>:D Hehe

@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.

Crying rn, this is ADORABLE- I love them and the soft ambience of this chapter makes me feel so happy🥰💕

kotenok part. eleven

you and wanda talk and so do you and your girlfriend.

older!natasha romanoff x younger!reader

warnings: major age gap, natasha being a cute sappy older girlfriend, talks about past abuse, angst but the good kind.

series masterlist

Wanda’s room is settled a few doors from yours. It’s the one at the end of the hallway, it sits closed, the lock clicked. It’s the only one that’s locked and isolated from the rest and when the silence of the house settles in, you understand why she chose this suite.

You don’t force your way in but instead, a gentle knock caresses the oak wood of her door. It echoes loud throughout the hallway and almost makes you cringe but she actually opens the door and finds you staring at her, you almost feel bad for intruding in a moment that was supposed to be her’s.

She stares at you with a glare, a purse to her lips that almost makes them look like a scowl. “Can I help you?”

You gently smiled at the woman, guilt and sympathy written on the features of your face. You couldn’t possibly have known what Wanda was feeling but you knew she could with you. You didn’t mind that she could read your thoughts, Natasha had always been against it, soemthing about the carelessness of your actions or the way you held yourself when it came to privacy.

Perhaps, it was because you never had it growing up. It was something earned. Even back then, HYDRA never really gave much privacy to any of the test subjects. You were forced to live within one another. Cells made for a two people capacity were filled with about five girls at once.

It was easier said than done but Wanda didn’t need to know any of that just so you could guilt trip her into talking to you. If it was something she didn’t want to do, you would respect it.

You were here just to hope that you could earn her’s in return.

“Are you alright?” It was genuine as that but the way the Sokovian’s features twisted in disgust made her think otherwise.

“Am I alright?” She scoffed. Which you frowned in response, your head cocking in question. “Maybe if you kept it in your fucking pants then yeah, I would’ve been alright.”

Your shoulders sagged at her accusation. You never meant to hurt her. You understood where she came from. With Irina and everything, Natasha and Yelena. Wanda was a stepping stone that felt like she was taken advantage of. You did feel for her, but you couldn’t and wouldn’t excuse her for that.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

She shook her head and offered a laugh.

“I really am, Wanda. I know how much Natasha meant to you and I’ve never mean to hurt you in any way. I know I can’t offer you solace, I’m not Natasha but I don’t want carry the burden of hurting you.”

The Sokovian looked at you as she blinked. You couldn’t tell what was going on in her mind, it was too odd. While you meant every word you said, you just hoped that she could process them to fully embrace her reality.

The silence between you were broken when you heard padded steps down the hallway. When you turned, and looked, Natasha strode towards you in the jean shorts she wore.

“Detka...” Her accent was stronger and you offered her a twitch of your lips. She walked faster and when she finally found you, her eyes also saw her past lover. She turned back to you, her facade returning as she grinned. “We’re playing truth or dare.”

Wanda gave a snort. “What are you guys? Twelve?”

You giggled at the Sokovian’s comment, which in tow, made Natasha smile. But it dropped as soon as the comment fell silent and Wanda stood awkwardly between the three of you.

Natasha tugged on your arm, acting like a child as if she wasn’t twenty years your senior. You smiled at her then turned to Wanda.

“I mean what I said, Wanda.” She blinked at you. You said no less and when you turned to walk with Natasha, she led you down the hallway, her hand intertwined with yours, her lips against your temple.

“I love you, okay?”

You nodded. “I know...”

The sunset at the lake makes everything okay. Your eyes glaze over at the way the waters casts a nice glow, the sun, warm, but the wind makes it chill.

You smile at the view. Something about it makes your body ache and relax with a snap of a finger. Your eyes close when you felt a touch to your back, a soothing dancing finger along your exposed spine.

You love it here and you never want to leave.

You apparently expressed it vocally when Natasha chuckles beside you and kisses your exposed shoulder.

“Me too, kotenok.”

You beamed at her, excited by the idea. “Really?”

She smiled gently, her features soft and kind, and her eyes twinkled green. It made the insides of your stomach churn and your heart ache.

Natasha twirled a strand of your hair around her slender finger. It made your cheeks flush in return.

“If that’s what you really want. Then I’d do it in a heartbeat.” Her sultry voice held a genuine tone to it. They always did and there was a reason why you found solace and comfort in Natasha. She was someone you could rely on, life or death.

“You know I wouldn’t ask that of you.” You reached out to the older woman to touch her hand. Your eyes carefully examined her features, the wrinkles around her eye, the smile lines on her face. God, this woman would be the death of you.

Every bit of Natasha made her. But you know, there was some part of her that reminded you of Irina. It wasn’t bad. It was just... nostalgic.

“You have too much here to give it up.”

Natasha almost chuckled as she shook her head.

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it for you.”

You sighed and almost felt an ache in your heart. Not the bad kind, but certainly not the good one either. It was just the way Natasha said it. The way she would drop everything for you. The selfishness of it all.

You leaned against her. Cheek against her arm while she held you against her. Your eyes closed once more.

“Even if we did,” you started, “I’m not saying I want to. But if we did... Would you be happy with that lifestyle?”

Natasha sighed.

“I think it’s something I could adjust to.” You nodded but she wasn’t done. “I love you, that’s all I know is for certain. I wouldn’t mind living out the rest of my life if it’s with you.”

Warmth raced to your cheeks and you flushed, Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle at your state despite her soothing words prior. You fell into her hold and melted.

“I can’t believe I have someone like you living.”

“I can.” She smiled as she huddled against your body, feeling as you relaxed under her touch. “I hope everything was fine with Wanda.”

You frowned and you shook your head.

“I feel responsible.”

“For what?”

“For taking you away.”

Natasha shook her head and frowned. She let you sit up and when you did, she stared at you with confused eyes and a pinched set of brows.

“You didn’t take me away, kotenok. I chose to be with you.” She cupped your cheek, and in the comfort of her soft palms, she titled your head to face her gaze.

“What me and Wanda had nothing to do you with you and I understand you feel some part in hurting my ex... You don’t. It’s between me and her. And I’m incredibly sorry that she had decided to make you feel that way.”

“I don’t hope for her to forgive me easily.” You shrugged. “But I wish she would let me be happy”

Natasha shook her head and frowned. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, my love. You are allowed to be selfish. You deserve every bit to be selfish. Okay?”

You nodded softly at her words but the tears that stained your cheeks made her frown deepened. She wiped them away with her thumb and sighed.

“It’s okay, baby.” You shook your head, attempting to swallow the sob bubbling your throat. But it was futile as you started hiccuping, shaking with a cry as Natasha took you in and embraced you.

“I want you to live the very best version of your life.” Natasha kissed the top of your head. “With or without me, don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

You sniffed, calming down with every hiccuping breath you took. While your chest ached at the idea of living a life with out Natasha, you knew with her memories you could.

And as the sunsets, your breathing falling along with it, you sit at the edge of the dock with your girlfriend at peace. Everything about it. Her love, her embrace.

“We should head in.”

The silence answers her and when she stands, you take her hand and you let her lead you inside. The steps against the wooden floor makes it sound padded and both of you just smile at the way the silence of the hallway echoes every breath.

That night, you fall asleep clothed against Natasha. Buried in the crook of her neck, she smells like the sun and everything you admire.

Missing in Action

Natasha x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 700

Notes: Last drabble of the night in the NEB universe.

You’re not sure what has you more stressed the crying baby in front of you or the fact that your wife is not home yet. You’ve called Natasha twice now to see when she’d be home from her mission and she hasn’t picked up either time. You should be used to it by now. You know how it goes. She’s home when she can be. She’s stopped taking longer missions after you had Ryan but this was a pressing matter. An alien attack of some sort. She’s in another country - last you heard Norway. She told you on her last phone call a week ago. She talked your ear off about how much you should visit and how much she misses you. She promised she wouldn’t miss Ryan’s first Christmas for the world. She wants to be there when he opens his presents. She wants to see the snow with you. Just like she does every year.

She promises to be home until she can’t be. It’s the procedure. She’s gone ghost as you like to call it. No calls, no texts, and certainly no emails. It’s a part of her job. It’s important to her. Sometimes you think more important than you.

No. You shake your head free of those intrusive thoughts. They’re frequent these days. The negative thoughts. Sometimes your mind plays tricks on you. Telling you you’re not worthy of Natasha’s love. You’re not worthy of anyone’s love. Some days you can’t get out of bed only opting to feed Ryan and play with him for as long as you can stand it. You feel like you’re drowning and the only person to talk to is unreachable. The only person that can drive away those dark thoughts and insecurities isn’t here. It hurts, even more, to think about.

Ryan is crying again for what seems like the fifth hour in a row. He just won’t stop. He’s teething. You know he’s in pain but nothing you do works. Not cold compresses, not Orajel on his gums, none of the remedies you read online. It seems the only thing that even remotely calms him is being in your arms and you can’t get anything done with him screaming in your ear. It’s a frustrating feeling as a first-time mom. He’s sitting across from you, clean, dry, seemingly tired but unwilling to fall asleep. You sit looking at him with your phone in one hand and a teething ring in the other. Your back is pressed against the couch, your knees are drawn to your chest, as you simply watch him. His face is angry and red. He wants your comfort but you can’t give it to him.

For a moment, you zone out. Life before marriage, before the baby, before everything was simpler. There was no one depending on you. There wasn’t that feeling of emptiness deep inside you. Natasha didn’t believe you when you told her. She told you sometimes these things take time. When would that be? You didn’t feel a connection to the baby boy sitting there. You didn’t feel that instant love like she did. You never wanted to admit it but sometimes you wondered how you did it. You’re supposed to love him. You do love him. Why didn’t it feel the same? Every time you looked at him you felt that resentment boil inside of you. Babies were supposed to be happy things. You had been so thrilled to find out you were pregnant. Why didn’t any of this feel right?

Postpartum depression. You’ve researched it well enough to think you have the symptoms but you can’t right now. Thinking about it makes it real and you don’t want it to be real. It’s a sign of weakness and you won’t show it. Now when all he has right now is you. Your feelings didn’t matter. You crawl the few feet across the floor to place Ryan on your lap. He rubs his face across your shirt as he sobs even louder. He’s in pain and you can’t even do anything to make it better.

You wish Natasha were here. She always knows what to do. She knows how to make him feel better. She is a better mother than you could ever be and you both know it.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,” You whisper to the top of his head as you finally let the tears you’ve been holding fall.

Thursday

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F.Reader

Word Count: 1200  

Warning: Angst. So much angst. 

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MY LITTLE MEOW MEOW 💌

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.”

could you do something with older!natty taking reader's virginity 🥺🥺 or do you have something on that already? (if so, pls link it?)

warnings: older!nat, younger!reader, loss of virginity, oral sex, fingering, fluff. NSFW

i got carried away with this trope... i need more older sister’s best friend!nat in my life

With a touch gentle as a bird, her pale fingers traced over the scars on your arms, the older woman smiled as she leaned over your stomach and kissed just above the little white bow sewn onto the waistband of your panties.

“Are you alright, sunny?”

You gave a shaky breath but nodded anyways, enabling the older woman to see the anxiety present on your face. But just as you imagine, the assassin saw you through and through and kissed your tummy once more before speaking.

Her hand slipped away from your hip and slid between your legs, inches away from your clothed core, she squeezed your inner thigh to rile you up.

“No one has touched you here?”

You shook your head. “N-No...”

A hum responded back and your eyes fluttered close. You couldn’t bare to seeing Natasha’s face when she realized you were inexperienced. The woman was twenty years your senior! It’s embarrassing that she was with someone young as you, let alone a fucking virgin. If she didn’t want you, you’d have to deal with it.

“That’s okay, hun.” Your eyes widened and your head looked down at where Natasha was settled between your legs. She looked insatiable, like she was ready to pounce, and that made you even more nervous. “We’ll take it slow, okay? Just tell me whenever you want to stop.”

You nodded, licking you dry lips and as your tongue made an appearance, it made Natasha grin in response. She disappeared between your legs once more and as she did, her pale slender fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties as she peeled them off.

Cool air struck you with surprise and you shook in a shiver, your nipples pebbled with no touch and they poked through the frail fabric of your camisole.

“Tasha...?”

Her head popped up. “Yes, my love?”

“Be gentle?”

She grinned, shook her head with a chuckle that made you flush in response. Her crimson hair fell and framed her face in a way that was so elegant, like the gods intended for this woman to be born out of goodness and beauty.

“Say no less, my darling. My tongue will work you through until you are ready for me, okay?”

You nodded, and when she dipped her head between your legs, licked a gentle strip against your wet cunt, your hips bucked up in response.

A gutted moan erupted from your lips as Natasha placed her hand over your tummy, pressing you against the bed as she mouth licked your pussy until your moans were uncontrollable. She only stopped when she moved up to silence you, shoving the wet panties you once wore into your open mouth to prevent your parents know that a woman who was old enough to be your sister was eating you out.

Natasha grinned as she sought your face, her finger dancing along your cheek, painted nails softly scratching your skin, you shivered and heaved for her to continue.

“Breathe through your nose, okay?”

You nodded and her fingers disappeared into her mouth, forcing you to watch her lick and coat her fingers wet with saliva until it was practically dripping down her forearm.

“You’re free to remove your panties whenever you feel unsafe.” You nodded but you knew no matter what Natasha did, she could never make you feel unsafe. She was the epitome of safety and every waking and sleeping moment spent with her, was one that was peaceful.

And as she snuck her hand between your legs, letting her fingertips wander against your clit, you gasped against your panties, your chest heaving up and down before Natasha’s finger trailed further down where she toyed with your entrance. You took a deep breath and as she swirled her finger against your cunt, she leaned down and peppered kisses over your neck.

You shook when she entered, penetrating your softly and gently with one finger. And when she filled you, she paused for a moment before moving once more. And as her fingers curved inside of you, a whimper fell from your lips as Natasha nipped your neck.

“My sweet tiny girl...” She was heavily breathing against your neck and much to your enjoyment, she was getting off of your pleasure. “You’re so warm... so wet.”

You couldn’t believe it, your sister’s best friend was inside of you, knuckle deep inside, fingering you in your room with just your parents down stairs. They couldn’t know, and somehow they didn’t with much moaning you did.

But as Natasha continued to pump her fingers in and out, in and out, you were nearing your orgasm and your legs started shaking. Wetness smeared all over your thighs and Natasha’s hands and when she pulled her finger out, her whole hand was glistening with your arousal.

The older woman smile and then parted her mouth, taking her finger inside as she licked herself clean and made eye contact with you.

While the other hand, she caressed the protruding bone from your hip, gentle and soft, it eased you down from your orgasm.

“You did well, my love.”

Sneak peak!! :D

How's everyone doing? I have been pretty busy and tired recently but thanks for waiting and for being patient! :))💕 This isn't what I usually write- I felt ✨inspired✨ so I hope u enjoy the sneak peak ❤️

i’m a whore in theory but a virgin in practice