Natasha Romanoff X Reader - Blog Posts

i couldn’t pick one so you got three.

oh m y g o d. natasha lemme DROWN IN YOU AND ILL LET BUCKY DROWN IN ME JESUS CHRIST

when you move, i’m moved

Summary:  There’s something you’ve been wanting for a while, and when Bucky finally figures out what that is he suggests that you do something about it.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Word Count: 6,123

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED), threesome (f/f/m), dom!bucky, dom!natasha, but they’re both pretty soft in this, oral sex (reader and nat receiving), fingering, it’s mostly filth in this part

A/N: this is the first thing i’ve finished in over a year i think. i’m not sure how good it is but i’m proud of myself for finishing it. feedback is always welcome :) i listened to the song “movement” by hozier while writing this and that was also the inspiration for the title of this. this is also the first part of what will probably be a mini-series about this relationship so there will be more! i hope you enjoy :)

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You’re on your second glass of wine when Natasha poses the question that’s been on everybody’s mind tonight. 

“So, why did you invite me here tonight?” She has one eyebrow quirked up she’s looking back and forth between you and Bucky on the loveseat sofa. Your breath feels like it’s trapped in your throat, not fully able to reach your lungs. 

You had been the one to invite her tonight, and you truly didn’t have any ulterior motives when doing so, she’d been over at yours and Bucky’s place countless times before, but the energy in the room tonight is different. 

Bucky, who’s normally oblivious and trapped in his own head, has been more observant about the nature of your relationship with Natasha, prompting a conversation between a few days earlier which resulted in the amped-up energy this evening.

“Are you finally gonna tell Natasha how you feel?” He asks as he approaches you from behind while you’re doing the dishes. He places his hands on your waist gently. Your heartbeat speeds up a bit.

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would you be against writing anything for natasha romanoff?

Of course not. Send in requests. Go crazy!

Marvel Masterlist !

I only write x fem reader or fem oc

I will write for other marvel characters if requested so send some requests I’m open to all ideas and such

💋- smut

🧸- fluff

🎀- blurb

🥀- angst

Natasha Romanoff

pretty thing 💋

Wanda Maximoff

Yelena Belova

Kate Bishop

Pretty Thing

pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem

context: After you refuse to give up any information, the black widow finds another way force it out of you

warnings: choking, fingering, forced orgasm, smut, corruption kink

At first you thought you had a chance against her, your plan was foolproof or so you thought. When you were told by your boss to take out the one and only Black Widow, you were terrified. But the plan your boss gave you installed confidence so you went. In the beginning you thought you could actually get her, breaking into her home unannounced.

But she heard you, she found you and she got you, I mean of course she did she was the Black Widow after all. She grabbed you before you could even register that she as behind you.

Now here you were sat on the chair, hands tied behind your back, legs tied to the chair and a cloth shoved in your mouth.

The read head walks around in a circle like a predator does its pray, her strong eyes watching every small move you make. She studies you trying to figure you out. Your big eyes stare back at her terrified, for all you knew she could kill you right now, she had a reason too after all you broke into her home trying to kill her.

Her eyes bore into yours as she bends down right infront of you “Now little thing did you really think you could get me?” she asks.

Not moving a muscle you stare back at her not daring to say a word, not that you could with the cloth in your mouth.

The widow smirks “I’ll make you talk” she says walking away from you. Her back faces you as you try to break free from the ropes tying you down. It goes to no use as she turns around blade in her hand “Now when I take this out of your mouth you better not scream or I’ll cut you” she threatens holding the knife to your throat.

Slowly she pulls the cloth out of your mouth throwing it beside her. You swallow your spit mouth dry as you cough slightly. Her eyes bore into yours as she pushes the knife harder into your neck, but not hard enough to draw blood “Now tell me suka, what were you trying to do?” she asks you her other hand coming to hold your jaw and make you look at her.

Staring into her green eyes you keep your mouth shut, staring at her blankly. You know if you have up any information they’d kill you on the spot.

“Oh no we can’t have you all quiet can we? Not at all now I’ll ask again, what were you trying to do?” Natasha asks her knife pushing deeper in your skin causing a few drops of blood drip down the knife.

Whimpering slightly you drop your eyes down to the floor still refusing to speak. Her mouth comes close to your ear her breath fanning the side of your face “Oh come on little thing speak for me, let me hear that pretty voice” she husks in your ear her hot breath on the side of your face.

Keeping your mouth shut, you can’t stop the heat the pools between your legs. Your thighs clench together at her voice and your eyes falter slightly.

She noticed and laughs “This turns you on pretty? Huh guess we could have fun” she smirks moving her lips to your neck kissing the side of it, moving the knife down onto the floor.

You stifle a moan as her free hand moves to your thigh rubbing up and down. Her hand moves higher and higher until it’s at the waistband of your pants “Pretty little thing arn’t you” she says moving away from your neck to look at your face.

Her face comes closer to yours her lips almost touching yours as she stares at you. Her hand moves into your pants, her fingers rub your folds above your panties “Your so wet you do like this don’t you?” she asks feeling the wet spot on your underwear.

She moves your underwear to the side slipping her fingers through your folds “F-fuck” you stutter your chests falling up and down as your breath heavily.

Her lips turn up into a smile “So you can speak dekta” she mumbles pushing her two fingers on your clit. Keeping pressure there she watched as your face starts to crumble “Come on speak for me and I’ll make you feel good pretty thing” she tells you pushing harder on your clit.

“What- what do you want me to say?” You ask her breathlessly.

Natasha brings her face closer to yours closing the gap between you two as she kisses your lips. She dominates the kiss pushing her tongue in your mouth exploring your mouth her fingers move down prodding at your hole.

Abruptly she pulls away from the kiss “Tell me what you want dekta” she commands her green eyes boring into your waiting for your response.

She didn’t think this was how things would have went between you both but she wasn’t complaining. In her eyes you were gorgeous and she truly did wonder why you tried to kill her knowing how strong she was. She liked your confidence and how hard you tried to stay strong but she needed to see you break, to crumble under her, for her to corrupt you.

“I-I want you to, make me feel good please Natasha— please” You beg her just wanting to feel good, the ache between your legs growing by the second.

The widow nods “Of course dekta I’ll make you feel good” she smirks shoving two of her fingers into you without warning.

Your jaw drops as you moan your body quivering slightly as her two long fingers stretch you out.

Her other hand comes to hold your neck, her fingers wrap around almost fully as she holds you in place.

Natasha’s fingers pump in and out of quickly as she squeezes your neck stopping the moans from leaving your lips.

“Come on pretty thing speak to me, tell me how I make you feel” She commands her fingers curling inside of you.

Taking in a deep strained breath with her fingers still around your throat “F-fells so good Tasha— so good” you tell her the best you could without whimpering.

Smirking she starts pumping her fingers deeper into you hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars.

Squeezing harder around your neck she stops your airflow. She watching as your wide eyes stare at her terrified, your hands trying to pull out of the restraints. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out for a second she stares at you before letting go.

Finally being able to breathe you suck in air, filling your lungs “W-why did— why did you?” you can’t even finish your question through your breathing.

“Because I like watching crumble under me dekta, just look so pretty like that” She whispers her fingers speeding up, her thumb comes to rub your clit quickly matching her thrusts.

Your walls squeeze around her fingers “Please, please let me cum” you beg her your breathing picking up once more.

Watching you for a moment she nods “Go on pretty thing fall apart on my fingers” she tells you pushing down on your clit.

You let go letting yourself fall apart as you cum on her fingers with a loud moan. Her eyes watch your face as your jaw drops eyes staring into hers.

Your juices cost her fingers as she slowly pulls them out of you before putting them into her mouth. She sucks your juices off of them moaning “Fuck dekta you taste so sweet” she tells you after pulling her fingers out of her mouth.

She slowly moved her face closer to yours once more her breath fanning your lips “Now tell me pretty thing, why were you here in the first place?” she asks you.

devil!nat goes crazy 😫😋

she’ll want the devil on her team - natasha romanoff

Summary: what’s an angel doing at a nightclub?

Warnings: supernatural beings, bottom!nat, alcohol consumption, oral (r giving), fingering (r giving), mommy kink, strap on use (nat receiving), smut 18+ only

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: and here’s the end of kinktober, it’s not much but it’s honest work. hope you guys enjoyed it <3

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

masterlist | kinktober masterlist

The room spun around you as you walked through the crowded space. Lights flashed all around you and the music was so loud it shook you to your bones. You were tiptoeing on the line between fun and over-stimulation, enjoying the sweet spot between wanting to go home and being too overwhelmed to do anything. You were having fun. 

It was after you lost your friends that you saw her. You’d drifted away from them while you were dancing, getting caught up in the music. There was a light around her, and when you made eye contact, nothing could explain the attraction you felt towards her. Not just to the way she looked, but you felt like there was something pulling you right from your core.

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yall pls tell me i aint the only one who has little headcanons for y/n whenever i read like x reader fanfics. like i have this one headcanon where us - the reader - are like the voices in their head that they just refuse to listen to. like y/n does something completely idiotic and we're just screaming and y/n's trying their hardest to ignore it lmfao.

OMG HII for slutty Sunday, I've had this thought stuck in my head for so long but basically dom!CEO!Natasha romanoff brings sub!shy!female reader to work and there's cockwarming, use of vibrators AND BASICALLY JUST NAT TEASING R AND DEGRADATION AND PRAISE KFOROFOEIDIDJFJJWOW also r is so innocent and just lets her mistress play with her and I can't get rid of the thought of nat having r kneel beside and table and just plays with her boobs and fucks r's mouth w her fingers *dies* yeah anyway. Horknee.

-Raven <3

Hold Me in Your Lap of Luxury

Summary: Natasha finds a way to entertain herself at work: you.

Warning: smut, cockwarming, vibrators, praise, degradation, mistress kink, not proofread

A/N: i’m in love with this request so i turned it into a short fic

“Come here,” the redhead says, beckoning you over. She pats her lap as she pulls away from the desk to make space for you. You hesitantly make your way over to her. The woman becomes impatient as she pulls you onto her lap herself.

“Natty,” you start but a sharp look from the woman in front of you has you saying, “mistress?” She hums in return as she ducks her head to scatter kisses across the skin of your neck. Your head falls back slightly to give her more space on her canvas.

You swallow harshly when her hand comes up to grope your chest. You don’t know what to say so you remain silent until the redhead glances up at your flustered expression. “There’s no need to be shy,” she mutters against your skin.

Natasha pulls away to stroke your heated cheek. She leans down to press her lips against your timid ones. Her palm comes up to cup the back of your neck bringing you closer to her. The woman has no rush, simply trying to coax you from your shell.

Her hands run down your sides—you let out a giggle—landing on your hips. Natasha untucks your shirt as her hands run up under it to grope at your chest again. She pulls away to grin at you before gently pushing you off her.

You stare at the woman with wide eyes but quickly become flustered at the sight of the toy in her hand. She beckons you over with a mischievous grin. Her hands come up to your hips, swiftly pulling your pants down as you watch her with blazed cheeks.

“Be a good girl and put this on,” she grins handing you the pretty pink vibrator. You gawk at the woman, lips parted as you struggle to say something. Natasha raises a brow at you silently encouraging you to speak—hoping she’ll get to punish you.

“Here?” you ask timidly, glancing around the office where anyone could come in at any moment. She chuckles at your timidness.

“Where else?” That’s all you needed to hesitantly pull your panties down before you’re interrupted, “keep them on,” she says. You swallow harshly at her command but nod.

Once it’s in, you deal with the discomfort for a moment before you jolt forward, almost falling into your mistress’ arms. “Oh!” you let out as Natasha catches you. You can see the remote in her hand as she controls the vibrations that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Go ahead and kneel for me,” she mutters, pointing to the spot beside her chair. You glance down at the dirty floor before pleadingly glancing up at the woman. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

You have no other choice than to slowly make your way down. The floor is cool against your knees as you stare up at your mistress. She brings a hand down to cup your cheek as she coos at you. “Such a good girl,” she says.

At her praise, you can’t help but buck your hips against the floor, desperate for any sort of friction. “Dirty whore,” she mutters, lightly slapping your cheek. She doesn’t hesitate to bring up the setting on the vibrator, though, reveling in the way you buck against the air.

“Please,” you whine, wanting her to touch you. She tuts at you before turning away from your—as she calls it—pathetic whines. Natasha leaves the high setting on yet ignores your pleas to cum. She knows you will anyway and she’ll take great pleasure in punishing you for it.

When you do cum—without permission—she grins to herself before turning to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Desperate whore just couldn’t help herself, could she?” she mocks. She chuckles at your tears as you apologize profusely.

“Sorry won’t do it now,” she coos but beckons you up. You’re quick to stand as you shuffle on your feet, afraid of whatever punishment was ahead of you. Natasha pulls you closer to her by the back of your neck. “Naughty girls get punished,” she mutters.

She keeps you there close to her as her fingers come up to your mouth. The redhead pushes in two fingers into your mouth resting against your tongue before they make their way down to trigger your gag reflex. Natasha chuckles at that mercilessly fucking your face before she pulls her fingers away with a trail of saliva.

She watches you attempt to regain your breath as she unbuckles her belt. The woman pulls out her strap which you recognize as the biggest one she has. She pays her lap and you’re quick to straddle her. Natasha pushes aside your panties and guides her strap into your glistening cunt.

“Now, you’re gonna stay here and warm my cock while I finish up, and I’ll deal with you when we get home,” she grins. You don’t know what she has up her sleeve but when her knee starts bouncing you know what it is. She knows the effect she has on you as you notice the subtle smirk on her face as she works.

“If you move your punishment will be even worse.”

🏷: @winters-witch-bitch, @anartistsmuseinlondon, @consciouschunkofmoss, @inluvwithfictionalwomen, @riveravalonsage, @therealvangough

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞

summary ─ “i thought we were going to share her, barnes.”

pairings ─ dilf!neighbor!pornstar!bucky barnes x reader x milf!pornstar!natasha romanoff

warnings ─ smut, +18, threesome yo, oral sex (f receiving), anal sex, strap ons, kissing, cockring, nipple play, natalia is indeed blowing the reader’s mind eheheeh, james is losing it lol, dirty talk, pet names, reader is being sandwiched between james and natasha, fluff, found family trope is real :’) 

a/n ─ hi! i’m back with a part three. many of you asked for a part where natasha was involved, so i thought i could give you guys this little piece of heaven <333 lol.enjoy this 8.5k monster! i’m sorry it took me too long to write and post it :( hope you like it! thank you so much for all the love you’ve shown for the previous parts <33 please leave comments if you like it! thank you <333

part one ─ part two

You were baking cookies with Anya when James stepped into his apartment with Natasha behind him. Anya shrieked happily as she launched herself into the arms of her mother. Natasha chuckled and hugged her, arms tight around her tiny body and her face hidden into the crook of her daughter’s neck. You smiled at the sight.

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I don’t want your pity, I just want somebody near me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader 

Words: 1k 

Warnings: talks of depression/general sadness. Some swearing. Self-indulgence to the max.

A/N: This is my first fic ever so please go easy on me. Also I wrote this at 2am while listening to Mitski which is a warning all on its own.

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to play the fool pt 3

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

warnings: blood, injury, IDIOTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” you say, playing it up.

“Turn that the fuck off.”

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

“It’s bright,” she observes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want some water?” you ask.

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can have a shower if you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything else, your majesty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pull open your fridge and reach for a beer.

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

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

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

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

Your heart thunders like a drum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know who it was?”

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

Her face closes off. “No,” she says.

“Right. So I got shot for nothing.”

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t concern you,” she says.

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

“Sit down.”

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

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

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop staring at me,” she says.

“You first.”

She breaks the eye contact.

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

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

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

“So eat.”

“Too tired.”

“God, you are pathetic.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m irresistible.”

“You’re an idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you say.

“You have really nice abs.”

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

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

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

“I’ll buy you pizza,” Natasha says.

“To thank me for saving your life.”

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

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. You should go.”

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

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

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

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

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

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

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

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

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

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

“I believe you.”

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

requests | masterlist

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

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

reunion

nsfw nat/f!reader

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

Keep reading

to play the fool pt 2

| natasha x fem!reader |

warnings: injuries, idiots, claustrophobia tw

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

Keep reading

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

yesssssss, this is beautiful!

| natasha x fem!reader | only pretty faces |

warnings: mentions of death

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” she says. You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● 

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

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

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

Natalia lifts her spoon to her mouth.

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

She smiles at you, relief dawning on her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pauses.

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

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

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

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

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

requests | masterlist

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

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

Family of two

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When thinking about your future with Natasha, you worry that she might want kids someday; while you don't.

Requested by anon: So basically, Reader loves being an Avenger but loves Natasha more than anything. But there’s something that always has reader thinking she’ll never be enough for the red head. And it’s that Reader doesn’t ever want to have kids. She loves the Barton kids with all her heart but doesn’t want to be a mom ever. And because of that, feels she is not worthy to be with Natasha. So Nat starts to notice reader being sad and when she confronts her about it, all feelings come out. Reader even suggests letting Nat go so she can be with someone who wants a family, but…maybe Natasha reassures her that she wants reader? That reader is her family and she’s more than enough?

A/N: The long-awaited "Kids" WIP :p. I love this request because it hits home to me, I never ever want kids. So I'm sorry it took me a while to post it, I do hope you like it, my sweet anon <3. I have the distant feeling that, by my writing here, you can tell just how much I love Nat.

Masterlist

Believe it or not, even an Avenger needs a summer break sometimes. A moment to be able to relax and forget about the weight of the world. That's why you and your favorite person, Natasha, are spending a weekend at Clint's farmhouse, before moving on to the rest of your little vacation plan.

It was Clint's idea and you were happy to oblige, as was Natasha. You loved spending time at their house, both for the good company and breathtaking scenario. The green plains and trees all around were captivating, and the rustic structure of the house provided a cozy and familiar feeling you sometimes missed back at the Compound.

An easy smile came to you as Natasha entertained Nathaniel, the youngest of Clint's kids. Laura was making dinner with Clint by her side as moral support, mostly.

You observed from the couch. Laura dropped the vegetables in the pan as Clint rounded her with a steady hand on her waist and a kiss on her cheek, attending to his daughter's call about the TV that seemed to be acting up. And Natasha, she had a beautiful smile on as she tickled the smallest kid, his laughter mixing with her own.

The sight of your girlfriend made your heart drum in your ears. It's been two years, and yet, every time she glanced your way with that much adoration, it felt like you were back in that first week. Maybe that's what love is all about, no matter how long it passes, the giddiness of being loved by the person that holds your heart never goes away.

You glanced down at your hands, picking at your fingers. You could see yourself living a life like this, a peaceful one. With a farmhouse in a beautiful country side, you would happily indulge and you knew Natasha would as well. Except, not with children.

The thought has been on your mind for a while. You never wished for kids and you knew you never would. Since you were young you already knew that about yourself and it was not something you wanted to change.

Moving your eyes back up, you were met with Nat's gaze searching for yours in a silent question. You gave her a smile and lightly shook your head. You never talked about having kids with her, even if you noticed how much she liked Clint's kids. You wondered if it was something she wanted for herself.

You took a deep breath, feeling a small weight of anxiousness drop at your stomach. The last thing you wanted was to hold her back. Natasha deserved the world, and you often caught yourself wondering if you were enough to give it to her.

"Dinner's ready everyone." Laura called out and everyone rushed to the table. You were the last one to sit down and the last one to leave, remaining mostly quiet through the meal. Your thoughts were loud tonight. You did feel Natasha's eyes on you.

You went up to the guest room not long after, taking a shower and preparing yourself for a good night of sleep. Natasha was sitting on the bed when you came out of the shower, her towel and pajamas laying beside her.

She extended her hands out to you, making your body gravitate towards her. She closed her arms around your waist when you walked up to her.

You ran your fingers through her red hair, it was getting longer, starting to go way past her shoulders. Your lips tilted up in a lovesick smile.

She looked up at you from her sitting position, her chin resting on your stomach. "Are you okay? You've been quiet tonight."

You paused for a second, your hand coming to her cheek. You dismissed her worry with a smile. "I'm alright, love." You leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Now take a shower and come to bed, I want cuddles."

Natasha chuckled with your words, she got up and her hands never left your waist. She kissed your lips before gathering her things and going to the bathroom.

________

Every morning that you woke up with Natasha's arms around you felt like a dream. To be able to see her green eyes glistening in the early sunlight, her hair taking in vivid tones of orange, and her sleepy voice mumbling a good morning. To you, it was a dream.

Every morning you pulled her body impossibly closer to yours, kissing her collarbone and telling her how much you loved her as your lips grazed her skin. Because Natasha deserved nothing less.

You walked down the stairs to eat breakfast, your hand loosely holding hers. The windows were open and there was a chilly breeze coming through, making the leaves rustle outside. You could barely hear birds singing in the distance amidst the voices of the kids talking amongst themselves.

After breakfast, Lila decided she wanted to show you and Natasha a bird's nest that recently hatched its eggs. You watched amusedly as Natasha entertained the young girl's excitement, as well as returned the hug Nathaniel gave to her legs when you came back from the forest.

By lunch, the nagging thought at the back of your mind came back. And you were careless enough to let your distress show on your face, or maybe Natasha came to know you too well.

You walked inside the house to grab the rice that Laura had prepared earlier, everyone was outside enjoying the sun as Clint grilled up some steaks. You made your way to the kitchen, but a firm hand on your waist pulled you aside to one of the not-so-used corridors.

Natasha had you pinned against the wall, one of her hands resting on the wall beside your head, blocking your way out. You gulped when you saw that her eyes held no malice.

"Be honest with me, детка. Are you okay?" Her words were soft-spoken, and her eyes were searching your face in worry.

A breath left your lips and you looked down. Your hands loosely tugged at the ends of Nat's shirt to keep yourself busy. "I've just- I've been thinking about something."

You felt Natasha gently tracing your jaw with her other hand. "You can talk to me, if you want to."

You bit your lip, much to your dismay you could feel the distant sting of tears in your eyes. "I- do you want kids, Nat?" You breathed out, grimacing at the terrible way you voiced your thoughts.

Closing your eyes, you shook your head urging yourself to focus a little. "I mean, I see how much you like Clint's kids. And I can't help but wonder if that's something you want?"

You panicked when she didn't answer you right away, your mouth opening and closing. She was frowning at your words and that didn't look good. "It's just that, I don't think I can… Give that to you." Your voice became quieter, your hands were now clutching at her shirt.

"I'm sorry." You whispered to her. Natasha opened her mouth to answer you, but you talked first. "I never saw myself with kids but, I don't- I don't want to hold you back Nat. I won't be upset if you don't want to be with me anymore I-"

Natasha cut off your rambling when both her hands cupped your cheeks, her thumbs brushed away the stray tears you didn't notice had started to fall. "моя любовь, breathe." She whispered, her forehead coming to rest against yours.

You let out a trembled breath. Maybe this was bothering you more than you realized. Your hands held onto her waist more gently, pulling her closer to you.

Once Natasha felt that you had calmed down, she pulled away only to look into your eyes. "I do like them, Y/N. But that doesn't mean I want kids of my own."

Her hand brushed against your cheek tenderly, she gave a quick peck on your lips before continuing. "детка, you will always be the only family I'll ever need. If it's just you and me, that's more than enough."

Nat smiled adoringly at you, successfully melting your heart. "I don't need anyone else if I have you."

Natasha's words took your breath away, along with your ability to speak. You pulled her to you with a strong grip, pressing your lips to hers in a passionate kiss. Her hand came to the back of your head and tangled into your hair, as your tongue gently grazed her bottom lip.

Your lips moved in synch until the lack of air was too much to bear. "I love you. So much." You breathed out against her mouth, refusing to move away from her more than necessary. You felt her huge smile against you.

"The steak is gonna burn and I still don't see the rice anywhere." Clint shouted from outside, making you both giggle.

"I'm coming." You called out to him, biting your lip as you interlocked your fingers with Natasha's and pulled her towards the kitchen and then outside.

Natasha too would always be the only family you'd ever need.

—⧗—

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Nat’s taglist: @theperfectlovestory @blackwidowismylove

Let me know if you wanna be added to her taglist.

a late spring masterlist

How can knowing someone be so destructive yet so vehement at the same time? You and Natasha know it far too well in the journey of your relationship

WARNINGS: bestfriend’s mom!nat x younger!reader, unspecified age gap relationship, eventual smut, established relationships, and angst!

First Love / A Late Spring

Naked Truths (COMING SOON!)

a late spring

how can knowing someone be so destructive yet so vehement at the same time? natasha knows it too much when you and her share a moment of vulnerability in the wake of your affair

warnings: bestfriend’s mom!natasha x younger!reader (age is not specified but 18+), age gap, established relationship, and no smut yet

“Bella?”

Your voice was meek and was barely a whisper but within the silence of the room, it was loud enough for the redhead to whip her head back from where she was hanging out from the window.

She looks at you wide eyed, almost perplexed but certainly guilty that you caught her sneaking out from a sleepover that she was hosting.

“Where are you going at this hour?” You didn’t check the time but you knew that it was late. You had slept way past into the night to know it.

Her eyes travelled from you to the phone she was holding. It didn’t dawn on you that she was most likely sneaking out to meet some boy, one certain blonde that was none other than Steve Roger’s son.

Almost sheepishly, she turned to you apologetically.

“Grant asked to meet up,” she tells you. “I’m gonna be out for a while. Don’t stay up for me.” She turns to leave without letting you speak but then turns right away as if she’s forgotten one last note. “Also, don’t tell my mom, yeah? You scratch my back and I scratch yours?”

She’s gone within a blink of an eye and you’re there left to wallow on her carpeted floor.

It’s only when you peel yourself from the ground and stretch that you realize it’s 6 in the morning. You’ve barely gotten some sleep and despite it being the weekend, you still feel like you need some sort of long awaited beauty sleep to make up for the long week you’ve had.

But as hard as you try, sleep doesn’t come easy for someone like you and as you pad your way out of Bella’s room you decide that a small meal will suffice.

You’ve spent enough time in the Romanoff household to know that Bella’s mom always keeps the kitchen stocked. No matter the time of the day.

As you arrive downstairs, you're met with the sight of the older redhead on the tip of her toes as she reaches for something above the fridge — inevitably raising the shorts she was sporting and flashing you a glimpse of her…

“Well, you’re up early,” her voice forces you back to the land of the living and for a moment, you forget that it’s merely you and her. “Can’t sleep?”

You smile lazily and sit across her from the kitchen island. “Something like that, yeah.”

She watches you with a smile, her hands busy as she slices kale and cucumbers for her morning smoothie.

But the smile turns into what almost looks like a frown, reading you and your silence and it throws you off.

“Is it Bella?” She asks. “She sneak out again?”

You stay silent; scratching Bella’s back. But the redhead has enough experience on her belt to read you through and through.

“It’s alright,” she tells you. “She doesn’t know it but I have cameras around. I see her running back home with Roger’s son ‘round seven in the morning.”

You play with the string of your shorts. “And you’re not worried?”

She shrugs. “It’s Grant,” she tells you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You haven’t been friends with the Rogers for long but the Romanoffs have. You have no doubt for the trust that Natasha has for Steve. They’ve been friends far longer than you’ve been alive and that alone makes you nod to her one word answer.

“The question is,” she starts. Her eyes never leave the cutting board and neither does the cutting. “Why do you put up with Bella? Not that I don’t appreciate you keeping my daughter in place but you know?”

You nod as if you understand.

You’ve always liked Bella. She had been your very first friend the moment your family moved here a few years ago and while you had the biggest crush on her for a while, it dissipated into nothing more than an infatuation that you got over.

But as time grew, so did your interests.

Much to her mother’s playful demise, Bella was straight as she can be. The boys she hung out with, the ones she dated, all were eccentric, different in their own ways but same throughout the end.

You didn’t mind Bella having fun, it just meant more time for you to spend with her mother on days like these where you and the redhead sought out each other’s presence

So you shrug at the question. Having absolutely no true answer because it’s just the way it is.

Bella goes out and you go down to her kitchen.

You sit there across from her with a soft smile, eyes slightly swollen from sleep but nevertheless still wide awake at the sight of the older woman in front of you.

Though Natasha can read you and cocks her head from where she stands. The cutting stops for the first time and she frowns slightly.

“You’re so tired,” she observes.

You shake your head in denial. “I’m alright.”

“Alright?” She repeats, unconvinced as she cocks a brow. “I haven’t seen you this tired since the last time we fucked, sweetheart.”

Your skin blooms with heat at the word fuck. Your minds wonders how someone so sensual, so put together, have so much vigour in saying the word fuck.

It makes you duck your head in embarrassment at the reminder of your affair with the woman. It hadn’t been the first time and it certainly won’t be the last.

Natasha has skills and as much as you hated to admit it, you were addicted to her. To her touch, to her taste, and everything in between that she could do to you.

She was relentless and endless at the same time.

She laughs at your reaction. “What? I’m just saying.”

You shake your head but don’t respond. Your throat feels too tight to speak and your skin too warm to move. The effect that she has on you has always left you in shambles, especially knowing that you’d be leaving her in a few months for school.

It hurts more to admit it but even Natasha knows that this timid affair has an expiration date. She just has a better composure than you do. After all with her experience, you’re sure you’re just another one of the girls she’s had in her life.

Your heart squeezes at the thought but you force the fear down and remind yourself two months is still a long time.

However you must’ve pinched your brows or pursed your lip because when you look up and find Natasha staring at you, she’s got a slight twitch of a frown to her lips.

“You okay?”

You shrug, unable to tear your face away from her look. Neither can she but her gaze grows and there's almost an understanding of what she’s asking.

She voices it regardless, communicating to understand what’s there between the two of you is what you want.

“C’mere,” she asks of you. Your body moves on its own and with a blink of an eye, you’re met with the sight of the older woman over you.

Natasha is a good four inch taller than you and the sight of her stature towering over you makes you feel so small and weak that it reaches your stomach.

You wiggle your toes in effort to release the tension that you feel but Natasha sees through it and dances her knuckles against your cheek.

It’s soft and gentle and affirming. And it makes your body melt against her own, with your head in the crook of her neck and shoulder and arms slipping around her toned body.

You feel every muscle contract beneath her shirt and under your pyjamas. Some other time where you weren’t so tired you would’ve felt warm and all of the other emotions but right now, all you feel is her and how soft she feels against you.

She smells good too. Almost like a sweet musky scent that’s just so Natasha and it just makes sense.

She doesn’t ask if you’re okay because she knows you all too well. There’s no awkward silence, no awkward small talk between moments, it’s only her.

But within a few inking seconds, you tell her something that’s been bothering you weeks into the start of your affair.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit. It’s the first time you’ve expressed the imminent future for the two of you; you’re moving for school, Yale’s not far but it’s not any closer to where Natasha is either.

Conflict had risen inside of you when you had started your affair with the woman just as the same time you had gotten your acceptance letter to Yale.

You had worked your ass off to get into Yale but knowing that you had her, someone that you felt like had understood you all too well, leaving made it all much harder.

“I know,” she tells you, not an ounce of effort in forcing you to stay because she knows. Natasha is a mom, one to your closest friends and she knows that despite whatever happened between the two of you, this affair is not worth declining a prestigious educational opportunity.

But instead Natasha offers some insight. A slight glimpse of that hope she has in her because however much she hates to admit that she’s having a relationship with someone younger , she feels much more solemn in knowing that a joy in her life is departing.

“But we’ll be okay,” she says. “Visit every reading week or whatever holiday you’ve got, yeah?”

You nod to her suggestion and she lifts your face from her chest to face her. She’s got a pinch to her brow that makes her look tense but you know she’s anything from that.

“Reading week, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter. Whatever holiday, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

You smile at her softly.

Natasha smiles back.

You think for a moment that she might’ve assumed that you were going to deny her. But you were going to do anything but that. As much as your relationship with her is odd, she was everything to you and you didn’t know what you would do.

You melt at the sight and let her press a whisper of a kiss against your lips and then to the tip of your nose. You smell the hint of mint on her tongue and you sigh against the gesture.

You part your mouth to speak but you’re cut off when you hear the door upstairs mix amongst the steps that echo down the stairs.

Bella’s back and she must’ve assumed that you were already awake and down with her mother.

After all she knew of Natasha’s schedule just as you knew hers.

You pull away within hearing the steps and return back to your seat as if nothing’s amiss. When Bella reaches where you sit across from her mother, you return a lazy smile, feigning sleep.

“Morning!” She beams. She’s too perky for someone who’s just ‘woken’ up at 7:30 in the morning.

However her mother is not as dumb as she would’ve thought. Natasha only smiles. Just as she told you, she didn’t mind and when she spares a glance at you, she tells you just the same.

It’ll all be alright.

random OPF hcs because I can

| natasha x reader | only pretty faces |

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

Keep reading

Be Kind

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1K Words

A/N: Smut. You're naked in bed with your girlfriend Natasha.

Natasha didn’t have to tell you about her long day. You already knew. You kissed her shoulders as she walked through the door. Her arm wrapped around you easily, filled with affection and relief at the sight of you.

It was late evening, you’d both eaten already. It seemed natural to lie in bed together. Sleep wasn’t coming. You watched the lingering stress in her body. 

You watched television for a little bit. Letting her hold you, letting the warmth of her press up behind you. Being here reassured her. You knew that. Still, you wished you could do more.

You told her so.

You felt Natasha’s smile as she kissed your shoulder. 

‘You are beautiful.’ She told you. ‘I just want you here.’

‘I would carve these thoughts into your skin if I could.’ She added lightly, teasing you with the slight scrape of her teeth.

You turned in her arms readily.

You let your finger follow the weighted curve of her breast. 

You smiled as you kissed over her nipple lightly. 

‘Maybe I will too.’ You pretended to consider. Letting your teeth scrape the sensitive area. 

Natasha’s breath caught. 

‘No.’ She decided for you, carding her own fingers through your hair. ‘Be kind.’

‘Okay.’ You mumbled obediently enough, taking her nipple between your lips and sucking slowly. 

Goosebumps ran flush across her skin. You touched them with a heady mix of awe and curiosity at your effect. Natasha sighed, her voice keening at the slow pressure of your palm on her breast. 

You sucked lightly again. You felt her hip buck into your abdomen. You turned her on her back, smoothing her hair away from her face. She watched you with the slight uncertainty of anticipation. Attraction rushed through you.

You let your cheek fall against her tight nipple. You smiled at the feel of it pressing into you too. 

You turned your attention to her other breast. Watching the same goosebumps coat her skin as you rubbed her other nipple between your thumb and forefinger. 

Natasha let out an incoherent sound under her breath. You glanced up to see her bite her lip.

You frowned automatically, tugging her lower lip free with the pad of your thumb. 

You crawled forward over her front and kissed her slowly. 

Kissing Natasha felt like you were falling. You loved it. Maybe it was because your eyes were closed. You felt alone and safe. You could taste her, and feel her chest move beneath you. You could hear the hums of pleasure she made at the taste of your tongue. 

Her fingers slipped between your legs. Her hand slid against your vagina roughly. You jolted in sudden pleasure. Your own taut nipples brushed against hers. 

Natasha swore at the sensation. Her breathing was erratic. You watched her face, her eyes raised up to the ceiling. The pink flush on her cheeks. 

You slid back down her front. You sucked at each nipple before letting your thumb pads take up a steady rhythm of tugging and teasing.

You slid lower.

Natasha said your name. Low and soft and wondrous. Her body curved as she sat upright with you between her thighs. Her hands gripped your shoulders tightly then. You felt the strength she never showed, slowly coming free at her fingertips. You knew there’d be bruises on your skin in the morning. 

You ran your tongue from her belly button down her left thigh. 

Natasha whined as your lips brushed past her vagina.

The sound curled like heat between your legs.

You sucked at the skin of her upper thigh. There was a small scar here. Tiny, faded and secret to the world. 

You kissed the mended skin reverently. You could smell her wetness this close. It caught in your throat, like something extravagant you wanted more of.

You moved your tongue closer to her vagina and Natasha sighed in relief. Her fingers slid expectantly into your hair, ready to hold your mouth where she wanted it.

You teased her more. You couldn’t help it. Every panting breath of her anticipation made you wet between the legs too.

You licked lightly along her labia. Natasha gave a small cry. You lapped at the soaked wetness she couldn’t help. You savoured the taste of her again in your mouth. 

Natasha fidgeted with desperation. You felt her thighs twitch as she barely resisted holding your head tight between them. You smiled at your own effect. 

Natasha said your name again, this time she was pleading. 

You ran your tongue along her labia one more time, resting with the slightest pressure at her clit.

‘Be kind.’ Natasha moaned suddenly, and the desperate order made you smile wider. You moved your hands to slide up and down her thighs. 

With sudden intent, you slid your tongue between her folds and caught the edge of her clit. 

Natasha held your hair tighter than ever. You could feel the muscles in her thighs twitching uncontrollably now.

‘Be kind.’ She whispered breathlessly, obviously sensing she’d found the magic words.

You obliged, again gliding your tongue lightly over her clit. 

Natasha let out a barely muffled scream. 

‘Be kinder.’ She pleaded tensely.

You pressed your tongue harder against her clit, swirling slow circles against it. Natasha’s ragged breathing pierced the room, stuttering along with your vacillating touch.

Every part of her tightened in anticipation. You felt the nearness of her orgasm and licked faster. 

Natasha mumbled incoherently. You dipped your tongue inside of her and dragged it out slowly. 

Natasha screamed your name.

Her legs tightened immediately around you. She fisted your hair suddenly as her stomach coiled and uncoiled. 

You tasted the final rush of wetness and lapped at it eagerly. You stayed gentle, Natasha’s soft panting telling you how sensitive she was to any more touch.

As the orgasm slipped away, Natasha lay back against the bed. You crawled forward again, missing the feeling of being flush against her. 

Her eyes were closed. All subtle signs of stress were gone from her face. You revelled in the moment. Her lips were parted. You licked your own before you kissed her. 

Natasha gave a lazy grin as she looked up at you. She reached up to touch your cheek with her thumb.

Love spiralled up inside your chest. 

You could hear the affection and relief in her voice.

‘You were kind.’ She praised you gently.

Tagging:

 @whofan88 @lostandsearching @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @xxromanoffxx @b-5by5 @peggycarter-steverogers @iblameitonclint @natasha-danvers @reminiscingtonight @mindofwesley @blackxwidowsxwife @wandaromanova @wandavixen @peabrain112 @theperfectlovestory @wellsayhelloaagin @owloftheshadows​ @wickedmuses​ @strangegardentaco​ @hallecarey1​ @marvels-writings​ @alexzz13​ @ic-4u​ @007giuliastonem​ @natashabelovas​ @iliketozoneout​ @chasethemoon​ @p0orbaby​ @tastetherambeau​ @rightwereyouleftme​ @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday​ @whataloadof​ @fxckmiup​ @333hhm @women-am-i-right @pleasantbearscissorstoad @blackwidow-3 @nowthisisliving27 @wandastan-2

to play the fool pt 1

| natasha x fem!reader | request by @strangegardentaco

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

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

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

Keep reading

and it bears repeating how hard my heart’s beating

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

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: some angst, fluff.

warnings: none.

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

———————————

Keep reading

only pretty faces: saccharine

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

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

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

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

Keep reading

This isn’t Taylor or Leigh but simply ✨her✨

oh bestie... beefy Nat... get ready for needy beefy Nat content. This turned into uhh... not a drabble, but I don't think anyone is gonna be mad about it? I wrote this to that "training with Nat" playlist that's literally like... sex playlist?? Shay knows the one

words: 1.2k

warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI; smut; physical restraint (but reader is like, used to it); fingering; clothed sex; daddy kink; mocking; Nat pound me into the training mat challenge

summary: honestly just.. Nat gets needy after sparring

It wasn't fair how much Natasha had to suffer over the past hour. You'd invited her to come workout with you, nothing too intense, just a sparring partner to work on hand to hand combat with; there was no one better to ask than her.

The entire time the two of you went back and forth on the mat, she got the upper hand and while you were tired of losing, you were even more tired of how distracting she was. Natasha typically wore shirtless tops around the compound, that wasn't new, but facing her in a fight you could see the muscles in her arms and you didn't know if you were out of breath because she was putting you through the wringer or if the fantasies in your head were getting the best of you.

Sparring was effective, but you wished Nat would toss you on the mat for a completely different reason.

"Okay okay, I give up!" It was the fifth time she'd pinned you and fuck, you would be surprised if you could stay coherent enough to make your way back to your room. Yes, you shared one with the redhead, but she liked to train longer than you so you figured that maybe if you were quick enough you could spend time recovering with a hot bath and your fingers between your legs.

Natasha let you up, rolling onto her back as you left the mat. The angle gave her the perfect view of your ass, outlined by the tight fabric of your stretchy shorts. For as much as you'd been watching Natasha, she'd been watching you right back; each time she took you down was a struggle in restraint. It'd be too easy to take you right there, but she'd resisted only because any one of your teammates could walk in. "Quitting already? But we were having so much fun."

Could be having a lot more fun upstairs. The thought came to your head before you could stop it and the resulting whine was too loud in the quiet room to go unnoticed. "Letting you run me into the ground repeatedly is a very one-sided type of fun, Natasha."

The older woman jumped up with ease, years of endurance training letting her recover with a quickness you could only ever envy. You didn't see her walking over to you, too preoccupied with gathering your bag together to get out of there. When she spoke again, she was right behind you and Natasha smirked as she caught your thighs instinctively pressing together. "You couldn't convince me you don't like losing to me if you tried."

"Why would I like losing?" You kept your back to her on purpose; if you looked at her you were sure you'd end up begging her to take you right there.

Natasha stepped closer, just enough to grab you. She was too fast for you, too strong, and she had you pressed flush against your front before you could process your shock. "Because I know you too well; you’re not subtle and you love it when I trap you."

Squirming away was fruitless; Natasha barely gave you room to breathe. You couldn't complain though, not when her hand was making its way to your breasts, squeezing roughly even when you cried out. The fights and her show of strength left you powerless to do anything but let your girlfriend touch you as she pleased, nipples pebbling both under her teasing and with your top half now exposed to the cold gym air. "Natty, we can't.. not here..."

She shushed you way too gently for how brutishly her other hand was sliding down the front of your shorts, hot breath tickling your ear. "I can do whatever I want and right now, I need my sweet girl to stay still while I fuck her."

You nodded quickly, your knees going weak almost as soon as her fingers spread you open. Risky as it was here out in the open, this was so much better than your fingers would ever be. She kissed your bare shoulder as she examined and groped you hungrily at her will. When her fingers were easily coated with your slick, the both of you groaned so loud there was no way anyone passing by the door wouldn’t have heard.

It was messy and crude, Natasha circling your clit until you’d soaked through your panties and possibly even your shorts— you loved it. “Daddy, please…”

“Oh fuck,” Maybe Natasha hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but she did and if the hard bite where your neck met your shoulder was any indication, she was quick to hide any other impulsive reactions. It was no secret how much the redhead adored the title, especially from you. Anything from you, really; she needed every part, every word, every whine you blessed her with. “Say it again, tell me how much you want it.”

“I-“ Stringing a sentence together proved difficult, Natasha’s fingertips just barely grazing your entrance throwing your brain into one thought alone. “Fuck me, please, daddy! I need you inside…”

A singular finger slid in, slow and steady and not at all what you needed to get off. You whined pitifully, trying to force yourself down on her hand to no avail. “I thought you wanted to wait? What happened, changed your mind?”

You wanted to yell and scream that it was all Natasha’s doing, that you’d be upstairs in your room if you had any say in the matter, happily bent over the mattress while you thrust onto your favorite vibrator. But that didn’t matter; you’d still be thinking of her, wishing it was her taking charge instead of a toy you controlled.

In her strong arms you felt captured and kept; no matter how you struggled, her hold on your body kept you still as a doll in a child’s grasp. “Stop squirming, baby. Daddy just needs to make you feel good.”

She was certainly doing just that, having slid a second finger alongside the first, stretching you perfectly. Your hips bucked back into her own and as her thumb played deviously with your swollen clit, you were even more grateful for Natasha’s support because without her, your knees would’ve given in a while ago. It didn’t take long before you were fighting off your orgasm, begging breathily to be allowed much needed release. “...’m so close.. Please…!”

Trying to escape her touch was pointless; Natasha was relentless in how she played with you, “Shh, it’s okay. Go on… cum for me.” It only took two curls of her digits to make you fall apart completely, your whimpers echoing off the solid walls of the empty training room. Your vision left for a moment, ears ringing as your body fell slack. Not for a second were you in danger of falling to the ground because Natasha was still holding you against her, one hand toying with your breast as her other was firmly buried between your shaking thighs.

The heel of her palm brushed over your over sensitive bud and you flinched away, but her grip never eased. The tip of her nose grazed the shell of your ear slowly, gently, unbothered by how you struggled against her firm body as she started fucking into you all over again. Natasha had stood and fought with you that afternoon on her best behavior, suppressing the urge to call off your training for her own favorite form of exercise. But now she’d won all rounds and she was going to be as selfish as she pleased. “Oh no, princess, I won five times and you owe me my rewards.”

i read your dog tags fic and i have always thought the whole dog tags thing is hot but you think you could do one w natasha? an au where she was a soldier or wte and just a different plot or something idc i just think it’d be so hot for natasha

i don't really know about soldier type stuff so i did it as though she got the dog tags from working at shield - hope that's okay anyway :)

original dog tags fic with carol danvers is here

quiet

natasha romanoff x reader

warnings - smut; daddy kink, thigh riding, necklace as a gag, top!natasha, kinda sex in a public place, i think that's it

word count - 1149

The mission today had been emotionally exhausting for you considering your history with Hydra, having to go back to the base you’d been imprisoned in until just a few years ago. It had gone well though, nobody was injured, you just felt a little down.

You sighed as you slumped into the seat beside Natasha, instantly seeking comfort by resting your head on her shoulder, she kissed your head as you nuzzled into her neck readying for the long flight back.

“You okay, princess?” She murmured against you, feeling the shrug you gave her in response, trailing her fingers over your back down to your hip. “Want me to make you feel better?”

You hummed against her neck pressing a kiss to the skin beneath her ear, “Please daddy, make me feel good.” You mumbled beside her ear with a pout, she choked back a groan at the back of her throat at the words, digging her fingers into your hip to pull you up with her.

Neither of you paid any mind to the others, not caring of any funny looks you may have been receiving as she pulled you towards a secluded area of the quinjet out of sight; she pushed your back against a wall peppering kisses over your face, melding her lips with yours eagerly.

She held you by your waist as she kissed along your jaw, grazing her teeth over your skin as you held her close to your body, desperately clinging to her as though she could float away. Your needy hands wandered, fiddling with the zip of her tactical suit and tugging it down letting your hands brush over the soft skin of her chest, the glistening silver metal of her dog tags she’s worn since she joined Shield dangling against her, resting in the valley of her breasts.

She held the back of your head when you kissed across the skin, sucking at the flesh of her breasts that spilled out of the top of her bra, letting you revel in the taste of her skin - wanting anything to help you feel better. She yanked you back by your hair with a hiss at an overly eager bite to her skin, a dark mark no doubt being left behind.

You pouted to her innocently with your lips swollen red, mischievous smirk tugging at your mouth when she looked at you with a glare, eyes darkened and lustful. She pulled the zip of your suit, yanking the material down your body exposing your bra clad torso, closing the space between you with her lips attacking your neck. She slipped her hand beneath your bra, roughly pinching your nipple between her thumb and finger with a twist only tugging on it more at the sound of a whimper falling from your lips.

“So pretty baby, falling apart under my touch like this already. You’re desperate, hm?” She rasped, her lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“Mhm, just wanna feel good. Make me forget, daddy - please.” You pleaded, goosebumps raising over your skin when she scratched her nails down your body pushing your suit further past your hips.

“Focus on me, princess. By the end of the night you’ll know nothing but my name.”

Your hips bucked up into hers involuntarily at the way she growled out her words before crashing her lips to yours, frenzied and eager kisses as she danced her fingers beneath the hem of your underwear, teasingly stroking over your clit.

“I need you, Natty, please.” You whined out in frustration, feeling her smirk against your chest as she slid her fingers through your wet slit, plunging two fingers into you without a warning. You gasped out at the contact, her digits immediately curling inside you, brushing against your g-spot and the heel of her palm perfectly positioned over your clit.

You put all of your focus into trying to be quiet, trying to be consumed only by the way Natasha pumped her fingers into you with a sublime rhythm and her lips kissed over your neck but the added pang of arousal from the grunt she let out beside your ear made it impossible to swallow the moan at the back of your throat. She’d positioned herself over your thigh, grinding on your leg in a way that had her suit rubbing against her clit magnificently.

She stilled all movement to look at you with green eyes glazed over with arousal, “Quiet, baby - can’t have the others hearing all your pretty sounds.” She murmured, bringing the pendant of her dog tags to your lips. “Open.” She instructed, shoving the metal past your lips watching as you latched your lips around it with a suck. “Good girl, baby, stay quiet for daddy.”

The metal was cold against your tongue, clicking under your teeth as you bit into it to quell the feeble whimpers begging to tumble past your lips. Your nails dug into her shoulder blades as her fingers pulled you closer and closer to your climax and your face grew hot at the way you could hear her fingers pushing into you; she could feel how wet you were, how close you were, slowing her movements agonisingly.

“Hold it, baby, wanna cum with you.” She breathed, her hips moving rapidly in stuttered pushes along your thigh, her breath growing heavier by the minute.

When she could feel her orgasm fast approaching she quickened her pushes into you, your hips bucked forward to match her rhythm, chasing your release by grinding your aching clit against her palm. Natasha muffled her loud moan as she came with a harsh bite into the flesh of your shoulder, harsh enough to draw blood in tooth mark grooves, low whimpers at the back of her throat as she tried to catch her breath.

“That’s it, princess.” She cooed as she felt a gush of wetness over her fingers, your hips still moving lazily against her as the overwhelming pleasure brought tears to your eyes; biting down hard onto the pendant in your mouth with a pull that dug the chain into the back of her neck. “So good, so good for me angel.” She praised, planting kisses over your warm cheeks, holding your limp body up as your chest rose and fell in a chase for oxygen.

She pulled the necklace from your mouth gently, a string of saliva following it and coating your swollen lips, brushing stray hairs out of your face. She held your waist as she pulled her fingers from you, pleased at how they glistened in the light, humming in delight as she sucked your cum from them, looking forward to tasting you properly later.

“Thank you.” You mumbled out meekly, returning the smile Natasha gave you easily.

“My pleasure, baby.” She smirked. “I was only getting started. I’m gonna fuck every thought out of that pretty head.”

Natasha Romanoff + text posts

All I Ask of You | Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha x Reader (established), Dom!Wanda x Reader

Summary: When you love someone you’d do anything to make your relationship work, but you never expected your girlfriend to suggest you have sex with someone else. Like the saying goes, it's unrealistic for one person to be everything you need.

When you meet Wanda, you soon realize that maybe the saying was right - and just maybe, you have enough love for two people. The question is, will they be ok with the other occupying your heart?

18+ minors dni

Part 1 Judgment

Part 2 coming soon

Part 3 coming soon

Part 4 tba

Part 5 tba

Part 6 tba

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong, Fear of Flying

-☾-

a/n: I'm really excited about this one! It started as a dream and then morphed into what may be a long series but damn has it been fun to write. I hope you all enjoy!

If I Could Start Again

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Sometimes closure is all you need.

Warnings: Some angst

Word count: 1120

Keep reading

Natasha x reader.

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

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

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

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

“Natty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would love nothing more.”

Yes, Mistress: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

A series of related fics following the relationship of the reader and her new Domme, Mistress Natasha, as they explore her sexuality and submissiveness.

Series warnings: sub/Dom dynamics, sexual themes, kink negotiations, explicit f/f content

Join a taglist here!

The Meeting -  The reader goes to a quiet café to meet Mistress Natasha in person for the first time and they talk through what she can expect from this new relationship.

Floating -  Mistress Natasha takes it easy for the reader’s first session to ease her into the release that can be expected from their time together.

Responsive -  Before their next session, Mistress Natasha picks out her sub’s outfit and then invites her to meet at the park. She rewards the reader’s good behaviour in the bathroom of a café.  

okay but imagine a smut with natasha where she puts a vibrator on you but then straddles you so the vibe is on her aswell😮‍💨 thinking thots

task failed successfully

pairing: natasha romanoff x female reader

summary: reader makes natasha angry at a party, they go back to their room and bang bang yaknow seggs oh and refer to request! hope i did it justice hehe

warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni. public-ish. usage of vibrator. light bondage. a little degradation? lmk if i should add anything else :)

translations: malyshka - babygirl detka - baby

word count: 2.6k

my back hit the back of the elevator with a thud, my hands immediately finding their way to my girlfriend's waist. my mouth fell open slightly as i felt her tongue dragging a wet trail up my throat.

it was almost 3am, and we were in the elevator of the avengers compound, going up to our floor after tony's big anniversary party.

nat and i barely interacted throughout the night, both playing a very cold and dangerous game. i stole glances every now and then, just to check what she was up to and her whereabouts.

it didn't help that she looked stunning tonight. her wine red dress hugging her body, leaving almost nothing to imagination.

i turned from where i was situated at the bar, to still see nat across the room on the couch with banner. my eyes narrowed at the sight.

she knew he had a thing for her. and she knew i hated it whenever they were close together. she laughs at something he says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

it was if she knew i was watching.

not even caring about being subtle anymore, i kept my eyes on the two.

"geez, i'm glad you don't have powers like i do or banner would've been six feet under"

i turned to the source of the voice, smiling slightly at wanda who took a seat next to me. i chuckled at her comment as i took in the sight of her.

"you look really nice," i complimented with a wink. she rolled her eyes at my comment, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"don't look now, but she's looking at you"

i furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, "who?"

"who else would i be talking about? and for the record, her thoughts are loud. doesn't seem too pleased that i'm here with you"

i scoffed. she's jealous?

"wanna make her more mad?" i suggested in a whisper, a mischievous grin on my face as my hand fell on top of hers that was on the counter top.

wanda looked at me incredulously, a small smile however on her face, "careful, y/n. i might catch feelings"

i rose an eyebrow, amused by our harmless flirtatious interactions. we've been best friends for ages, since we met in hydra. we were like sisters. so the fact that nat could ever be jealous of wanda just boggles me.

wanda intertwines our fingers as her other hand found my thigh. bold.

"right, she's getting up. and she is not happy"

and now we're here.

her forehead flushed against mine, her breath hot against my lips. my eyes flickered from her cherry stained lips to her once ocean green eyes, now dark with lust.

"what did you think you were doing, my love?"

i cocked my head to the side, slightly raising an eyebrow. "i wasn't doing anything"

a grunt left my lips when i felt my legs getting kicked apart, nat slotting her thigh in between them. her hand cupped my jaw, forcing me to look at up at her helplessly.

my mouth flew open when i felt a sudden pressure pressed against my centre, a choked whimper leaving my mouth.

"so you weren't being a whore with that witch?"

another push against my centre.

fuck.

my hands grabbed onto the railing behind me, steadying myself when i felt my knees buckling just a little.

suddenly this elevator ride seem longer than usual. as if on cue, the elevator stops and the doors open with a ding. but natasha didn't move an inch.

"we're not leaving until you answer me, baby"

my mouth opened in an attempt to mutter an answer, but stopped myself when i heard a familiar buzzing sound.

no.

i looked down to the source of the sound, the little bullet vibrator in her hand just buzzing away.

"you brought that to the party?!"

she simply laughs as she lightly runs the toy up my exposed thigh, goosebumps rising on my skin. at this point, the doors have already closed and the elevator was stagnant.

"of course," she breathes out, lips threatening to touch mine, "i could never be too careful with you. just look at how you acted out tonight.."

she trails off, taking the toy away from my skin in sync. before i could stop myself, a pathetic whine left my lips at the loss of the sensation on my skin.

a low rumbling sound was heard from the elevator before it slowly started going up and before i could do anything else, natasha had managed to get her hand between my legs, pressing the vibrator straight against my pussy.

my eyes closed shut, my hand frantically finding hers in attempt to keep it there, "fuck, natty"

the fact that the elevator was moving meant that it was on its way to someone's floor, and that the door could open anytime for anyone to see us like this.

that thought alone sent shivers down my spine, and at this point i'm pretty sure i was soaked through.

"i wonder who we'll run into...." she trails off, her other hand running along my exposed stomach, and up my tube top, "who's gonna see you being played with like this"

oh god, fuck. the elevator slows down, and that's when i started panicking. "nat, stop," i whimpered helplessly, against my own inner wishes.

"say it."

i caved, "god, yes, i was– i was being a whore with wanda"

and almost immediately the buzzing between my legs stopped, and i fell limp as my knees gave way.

nat pulls my skirt back down, before looking at me with an adoring smile on her face, her hand coming up to tuck my messy hair behind my ear.

if it wasn't for my throbbing, pulsating centre right now, i probably would've swooned at the romantic gesture.

nat turns around just as the door opens and, and in comes steve.

"romanoff, y/l/n," he acknowledges with a nod as he presses the groundfloor button.

"rogers," nat says.

i, on the other hand, was cowering behind my girlfriend, still trying to catch my breath as quietly and as quickly as possible.

"wait– where are you guys headed?" the captain turns when he realises we didn't press a floor button.

nat laughs, "oh right, 14th floor please. thanks cap"

"wha– but you guys didn't–," the redhead cut the confused captain off, "don't ask questions you don't wanna know, rogers"

soon enough the lift reaches our floor, and nat links our arms together, essentially dragging me out of the cabin and leaving behind a very confused and disturbed captain america.

the moment our room door closed, natasha backs me up all the way till the back of my knee hits the side of our bed, "lie down, detka"

i did as told, scooting up so that i was in the middle of the bed and then looking up at her for further instructions. like a lost puppy.

"be a dear and take off your clothes, would you? leave the panties on"

her gentle voice trails off as she leaves the room, to god knows where. i quickly discarded my clothes, eager for her to do something, anything to me.

the throbbing between my legs seemingly became more and more distracting, when nat walks back in with familiar pink silk ropes in her hands.

"oh, fuck me," i mumbled to myself as scenes of what was in store for me tonight flashed through my mind.

the red head simply chuckles as she crawls onto the bed in front of me, "that's the plan, malyshka"

she stops as she reaches my thighs that were clenched together, and stares down at me, a satisfied smile on her face, "open up, baby"

and i did, whining slightly at the sticky feeling of my juices slick on my inner thighs. i heard natasha inhale a sharp breath as her eyes landed on the apex of my thighs, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth.

"god, if you weren't being such a whore tonight... would've eaten you out so good..." she mumbles as she runs a finger up my thigh, and to my covered slit.

my hips automatically bucked up when her finger grazed against my clit, an embarrassingly needy whimper leaving my mouth.

i watched as she collected my wetness with her finger and brought it to her mouth, a satisfied moan leaving her mouth as she tasted myself. i felt my head spinning, both at the sight in front of me and the fact that i'm not getting touched properly.

natasha moves up to straddle me, reaching out to tie my wrists to the headboard, "pull."

i tugged my hands against the restraints to test them, and it didn't budge. she leans down, a small smile on her face, "perfect, are you okay?"

i could only hum in approval, my eyes silently pleading her to give me what i need. she lowers her face even more so she was mere inches from mine.

i let out a shaky breath at our current position, wanting nothing more than her lips on mine. but i knew i was in no place to initiate anything.

"suddenly you're such a good girl, huh?" natasha breathes out against my lips, the back of her fingers brushing lightly against my temple.

my head leans into her touch, my eyes shutting momentarily as i embraced her gentle touch while i still have it.

"oh, the things i'd do to you.." she mumbles mostly to herself before finally capturing my lips with hers. i sighed against her lips, just slightly relieved.

the kiss was anything was soft, yet all it did was leave me wanting more. a whine automatically left my system when natasha pulled away, and i unconsciously tugged at the silk ropes in attempt to get closer to her.

"i need you, natty, please"

she simply chuckles at my begging, seemingly entertained as she moves further down so that she was eye level with my centre.

"you need me here, detka?" her soft voice fills my ear as she snaps my panties against my skin. i flinched, the feeling going straight to my pulsating core.

the familiar buzzing sound fills the room and i almost jumped in excitement, my legs having minds of their own and spreading wider for the redhead.

"my god, you're just a needy little slut, aren't you?" nat laughs dryly at my actions. i couldn't even bring myself to feel embarrassed.

i watched as she ran the vibrator up my inner thigh, and to my panty line, skipping right where i needed her. i bit down on my lip, struggling to stay still as i became more and more needy.

my head fell back to the pillow, defeated when i suddenly felt the vibrator being pressed right against my panty clad clit.

a loud gasp left my lips at the feeling, my hips bucking up into her hand.

"behave, malyshka," natasha warns, and i whimpered.

natasha ups the setting a notch, sending me into a complete frenzy. my hands grabbed onto the silk ropes, my back arching as i tried my best to stay still.

"fuuuuuck," i moaned out after a series of silent gasps, causing a satisfied smile on the redhead's face.

"does it really feel that good, baby?"

i nodded vigorously, the familiar coil in my stomach becoming tighter and tighter as nat moves the vibrator against my clit. and suddenly the feeling was gone.

before i could protest, nat was sitting up, "hold on just a second, love"

i watched as she moved to straddle me, her black lace panties now in full view for me. she pushes her panties to the side, exposing her already wet cunt and GOD when i tell you, i almost moaned at the sight.

"i wanna feel good too," she pouted mockingly before bringing the vibrator back to the small space between our centres.

"oh, god," she breathes out the moment she turns it back on.

i looked down to see her clit pushing against the vibrator that was on me, and i swear, i could've cum on the spot.

the vibration of the toy against my pussy, combined with the pressure nat was causing, made the tightening feeling in the pit of my stomach come back.

natasha was slowly grinding against the vibrator, letting out little pants here and there that were like music to my ears. the fact that i couldn't hold or touch her at all was driving me nuts.

at this point i could tell that nat was too engrossed in the pleasure she was receiving to pay attention to me. i bucked my hips up to meet hers, causing her to fall forward in a choked moan.

she unexpectedly grabs my face, looking at me dead in the eyes. "needy fucking bitch," she spat, causing me to moan as her words goes straight to my core.

"yeah? you like getting called a bitch?" she grinds down particularly harder after her question, both of us moaning at the feeling.

my mouth opened to answer her, but nothing came out. she just laughs mockingly at me, "aw, she can't even speak. are you gonna cum?"

i nodded, looking at her with pleading eyes, "please"

she lets go of my face only to give it a slap, completely catching me off guard. i unconsciously moaned at the sting, loving how rough she was with me.

"fuck, i'm coming too," she moaned as she continued grinding on the toy, chasing her orgasm, "wanna cum with me, baby?"

"please, please– i wanna cum with you, natty," i whined pathetically, feeling the waves about to crash anytime now.

my eyes rolled to the back of my head as natasha peppered kisses all over my neck and moves her mouth to my ear, moaning softly into it.

"now, detka"

the moment those words reached my ears, i finally let go, my back arching into natasha as i let the high take over. my mouth opened, silent gasps leaving my system as i come undone.

natasha falls limp on top of for a second before she gets up, looking at me with a small smile.

she moves back down to turn the vibrator off and chuck it aside.

"your panties' all ruined," she mocked as she runs a finger up and down my covered slit, causing my hips to twitch at the sensitivity.

"can you untie my hands please, they're starting to ache"

nat laughs, half in amusement and guilt, "i'm sorry, my love"

she reaches out to swiftly untie the knots. the moment my hands were free, i wasted no time before pulling her back down against me and crashing our lips together.

i felt her smile into the kiss, causing me to do the same. she pulls away first, breathing heavily as she looks down at me with a smile.

"i take that as a thank you?" she laughs, and i did too as i nodded in agreement.

i tugged my bottom lip between my teeth as i stared at my girlfriend's face. "you know me and wanda could never ever be a thing right?"

she simply snickers, looking back at me with a knowing smile.

"duh, i knew you were just trying to get in my pants"

i rolled my eyes in feign annoyance at her choice of words. "seems like you got into my pants first though," i retorted, playing along.

natasha narrowed her eyes as she nodded slowly, agreeing with me.

"task failed successfully?"

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫 || 𝐧. 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟

navigation || marvel masterlist || hollywood masterlist

pairing: natasha romanoff x female reader

warning: small fluff in the beginning

summary: she said there’s not a universe she won’t be loving you in. liar.

a/n: hey besties! i’ve been suffering so much from motivation and inspiration lost especially now that school had started. so please bear with my slow posts :( also this is a horrible scrap

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