Black Widow But It’s Just Chaos

So I may have started a new project...

GL Webtoon Masterlist

Hello, welcome to the post where I share girls love (yuri/wlw) comics you can read on the Webtoon app! Some are focused on romance while others are more plot-heavy.

Links are included. Personal favourites are marked with a heart emoji.

I do not to include webtoons that are discontinued, on hiatus, have not been updated in a long time or have few episodes, but other than that, feel free to make suggestions and I will add them to the list. 

Side note for those who are new to Webtoon, series on Webtoon are divided into canvas and originals. Originals are published by authors that are employed by Webtoon. Canvas series are self-published, so sometimes they update irregularly and might end up being discontinued, unlike originals. Sometimes Webtoon picks up a popular canvas series and employs the author. The series then is re-released as an original.

Hope this helps, please enjoy!

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Love You While You're Tired; N. Romanoff

pairing; Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

summary; you're stressed, and after waking up from a nap, natasha helps you de-stress

warnings; smut, soft!Nat, mommy!Nat, fingering, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, thigh riding, strap-on use, lots and lots of praise, oral, crying because of overstimulation

i did notice like a lot of my Nat fics are smut? I'll have to get a good fluff fic out there soon.

translation- красивая девушка/ krasivaya devushka; beautiful girl. I think?? correct me if I'm wrong

Natasha laughed at you when you waddled out of the room, only in a long tshirt. You gave her a pouty face but shuffled your feet towards her.

The older woman opened her arms, "C'mere, sleepy girl," Natasha said. You didn't give it any second thought, pushing yourself into her. Instantly, your hands found themselves under her shirt and Nat tensed at how cold they were. "You feeling okay?" You nodded, humming sleepily. Natasha nodded, understanding you were tired.

"Did you take a good nap?" Natasha continued the one-sided conversation. You let out another hum, climbing onto her lap. "Mhh. How about stress? Feeling better?" You shrugged.

"It helped, still feel tense though," You whispered, finally letting Natasha hear your groggy voice. The redhead's long fingers rubbed your back, listening to you.

"Need mommy to help?'' Natasha whispered in your ear. You let out a soft whine, "Use your words baby, I know you can," The woman encouraged.

"Want mommy to help me, please." You pulled at her shirt. Natasha nodded, slightly bucking her hips, making you now aware of the strap she was wearing. The woman positioned you on her thigh, and gave you a kiss.

''What do you want first, красивая девушка?" Natasha asked, letting the Russian name fall from her mouth.

"Your mouth, mommy," You let out a soft plead. Natasha picked you up, leading you to the bedroom. She sat you on the bed, tilting your head up.

"You're only my girl, right?" Natasha ran her hands through your hair.

"Only yours, Natasha," You whispered back. The taller woman gave you a kiss before slightly picking you up and removing the shirt from under you. Slowly she had removed the clothing, taking you in. She got on her knees in front of you, moving your panties to the side. You watched as she carefully spread your legs, giving you doe eyes as she her tongue went to lap you up.

Her tongue came in contact with your folds, causing you to let out a soft moan. You started to make a makeshift ponytail with her hair, so you could watch her devour you. Her lips found your clit, giving it a kiss before she took it in her mouth and sucked. "Oh god, Nat," You moaned, slightly arching your back. She nibbled just a tad before plungind her tongue into your hole. Letting your body fall to the bed, you squeezed her thighs together.

Her tongue curled in all the right spots, sometimes even leaving your cunt to suck your clit then going back after. Finally, your own hand found your clit, rubbing at the pace Natasha was thrusting her tongue.

"Mommy! I-I'm gonna-"

"You don't need permission from me tonight, красивая девушка." Natasha encouraged. With those words your back arched and you came. The Russian helped you ride it out, giving you ua soft peck on your thighs. "You are such a good girl, y'know that?" Natasha asked, standing up and making you sit up.

"Thank you," You accepted the compliment, pecking her lips. You were even more tired than before now, and you wanted to go back to. bedm Still though, the other half wanted Natasha to take away all the stress with her talented body.

She sat down next to you, pulling you into her lap, your back flush against her front. She was looking at you in the mirror, your legs spread and hairnall over the place. "Mommy is gonna give you her fingers, alright?" Natasha husked, "But you're not gonna look away from this mirror, I want you to see how beautiful you are." Natasha kissed down your neck and plunged two fingers into you. You threw your head back, gripping her knees. You remembered the task at hand, adjusting your head so you could watch as Natasha pumped her fingers.

You kept bucking your hips up into her, like a bitch in heat. It wasn't at the same pace, her fingers much more faster than your hips plus she was more awake than you. "Natasha, mommy, please keep going," You bit her neck, almost screaming as her thumb rubbed your clit.

You were sensitive from your last orgasm, so after a few more thrusts you came undone. Natasha wasn't done though, she kept thrusting into you until you were on the brink of a next orgasm, screaming her name. "Natasha! Holy fuck I'm gonna cum again-" You watched as her fingers curled into you, and you sobbed as you curled into a ball and came again.

"I'm so proud baby, it's alright, it's okay... You're such a good girl," Natasha praised, kissing your back. You almost felt needier at her words especially when she pulled her fingers out. Hissing, you started to grind against her thigh.

The woman was mesmerized about how much you could take. How needy you were for her. Your clit had hit her thigh just perfectly and the feelings you felt were... ethereal.

The coil in your stomach tightened and you started to see stars. Your eyes rolled back and your back arched in ecstacy. It was indescribable, the feelings you were feeling. The coil that felt so tight, so ready to burst, finally did.

Your eyes popped open, so you could see what Natasha was seeing in the mirror. Your eyes flickered down to your pussy, which was covered in your own juices, along with Natasha's thigh.

Legs still shaking, Natasha pulled you off her and laid you down. "Let's clean you up?" She teased, dropping to her own knees. Holy shit, this woman was not giving up.

First, she lapped at your legs, cleaning up the mess you made on yourself. Natasha had mumbled something along the lines of, "Such a needy girl, needing mommy to clean up your mess," And you found it so hot, the words coming out of her mouth.

Slowly though, her tongue was licking your pussy. Your hands had found her red locks as she started nipping at your overly-sensitive clit. Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes, but you found so much pleasure in Natasha. You'd repay her after.

Two of her talented fingers found your pussy once more, and while her tongue slipped into you, her thumb rubbed your clit.

"Oh, Mommy! Shit," Your thighs clenched over her head as you pulled her hair, something to distract you from the pleasurable pain. You were already so close.

Her tongue hit your g-spot oh so perfectly, and once again you were cumming. This time though, you were sobbing. You could help but cry out as you came, tears spilling down your face.

Natasha pulled away, quickly pulling you into her arms as she praised you for being such a good girl. Telling you she was sorry for making you cry, mommy was just trying to make her little girl feel better. You had dismissed the apologies, telling her she was the best person ever, and now you were in the hands almost another orgasm.

Natasha was pounding into you, her strap relentless. Your breasts were against the mattress and Natasha had your hands pinned above your head.

"O-oh, you're so tight baby," Natasha rubbed you clit roughly as she was on the brink of her orgasm. Your body shook, and you twisted your hand to hold hers. You couldn't imagine what Natasha was feeling right now, she told you before how much it turned her on watching you cum, so you could only imagine bliss she was feeling.

"Cum with me Mommy," You whispered and the both of you fell apart. Natasha came with a loud moan of your name, and your voice, that was slowly becoming raw from how much noise you made today, silently screamed. Natasha had fallen against you, and slowly, you drifted to bed.

For that older!Nat request:

Reader is an experiment project of HYDRA and Nat was the one who rescued her but with very little to none interaction with anyone all she retain was her childish qualities.

She'll be very scared of men and wary with others except Natasha. She'll mostly follow and cling to her everywhere and she'll only eat, speak and interact if Nat gave her permission 😬

I really don't know where to go with this lol I just want a shit clingy and dependent reader 🤣 thank you so much!

warning: older!nat, experiment!reader, fluff. SFW

“Tasha?”

Her small voice broke the redhead out of her reverie and when she looked down, found a girl years her senior cuddled up against her arm, her lips turned softly.

Natasha reached out to caress her cheek, her little bunny’s cheek scarred from the abuse she had taken through her youth during her time with HYDRA, and when the redhead touched her, she melted into her hold.

“What’s wrong, sunshine?”

She beamed at the pet name and even flushed in embarrassment. But when she calmed and relaxed, her eyes darted from Natasha to Tony who stood in the hall.

“What do you want Tony?”

“Banner hulked out... Again.”

The irritation was evident in Tony’s tone and Natasha’s was present as she rolled her eyes. She turned to her ball of sunshine, curled up against her arm in the comfort of their couch.

“It’ll be quick. Tony will be with you, okay?”

She shook her head furiously and whined, reaching out to grab the redhead’s muscly arm and tug on it.

“No, please.”

Natasha sighed, she couldn’t bring her girl with her, even if she wanted to. Bringing someone so fragile to a place so destructive, let alone with a Hulked out Bruce? She wouldn’t risk it, even if it mean disappointing you and making you sad for a little bit just to know you were safe.

“You can’t come, sunshine.” Natasha heard her whine, her frown deepening in tow as she shook her head in displeasure. “It’s too dangerous. Please, be a good girl for Tony, okay? He likes you. He thinks you’re pretty cool.”

She gave Natasha a look of doubt. “Really?”

Natasha nodded, beaming with a smile. “Don’t you find her cool, Stark?” When the redhead turned to the playboy, billionaire, she gave him a scowl. “Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do!” He neared the couch but just stayed far enough that Natasha’s girl wouldn’t crouch in fear of him. “I won’t be a bother. I’ll be like you! I’ll do whatever Natasha tells me!”

The redhead gave him a shove to his shoulders and when she felt the grip on her arm loosen, she was able to slip out to stand in front of you.

“I love you, okay? I will be back, no more than half an hour. That’s thirty minutes, sunshine. Starting when I walk down that hallway,” she points, “you’re gonna count for me, alright?”

She nods. And Natasha grins, leaning to kiss her sunshine on the tip of her nose. A giggle erupts and tickles the redhead’s nose, making her scrunch.

“I love you too.”

Dark! Sugar mommy melina posing as r's mother

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

Send me your h-word thoughts!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes mommy,” you say.

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

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

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

“Th-thank you,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F.Reader

Word Count: 1200  

Warning: Angst. So much angst. 

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OMG HEAR ME OUT.. IMAGINE OLDER!NAT WITH A YOUNGER READER WHO BRUISES EASILY 😏 AND NATTY HAS A MARKING KINK AND LIKES TO ADMIRE ALL OF HER WORK (BRUISES) ON YOUR SKIN FROM SEX 😏😏 PLS NSFW SMUT SEX PLS GENTLE!NATTY BUT ALSO ROUGH!NATTY WITH SOFT!NATTY PLS

warnings: older!nat, younger!reader, hickeys, description of reader’s body (shes small/petite), slight mommy kink. NSFW

Her finger draws a line across your warm skin, thin and pale pointed finger tips, pressed right at the curve of where your ribs protrudes, Natasha hears the hiss of where she applies pressure on the bruising mark.

The older woman grins while her finger leaves the spot and then moves on to another, this time, she’s tracing over the underside of your breast, feigning some sort of innocence to the way she has your breath shaky.

“Tasha...” Though, meek and small, your voice carries a tone of annoyance to the way your girlfriend plays with you like you were some kind of toy.

She had promised she would behaved. You had your exams to study for, and you need to be well focused and read the notes.

“You promised me.”

She buried her face in the crook of your neck, her voice muffled, but you understood her clear as day as her words vibrated against your skin.

“I didn’t promise such thing, dear.” She heard you puff in annoyance. “But if you must insist I stop touching you then—”

You groaned at her words, rolling your eyes in tow as you gave her a look. “Whatever. Just...”

You felt her hands resume their wonderful tasks, cupping your breast through your oversized t-shirt. Biting your lip, you huffed and turned to your girlfriend who looked at you with storming emerald eyes.

She grinned, leaning to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, only to travel her mouth further south to your neck. She paused for a moment, gave your breasts a squeeze before her tongue gave your skin a lick.

“You’re so perfect, darling.” A hand left your chest and she trailed it down your naval, slowing down between your legs. She paused, then reached out to grip your thighs and part your legs apart.

She knew you bruised easily and with the tight grip on the flesh of your inner thigh, there was no doubt you’d be purple and pink by tonight.

“Tasha—”

She shook her head, unable to answer you as she nipped your fragile skin in tow. You’d be marked by the end of the night, littered in growing and healing bruises, Natasha would have a field day by the morning as she watched you slather on makeup to cover them up.

She always did adore the way they painted your skin like a canvas. And as she laid you down onto the bed on your back, letting her slip away so she could now lay between your legs.

“Can you recite your notes for me, dear?”

The older woman looked at you as she fluttered her eyes in innocence. Biting your lip, you couldn’t say no to her, especially with how close she was near your core. As you nodded, the redhead grinned and she disappeared between.

You opened your mouth to speak, but merely nothing came out as you whimpered in tow. Natasha was grinning wide between your legs and as she kissed you through your thin shorts, your breath was shaky.

“Keep going, love.” A kiss to your thigh, another one to your left. “Mommy will reward your little body soon.”

hey 😘😘😘

(REAL)

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

part 2 to gun smut?

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

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

home of blood and bone.

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

PART ONE ... PART TWO.

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

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

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

a“How was the psych eval?”

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

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

“Big man says you were difficult.”

You were not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Security cam footage.

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

Conference room four.

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“No.”

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

“I know what you mean. And no.”

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

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

“No.”

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

“No.”

True. You tend to seek them out.

“Have you experienced generalized anxiety since the incident?”

“No.”

True enough.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No.”

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

“Do you startle easily?”

“No.”

True.

“Do you feel that the—”

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

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

“Get violent. I don’t know.”

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

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

“Who does deserve it?”

Bullshit question.

She’s leading you.

It’s fine.

“Nobody at present,” you tell her.

“Who deserved it in the past?”

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

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

“Family.”

“Whose family?”

“Mine.”

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

There it is.

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

The video stops.

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes.

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

“Your point?”

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

“Right.”

“We need you.”

“That so?”

It’s true enough.

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

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

Your eyes narrow.

In less than a millisecond you make a weighted decision.

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

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

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

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

You know it’ll ruin everything.

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

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

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

Natasha steps back. “You—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It clicks so plainly on her face.

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

“You killed Dreykov.”

“…Touché.”

/

“You altered my file. Why?”

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

He wasn’t.

Mostly.

But.

“I thought everyone knew.”

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

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

“Right,” is all you say.

You turn to go.

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

“I don’t need a babysitter, Stark.”

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

/

Natasha’s behavior around you hasn’t changed.

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

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

“Guy calls himself Elemento.”

“Gross.”

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

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

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

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

She’s right.

As usual.

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

Elemento can’t bend you.

And he doesn’t.

His gift only works when he’s breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why does Stark give me the messy assignments?”

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

So that’s it.

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

Makes sense that murder constitutes fun these days.

“Hey.”

You pull yourself out of your thoughts.

The window’s gone dark.

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

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

“Oh.”

“Come to bed.”

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

“I should shower.”

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

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

She does.

“That hurt?”

“No.”

“Did you clean it?”

“Are you always such a mom?”

“My sister would say yes.”

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

There’s only one bed.

You crawl in and lay still on your back.

Natasha props herself up on an elbow and studies you.

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

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

“Elaborate,” she says.

“Later.”

“Fine.”

She kills the lamp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The knife clatters onto the bedside table.

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

“One of your own, huh?”

She rolls her eyes.

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

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

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

“Touché.”

Natasha smiles.

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

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

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

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

“Good,” Natasha says, nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Peaceful Death // N.R

Warning(s): implied sexual content, cursing, graphic depictions of injuries, major character death, reader can heal herself. MINORS DNI 18+

It had been two weeks since you, and Wanda had been sent on a mission. It was a simple mission to clear out a HYDRA base, that had been mostly abandoned prior to anyways. A simple in, and out mission, with no blood on anyone’s hands.

Vision had been itching to see Wanda again, and had even pressured the team into a sweet welcome home party for the both of you. He had even made Wanda’s favorite Sokovian dishes to spread out.

Now, the team sat around the common room waiting for the arrival of the two most important people for this party.

Natasha sat on the couch, nursing a beer in her hand as she watched whatever mindless sitcom Pietro had decided to watch. He made stupid comments about how this show was Wanda’s favorite, and that he only watched it for her entertainment. She would just chuckle at his nonchalant attitude, as he continued to soak up the show in front of him.

“You look good tonight.” Carol whispered over her shoulder, as she leaned over the back of the couch. She noticed the smirk across Natasha’s face as she tried to cover it up by taking a pull from her beer. “You mind letting me take it off of you later? It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me.”

Natasha shook her head at Carol’s forward words, but swept a glance across the room to see if anyone else had listened in on their conversation. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own conversations, but she still decided against responding.

Her mind traveled back to the conversation she had shared with Wanda before her departure with you, and it made her fingers clench around the glass bottle just a little too tight.

Natasha couldn’t sleep, and Wanda had caught her sneaking from Carol’s room in the early hours of the morning as she was prepping for the mission. Wanda hadn’t commented on what she saw, but Natasha knew the pieces had fallen together within the witch’s brain.

“Natasha.” Wanda said, breaking the tense silence that had settled between the two. “I can not keep your secret anymore.”

Natasha refused to answer as she soaked in the implications of Wanda’s words. She knew Wanda had caught her, but hearing it out loud was like a punch to the gut.

“Do not tell her.” We’re the only words Natasha could mutter out as her fists clenched so tight her knuckles had began to turn white.

“Does she even know you’re awake?” Wanda asked as she moved to the kitchen, knowing Natasha was hot on her heels. “Or is she still quietly sneaking around a dark room so she doesn’t wake you up for her mission prep?”

Those words stung Natasha to the core, knowing that was probably exactly what you had been doing. You were always so caring, knowing Natasha had raging insomnia to the point you’d waste hours trying to remain silent as you moved around the room doing prep work that should normally take minutes. You’d do anything to allow Natasha more time to sleep.

“You know she loves you.” Wanda added, only adding more salt to the wound she had opened within Natasha. “So, why do you do this to her?”

Natasha didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to voice the neglectful feeling in her gut telling her that sleeping with Carol behind your back had been so wrong. How does she tell Wanda that she felt she never deserved a love like the one you had offered her? Sleeping with Carol was different, Carol had just used Natasha as a play toy just to kick her out minutes after they had finished. Shit, sometimes Natasha didn’t even finish.

Carol was just a stupid asshole who used her for her body, and nothing more.

But with you, you treated Natasha as if she was a goddess, and you were the priestess who dedicated your life to praising every single curve of her body. Your eyes shined with so much love for Natasha, and every time she’d see you smile her chest would swell to the point of suffocation. You were just so caring, and so gorgeous to the point Natasha looked into your eyes, and felt she was undeserving of anything you offered to her.

“If you have not ended this little escapade with Carol by the time our two weeks is over, I’m going to tell her myself.” Wanda said.

Natasha felt herself tense at the threat, but she knew it was a necessary evil if this situation with Carol was ever going to end.

Wanda had been finished in the kitchen awhile ago, but Natasha knew Wanda was going to sit here berate her until she felt Natasha had been tortured enough. Natasha took it once again, knowing it was simply the parameters of getting caught by your best friend. She just hoped Wanda would have enough sympathy to go somewhat easy on her.

“I’ve known about this for awhile, but it’s disgusting to have it confirmed that this is actually the reality of the situation.” Wanda said.

Well there goes Natasha’s hope for Wanda to go easy. It was a stupid hope to begin with, she guessed.

“I just thought that maybe you felt tied down, and just let your mind wander a little bit.” Wanda said, her jaw was so tense Natasha was afraid she’d start breaking teeth. “But when you and Carol are together, your thoughts are just so loud. Do you know how tired I am of hearing Carol’s thoughts about how desperately she wants to be knuckle deep inside of you?”

So that’s why Wanda stopped coming to anything that involved Natasha, and Carol.

“At least you had the decency to not think about it when your girlfriend was around.” Wanda said. Natasha didn’t like the way she emphasized girlfriend.

Finally, what seemed like hours of Wanda torturing Natasha with her sharpened words, she pulled her bag over her shoulder.

“We have to get going, but remember what I said.” Wanda finished with a glare, before stomping out of the kitchen to join you on the quinjet.

After she was left alone with her thoughts, Natasha found herself staring into the bottom of three wine bottles. It was the expensive kind, the ones Tony bought to savor for precious moments the team shared. She didn’t bother to taste them, but rather to drink them as fast as her body allowed.

Then, she found herself stumbling back into your shared bedroom, all too keen on the smell of Carol against her skin.

Natasha was jostled from her thoughts the moment Steve spoke up, announcing that the quinjet had just landed. She stood up from the couch, noticing Carol come to stand next to her.

When their arms brushed together, Natasha couldn’t quell the painful burning that ran itself across her skin. She simply decided to step away, and out toward the landing zone.

“Somebody get medical!” Natasha heard Bruce as she stepped outside, noticing Sam and Bucky rush past her to renter the compound.

The sight before Natasha stopped her in her tracks. Wanda was in obvious shock as she stumbled from the quinjet covered in blood, that was presumably not her own. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, but had long been dried as shock began its heavy grip upon her.

Steve rushed past Wanda, as Vision moved to collect the woman in his arms. She fell into him weakly, her hands trembled as she gripped into him as though he was the only thing left in this world. She began to sob into his chest, the broken kind of cry that shook the core of the Avengers around to hear it.

“What’s going on?” Carol asked from next to Natasha, voicing the concern that Natasha currently could not. Bruce rushed past them, barely taking time to acknowledge they had even been standing there in the first place.

“She’s not healing.” He had told them, before rushing off back to the jet. His words had caused Natasha’s nerves to singe against her skin, and a suffocating lump to form in her throat.

What did he mean you weren’t healing? Denial began to bubble up within Natasha, as she ran to catch up with Bruce.

“What do you mean she’s not healing?” Natasha asked. “She’s took a sniper bullet for me, and healed within minutes.”

Natasha then noticed Steve emerging from the quinjet with your mutilated body within his arms, and Natasha felt the world come to a crushing halt. His T-shirt was now caked in your blood as it dripped from the open wounds across your abdomen, and she could barely even stomach the sight of one of your legs being completely gone.

Steve had placed your body on the ground, and Bruce began his examination of your wounds. They were deep, and almost all of your organs had been impaled with shrapnel. He didn’t understand why you hadn’t healed from these wounds, just as Natasha had mentioned, he had seen you take worse and treat it as if it was nothing. Why aren’t you healing now?

“What is going on?” Natasha said, although even her own words had sounded as if she was under water. Her hands trembled as she fell to her knees next to your body, and placed a palm across your chest to feel the shallow rise and fall of your breaths. She brought a hand up to your cheek, noticing how cold it felt under her palm. Natasha hadn’t even noticed she was crying until her tears had began to speckle your face.

“Come on baby, come back to me.” She said, as she struggled to breath. Her hands trailed down to the collar of what was left of your suit, gripping it within her fist in an attempt to ground herself. “God damnit Bruce, why isn’t she healing?”

Bruce opened his mouth to answer, until he was interrupted by a hand gripping aggressively to Natasha’s wrist. She looked up to see Wanda, with blood and tears streaming down her face.

“Get your hands off of her.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, and continued to squeeze mercilessly onto Natasha’s wrist until she was forced to let go.

“Wanda, calm down.” Carol said, as she stepped up behind the two women as they kneeled on the ground. Wanda’s eyes began to flare red as Carol approached, causing her to begin to back away slowly.

“She knew, Natasha. She fucking knew.” Wanda said, turning her attention back Natasha. She hadn’t even let go of her wrist, as her nails began to dig into the soft skin. “She had known about it all along, but she didn’t want to believe it!”

Natasha knew Wanda would’ve continued her barrage of anger, but her sobs consumed her to the point she no longer could speak. Rather, she learned down to place her head against your chest, almost as if she was apologizing to you for not saying anything sooner.

Steve then once again made his presence known, by speaking up as he stood a few feet away from the scene. “What did she know about, Natasha?” He asked, in the all too calm captain tone he used when things got serious.

“Natasha was fucking Carol.” Wanda said after collecting herself just enough to speak the words she knew Natasha wouldn’t. A stiff silence overcame the small group as they stood over your body, trying to consume the fresh information brought to their attention.

“Oh my god.” Bruce said under his breath, as his hands began to work faster to stem the bleeding wounds across your body. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” He began to repeat, almost as if it was a chant or maybe a prayer to God to save you.

Natasha could hear Steve, and Carol fighting just behind them. She could catch various strings of their conversation, like Carol yelling “It’s not like it’s my fucking fault!”

Bruce had been suturing your wounds, before he simply began sobbing himself. “It’s no use.” He said quietly, punching the concrete beneath him to stem the green that had began to grow across his fingers.

“No! What are you doing?” Natasha said quickly, her hands moving to grab his own in an attempt to continue the work he had stopped.

“She told me..” He said, while wiping the tears from his eyes only to smear your own blood across his cheeks.

“She told me the only reason her healing wouldn’t work..” Bruce began, a heavy sob interrupting his sentence before he continued. “That it wouldn’t work if she didn’t want to live.”

A heavy silence fell over the group that it even smothered out the Captain’s fighting, as they just starred at Bruce as he continued to sob. “Nothing is going to work! She’s going to die!” He cried out.

Natasha felt sobs began to tear their way through her chest as she cupped your face within her hands. She stared at your lifeless face for a few moments, hearing herself call out to you. Wanda had stationed herself on the other side of your body, shaking your shoulder as she begged you to wake up.

This can’t be real, Natasha thought. No, this is only a nightmare I haven’t woke up from.

Suddenly, within her hands you began to stir as the tense silence seemed to lessen as everyone was relieved you had began to wake. Your eyes met with Natasha’s wet ones, and before you knew it, her lips were against your cheek as she confessed how much she loved you. That was, until Wanda aggressively pushed her away.

You couldn’t hear anything they had been fighting about, the ringing in your ears had drowned their voices out. You didn’t even feel in control of yourself as your gripped Natasha’s hand against your face, placing a soft kiss upon her palm.

“Please.” You said, your voice sounded raspy, and full of pain. Natasha so desperately wanted to take that pain away, even if she was partially at fault for it all.

“Please, just let me die in peace.”