Jealousy, Jealousy

I love ur

I love ur too lols 😎/j

Shame

Warnings: mommy kink, size kink, smut, swearing etc

Natasha loves the fact that you’re smaller than her, she absolutely revels in it but, of course, she’d never tell you that... The redhead has always been the smallest of the avengers so when you came around she would always tease you about your height (even though you were only a few inches shorter than her).

It was always “hey tiny” or “how’s the weather down there?” with Natasha. You assumed she taunted you about your height because she genuinely didn't like it. She probably thought it was childish to be a full grown adult and 5’2. And at first you didn’t say anything, not wanting to anger the intimidating woman, but after a while you two became quite close and you started to fire your own taunts, “well you would know considering we’re the same height, Tasha.”

Those words stunned the assassin; she didn’t expect the nickname so her cheeks flushed a deep red, which you picked up on. Not long after that, you started dating. Obviously, you confessed your feelings for the woman first- you knew if it was up to her, she would never come clean- and she returned those same feelings.

As the relationship progressed and you started to learn about her characteristics, you made the assumption that your girlfriend had a somewhat kinky side. With the way she carried herself around the others, she definitely had a dominant personality in the bedroom...which you was most certainly correct about!

You had discovered a whole different side to Tasha that only you knew about. You felt privilege and yet confused; you felt as if there was a whole new depth to her character you haven’t seen until now...

Here you were, ankles and wrists wrapped in red silk attached to each bedposts. If it wasn’t clear, Nat liked you tied down; completely and utterly helpless to her touch.

Lewd noises of the redhead’s strap thrusting into you at an inhuman pace-accompanied with your whorish moans- filled the almost silent room. Tasha’s sex playlist playing from the sound system with her red led lights on display. The occasional grunt from the woman above you joined in whenever her clit brushed at the right angle against the strap.

“Fuck, baby. Your tight pussy is gonna make me cum. Such a sweet pussy. All for me.” Natasha loved sex talk; always reminding you about how good you look, feel and taste. She was always calling you cute little nicknames as she brings you to climax, and even when she allowed you to return the favour.

On the other hand, she adored degrading you. She adored making you cry at her venomous words as she fucked you stupid. But, she only reserved those titles for when you were a bad girl and needed to be punished...

“Oh. Shit, Tasha. I-I’m gonna cum.” Your first orgasm almost washes over you; however, she had different ideas and pulled out before you could slip. Snaking a hand around your throat she applies little pressure, letting you know she was pissed.

“What did you call me?!” She seethes through her teeth. Sheer fury with a tinge of lust swirling in her eyes as she pins you beneath her weight like a predator with its prey.

You don’t know what you did wrong.

You always moaned her name as you came.

You thought that was what she liked...

Countless thoughts raced through your mind about what you had allegedly done wrong and Natasha had seen, so she relieved you of your mounting stress.

“When we’re in here doing this...” She harshly snaps her hips, driving the head of the toy up against your sensitive walls. You throw your head back in euphoria, unintentionally letting a carnal growl escape from within.

“It’s mommy, little one.”

Mommy...that’s new. You whisper to no one, anxious she might overhear you. Fear brews in the pit of your stomach, but excitement overpowers it, and a wide grin forms on your face. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“I’m sorry... mommy.”

Your girlfriend groans audibly at the way you whine her new name. She couldn't stop herself from thrusting back into you, slowly at first but gradually picking up the pace. She couldn’t rip her eyes from you; the way your tits bounced in time to her thrusts, your gaping mouth as threads of incoherent words and moans tumbled, your shuddering muscles that rippled beneath her finger pads.

The hand pinning your thighs apart moves to grip your jaw. She pushes her thumb in your mouth, waiting to see how you react. But you know what she wants. So you suck the digit, swirling your pink tongue around it, lathering it with your saliva as a light “hmm” vibrates against the pad. Natasha’s light green irises turn into a dark emerald shade, raging lust even more evident.

“Open.”

She spits in your mouth, no need to instruct you what to do next since you've already swallowed, your eyes rolled far back in your head.

“Look at your pretty little pussy. So pink and fluffy...hmm, take me so good, baby.”

“Only for y-you, mommy.” You whine out with her thumb still deep in your mouth, on the brink impending orgasm. Unfortunately, Natty pulls her entire body away from you once again and this time you can’t help but let out a loud whine of frustration.

“Hey! Don’t start that shit with me, little girl.” Your head jerked to the side, and your cheek burned from the connection of Tasha's palm, as well as the fresh tears - mixed with your running mascara - streaming from your eyelids. Her poisonous words stinged even more so than the slap. It seems as if you’ve discovered another one of her kinks...

“For that, you’re gonna ride my cock...like a good, little slut.” She trails her fingers over your reddened cheek before releasing you from her silky restraints and situating herself against the pillows, so she can yank you onto her lap.

Still stunned from the slap, you failed to notice her aligning your core with the strap until she pushed you down, stretching your tight walls once again. You cry out - the loudest you had done this whole night- which spurs on the redhead to rock your hips agonisingly slow.

“Oh no, pretty girl...you’re so tight. You’re too little for me, huh? So small and precious... let mommy help you.” She moves to rub fast circles on your swollen clit. Involuntarily, you rut up to meet Tasha’s fingers, wedging the strap even deeper.

Ahh so she does like my size...she likes it a lot more than she lets on. You wonder to yourself. You wouldn’t dare say your thoughts aloud unless you wanted the assassin to spank your ass black and blue, and still not let you cum. The addicting pleasure of her cock inside you, her digits circling harder on your bundle of nerves and her powerful hips rolling into yours knock you out of your deep trance.

“That’s it, printessa. So beautiful. Riding me like this. So eager...fuck, I could cum just by watching you.” Her praises spur you on and you start to bounce, holding her shoulders for support, suddenly desperate to make yourself and mommy cum. Her eyes remained glued to your marked breasts, shoved in her face as they move rhythmically. She removes her fingers from your bundle of nerves and brings the drenched digits to her lips, checks hallowing as she sucks them feverishly.

“You taste so sweet, baby.” She moans gently at the taste of you. Peering up at you,she silently commands you to keep your eyes trained on hers. No matter though because if she kept looking at you like that, you weren’t gonna last long...

“Mommy, ’m gonna cum.” Your bounces become more out of rhythm with her thrusts: tits grazing against her face, moans and whimpers echo the bedroom walls and your pussy gushes around her thick cock.

“Beg me.”

“Please, mommy...oh, let me cum for you. I’ll do anything please, can I cum? I’ll be good, promise, please please...” You weep out, praying she’ll have mercy on your soul and finally let you finish. She remains silent for a few moments, compelling you to hold on a little longer before she decides. She grabs your hips instantly, forcing you to bottom out as she fucks up into you harder than ever.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for mommy.” She pants out- a little tired from her rapid thrusts- and you immediately clamp on her, back painfully arching, making it difficult for her to continue her ministrations.

You can hardly even moan since you're struggling to breathe, and yet she pulls you down to kiss you as if she's stealing whatever little air you have. Pulling slightly back, you attempt to take some deep breaths before letting out a string of promiscuous wails as she soothes your convulsing body.

“You’re all good,baby. That’s it, good girl.”

She coos as you finally crash, collapsing forward into Tasha’s chest, hissing at the strap moving still deep inside. She tilts your heavy head up, forcing you to look into her eyes. The flicker of green descends from your eyes to your lips which lets you know that she wants you to kiss her. Tiredly, you lean forward, pressing your lips against hers. You don't slip a tongue. You merely push your lips against hers.

She doesn’t like that and roughly spanks your ass twice, your body jolting forward in painful surprise. If you were going to kiss Tasha, you had to kiss her properly...

To be honest, you loved this rough side of Natasha. During the early stages of the relationship, she was timid and entirely selfless. Not sure how far she should go or if you loved her as much as she loved you. But she was ravenous now, using your body for her pleasure- and yours.

You lean forward again, this time parting your lips allowing the redhead to slip her tongue into your mouth. Her hands- still on your ass- massage the red globes. She drives her tongue deep; as assertive as she wishes because you belong to her. Only her. Releasing your muffled moans into her mouth allowing her to swallow them whole, your palms cup her breasts as you gently pull them towards you and then back to her; playing with them as a sort of comfort instead of pleasing her.

The kiss becomes more sloppy, more messy as both of your saliva moistens the kiss and dribbles out the side of your mouth. At one point, your tongue slips from hers and splashes against her cheek but she’s too engrossed in the make out session to care; your enamouring whimpers depriving her of her senses.

Her hands at your ass- squeeze it softly- beginning to make you rock against her; completely forgetting about her cock still inside you. You shriek at the stinging ache and Nat silences you with another long kiss before slowly lifting you off her, and tossing the toy somewhere for her to clean later.

“Sorry, honey. I forgot.”

Her hand brushes the sweat-drenched hair away from your forehead and she leans over your frail form, pressed delicately against the sheets, to grab you the bottle of water she got beforehand.

“Here, drink this before you go to sleep please.”

You gulp down the water as if you had been neglected of the clear liquid for a long period of time. Small drops end up dribbling from the corner of your lips and down your chin. Nat notices, leaning down to lick away the residue, a subtle whimper escapes your throat and you suddenly remember she never came.

“But, y-you didn’t finish, Tash.” You pant, voice still hoarse from your cries of ecstasy.

“It’s okay, baby. Today was all about you anyways.”

Still selfless, I see. You wanted to reply but you were too exhausted to open your mouth. Your fatigue suddenly washing over you as your eyelids droop, too heavy to keep open.

“Go to sleep, kotenok. Promise I’ll be here when you wake. I love you.” She kisses you once on the cheek, then twice on the forehead ...your favourite types of kisses. Bathing in her radiating warmth, you shuffle fowards, limbs locking around her waist, your naked flesh flushed against each other.

“Thank you. Love you too, mommy.”

As expected, Tasha was peering down at your dishevelled form the next morning: hair thrown everywhere and puffy eyelids. To her, you looked beautiful.

“Good morni-”

“So mommy, huh?”

The Russian was taken aback by your unexpected question. Of course, she forgot about how she made you call her mommy the previous night. She didn't even bother asking if you were okay with it. She simply told you, and that was the end of it. When your words finally register in her brain, a dark red blush - almost the same color as her tresses - appears on her chiselled cheeks.

“Don’t kink shame me!” She leaps on top of you, blowing wet raspberries onto your exposed stomach. Your contagious giggles ring sweetly in her ears, and your limbs flail incessantly, attempting to push the much stronger woman away. Once she finally lets go, she returns her attention to your face, only to find you grinning up at her with pure adoration in your eyes.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that... mommy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: i keep getting carried away with these but here’s this. i worked on this like all day so hopefully y’all like it <3

Taglist: @teenwonder @wandasugarbby (bc i used one of those prompts you talked abt but it’s nat sorry sjshsjd)

These Hands of Yours Pt. 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

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

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

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

Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be back. I love you.”

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

You sighed and got ready for the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you still trusted her more than anything.

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.”

the winter woodworker

pairing: nat/f!reader

summary:

You spit out your name in blind fear when the woman steps closer as a threat. “My car broke down on the road. I was cold and-and scared, and the door was unlocked, and your house was- is very warm. And, um, nice.”

The woman looks at you for a long moment. You can’t really make out any features through the cloth wrapped around her nose and mouth, and the beanie tugged low on her head, but you can see the jade green of her eyes as she glares.

You twist up your sleeves. “Um, I like your, uh, your coat rack.”

notes: nsfw, mostly fluff, some smut, this bitch is long! 8k i think! basically nat hasnt talked to a human in months and youre also just a big naive idiot brat and shes very nice to u even tho she makes fun of u and makes u feel awkward because it amuses her

(ao3)

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

ITS BEEN SO LONG !

Also a dark!Wandanat where they see you at your job one day and have to be with you 😩

A/N: I would love nothing more than for wandanat to see me working and just be like “hm...let’s fix that” also I know I’ve been gone for years 🥲

warnings: dark!fic (18+ ONLY)

✨👻 spooky month requests 👻✨

-

“Hey, can you take the customers that just came in?” you hear your manager ask and nod, smoothing your apron as you head to the front.

“Good morning! How can I help you today?”

Two women stand on the other side of the counter, and as their attention diverts from the items behind the glass to you, charming smiles appear on their faces. The one on your left has bright blonde hair resting on her shoulders in contrast to her counterpart with orange hair, both hiding behind sunglasses, but you couldn’t help feeling like you’d seen them somewhere. 

“Good morning, love,” the orange haired woman speaks softly as she steps a bit closer. “We’ve never been here before. What do you recommend?”

“If you’re feeling something sweet, these donuts are amazing,” you tell them as you gesture to a couple, moving down the counter a bit and the pair follows. “If not, these cheddar bagels are also my favorite.”

“I think we’ll take something sweet,” the blonde woman answers with a grin. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!”

You carefully package the donuts that your customers select and ring up the transaction, answering a few questions about what the city is like, as they’re apparently just visiting for a while and wanted to know more about the area. When you finish, you’re startled by the blonde woman leaning over the counter to tuck a cash tip in your apron pocket before the pair thanks you and head out while holding hands.

“They must really like you,” your manager jokes as they approach and you cover your face with a laugh.

Outside of the bakery, Wanda climbs onto the bike behind Natasha, placing the food in her bag before wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Do you think asking someone we just met to join us while we’re on the run is coming off too strong?” Wanda asks over Natasha’s shoulder, who chuckles in response almost immediately.

“Who said we were going to ask?”

@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.

This is so good, dark but kind natasha is so sweet and you write her so well❤️

No Rest for the Wicked

Natasha x reader AU Drabble

Ghosts

You couldn’t believe the price. Not for a place like this. Not in this city.

And that alone should have sounded all the warning bells in your head. No one would sell a house like this here for that minuscule amount.

But you were so broke and so desperate and maybe it seemed too good to be true, but take the good that comes your way, right?

Everything was perfect on the walk through. You were in awe. Such a magnificent place in the middle of town.

And you did ask, at the end. Because dreamer or not, you aren’t an idiot.

“I want it.” You told the real-estate agent. “It’ll cost everything I have - everything they left me, but I have to know- why is it so cheap?”

She is pristine. Black pencil skirts and clear stockings- hair in such a tight bun it actually tightens the skin of her face. (Cool trick, you register for years later. Will have to remember that one someday.)

Anyway

She is not the type who seems to be easily frazzled but she is noticeably uncomfortable at your inquiry.

She clears her throat and fixes her already perfect hair.

“Someone died here,” she confesses. “Violently.”

Oh, that’s all? You don’t believe in ghosts.

“We’ve had 3 other buyers pull out in escrow,” she continues. “Who knows. Maybe she’ll like you.”

Yeah you’re still not buying it - the story that is- not the house- you are definitely buying the house.

“I’ll sign and give you the down payment right now,” you state with confidence.

You move in that afternoon.

And the place feels like a dream. It feels like a fresh start- a balm to your soul after all your loss.

There are some— strange occurrences. Your glasses moving from your nightstand to your bathroom sink. Drawers that you swear you never touched hanging open, your dog— really seems to hate this place.

But you chalk it up to trauma- you’ve just experienced a huge loss and of course your headspace isn’t good.

But everything else here is.

You love your house, your new job is going great, and you just started dating this person who (fingers crossed) seems good for you.

So what if your house is haunted?

You tell yourself that everyday.

Until you finally see her.

And she is… beautiful.

But so terrifying because there is not doubt in your sleepy mind when you walk into your kitchen one morning (when your dog seems particularly upset) and see this red head beauty already standing at your counter in a white night dress, holding a knife, —that she’s dead.

You fight the urge to run and it’s a good instinct, you think. Because she’s looking at you so hopefully. Like you can see her.

And you are usually quite eloquent and articulate but all you can manage to say is,”Are you her? Did you die here?”

And oh my goodness don’t antagonize a ghost but… she just gives you a kind smile and says, “yes. I’m Natasha. I’ve been watching you.”

You swallow and say, “I know,” before joining her at the counter to drink coffee.

And after that—- you kind of become—- friends?

You welcome her presence and when she materializes you just… hang out and watch TV. She isn’t scary.

You want to know, but you never ask how she died. That seems so private and like something maybe she will tell you eventually. When you’re better friends.

She starts showing herself to you more and more and you honestly like her. Like of course it’s weird she’s a ghost (or a product of your medication) but she starts to become the best friend you’ve ever had.

You can tell her everything because she can’t tell anyone else. She’s dead.

But her physicality is real. And when she is present she can touch you and it’s so nice to be held.

You watch old movies with your head on her shoulder and her arms around your waist but— she’s always gone in the morning and you wake up alone on the couch.

You finally convince yourself out of your dead girl day dreams when you get a better psychiatrist (and better meds) and you meet someone —- who is a dream.

She never comes around when they’re there but you can feel her—- hovering. And you convince yourself you just need a higher prescription.

You’re crazy. Meds are your saving grace. There is no ghost in your house. You just went a little nuts for a while.

But then he has to go on a business trip to Dubai. For a month.

And your back alone in that place.

Except she won’t let you be alone. She’s back and she’s angry. And you don’t know how to apologize to a dead person when you’ve done nothing wrong.

But she haunts your every move. She won’t let you sleep.

Until one night you are so terrified and so desperate you just scream, “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

They’re the last words you’ll ever speak alive.

You never asked her but suddenly you see clear as day the man she married — choking her— to death.

Just as you feel her hands around your neck.

You’re so cold when you come out of her memory and you know, you know without even having to think about it - you’re dead.

You turn to the side and she is laying next to you with a soft smile on her face, brushing a little bit of your hair away from your eyes.

“You killed me,” you croak out.

“Yes,” she acknowledges.

“Why?!” You plead

“You asked me what I wanted. I wanted you. Forever.”

You’ll never even get to know if there is a heaven. You’ll always be trapped in her hell.

Rumors

Warnings: men, swearing, canon typical violence, eventual smut

She was a spy. She lived in the realm of rumors and secrets. It was hard to know what wasn’t a front.

Part One - Whispers

Part Two

Part Three