deep voice boomed through and just to respond, you kicked your legs in town with a cry erupting from your lips against your pillow.

The two rushed to your bed and sat on the edge, both opposite to each other as Natasha held a hand to your back and rubbed it softly.

Still in your uniform, your skirt rode up as you kicked your legs, screaming and groaning in frustration. Both your father and mother caught sight of the white undies you sported and Natasha couldn’t help but even blush at the sight.

“Is it school, bunny?”

You nodded in tow and the two Russians looked at each other with sorrow, the guilt present on their faces just as Bucky sighed.

“I have so many things to do,” you sat up properly this time and was met by your parent’s concerned faces. “Papers, reports, extracurricular. It’s too much...”

They frowned at your concern, worried for your health, both physically and mentally. Natasha shook her head at your words and inched towards you onto the bed. With a hand tilting your head up, she leaned close and closed the gap between the two of you.

“Natalia—” Bucky was shushed with a finger from his wife and as much as he adored the image in front of him, he zipped his mouth closed.

Your eyes went wide in surprise at the touch and taste of your mother’s tongue. While her kiss was soft and gentle, it was firm and driven as her hand drew your head closer.

She only pulled for a moment to breathe, a grin present on her face when she turned to her husband.

“Well? Don’t just stand there with your dick hard. Help me out.”

Moon Song ➺ N. R.

Summary: It’s hard not to feel like Nat hates you – maybe it’s because you’re not good enough.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Gn!Reader

Word Count: 696

Warnings: Self-doubt, swearing, angst with a happy ending :)

A/N: This fic was inspired by “Moon Song,” by Phoebe Bridgers.

Keep reading

𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐧. 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟

a/n: because @twilight-99-tm and I couldn't get needy top beefy!Natasha out of our heads.. really that's all, hope y'all like porn! Technically a part of my Kinktober, but it's not a request, I just wanted to write this really badly

warnings: 18+, minors DNI; smut; strap-on sex {r receiving}; sex from behind; kinda restraint just because Nat is really strong, but all consensual obviously; denial/teasing {Nat receiving}; dirty talk {mutual}; a little overstim at the end if you squint; pet names {Natasha calls R baby}

summary: When Natasha comes back one night, she needs to alleviate an ache which just so happens to manifest itself in the form of making sure you're taken care of

words: 1.1K

kinktober event. || kinktober masterlist. || main masterlist.

“Please?”

Her words were so soft, way too whiny to be considered anywhere domineering. But her arms.. they kept you pinned in place, cheek pressed tight into the pillows below as your girlfriend practically rut against your backside. “I don’t know.. why should I?”

It was a cruel game you were playing, knowing she’d never do anything you said no to— but currently you were only saying no to torture Natasha. The thick length of her strap dragged back and forth between your folds, legs kept spread by the redhead’s strong thighs. “I know you want it as badly as I do… don’t be stubborn, malyshka.” Two groans rang in unison as the tip of her piece nudged against your clit, the devious part of the toy buried inside Natasha hitting a surprisingly sensitive spot. “I’ll fuck you until you’re begging me to stop. It’ll be so good, I promise, just— please.”

You hated denying her, especially when she was begging so sweetly in your ear, offering anything your heart desired if you’d just let her have this one thing, “But Natty…” Sleep was so close to claiming you when she’d come in, stealthily as ever. It was a mistake to think Natasha had come to bed so early just to cuddle with you, but you’d settled in her embrace easily, breathing in her sweet scent. When her slightly calloused hands began roaming your body, tugging at your flimsy sleep shorts, you knew you were done for. Something about your girlfriend coming to you so needy, so insistent that she couldn’t wait, drenched you in an instant and when you felt the telltale bulge of her favorite strap on press against the curve of your ass, it took everything in you not to cum on the spot. You’d managed though and theorized that you couldn’t not take advantage of her neediness.

So rarely was she in the mood to show you outwardly how much she yearned for you and so often, you gave in right away, letting her escape the need to beg. Not this time. “I know, I know you’re tired, but you don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you?” Ultimately, it was the fact that, amorous as she was, Natasha still only wanted to make you feel good that broke you. You’d never hear it aloud, but watching you come undone as many times as you could for her, crying out until your voice was hoarse and your only thoughts were her and how perfectly she was fucking you— that was better than chasing her own high.

The knowledge that you needed her as much as she needed you fueled her very soul, you knew it did. Every time Natasha’s pupils dilated just a tad bit wider when you asked for her and only her, when you sought her out amongst a crowd of people, when you were the one pleading for her to alleviate the ache between your legs; she adored tending to any need you brought to her. “Go on, fuck me. Fill me up how only you can.”

Exactly what she wanted to hear, Natasha pulled back just enough to align your bodies, one hand gripping your hip hard as if she was scared you’d twist away and deny her again. She sank in with little problem, your body accommodating the stretch and welcoming sting easily, “So ready for me and I hadn’t even touched you… did you get off on making me ask you to open up for me?” Her movements were slow and steady, drawing out each push and pull so you could truly feel every inch of her.

Natasha only let you move a little, just enough for her to know you wanted more, but not enough freedom to take what you needed. Needy as she was, Natasha was in control; she determined what you needed when. “Natasha… harder, go harder,” Like clockwork, her hips sped up, driving you almost painfully into the mattress.

“Like that, baby? You want me to fuck me so hard you’re walking crooked for the rest of the week?” You nodded, teeth biting down on your poor pillow as your fist balled the edge of your girlfriend’s shirt in a death grip. A rough hand met the swell of your ass with a sharp slap that left you crying out; Natasha wanted to hear you. “Words. Use them.”

When her words got clipped, it only meant one thing: she was close. “Fuck— fuck me, hard as you can.. ruin me.” Natasha’s pace quickened with your admission, frantic as she neared the onset of what she’d been waiting so long for. Holding back wasn’t an option for either of you, unabashed in using each other for your own pleasure. “Like that.. please, Natasha..!”

“You’re taking me so well, so deep,” Self-indulgent as she was tonight, Natasha knew if she wanted you to come with her, she needed that final push. “Does your needy little clit need some attention?” The only answer you could manage was a weak ‘yes,’ mindlessly trying to gain any friction, but Natasha still held you in place for her perfect angle. Sometimes you resented the fact that the woman never skipped an arm day.

She sacrificed one hand to find yours, guiding them down to where you were obviously dripping under her brutal fucking. Her fingers covered yours as they finally met your sensitive bud, circling and pinching perfectly in time with the silicone toy stretching you open. “N-Nat, I’m gonna.. can I cum? I need it so bad.”

Natasha practically growled, sinking her teeth into your shoulder as she desperately fought off her orgasm before you got yours. “Cum for me, do it now. Be a good girl and cum around my cock.” You came with an echoing cry, your fingers soaked with your own wetness as Natasha gave one final thrust, grinding your hips together until her walls were clenching around the bit inside her. She shuddered heavily, her body falling onto yours as you both came down from your highs.

You fell boneless onto the bed and the redhead followed suit, her front melding against your sweat-sheened back with ease. If you were tired before, you were exhausted now, the force of your activities threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. “Sleepy..”

Your girlfriend only hummed, peppering kisses along the back of your neck, over your shoulder blades, “You did so well for me, baby, I love you.” Her hands smoothed over your arms and hips; the massage should’ve been simple enough, but then the touches turned more suggestive again and stupidly, you tried wiggling away. Of course you didn’t budge and, tired as you were, when Natasha’s fingertips found your weeping entrance again, you pushed into her touch. “Think you can give me one more? I just missed you so much.”

Your head was nodding instantly, whimpering when you felt two fingers enter you to the hilt. The answer was always yes when it was Natasha. “Let me watch you cum again, just want to see you… that’s a good girl.”

These Hands of Yours Pt. 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, talks of therapy and allat, bruises, anxiety and whatnot

Summary: Can you forgive Natasha after she attacks you in her sleep?

A/N: again, a very rushed ending bc I literally never know how to end anything. even essays, corny ass ending.

Part 1

The sun shining through your window was what woke you up the next morning. When you opened your eyes you were met with Natasha’s green eyes that were a little puffy from last night. Her hand was still tightly intertwined with yours, her thumb rubbing you softly.

“Hi.” She whispered out quietly. You could finally see her features perfectly with the sunlight now covering the whole room instead of the moonlight. You watched as her gaze traveled down to your neck, and the events of last night flooded through your brain. You tensed up, and Natasha noticed.

“Good morning.” You replied in the same tone. You looked at everything but her, knowing that you would break down if you continued to look at her. Tears were unwilling pooling in your eyes, and you felt Natasha squeeze your hand.

“Baby,” she said in a pleading voice. “It’s okay. You can let it out now, Y/n.” You closed your eyes and shook your head, unable to speak any words due to the lump forming in your throat. “Can you look at me, please?”

A sob escaped from your lips at her comforting tone. Her voice soft and reassuring which is exactly what you needed to finally let go.

“I was s- so scared, Nat.” She pulled you into her chest, holding you closely as you cried and vented. “I- I thought t-that you were upset with me about earlier,” She closed her eyes as more tears formed in them, guilt flooding through her body.

“A-and then when I realized you weren’t yourself I was even m-more scared. You weren’t responding and I tried so hard to- I didn’t know what to do.” With all of the talking and crying you were gasping for air at this point, and Natasha sat the both of you up.

“I- couldn’t… I didn’t, Nat.” You were still crying and hyperventilating. She held your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her.

“Y/n. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, detka, but I need you to try and breathe, okay?” Natasha grabbed your hands and placed them on her chest, hers going back to hold your head in place. “Follow my breathing, detka. You can do it.”

You copied Natasha. Breathing in when she did, and out. It took a few minutes for you to finally calm down enough, being reduced to whimpers and sniffles. You were still breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath when you spoke up again.

“I didn’t know what to do, well I couldn’t do anything.” Your eyes drifted down to the bed sheets. “One of your hands was holding both of mine down until I slipped one out.” Natasha closed her eyes and brought you closer to her, kissing your forehead before resting it against hers.

“I am so, so sorry I put you through that, detka. I’m so sorry.” Tears were streaming down your face as you nodded at her. “I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you, okay?”

You shook your head and opened your mouth to tell Natasha that she didn’t need to do that, but she cut you off before you could speak.

“It wasn’t up for debate, Y/n.” You looked at her and only saw love mixed with guilt in her eyes, her hands hovering over you as if she was scared to break you. The ever so caring Natasha Romanoff here in front of you would never intentionally hurt you, and you knew that.

“I uh… I’m still a bit shaken up.” You mumbled out.

“Talk to me.” She demanded gently. By now you were both sitting face to face with your legs crossed on the bed. Her hands were on your knees while you played with yours in your lap.

“Well,” you gestured to your neck and shook your head, Natasha nodded in understanding. She knew when to push you to talk, and when to wait patiently for you to open up. For now she would do the latter.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments before your stomach grumbled. You groaned out of embarrassment and put your face in your hands. Natasha laughed lightly.

“I’ll go make breakfast. Is that okay?.” Natasha said while patting your legs. You nodded at her and smiled softly. She kissed your forehead and she hovered over your lips before pulling away. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” You answered her by pulling her back towards you, your lips connecting with hers in a soft kiss. She smiled when the kiss ended.

“I’ll be back. I love you.”

“Love you too.” You watched as she walked out of the bedroom, and the tension released from your body. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself up and your chest tightened at the sight of your neck. A dark red and purple mark where Natasha’s hand pressed against you was present, and you knew there was no way you could hide it from anyone.

You sighed and got ready for the day.

In the kitchen, Natasha was leaning on the counter with her head in her hands. She was beating herself up for allowing the stress to consume her to the point where she hurt you. In more ways than one. She thought back to how she snapped at you, and let you fall asleep alone. Natasha thought back to how scared and small you looked when you backed away from her after she had choked you. Tears were streaming down her face as she tried to suppress her sobs.

“Nat?” She straightened up her posture at the sound of your voice and busied herself with grabbing food out of the fridge. She turned around when she heard your footsteps get louder, and she melted at the sight of you in her hoodie and sweats. They were both a bit big on you, but neither of you minded.

“Yes, detka?” She asked as she set the food on the counter. She started to get bowls and pans out as you sat down on a stool at the counter.

“You need any help with anything? I can make the eggs while you do the pancakes?” You asked hopefully, but hesitantly. Your anxiety was telling you that you didn’t want to upset her again. You watched as she sighed and your heart dropped. Her demeanor the same as last night when she snapped at you while working.

“Are you sure you’re okay to be around me?” All of your worries washed away after hearing her small voice. You realized she wasn’t mad at you, but at herself. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, and clenched your fist to stop your hands from shaking.

“I- Yes. Natasha I’m okay to be around you.” She just shook her head.

“I can read you like a book you know?” She crossed her arms and looked at you softly. “I can see how on edge you are right now, and I don’t want you to feel like that around me.” You stayed silent. “Y/n, if you need space then I think you should take it.”

You fiddled with your hands and stared at your lap. You knew she was right. The whole situation was making your anxiety go crazy, and you didn’t want to feel like that around her either. Of course, deep down you know that she would never intentionally harm you, but your mind wasn’t letting it go so easily.

“I think…” You started and kept your gaze low. “I think you’re right, but I don’t want to break up.” You could see her move closer in the corner of your eye, and you looked up at her when she was in front of you.

“We’re not breaking up, baby.” She whispered out. Your eyes locked with hers as she cupped your cheeks with her cold hands. You leaned into her touch, the heat from your cheeks sending a wave of comfort through Natasha. “I just want you to be able to sleep with out having to worry about me. Maybe I can go stay at the compound for a bit.”

Tears were building in your eyes now, and she wiped them away. “What about the spare bedroom here?” You asked meekly.

“If that’s what you’re comfortable with.” She smiled when you nodded, and you found yourself doing the same. She leaned down and pressed her lips against yours softly but passionately. She pulled away and your eyes fluttered open when she cleared her throat. “I really am sorry about yesterday.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Natty, you were having a nightmare.” You frowned at her.

“No, not about that. Well, yes about that but no. I’m sorry for snapping at you. This mission is just bringing up a lot for me, and you were right I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” You were still sitting on the stool looking up at her, and you could tell she was about to cry again so you wrapped your arms around her and nuzzled your head into her stomach.

“I forgive you, just please talk to me instead next time. Or…” You trailed off not knowing how she was going to react with your next words.

“Or what?” She asked, her hands running through your hair and keeping your head on her.

“Or you could try therapy?” You felt her hands stop their actions. “I know you said you’ve went before, but if the job is pushing you to the point where you’re acting out in your sleep then maybe it’s time to go back.” She sighed and continued to flow her hands through your hair.

“You’re right. I’ll call Pepper to see if she knows any good ones, okay?” She felt you smile and nod against her stomach, your arms squeezing her a little tighter. “Now let’s get some food into your stomach before you go all Hangry Hulk on me.” You gasped and playfully shoved her away.

“You swore you would stop calling me Hangry Hulk!” You glared at the smirk on her face and crossed your arms. “Not funny.”

“That cute little angry face of yours is just proving my point, detka.” Your face burned and she laughed as she started on the food.

After Natasha called Pepper she told you that her therapy sessions with a Dr. Raynor starts next week. She told you that Dr. Raynor has helped Bucky and still does, so Pepper is sure that she can help Natasha as well. You told her how proud of her you were for trying, and that you were still there if she needed you to be.

The next three weeks were spent with Natasha sleeping in the guest room. She’s been meeting Dr. Raynor twice a week, and Natasha could physically feel the weight leaving her shoulders after ever session.

The fourth week you finally caved and snuck into the guest room when Natasha was asleep. You woke her up and asked her to hold you, and she did so without a second thought. Your mind and heart were finally on the same page about Natasha, your anxieties no longer consuming your every thought when you were around her.

The trust you had for Natasha was never gone, but it only wavered after that night. Now though, after weeks of reassuring, comforting, and chasing away each other’s fears, the two of you were better than ever.

And you still trusted her more than anything.

I need more mediocre gfs please!! Maybe like Reader getting hurt in an attack like I’m curious how she would act

sure but i didnt rly do that bc nothing serious ever happens in the mediocre gfs verse<3 welcome to the circus babies<3

Your relationship isn't public in the sense that neither of you thinks it's particularly wise to advertise to Nat's long, long list of enemies that she fostered any sort of positive emotion towards any specific member of the general public. It isn't particularly wise to advertise that Nat experiences any emotions, really, since unpredictability is the name of the game. But it's okay if people know she, perhaps, might like her coworkers because her coworkers could kill someone accidentally by, like, breathing too hard or something. You, on the other hand, are entirely normal. Maybe not well-adjusted, mentally at least, but you're not an alien with super strength, nor are you a mutated superhero borne from unethical scientific experimentation. Just normal human you.

Her friends and family know, obviously, since Nat is as unrepentant and shameless as they come. She likes to flex the fact that she's not emotionally stunted enough to not be able to bag a girl, basically. You're glad, at least, that you don't have to stop yourself from throwing yourself at Nat during house parties.

Nat also likes to lounge on an armchair with you perched on her lap, looking like the cat that got the cream; she said, one time, that it makes her feel like she has a huge cock. You had rolled your eyes at that, arms looped around her neck, and assured her that her cock was, indeed, quite large. She had smirked and kissed your neck and said in that insufferable tone: "I know." And Clint, who had been sitting on a nearby couch, had made a noise of revulsion and disappeared into the kitchen so he didn't have to hear Nat and you being so annoying. The two of you were a joy, to say the least, at Avengers dinner parties.

So, it comes as a surprise to both you and Nat--and your superhero friends when they hear about it afterwards--when you're shoved into a crummy alley by gunpoint because no one is supposed to know about your relationship to her outside of your inner circles. It's also a surprise because, you know, there's a gun pointed at you by a really menacing looking dude.

You're supposed to be safe. Everyone made sure to keep your relationship under wraps. How did they find you?

He's shouting at you, but you're too panicked, fumbling with your bag and backing into the wall, to really process what he's saying. Nat, who had been on a call with you, is also yelling at you in alarm through the AirPods Pro she had gotten you as a gift. You don't know what the fuck is happening. Maybe you shouldn't walk around the city with the noise-cancelling function on.

Suddenly, she goes quiet, and you glance at your phone, seeing the call has been dropped, and so too, then, does your stomach. A heavy feeling of dread sinks into you, and you find yourself shaking.

The barrel of the gun waves closer to your face, and you let out an undignified squeak, and then the man is wrenching your phone away with a curse when he realizes you had been on a call. Now, you are paying lots of attention to the man with the gun.

He is a mugger. You are being mugged.

"Oh, thank god," you let out in a rush, basically hurling your AirPods case at him. "Here. I-I'll get my wallet, too. It's- It's in my bag."

He is taken aback by your change in attitude, clutching the case like his life depends on it. "What- Hey, lady. What the fuck?"

You nod rapidly. "Yeah. Yeah, don't worry about me. Well, you can. I mean, don't shoot me. I have to get my wallet, okay?"

"...Okay?" The gun lowers. Dark eyes blink at you through his ski mask in utter bewilderment. "I mean-" He draws the gun back up with a scowl. "Just give me the bag."

You frown now, too. You had bought Nat a sandwich. It's in there. "But..."

"Give me the fucking bag!"

"Right! Yeah! Jesus, okay," you yell out, shoving the bag towards him and flinching away when the gun once again comes too close to comfort. "I just want you to know that my girlfriend's going to be so mad at you."

He ignores you. Why would he reply, after all? He's a mugger. You're his victim blathering on about your girlfriend. Your totally regular girlfriend.

Your girlfriend, whom you have yet to spot swinging off the roof and onto the fire escape above. Until, that is, her boots hit it with a loud clang, and both of you jerk up to look.

Then, it's over for him because Nat comes down swinging with a furious look on her face, utterly silent aside from her grunts when she lands on him and throws him upside down into the dumpster. A gunshot rings out, hitting the wall far enough away from you that you don't immediately piss yourself, but it's still a gunshot, so you still jump away with a screech.

You fall into the wall, dropping your bag, and scramble on your ass towards the main street. By the time you've gotten your bearings, Nat's straddled the mugger, gun kicked far into the alley and is midway through her third punch into the guy's face.

"Nat," you gasp out, pulse racing, throbbing, really, in your temple, "Nat!"

Your cries fall on deaf ears. She's still giving this guy hell, questioning him in a tone so cold you're glad you never have to face her for real. She seems to be under the impression that he's a neo-Nazi terrorist or something.

Quickly, you crawl over, scuffing your knees on the sidewalk, and place a hand on her back. She stills, still glowering down at the crumpled mugger beneath her. But then you put your other hand on her back, and you slide them onto her shoulders, and you cling on with a shuddering sigh.

She feels safe. She feels warm and solid and real. It hadn't felt real these past few minutes, you realize belatedly, and you cling on tighter. Suddenly, there are tears in your eyes. You feel a bit stupid for them since this is something that happens every day in the city, and Nat's faced worse, and here you are, about to sob your eyes out.

In relief, though. Relief. Sweet relief in the arms of your equally shaken up girlfriend.

She plants a hand on the guy's head, forcing his nose into the cement, and slips her free arm around your hiccupping shoulders.

"It's okay," she murmurs into your hair, a strangled note to her voice. "I'm here. It's okay."

"He-He was just mugging me," you manage, stilted, and so very much in love with Nat. Acutely aware of your love for her when you feel her relax and then stiffen up and then relax again once she's registered what you said. You keep blubbering on: "You crossed four blocks in as many minutes because I was getting mugged."

"Well." She sniffs, pressing him harder into the ground and disregarding his pained moan. "Yes."

"I love you," you say around a ragged breath. Your tears are subsiding.

Nat stiffly pats your back and glances down at him. "Yes."

"You should probably call off whatever national security agency you contacted," you say after a moment.

Both of you pay the mugger's squawk no mind. Nat just nods and says, again, "Yes." She releases you to pull her phone out of her pocket, face entirely unreadable, as she does as told. "You should also apologize to Carol."

"Me?" You make a face. Shuffle closer on your knees. "Why?"

"She, uh," Nat starts, then stops with a grimace. Rolls her eyes. "There's a war happening. Like, a few galaxies away."

"Galaxies," you repeat.

"Yeah. She's probably halfway here already."

"Galaxies."

"Yeah, baby," she says into her phone as she taps away. "She says that she's glad that you're all right, but you owe her a round of drinks."

You yank her arms closer to you--or, rather, she lets you pull her phone to your face. "She says you owe her drinks."

"We owe her drinks; that's what I said," Nat says. Finally, you see the wobble of her lips. Up and down, and up again. "You... You're okay?"

You smile softly, wiping the dampness from your cheeks. "Yeah. What about you, honey?"

Nat just nods. Then, she looks down at the guy under her and gets up with an out of place grace. He instantly tries to get up and run, but Nat just steps on his back, and he goes down again.

You pry your AirPods case out of his grip and get to your feet to pick up your bag. You put your stuff back in and shuffle back to Nat, who's palming her forehead and staring at the sky.

You curl your fingers around her tense forearm, rubbing a thumb into her skin until she turns to look at you.

"I love you," you repeat.

Nat lets her lips slant upward, and she cups your cheek. "Me too. About you."

You lean into her, nosing at her shoulder with a sigh. "How did you even get here?"

Nat lets out a breathy laugh. "Breaking and entering, and parkour on top of rooftops."

"Thank you," you say after a beat.

She shakes her head, hand pressing harder into your face. "Don't thank me."

"This is, like, cute and romantic, but I think you broke my ribs and my nose," says the mugger who has since dragged himself up to sprawl against the dumpster.

"Shut up," Nat snaps. "You should be glad I didn't break more."

He huffs and crosses his arms.

You wrap your arms around Nat's waist, smiling widely into her jacket. Nat can tell, of course, because she always knows. She tangles her hands in your hair, cradling you close to her chest, as fond of you as you are of her.

"Oh," you remember suddenly, "I got you a sandwich."

The cops find the three of you like this: Nat munching on a club sandwich with you draped over her side and the mugger looking awfully put out opposite you guys.

That night, and in the days following, Nat refuses to let you leave her sight. Very awkward to wash your hands in front of the bathroom line that had all seen a stoic Nat barge her way into your stall. You wouldn't change a single thing about it.

Does Nat ever take her mediocre gf to an Avengers party or does she not want her to meet her colleagues? 😂

LMAO ok so i think reader actually likes to text with the avengers, totally harmless "hows nat today" or "whens nat coming back" but refuses to tell nat anything about it just to drive nat up a wall so yeah shed def go to an avengers party w nat

notes: this is just a little pre-party primping:)

Nat's been tired lately, coming home late and exhausted and sprawling over you just to feel you squirm. But work's work, and tonight it just so happens that work means a black-tie dress code party. This means that she's dragging you along with her because she refuses to suffer alone.

Tony's ordered limos for everyone. Ludicrous, because who the hell does that. Billionaires, Nat tells you dryly when you bring it up. You point out that she's upper class too.

"I'm fiscally responsible," is her response.

"Stingy, you mean," is yours.

She does not dignify that with a response. Instead, she shuts the closet door on you and flips the lights off while you're in there.

"Mad 'cause you lost the argument," you call out after her.

"Can't hear you," comes her faraway voice. You assume she's gone into the bathroom to get changed.

You pull on your fanciest lingerie -- you never know with Nat's libido -- and pick out your outfit. You're nearly done with the getup when Nat swings the door open and sweeps out, looking gorgeous and above it all. You stare.

Nat gives you a passing glance and glides past you to the floor-length mirror, delicately sweeping a strand of hair away from her face. Her gown dips low on her back, skin creamy and smooth aside from a few raised scars you know well. Her ears are ringed with expensive golden hoops and studs. Her hair is loose for now, but she's squinting at it, lifting it this way and that, combing it out.

You reach out for her, grabby hands, whiny.

Nat sighs, and her eyes flicker to you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her painted lips. "Don't be clingy. We don't have the time for it."

"What if you stepped on me," you mutter, dumping your face into her shoulder and snagging her by the waist.

Nat scoffs. "Maybe after."

"What if we had a private party?"

"A stepping on you party?" she says dryly.

You shrug, peppering kisses along the column of her neck. "Sure. I'm down."

"You know, normal people just say: oh, you're so pretty, baby."

You tuck your smile into the slope of her shoulder. "Oh, you're so pretty, baby."

Nat turns her head, nosing at your cheek, coaxing your face towards hers. "Thanks," she murmurs, lips brushing over yours. "And I can't wait to step on you tonight."

You snort, grinning widely. "You know, normal people-"

"I think that you're literally insane and that I have four lifetimes worth of issues," she says, nudging you away from her so she can pull her hair into a bun. "But I guess you look nice."

You pretend to wipe a tear from your eye. "No one's ever said that to me before, baby. You really mean that?"

"No," she deadpans, "now piss off before I put my hands on you in an unsexy way."

"That's impossible."

Nat's eyes flicker to yours in the mirror, eyebrow raised. You smile, making to breeze by her, but you take a pitstop to drop a kiss on her cheek, which she very graciously accepts.

"I'll go pick your shoes for tonight," you call down the hall.

"No!"

You laugh.