Own My Heart

Dark! Sugar mommy melina posing as r's mother

A/N: so this one is a little different from other stuff I’ve written. I’m really excited about it tho!! I think it requires a little bit of backstory: I have crippling social anxiety and selective mutism, and I’m also just not the best at functioning in general. People thought I was 18 from the time I was 15, and now I look 18/19 (I am 18), but due to my mutism and and functioning issues, in public or at the doctor’s people have always turned to my mother to speak and decide for me. Usually it’s helpful in my life, but the potential for dark!content can’t be ignored >:)

Send me your h-word thoughts!

CW: smut! DNI if under 18!; dark!fic; mommy!melina; hints of Stockholm syndrome; mute!reader; manipulation of Doctor; Melina posing as mother; strapwarming; irresponsible driving practices; heavy manipulation; dub-con?? Sorta; it’s really dark and weird ok

“So, mom tells me you’re very anxious and sometimes have outbursts,” the doctor addresses you. You give a small nod, legs bouncing. He’s not wrong, after all.

“It’s such a struggle at home—I have such a sweet kid usually, but sometimes…” Melina fakes a disheartened sigh. “I know we spoke some on the phone about some possible medications to help,” she says.

You glance up at her. She had told you you were going to the doctor, but not why. Is she going to try and drug you up? She gives you a smile and squeeze that look reassuring, but you know better.

You’ve been mostly complacent & compliant with your captor at first, hoping good behavior would be in your interest, but as things escalated, you’ve started to struggle. It looks like she’s going to put an end to that.

“Yes, we did. From what you described, I think I have some medications in mind, one for daily use and one that would be more for those uncontrollable moments,” he says to Melina. “How does that sound, huh?” he drops his head a little and makes his voice a little softer to speak to you, how one speaks to a child.

Melina squeezes your leg a little tighter when you hesitate, making you nod quickly. He smiles at you, oblivious to the true situation at hand.

“Now, they will both be controlled medications, so make sure to keep track of them and keep them locked up,” he says as he gets up to go get his prescription pad.

“Thanks so much again for letting me come to the appointment today, doctor, it really helps. I know you don’t usually let parents of legal adults come along,” she says sweetly. He smiles and leaves.

“You did very good, baby,” she says softly to you once the door is closed.

“But, Me—mommy—I don’t need any medicine,” you whisper, looking up at her. “I don’t want any.”

“You’re behaving so well, don’t ruin it now. So far you’ve earned yourself a reward when we get home,” she coos, hand running up from your knee to your clothed mound. You gasp a little and buck gently into her touch. “Don’t you want a reward?”

“Y-yes mommy,” you say.

“That’s what I thought,” she hums. At the door handle jiggling, her hand moves back to your knee. The doctor enters and hands Melina two pieces of paper for the pharmacy.

“Now the daily one might make you feel a little more sluggish or tired than usual, just let mom know if you’re getting dizzy or feeling nauseous,” he tells you. “And mom, for the PRN one, don’t use it more than three or four times a week, and make sure you stay close—dizziness is a normal side effect,” he explains. You give a small whimper.

“Aw, it’s okay baby, it’s gonna help you,” Melina says. “Thank you, we’ll be in touch with any questions or concerns,” she turns back to the doctor, who nods. “Can you tell the doctor thank-you, sweetie?” she prompts.

“Th-thank you,” you mumble.

“Of course,” he says. You and Melina leave, pausing at the attached pharmacy to get your new prescription. When you’re finally back in the car, you fold over and cry.

“Oh, it’s alright little one, mommy’s here, mommy will take care of you,” she says sweetly, rubbing your back. “Now get your bottoms off and come sit on mommy’s lap so you can get started with your reward,” she says. You undress and crawl over to the drivers seat while she unzips her pants, revealing that she’s been packing.

“Just like that, baby,” she says as she guides your hips to sit you down on her strap. “So good for me,” she says as you give a needy whimper despite yourself. She buckles the seatbelt around you both and puts the car into gear.

“Someone will see!” you say, panicked and trying to get off.

“Settle, dekta. Remember, I have tinted windows,” she says, an iron grip around your waist. “But make sure to not move too much, I can’t be distracted,” she warns.

“Yes mommy,” you say, gently rocking your hips like you know she likes.

“That’s it, dekta,” she purrs, one hand on the wheel and the other stroking the back of your head, face buried in her neck. “It’s only thirty minutes home.”

Can I request a Natasha x Avenger!Fem reader where Natasha has gotten into a habit of sleeping over at reader’s room 4 times a week and one night, she has a nightmare and reader is there to comfort her and then feelings are declared because they both like like each other and reader would say as she holds Natasha in her arms, “You are never sleeping by yourself again so long as I’m here…”

What Dreams Are Made Of

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: nightmares, death

summary: You comfort Natasha after a nightmare because even the toughest people need solace

word count: 3.7k

a/n: thank you anon for requesting this! i really enjoyed writing this so i hope u like it too :) also huge shoutout to @didujustcallmedumb for giving me some ideas, encouraging me to write this, and also reading it over <3

There were many perks of having your room be closest to the kitchen. For starters, you always had easy access to a late night snack, and also, you were always first to try Wanda’s cooking whenever the delicious smell drifted through the air.

But it also meant that everyone walked past your room whenever they needed to go to the kitchen, whether it be for an early breakfast or for a simple glass of water. You didn’t think it’d be a problem, until you realized you did in fact live with a team full of superheroes who each did not have the most friendliest of pasts, meaning nightmares were a common occurrence.

You often heard footsteps pass your door in the middle of the night followed by the soothing sound of water flowing from the sink, though it was rarely loud enough to actually disturb your slumber.

Tonight was one of those nights. Light footsteps padded down the hallway, and you could fairly hear the squeak of a cabinet, the one that stored all the mugs if you had to take a guess. Of all the people in the compound, at least those currently not on a mission, you only knew one who drank their water out of a mug: Natasha.

Clicking on your light, you pulled back the covers, shivering slightly as the brisk cold air hit your bare legs. You slipped on a pair of Rudolph slippers, which Pietro had gifted you ironically for Hanukkah, and made your way into the kitchen.

Upon your entrance, Natasha looked up, setting her mug down on the counter, and offered you a tired smile. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” you lied easily, stifling a yawn as you moved to seat in the stool across from her. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” she shrugged nonchalantly before sipping her drink.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Natasha stared at you, the inner turmoil clear in her eyes. “Not really, but thank you.”

“Of course” you smiled, as you slid off your seat to grab some water. Knowing the former assassin like you did, you had a feeling she probably wouldn’t be going to sleep again tonight, even if she retreated back to her room. As you filled your glass, an idea popped into your head.

“Do you wanna, um, maybe you wanna—,” you stuttered, a slight blush creeping up your neck. “Do you wanna sleep with me?”

As soon as the words escaped you, your eyes widened, and Natasha raised her eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you shook your head. “I just meant sleep in the same bed, actually sleep, because I know I always sleep better when I’m not alone, and I mean when I’m in the presence of someone else not that other thing. I’m just going to stop talking now.”

Natasha chuckled at your rambling. “(Y/N), I know what you mean.”

“Right,” you looked down bashfully.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to sleep and I don’t wanna keep you up.”

“Don’t worry about it, Nat,” you internally rolled your eyes at her predictable response before putting on your best pout. “Please, for me?”

Unable to resist, your puppy eyes being one of her few weaknesses, Natasha playfully rolled her eyes. “Alright.”

You beamed as the two of you made your way back down the hall and into your room. As you entered, immediately heading back to bed, Natasha stopped to look around, and you realized this was the first time she’s seeing your room.

As if she could sense your nervousness, which she probably could, Natasha slowly walked towards you. “It’s nice,” she motioned to the space around her. “Very you.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s a compliment, (Y/N),” Natasha assured with a slight chuckle, as she pulled back the covers to slip into bed.

“Oh, sorry,” you felt your cheeks warm. “Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” she yawned, as you both laid down, sinking into the mattress.

“Don’t mention it, Nat,” you rolled over to turn the lamp off. “Get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N/N),” Natasha mumbled, her eyes already closed.

“Goodnight,” you returned softly, briefly admiring the sleeping woman before letting slumber take you as well.

—

The next morning, you were slightly disappointed to wake up to a cold bed, though you couldn’t say you were necessarily surprised. You knew Nat was not one to share her feelings with others often, so you had a feeling that last night was going to be a one night thing.

Feeling the heat radiating from the floor, you leave your slippers behind and head into the kitchen, following the wafting scent of pancakes.

“Morning,” you greeted Sam, Wanda, Steve, and Clint, who were all eagerly awaiting the other woman’s homemade breakfast.

“Good morning, (Y/N/N),” she chirped, turning around from the stove, still holding the spatula.

“Hi Wands,” you smiled, pecking her cheek before reaching around her to grab a mug for some coffee. “Where’s Piet?”

The three of you were like three peas in a pod ever since the twins joined the team. You had been quick to forgive them after everything with Ultron, as you weren’t one to hold grudges.

“He had to leave for a mission with Tony and Nat earlier,” she explained, turning her attention back to the skillet.

“What? Why wasn’t I called?” you turned to Steve, confused as to why Natasha, your usual mission partner, was sent out but you weren’t.

“They needed Pietro’s speed, so I swapped you two and you’re going tomorrow,” the captain informed, before adding with a knowing smirk, “Besides, Natasha can handling herself.”

“I know,” you grumbled under your breath, still slightly irritated.

“Speaking of Nat,” Sam butted in, a devious glint in his eye, “I saw her leave your room this morning. Fun night last night?”

All heads whipped towards you, and Wanda turned around so fast that a half-cooked pancake went flying through the air.

“What?” you coughed, nearly choking on your coffee. “It’s not—we didn’t—nothing happened.”

“Like that’s believable,” Sam snorted, hiding a grin behind the rim of his cup, as the rest of the group chuckled under their breaths.

“I’m being serious, guys,” you insisted with a whine. “She just stayed over because I was having trouble sleeping.”

So you bent the truth slightly, but you didn’t want to say anything about Natasha that she didn’t want the team knowing about.

“Okay, we believe you, (Y/N/N),” Wanda winked at you, knowing your harbored feelings for the redhead. “We’ll drop it,” she raised her eyebrow at the guys, daring them to protest.

“Right,” Sam nodded, while Steve and Clint just shook their heads, amused by everybody’s antics.

“Now come on,” Wanda placed a plate full of pancakes in the middle of the island, “let’s eat.”

You spent the rest of the day doing the usual training and paperwork, and though it was no mission, you were completely exhausted by the time your body hit the mattress. Your body was sore after Steve and Wanda put you through the wringer during training, and while Natasha was your usual sparring partner, at least she didn’t have magical powers that could practically throw you across the room.

Picking up your book, you slump back into your pillows and pull up the blankets.

Almost fifteen minutes later, you hear a soft knock on your door. As you finish the page you’re on, you call out to the person behind the door, “Come in.”

“Hey,” Natasha’s raspy voice causes you to put your book down and look up.

“Hey, Nat,” you greet, as you pat the spot next to you, inviting her to join you. “How was the mission?”

“It was fine,” Nat responded succinctly, and you knew not to ask further. Despite your indirect invitation to join you, she made no movement to accept. “Um, do you think I could, uh, sleep here tonight? Again? With you?”

Softening, you took a second to relish this moment of vulnerability and to observe the other woman. Despite clearly being worn out from her mission, slight scratches and heavy fatigue decorating her features, she still had a radiance to her that awed you.

“Of course you can,” you scooted off to the right side of the bed and pulled down the blankets for her. “Get in.”

Natasha sent you an appreciative smile before sliding off her slippers and getting under the covers. Shutting your book, you put it on your bedside table and rolled not your side to look at her.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

Still on her back, Nat was staring at the ceiling, and if her eyes weren’t open, you’d think she’d fallen asleep already. “It was a tough one,” she huffed, shifting on her side so her face was inches from yours. “We were outnumbered right from the get go. And it should’ve been an easy get-in-get-out intel collection but our information must have been wrong.”

You knew there was something more that was bothering her because, usually, Natasha wasn’t fazed by unexpected surprises or missions going awry. But you patiently waited for her to continue, wanting her to open up to you on her own.

“They had kids there, (Y/N),” she revealed breathlessly. “Kids.”

You cringed, knowing all too well how difficult cases with captives were but even more so when they were children.

“You did your job, Nat,” you soothed reassuringly. “You got them out. You saved them.”

A moment of silence hung over your heads before she closed her eyes and turned onto her back, “I know.”

Watching the other woman, you couldn’t help but twist your lips, not knowing what to say to ease her worries. “Get some rest, Nat,” you switched the light off. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”

—

Your phone alarm woke you up the next morning, and you mentally cursed yourself for forgetting. Groggily, you opened your eyes and shut it off, checking the time.

5:00 am.

You glanced over your shoulder to see if Natasha had woken up, but the redhead only stirred slightly before falling back asleep.

Sighing, you quickly jotted down a note for her, telling her that you had to leave for a mission, before getting dressed and gathering your things to head down to the quinjet.

When Natasha awoke, three hours later, she frowned at the sight of your empty side of the bed. Before she could get too upset, she spotted a small piece of paper on your pillow.

Nat—

Had early an early mission. Sorry I forgot to tell you.

Hope we’re still down for training tomorrow?

See you later :)

—(Y/N)

Natasha’s lips twitched upwards, her heart swelling at your adorable smiley face. While the former assassin knew she had feelings for you, ones that went beyond teammates or even friendship, she didn’t want to get hurt. After everything with Bruce, the will-they-won’t-they back and forth, Natasha wasn’t ready to put herself out there again, no matter how much she wanted to.

—

You, Steve, Clint, and Sam returned later that evening, and you wanted nothing more than to take a steaming hot shower and collapse in your bed. But before you could do just that, Wanda stopped you in the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed?” you furrowed your brows, unsure as to why your friend was depriving you of cleanliness and sleep.

“You haven’t eaten,” Wanda stated as if it was obvious, nodding to whatever, you had to admit, smelled delectable.

“But—,” you went to protest but the brunette was quick to interrupt.

“(Y/N),” she raised her brow and dangerously tilted her head, “you need to eat.”

“Fine,” you relented, sagging your shoulders in defeat. “At least let me shower first.”

Wanda nodded before calling after you, “You better be back out here in thirty or else I’m coming to get you.”

Nodding, you knew your best friend was not messing around. As you entered your room, you were already working on unzipping your suit and unstrapping your weapons. Though you were tired, you were still alert enough to sense someone else’s presence.

You snapped your head up, grabbing the knife still strapped to your thigh, only to see Natasha sitting against your headboard reading a book, her body covered by your blanket.

“Jeez, Nat,” you clutched your chest, “you scared me.”

“Sorry,” she smiled sheepishly.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, as you moved to peel of your mission attire.

“Well,” Natasha hesitated briefly, “I was wondering if I could sleep here again?”

Closing your dresser drawer, you turned around to face her, but before you could answer, she continued.

“You don’t have to say yes or anything. It’s just I find that I sleep better here that alone in my room, but I don’t wanna bother you or disrupt your space, so if—“

“Natasha,” you chuckled, interrupting her rambling, “of course you can sleep here.”

You saw her let out a small breath of relief, causing the corners of your mouth to curl upwards.

“I’m gonna take a shower and then go eat some dinner, if you want to join me,” you explained and pointed to the bathroom door, before your eyes widened. “I meant join me for dinner not in the shower. Wanda’s cooking and she’s making food and I’m sure she made plenty for everyone if you want to join? You don’t have to. I don’t know if you already ate but—“

“(Y/N/N), don’t worry. I knew what you meant,” this time, it was Natasha’s turn to interrupt you. “I ate earlier but thanks.”

Nodding awkwardly, you turned on your heels and headed into the bathroom. The streams of hot water did wonders for your aching muscles. Before you could get lost in your thoughts, you felt Wanda poking around in your head.

“You better hurry up, (Y/N),” she projected. “Your food is getting cold.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you muttered under your breath. Wanda rarely used her powers on you, and you knew that when she did, it was always out of good intent.

As you dried off, you realized you didn’t bring you pajamas into the bathroom with you. “Crap.”

Trying to sneak out into your room without Natasha noticing was an impossible mission, but one you desperately attempted. You slowly turned the handle and peeked through the door, making sure the redhead’s attention was still on her book. As you tiptoed out, hair still wet and in just your towel, Natasha looked up, her eyes widening and lips parting at the sight of your bare skin.

“Sorry,” you grimaced. “Forgot my clothes.”

When Natasha didn’t say anything, too stunned to speak, you gave her a tight smile before scurrying back into the bathroom. Once you were fully dressed, you came back out, still in the process of drying your hair with a towel.

“Sorry about that,” you apologized again.

“It’s not a problem,” Natasha smirked, having recovered from the initial shock.

“Right,” you let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, I’m just gonna go eat dinner now.”

You turned to leave before you could embarrass yourself any further. As you shut the door, you could faintly hear a small laugh from the other woman, causing you to shake your head amusedly.

By the time you finished dinner and dessert, which Tony had so graciously dropped off after his date with Pepper, it was already pretty late. So you were not surprised to see Natasha already asleep, curled up under the covers.

Careful not to wake her, you slowly got into bed. As your weight caused the mattress to dip, Natasha rolled over, immediately seeking out the warmth of your body. You tensed, as she unexpectedly nestled into your side, her head resting against your shoulder and her hand finding the exposed skin just beneath the hem of your pajama shirt.

As you moved your arm around her, bringing her closer to your body, you relaxed and subconsciously combed your fingers through her red locks.

Turning your head slightly, you took a moment to admire the sleeping woman. For someone who’s front was so stoic and hard, Natasha’s features were inherently soft: the natural plumpness of her lips, the way her eyelashes curled on their own.

Looking at her now, you felt as you truly saw Natasha, completely stripped of her Black Widow facade.

“You’ll never have to sleep alone as long as I’m here,” you whispered. “Sweet dreams, Nat.”

You pressed a quick kiss to the crown of her head before letting your head hit the pillow. As you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, you missed the small sleepy smile forming across Natasha’s lips.

—

A couple of days later, you found yourself on a mission that required all hands on deck, meaning the entire Avengers teams was out in the field plus Fury and Hill over the comms. Though difficult, the firing HYDRA soldiers were nothing you or anybody else couldn’t handle. Everything was going pretty smoothly.

Until it wasn’t.

As you and Natasha were running back to the jet, a stray HYDRA soldier fired twice, once in your thigh and once in your back. Immediately, you fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

“(Y/N)!” Natasha screamed before spotting the man who shot you and aiming her gun at him. You knew he was dead; Nat never missed. Rushing over to you, she kneeled by your side, frantically trying to find your wounds amidst all the dirt and blood that covered you.

As she pressed hard onto your abdomen, you grunted in discomfort.

“I know,” Natasha soothed with a sniffle, desperately trying not to cry, but you could see the tears clouding her green orbs. “I know it hurts, but you’re gonna be alright. You’re gonna be okay.”

Feeling yourself weakening, you put your hand on top of hers. “Nat,” you sighed, and she met your eyes, “we both know that’s not true.”

“No,” she shook her head desperately, “you’re gonna be fine.”

“Natasha,” you said as firm as you could muster, “I need you to know…”

As you trailed off, Steve’s voice came over the intercoms.

“Romanoff, (Y/L/N),” the captain yelled, “there’s a bomb set to destroy the base. Get back to the jet. Now!”

“I’m not leaving her,” Natasha cried.

“Natasha,” you gasped, “you have to go.”

Shaking her head again, she cradled your face, not caring about the blood that stained her hands. “No, I’m not leaving you,” she said with fierce determination, a trait you always admired of hers, though dare you call it stupid stubbornness at times.

“Please,” you coughed, blood dripping out of the corner of your mouth, “for me.”

Your last words came out so weak that if Natasha wasn’t inches from your face she wouldn’t have heard them. As she realized that your breathing had stopped, a sob escaped her lips.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered, resting her forehead against yours, briefly forgetting the fact that she was in the middle of a battlefield. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“Natasha!” Steve yelled in her earpiece. When she didn’t respond, too stuck in her grief, he called again, “Natasha!”

This time, she got to her feet, as she wiped her nose. Running as fast as her feet could take her, knowing she had little time before the bomb was going to go off, Natasha couldn’t stop the tears from blurring her vision. As she saw the figure of the jet in the distance, the bomb exploded, her ears ringing as she went flying.

Faintly, she could hear her name being called from her team. “Natasha!”

“Natasha!”

“Natasha!”

Natasha’s eyes flew open, almost expecting herself to be in the med bay, but was startled to see your concerned expression hovering over her.

“Hey,” you offered her a worried smile, your hands still resting on her shoulders. “You were having a nightmare, a pretty bad one by the looks of it. Are you alr–“

Before you could finish, Natasha leaped forward, wrapping her arms around you. “Oh my god,” she sighed, relief evident in her voice. “You’re alive.”

Pulling back from her, you tilted your head. “Of course I am, Nat.”

“But I saw you,” Natasha shook her head, unable to stop the break in her voice. “I saw you die right in front of me.”

“Oh, baby,” the pet name slipping out naturally, as you pulled her back into your body, cradling her head soothingly. “I’m right here. You hear that?” You asked, knowing her ear was right over your heart.

“I’m still alive.”

Moving to sit upright, Natasha sniffled and wiped her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you softly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As your finger tips lightly brushed her cheek, Nat lifted her head to meet your eyes.

“(Y/N),” she whispered, thinking this was as good a time as any.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Natasha revealed, causing you to bite back a smile that was threatening to take over your face. “I think I have been since the first day I met you. And I realized that life is too short to be holding myself back from what I want, especially in our line of work.”

As she searched your face for any response, you grinned, eyes shining with adoration and relief. Surging forward, you cupped her cheeks and brought her in for a tender kiss.

Natasha immediately reciprocated, and your lips melted together beautifully. Before you could get lost in the taste of her, air became a necessity and you both separated, breathing heavily.

Leaning her forehead against yours, Natasha gently wiped a stray tear that had fallen down your cheek. “Why are you crying, detka?”

“I’m just so happy,” you giggled and nuzzled your nose against hers.

“Me too,” she beamed, smiling against your lips, kissing you once more.

As the two of you fell asleep that night, your limbs tangled together, you thought to yourself,

This is what dreams are made of.

———

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

@blooodwords This is amazing! I really love the natural push and pull of their relationship and don't apologise for the plot it is so interesting!! I'm super excited for the next chapters (no rush💕) I am curious as to why Natasha doesn't touch the reader sexually though? Is it a personal preference or something else? Either way, best of luck with future writing endeavours!🥰

part 2 to gun smut?

i need to know why r is so fucky in the head 😭

a/n: yeah ok let's fuckin go. sorry to disappoint but this one does not actually include gunplay. and it's sorta plot heavy — i got a lil carried away. also please excuse any mistakes as it is long past my bedtime.

home of blood and bone.

RATING: E FOR EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ ... MINORS DNI).

PART ONE ... PART TWO.

natasha x fem!reader ; natasha pries her way into your past, into your biology, and into your future. and you let her.

warnings: nsfw, semi-explicit violence, explicit smut, knifeplay, lil bit of blood.

i do take requests but please give this a read before doing so!

a“How was the psych eval?”

Natasha Romanoff lingers in your doorway with a mug of coffee and a scowl.

“Thorough,” you tell her without looking up from your workbench. You’ve been toying with the grappling hook launch controls on your utility belt for the better part of an hour.

“Big man says you were difficult.”

You were not.

You’d make that clear if you cared, but you don’t. And if Tony Stark cared about your difficulties he’d pull you from the roster. Fact that you’ve got a seven am mission briefing the next day tells you everything you need to know.

A noncommittal noise falls from your lips to fill the silence.

Natasha steps into the room. The door clicks shut behind her. “Were you actually difficult?” Her tone softens. You don’t like that. “Or was it your charming brevity? I know talking’s not your favorite thing.”

In that moment you don’t like that she knows you and you really don't like that there isn’t a way to tell her as much without sounding like a grade-a asshole. Not that she would mind—you really doubt she would—but you’re still stuck on that pesky wanting to please her thing. It’s been seventy-two hours since the day in the jet and you still haven’t figured out a way to force her from your mind. And to think you used to be so good at pushing people away.

“Dunno, Nat,” you mumble, huffing. You push a torx driver a little too hard into a screw and the panel it secures sprouts a hairline crack. “Motherf—what more do you people want from me? I answered their questions.”

Natasha drops a tablet onto the workbench and taps the screen.

Security cam footage.

You grit your teeth and wish Natasha wasn’t over your shoulder, watching you watch this.

Conference room four.

An unremarkable woman in a pencil skirt sits across from you with a legal pad and a pen.

You’re stone-faced and still, hands clasped in your lap, looking right at her.

“Do you experience compulsive thoughts relating to the incident that took the lives of your parents?”

“No.”

“Do you suffer from nightmares about the incident that took the lives of your parents?”

“No.”

“Do you experience flashbacks to the incident? By this I mean—”

“I know what you mean. And no.”

“If something happens that reminds you of the incident, does it trigger an intense emotional response?”

Yes. Sometimes. But you’re careful not to show it.

“No.”

“Do you actively avoid things that remind you of the incident?”

“No.”

True. You tend to seek them out.

“Have you experienced generalized anxiety since the incident?”

“No.”

True enough.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No.”

That one, at the very least, is only half a lie.

“Do you startle easily?”

“No.”

True.

“Do you feel that the—”

“Say the word incident one more time and I’m gonna flip my fucking lid. I don’t have PTSD.”

“What does that mean, ‘flip your lid?’”

“Get violent. I don’t know.”

“Are you stating that you intend to inflict violence upon me if I continue administering this evaluation?”

“No. I don’t—don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

“Who does deserve it?”

Bullshit question.

She’s leading you.

It’s fine.

“Nobody at present,” you tell her.

“Who deserved it in the past?”

You shift in your seat, crossing your arms, trapping your hands between your elbows and ribs.

They already know. This lady, Tony, all of them. You don’t think there’s a single person on the compound who hasn’t read your file.

“Family.”

“Whose family?”

“Mine.”

“When you speak of your family do you include yourself?”

There it is.

You smile, mocking and sweet, and, “Obviously,” you say.

The video stops.

Natasha spins you around in your chair and clamps her hands on your shoulders. She’s the first person to touch your skin, your actual body, no barriers, since the day on the jet. All at once you wish you were wearing more than a tank top and wish she’d never stop touching you.

“By that logic,” she says, “your own logic, you deserve to be dead.”

“By the logic of all the world, actually,” you say, “yes. I should’ve been dead the day my family was. Don’t think it takes a professional to figure that out.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use so many words at once.”

You roll your eyes.

“Look at me,” Natasha says next, and doesn’t speak again until you do. “I know you’re fucked up—so am I. It sort of comes with being one of us. And—”

“Your point?”

“Don’t be a jackass,” she says, laying a firm pat on your cheek that feels more like a slap than you were expecting. “I’m trying to tell you that the deaths of your parents are in the past. It’s done. But the idea that you’re walking around wishing you were dead, too? Not okay.”

“Right.”

“We need you.”

“That so?”

It’s true enough.

Tony wouldn’t have recruited you if you weren’t valuable, if you couldn’t do things nobody else could. You’re so ingrained in the operations of the Avengers that at this point, yeah, they probably do need you. Teams are reliant on their members, and whether you like it or not the Avengers are the only people who haven’t kicked you to the curb the moment they found out what exactly is in your past.

It isn’t until Natasha says, “Listen to me. It wasn’t your fault, and you shouldn’t torture yourself over it,” that you realize how wrong you are.

Your eyes narrow.

In less than a millisecond you make a weighted decision.

Your hands knock hers from your shoulders. You need space between the two of you if you’re going to let this conversation unfold. You don’t want her that close when you confide, you don’t think you could handle watching her recoil.

“What do you know about the deaths of my parents?”

Natasha furrows her brow, says, “They were shot point-blank by a HYDRA rogue after refusing to turn over their research on genetic engineering.”

You don’t know why you want to tell her.

You know it’ll ruin everything.

But if Natasha doesn't know, who else is in the dark?

You don’t want to spend your time around a team that doesn’t even know the fundamentals of your history. You want them to know exactly what you are, and if after that they still want you to stay? You will.

“I was never a rogue,” you tell her, gritting your teeth, “and I was never HYDRA.”

Natasha steps back. “You—?”

“And they didn’t refuse to turn over anything.” Your voice is thickening, getting rough around the edges. “I didn’t even ask for it, I’d already seen it all.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

It isn’t pity that she’s looking at you with but you can’t place whatever it is and that alone makes you want to put your head through a wall.

“I’m saying that I was an experiment. Bred in a lab to be the perfect, indestructible child. You had the Red Room, I had the house I grew up in.”

“But” — she’s pacing, never getting any closer to you than where she started — “you aren’t indestructible. I know you aren’t.”

“They made a mistake in my genetic code. I can bleed if I want to, I can feel pain under the right circumstances, but I’m not sure that I can die. And—”

It clicks so plainly on her face.

“You want to find out,” Natasha finishes for you. She comes to a stop, studying you from across the room, and you can see her putting the pieces together like you’re right there in her mind. “You didn’t kill your parents. You killed your captors.”

“You killed Dreykov.”

“…Touché.”

/

“You altered my file. Why?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to walk in here as the mommy and daddy killer. Was I wrong?”

He wasn’t.

Mostly.

But.

“I thought everyone knew.”

“I know,” Tony says, and to his credit he does manage to look apologetic. “And you thought they accepted you anyway. Which they do, still, by the way. Now that they actually know.”

No matter how deep you dig you can’t find it in yourself to be upset with him. He only did what believed was best. For you and for the team. You know more than most what a decision of that caliber feels like.

“Right,” is all you say.

You turn to go.

“You’re taking Romanoff with you,” Tony says before you make it out the door, “on the Evora job. And on all jobs from here on out.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Stark.”

“Maybe not,” he says, “but good luck telling her that.”

/

Natasha’s behavior around you hasn’t changed.

You don’t know whether that’s because things are genuinely the same or because she wants you to think things are the same.

It’s hard to gauge whether it actually matters one way or the other.

“Guy calls himself Elemento.”

“Gross.”

“Yup,” Natasha says, “but he can bend the elements to his will.”

Your behavior around Natasha has changed, if only a little. You’re talking more. Mostly to fill the silences she leaves hanging in the air, the spats of quiet that make your head hurt.

“Bullets and martial arts won’t do much against that,” you say. “Offense a little intended.”

“Ouch.” She’s grinning. “You can’t be bent, however. I’m just backup.”

She’s right.

As usual.

You’re an experiment the elements can no longer touch. You put your ability to be altered to bed the day you shot your parents.

Elemento can’t bend you.

And he doesn’t.

His gift only works when he’s breathing.

You putting your hand through the skin of his throat and tearing out his windpipe takes care of that. The bullet between his eyes takes care of the rest.

Spilling Elemento’s blood across the white tile floor of his laboratory is the closest you’ve ever come to creating fine art. When it splashes across the front of your battle suit and freckles you in red you reckon it’s the most color you’ve worn since childhood.

Before his body hits the floor you’ve pulled his hard drive and crashed out through the nearest window.

It isn’t until you’ve got an arm around a rung of the rope ladder dangling from Natasha’s chopper that you realize you’re still holding onto the flesh you pulled from his neck.

You wait to ask your questions until Elemento and his ruined lab in Evora are six hours behind you and you’re mostly cleaned up, until Natasha’s found an itty-bitty hotel room to camp out in for the night.

“Why does Stark give me the messy assignments?”

“He trusts you,” Natasha says without looking up from a dime-store paperback she swiped from the front desk. “And you have considerably fewer morals about leaving loose ends.”

So that’s it.

“Right.”

You don’t say much for the rest of the day.

You just sit on the floor at the foot of the bed and think. Mostly about the fact that okay, yeah, you don’t think too much when it comes to killing the people Tony wants you to kill, and a little about the fact that Natasha doesn’t seem to mind the carnage. Whatever red she had in her ledger doesn’t keep her from letting you have your fun.

Funny word for what you do for the Avengers, that one. Fun.

You weren’t allowed much fun as a kid. Hell, you can barely call your upbringing a childhood.

Most of what you remember is being pricked for blood, being rolled under x-ray machines, withstanding test after test until your parents were satisfied with their creation. You remember asking to celebrate holidays, birthdays—anything—and being told no. You remember watching the neighborhood kids board the school bus every morning from your bedroom window and hating that you weren’t allowed to go to regular school with them. Most of those memories are laced with hate.

Makes sense that murder constitutes fun these days.

“Hey.”

You pull yourself out of your thoughts.

The window’s gone dark.

Natasha has the bedside lamp on, casting a dim yellow glow across the little room, and she’s right there with you, dangling her head off the end of the bed and peering at you with affectionate amusement.

“You’ve been in your head for hours,” she tells you. “It’s four am.”

“Oh.”

“Come to bed.”

You look down at your clothes: gray tactical pants splattered with blood, boots caked in dust and dirt, sweat-stained tank top clinging to your chest. Off in the corner your battle jacket lies crumpled in a heap.

“I should shower.”

You wait until the water’s scalding before stepping in.

When you get out your skin’s red and warm and in the foggy mirror you notice a gash along the length of your forearm. It doesn’t need stitches but you figure Natasha’s going to say something about it anyhow.

She does.

“That hurt?”

“No.”

“Did you clean it?”

“Are you always such a mom?”

“My sister would say yes.”

You dress in a spare tee and a pair of sweats with the gaudy Avengers logo on the hip.

There’s only one bed.

You crawl in and lay still on your back.

Natasha props herself up on an elbow and studies you.

“You said you can bleed when you want to, and feel pain under the right circumstances. What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means.”

“Elaborate,” she says.

“Later.”

“Fine.”

She kills the lamp.

It takes her ten minutes to decide to slip a hand over your bicep and squeeze. Another five to tuck her leg up over your hip. When you don’t move she finds your hand and pulls it to her thigh, and, “Just—there,” she mumbles against your ear. You squeeze, she hums.

Eventually, you don’t know how long—you lost track of the minutes as soon as she invited you to touch her—Natasha’s lips find your skin. She leaves soft kisses along your jaw, slow and steady, until she finds your lips and licks into your mouth with a gentle curiosity that distracts you enough not to notice the hand slipping under your shirt until Natasaha’s nails bite into your skin.

For a moment you want to ask what this is, what the time on the jet was. You push the thought away as Natasha swings a leg over your hips, mounts you, and leans over to flick the lamp on.

“I want to try something,” she says, peeling your shirt off, grazing her fingertips over your sternum and down your stomach. Then she pulls a knife on you, a little folding one that snaps open with a satisfying click. The sound itself is enough to light a fire deep in your core.

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just smile, dreamy and expectant, because while it isn’t a loaded gun it does still excite you.

Natasha sets the blade at the base of your throat, and, “I want you to bleed,” she says, brows raising. “Can you do that for me?”

You can. Even though you can hear your heart thudding in your ears and you can feel the scorching tingle of arousal as it shoots down your spine, you can do it.

The knife follows the path her fingers took only moments ago: over your chest, between your breasts, along the divot between the muscles of your stomach. In its path little droplets of blood sprout before your eyes, painting you red for the second time that day. Natasha wipes the blade on the sheets and drags her fingers over the thin wound, smearing blood across your skin.

A moment passes in silence, you watching Natasha while she inspects the slice she put into you. In that moment your heart picks up, thundering against your ribcage, and you know she can feel it just as easily as she can see the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Rhetorical—she’s smirking. “No blood this time. I don’t even want to break your skin.”

You have to think about it for a moment, tunnel way back into the corners of your mind to find the switch that kills your pain receptors and fortifies the density of your skin, but you can do it. You’d only practiced finding and hitting that switch under the clinical observation of your parents a thousand times as a child. It used to take you hours—this time it takes only seconds.

When the blade slides over your skin this time, nothing happens. Not even a scratch.

“Like a butter knife against marble,” Natasha mumbles.

You can’t tell if she’s studying you as a whole or just the cut and the would-be one. At least she hasn’t said anything about the fact that you’ve fought by her side time and again and not once has she ever seen you refuse a wound. Surely it means something, to her or whichever psychologist Tony has on retainer this month, that you choose to let yourself get hurt when things come to blows, but you think it’s hardly the time to dwell on that.

The knife clatters onto the bedside table.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing her palm against your abdomen, grazing her nails over the firm muscles she finds there. “Although I’m absolutely certain you don’t need an apology. Still—not every day I hurt one of my own on purpose.”

“One of your own, huh?”

She rolls her eyes.

“I wouldn’t be here to keep an eye on you if I didn’t care.”

“You sure it isn’t just so you can get into my pants again?”

“All I have to do is smile at you to accomplish that.”

“Touché.”

Natasha smiles.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to meet her halfway as she ducks down to kiss you. The taste of her tongue is second only to the taste of her cunt, and you consider yourself lucky to know the taste of both.

Doesn’t take much more than a heavy hand of yours slipping down between her legs and cupping her through her little sleep shorts to convince Natasha to let you have her. You get her out of her bottoms and push your fingers through slick lips, pushing her wetness around with your fingertips before sinking into her in one fluid motion.

You almost ask her if it’s good, if it’s enough, but her eyes rolling skyward, her fingertips pressing into your skin, and her back arching as she rolls her hips against your hand tell you all you need to know. She’s warm and wet and tight around your fingers as you stroke her from the inside, practically coaxing her wetness out of her cunt and into the palm of your hand.

“Good?” You ask anyway because even with the pleasure written on her face you still value a verbal confirmation.

“Good,” Natasha says, nodding.

Before you can say anything else she slips an arm around your neck and rolls onto her back, pulling you right down on top of her with your hips nestled between her thighs and your hand trapped between your bodies.

“Better,” she says, smirking up at you. “Fuck me like this—like you mean it.”

“Easy,” you tell her, because it is, because you really do mean it.

You thrust your fingers into Natasha’s warm cunt while she mouths at your throat, sinking her teeth into the soft spot where she finds your pulse, sucking a bruise into your skin that you know will linger for days, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so eager to wear a mark before. And you’re still bleeding, smudges of blood on your chest staining Natasha’s shirt from where she presses up against you, but you don’t care, and you don’t think she does either.

Notching your hips against the back of your hand and using the steady grind to fuck your fingers into her helps, makes it feel a little like what you’d guess a biological male might feel in this situation, holding yourself above Natasha with an arm that’s starting to cramp while you push into her. You’d watch if you could, you reckon the sight of your fingers disappearing into her clenching hole is a mighty fine one, but she’s palming at your breasts, teasing your nipples, and her arms are in the way. You settle for slipping a third finger into her cunt, stretching her open, grunting happily as she keens into your ear and gushes around your fingers.

“I wish I had your stamina,” she mutters through a yawn, pushing her hands through your hair as you crawl down her body, settling on your belly between her legs. “You aren’t going to let me sleep yet, are you?”

You give your answer by burying your face in her cunt, licking through her lips, grazing your teeth over her sensitive clit, and drinking her in. She tastes better than you remember: heady and intense and entirely Natasha. You hum against her, prop one of her legs over your shoulder, and coast your hands along her thighs. She’s warm to the touch and warm against your tongue and if it weren’t nearing five o’clock in the morning you’d spend all the time in the world right here.

But because it is nearing five o’clock you spend maybe ten minutes between Natasha’s legs, licking into her leaking hole until she tenses and trembles and spills onto your tongue. By the time you wipe your mouth on the sheets and crawl up to her side she’s barely awake, but, “Thanks,” she mumbles, draping an arm across your middle and leaving a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “For not shutting me out.”

Natasha falls asleep tucked up against your side and by the time she’s snoring softly against your shoulder you’ve decided that, whatever the circumstances, whatever the mission, having someone tag along to babysit you isn’t the worst thing in the world at all when that person is Natasha.

And, for what it's worth, you're glad you haven't figured out how to push her away.

I don’t know who need to hear it this evening but:

Your favorite fictional characters are proud of you!!!

They are not disappointed in you for failing that one test!

You did not let them down because you made a mistake on that one thing!

They do not hate you because you upset that one person or did that one “bad” thing!

They LOVE you because you are doing the best you can given the circumstances. They are PROUD of what you’ve accomplished today. A glass of water? Worked on a hobby? Took a shower? They are PROUD.

Don’t let your brain use your comfort characters against you.

They are there for you no matter what.

📖📖 with Nat?

Honey Pots and Feathers.

Child!Natasha Romanoff & Pooh Bear!Reader (I can't believe I wrote this either)

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: I chose Winnie the Pooh AU. The headcanon is that Natasha watches a Winnie the Pooh Cartoon as part of her Red Room conditioning and The Hundred Acre Woods becomes her safe place.

This is either ridiculous or it's lowkey angst, who knows. References to Red Room abuse.

Days were hard to remember sometimes. Pooh liked to think that the days when he ate the most honey were the Very Best of Days. Piglet disagreed, he said that the days when he found fresh acorns were always the Very Best of Days. He said it was nice to have one less worry.

Pooh politely told Piglet that when he found fresh honey he would eat it that very day.

That night, Pooh found he couldn’t sleep. He felt sorry for Piglet. Pooh decided he wouldn’t be in a hurry to eat acorns either. He planned to suggest a new rissupay to Piglet.

Natasha had told them all about rissupays the last time she had visited. Natasha had been hungry and her stomach had rumbled. Piglet had offered her an acorn, but she declined. Natasha told them that she didn’t know any rissupays for acorns.

Pooh asked about rissupays because his tummy was always growling and he liked the idea of turning acorns into something nicer. Like honey, perhaps.

Natasha had led them along the path to Eeyore’s as she explained about rissupays. She said it was like magic. Add a little bit of thisandthat and suddenly food became much nicer. Pooh didn’t know where one could find thisandthat, but he had started keeping an eye out just in case.

-------------

The next morning, Pooh decided he would indulge in a little honey for his breakfast. He got his paws quite sticky, but he didn’t let it phase him. Tigger bounced in just as the jar of honey was getting much lighter.

“The news is that Natasha will be coming to see us soon.” Tigger told Pooh with an extra bounce.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful news.” Pooh patted his tummy with delight. Everyone loved Natasha. She was clever and funny and often said the nicest things.

Tigger bounced away just when Piglet arrived.

‘Good morning Pooh.’ Piglet said. ‘Did you hear the good news?’

Pooh informed Piglet that he had. Piglet told Pooh that he was going to give Natasha a gift when she got here. Natasha didn’t have as many things as other children. She told them that she didn’t mind though. Natasha was happy to have such good friends.

Pooh liked that he was one of her friends. He decided Piglet had had a Very Good Idea. He decided that he would give Natasha a jar of honey.

Pooh thought that honey might be very important for Natasha’s rissupays.

-----------------

That afternoon, after a spot of lunchtime honey, Pooh and Piglet wandered along the path to Rabbit’s House.

When they got there, Natasha was already sitting on her tree stump. There was an assortment of gifts at her feet.

When she saw Pooh, Natasha waved. Pooh waved back. His paw got stuck to his fur and he realised that he hadn’t Cleaned Up Properly after lunch. But, that was okay because Natasha wouldn’t mind.

Natasha was sitting with Kanga and Roo. Natasha had a bruise on her face and Kanga was telling her about how brave she was.

Pooh and Piglet sat next to Natasha on the tree stump. Pooh listened respectfully and patiently because being brave was very important.

Natasha gave Pooh and Piglet one of her Big Bright Smiles. She showed them the feather that was resting behind her ear. Natasha’s hair was red and she liked to keep it braided. Sometimes, when she could visit for a little while, Natasha would braid Eeyore’s hair too.

Eeyore didn’t usually like anything, but he liked Natasha's braids. Natasha was very talented and smart. That was why she was sometimes too busy to visit.

Piglet gave her his special present. He’d made her an acorn necklace. Natasha said it was the prettiest joolery that she had ever been allowed to wear.

Pooh stayed quiet. He was thinking now that he had brought quite a big jar of honey. He wondered if so much honey might actually make Natasha feel ill.

Tigger bounced into the clearing then. Rabbit rolled his eyes. Tigger told them all that he’d thought of a song on his travels. Natasha was very excited to hear it.

So was Pooh, although he wasn’t very good at remembering songs. Neither was Tigger unfortunately. All he could remember was that it had been about Natasha and the scary Heffalumps.

Natasha had been very brave the last time she had visited. Pooh had told her about the scary Heffalumps that lived in the darkest part of the forest. Natasha had found a sharp stick and walked into the forest all by herself.

She told them that Heffalumps were not as scary as the Big Bad Man. Piglet had started trembling. He’d asked if they also lived in the darkest part of the forest.

Natasha said that the Big Bad Man was only scary for her. That was when Piglet had offered her some of his acorns.

Pooh remembered this and he asked Natasha about the Big Bad Man. He asked if she’d tried a sharp stick.

Natasha started to cry and Pooh felt very sad. Natasha said that it felt a little bit good to cry because it wasn’t something she normally got to do. She told them the Big Bad Man was still there and that she was still scared of him. The Hundred Acre Woods became very silent all of a sudden.

Natasha said that there were other Big Bad Adults too. Kanga held Natasha’s hand when she talked about it and that made Natasha cry again. Pooh tried not to feel too sad because he knew that Natasha wanted to cry a little bit.

Natasha said that the Big Bad Adults wanted every day to be a Very Good Day. But, sometimes, that was very hard for Natasha to do.

Piglet asked if she had to find acorns for them.

Natasha shook her head. She said she had lots of Rissponzebillytees. No one knew what that word meant, except Owl.

Owl said that it meant that Natasha had little problems that she carried around in her pocket. Natasha said that was close enough.

Natasha said that it was hard because sometimes when she didn’t have a Very Good Day, she had to have a Very Bad Day.

Pooh asked worriedly if Very Bad Days meant hardly any honey.

Natasha looked even sadder then, and Pooh thought she looked like Eeyore when he’d had his surprise party. She said that Very Bad Days meant no food at all.

Suddenly, Pooh felt very sorry for keeping his present to himself.

He gave the big jar of honey to Natasha. Natasha gave him a big hug in return. She told him that he was the Best Bear in the Whole World.

Pooh didn’t know how big the Whole World was, but he knew it was much bigger than the Hundred Acre Woods.

Pooh told Natasha that she was very brave. He told her that every day he got to spend with Natasha was one of his Very Best Days.

Natasha told them all that she was very happy to have them as friends. She gave Kanga a special smile because Kanga had made her feel brave again.

She opened the jar of honey and tried a little piece.

Pooh asked if she thought it was the best honey. He was quite sure that it was. For the first time ever, Pooh didn’t wish that he was having a morsel of it too.

Natasha shook her head after a moment.

‘No.’ She told them sadly. ‘Pretend food doesn't taste the same.’

Headcanon Asks

Tagging:

@lostandsearching​ @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo@xxromanoffxx​ @b-5by5​  @peggycarter-steverogers​ @iblameitonclint​  @natasha-danvers​ @reminiscingtonight​ @magicallymaximoff​ @mindofwesley​ @blackxwidowsxwife @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday​ @marvels-writings @wandaromanova​ @wandavixen​ @peabrain112​ @theperfectlovestory​ @wellsayhelloaagin​ @owloftheshadows @ahn-dee​ @wickedmuses​ @rhagana-doomslayer​​ @strangegardentaco @hallecarey1

Hh this is amazing- Your writing has improved so much over the past year!! 💕💕🥰

her careless whisper

you interrupt an important meeting of natasha’s and she reacts in a way that even her colleagues are surprised by.

warnings: MOB!NATASHA, nothing but sweet fluff.

You know Natasha sits busy in her meeting to, but as the bedroom passes by with the silence and the spot beside you grows colder by the minute, you frown to yourself and huff at your insomnia.

It’s barely even midnight and the two of you had fallen asleep early but Natasha had woke up and promised that she’d be back. But within half an hour, she was still gone and your fingers itched for her presence.

You knew not to disturb her while she was conducting business but hopefully she’ll make an exception for this once. You knew she couldn’t say no to you, not when you peered up at her with heavy lashes and those doe eyes.

And you knew it as you stepped down the stairs, entering the grand foyer where you room a left and walked down the hall for a moment before fitting the large doors that were closed. You knew Natasha was behind the oak doors and you paused for a moment to contemplate your decision.

But as quick as your thoughts were, the door swung open and one of Natasha’s business partners from Europe stomped out of the room without even batting an eye at you.

Your eyes were wide and your heart raced at the sudden scare, but that was relieved when you looked into the room and found Natasha and the rest of her business partners staring at you like you were some deer.

You swallowed at the attention but it were Natasha’s eyes that you feared more. She looked at you emotionless, her deep emerald eyes were striking and you knew despite her facade, she was just as surprised at your presence.

She turned slowly back to the men that surrounded her but you stepped inside of the room regardless of her silence. Once the door clicked shut, she began speaking once more.

Her voice echoed loudly throughout the room and her tone was firm and there was an edge to it that you couldn’t pin point. However, as you stood there with wide eyes, you noticed her attention wavering as her eyes kept glancing over to you.

One of the men seemed to notice and coughed, inevitably interrupting Natasha mid-sentence.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to the pretty lady?”

Natasha raised a brow and then turned to you, still nothing on her face but you watched as her men grinned as they followed along and looked at you like prey.

The redhead hummed. “My apologies...” She motioned an arm for you to near her and when you did, she snatched you into her lap within an arms length away. “Gentleman, my wife.”

You politely smiled at them and waved a meek hand, some of the men smiled back while some grinned with mischief. And while the dangers of their thoughts were obvious to your eyes, you knew you weren’t in any true harm as long as Natasha was around.

Natasha then hooked her arm around your waist and pulled you closer, without any other warnings, she urged the meeting to continue. And as you say there, curled up in your lover’s lap, listening to the men talk about their next business and finances, Natasha leaned close to peck your head.

You smiled and nuzzled your nose against her neck, smelling the faint scent of her perfume still lingering on her pale skin.

Then you spoke: “I’m sorry. I missed you”

She hummed and then whispered. “We will talk tomorrow, dekta. Just sleep.”

And even in the presence of the men she callss her colleagues, she doesn’t fear their judgement for her love for you. Instead, she holds you close almost like her prized possession. They fear the Russian mob boss for it, for her love for you creates more anger and dominance in how the redhead holds her self.

As you succumb to your slumber, the faint noises of voices and the familiar sound of the door clicking echoes deep in your ear. A moment passes with silence but Natasha continues to hold you anyways. Her lips caresses the rim of your ear and you sigh.

“Goodnight, bubba.”

You smile at her gentle tone, curling further against the Russian’s hold as she carried the both of you back into bed.

“Love you too, Nat...”

I hope you're doing well too🥰 and there's no need to be flattered I love your stories!

I Spy

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: This is based entirely on the fact that it’s Lesbian Visibility Week and I like both puns and cute girls wearing glasses. As such, it’s all a little bit of nonsense. Also, entering it into @slutfornat’s fic contest before I chicken out.

There was always more with Natasha than what met the eye. Not every pattern you could spot or even explain, but you liked to try.

There were little behaviours, the smallest of quirks that hinted more at her personality than any of the careful phrases she’d given you about herself since you joined the team.

It started when you noticed the way that Natasha would read a mission report; always at arm’s length. It gave her this air of nonchalance that you found immediately attractive. Natasha would give the details a cursory glance, barely lifting the file from the desk before placing it back. From those few seconds, she could reiterate the mission outline to anyone. You’d checked. Soon enough, you had stopped bothering to study your own mission file at all during meetings.

Keep reading

I really like your take on the last one! How about these?

How she would deal with being around really touchy people,not the inappropriate touchy just like Hugs and Hand holding.Same for a touchy lover

How she feels about Social media and how much time she would spend on it

How she deals with starting to like someone romantically

How she makes friends

How she would handle a workaholic lover

And finally

How she reacts to random shows of affection from her lover

Hey! Yes these are fun!

1. I think at first, she’s much more comfortable if she initiates it. I think she also can tell that you find touch comforting and she likes being able to show you love/affection and know she’s doing it right.

I think she likes prolonged touch also. She’s more interested in sitting together, watching a movie, your head in her lap. Than she is about say a brief squeeze of her shoulder as you walk past. It’s hard for her to read brief touch as affection, she’s been programmed to expect the worst.

2. She texts. She’s in group chats/conversations. But, I don’t think anything more. I don’t think she wants to really be herself in front of strangers. And I don’t think she cares much to know about them either.

It’s not really social media, but I bet she watches cat videos on YouTube and sends you the links without context.

3. She doesn’t. I think she goes two ways. If you are confident, then I think she goes shy. Things aren’t moving at a pace that she is setting and she’s feeling stuff that’s overwhelming and exciting. I think she gets nervous and she starts overthinking herself. But, on dates she slowly remembers just how well you work together. Her eyes sparkle when she’s around you, and she can’t help smiling. The feeling trickles in and she lets it.

If you are shy, but honest and kind. Natasha worries and she tries to be distant. She sees the potential harm she can cause too clearly. It’s up to you to draw her back to herself. Take her hand and remind her of the simplicity of being with you. Spending time together feels too good to ignore. You ground her until she settles, accepting that good things can happen for her too.

4. Easily and never. I think she can make a lot of people feel like her friend. She seems open and is always able to fit into their life. But, she doesn’t trust many people with the parts of her that might cause friction. You’d have to see her at her worst moments, or you’d have to be consistent for a long time for her to trust you truly.

For her, friendship exists within boundaries and control. Because, even a limited friendship is more than she thinks she deserves. She seems so entirely grateful to the Avengers and the friendships she has with them. But, she is also different with each of them, and never fully herself.

5. I don’t know if Natasha could have a lover that works more than her. She is such an inherent workaholic herself. I think she’d have to see that your work is taking a toll on you to notice that you’re working too hard. And from then on, she wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about it.

I think she’d try and make your life subtly easier for a long time before she’d directly ask you to consider working less. Her work matters so much to her, so Natasha knows that yours does too.

More likely, a workaholic partner would indirectly make Natasha start to ease back on her own work. She needs to be there when you get back to work, if she wants to make sure you have a relaxing bath. She needs her lunchtime free if she’s going to find you and make sure you take a break too.

You find a balance together.

6. She’s completely thrown at first. She tries to seem calm at the time, almost neutral. You have to not let it throw you off. You’ve bought her a necklace at a gift shop. It’s spur of the moment, but you know in your heart that she should like it. When you offer to put it on for her, she accepts. But there’s a silent tension between you and you don’t know how to read it.

But then, when Natasha’s alone, she stares at herself in the mirror sometimes and she can barely believe the way her smile looks now. And the happiness curls inside her chest and she feels shy meeting her own gaze. She plays with her necklace more and more when she’s thinking to herself.

And then, at a later time. She’ll take your hand, or come up behind you and rest her chin on your shoulder, her arms wrapping around you.

That’s her reaction, that’s her thank you. She just needs to allow herself to trust the happiness, before she can show it.❤️

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.”

I was not expecting a whole FIC?? Okay this is so good and I'm LIVING for the rough concepts rn (possessive natasha..) the boundaries thing seems Sooo in character for her and the red room mention. i really love the red room mention (maybe she doesn't get saved like one on one by clint and instead gets free as a side consquence of shield taking down the red room?) because it really makes sense knowing good from bad but choosing bad just because, and the personality(?) contrast between Natasha's moods is so interesting as well💕

I feel so spoiled rn with this whole background analysis on a completely unrelated side note... can we platonically kiss in the rain and get married?🥰🧐 /j Also congrats btw you have managed to get me motivated to reread the WHOLE dark nat series again so that I can apply this background insight to their interactions🥲

the domestic realm

pairing: dark!nat/f!reader

summary:

“I’m hungry,” you mumble. “Go make me a sandwich.”

She scoffs, slipping her hand under your hoodie to scratch at your back. “You just set women back by, like, five decades.”

additional notes: sfw drabble, kidnapping, dark!nat but shes soft and lazy, stockholm syndrome central, dark domestic fluff redux

series: one, two, three, ao3

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