𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫 || 𝐧. 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟

older natty and reader in a swimming pool.

warnings: older!nat x younger!reader, fluff. SFW

The water splashes against your face, soaking the tendrils of hair that frame your cheeks, and as you giggled with a grin while looking for your girlfriend, you found her nowhere to be in sight.

You frowned. “Natty? Where’d you go?”

You were surprised when a large figure gripped your waist from under the water and lifted you. A loud squeak emitting from your sodden lips as you finally looked down and saw your girlfriend carrying you.

“Hello, my little dove.”

You grinned. “Hi, Natty. I thought you left to go sun bathe again.”

The older woman shook her head and hummed, her head pressed against your bare tummy as she twirled the two of you in the pool.

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you, my love.”

You hummed. “That’s okay, though. Wanna play Marco Polo with Steve?”

The redhead rose a brow. “I’m offended that you have to ask me!”

title: ovary action

summary:

You squint at her. “You know, just because you, personally, don’t get your period doesn’t mean you can’t show a bit of sympathy.”

“Go ahead, bring up my traumatic forced sterilisation.”

notes: sfw mediocre gfs fluff where ur on ur period and nats, for once, an above average gf

inspired by conversations with @ataraxyaz

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@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.

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.”

Better Boyfriend Than Him

A/N - had to jump on the bandwagon and base a one shot on Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary - Bruce left Natasha sitting alone at a Stark party so you decided to show her how she truly deserves to be treated.

Warnings - Smut; cheating, degradation, choking, slight exhibitionism, praise, daddy kink, strapon (r!receiving), biting ig

Word Count - 2116

You sipped on your drink, some kind of fruity cocktail, alcohol tingling your throat as you swallowed it down. Your eyes grazed over the crowd from where you were perched on a stool at the bar; eyeing Wanda laughing with Pietro and Sam, Steve and Bucky sitting across from them too. You saw Tony and Bruce talking animatedly with some serious looking men in suits, your eyebrows furrowed when you realised Bruce had been with Tony the past few hours, not with Natasha.

You shook your head at his negligence, how could somebody like him take somebody like Natasha for granted?

You searched over the bustling hall of people, some dancing, some chatting cradling tumblers of whiskey over ice; squinting your eyes slightly until you found her. A bored look across her features as she mindlessly scrolled through her phone, her other hand supporting a glass as it balanced on her knee. She looked simply magnificent, wine red blazer with matching trousers, one leg crossed over the other, a white button up shirt hugging her figure. You could see the light reflecting off her necklace against her chest, the warm glow of light bouncing off her smooth skin in such a beautiful way.

Wanda gave you a knowing smirk as she watched you approach Natasha, knowing of the crush you'd been harbouring for a while. It was a common occurrence for the pair of you to talk about her and Bruce's relationship, how he doesn't deserve her - she often mentions the loud thoughts she has accidentally heard running around the redhead's mind. Thoughts of you and what she longed to do with you, if only she didn't have Bruce.

It was knowledge of this that gave you the confidence to approach her tonight, plopping down beside her on the sofa. She quickly shut off her phone to bring her attention to you, a soft smile gracing her lips.

"Hey, Nat." You smiled, taken aback slightly at her appearance up close, the red shade of her jacket perfect against her skin. Auburn hair resting on her shoulders in loose waves.

"Hey. Enjoying the party?" She smiled back, you could see the aggravation behind it though, annoyed at the absence of her boyfriend.

"It's alright, you?"

"Having a blast." She deadpanned, sipping the remnants of the brown liquid from her glass, ice clinking against the side as she did so. You hummed at her statement.

"I could see. You've been on your own all night."

"Well, Bruce has been busy talking science." She shrugged and it irked you to see her try and defend his behaviour.

"You deserve better than Bruce." You huffed, both of you slightly shocked at your words, you hadn't expected yourself to be so forthright. Luckily she wasn't annoyed, rather amused with a smirk forming.

"I guess I do." She shrugged leaning closer to you, her leg brushing against yours at her proximity. "Who do you have in mind?" She asked, eyes gazing over the crowds as though looking for somebody to choose, teasingly.

"I could be a better boyfriend than him." You whispered, hearing a low groan at the back of her throat as she seemingly mulled over your statement.

"We shouldn't." She stood up and began walking to the doorway behind you. You followed her, of course, grabbing her wrist just as she stepped into the hallway causing her to whip round to face you. An unreadable expression, eyes darting over your face before she grabbed your face between her hands, tugging it to hers.

Her lips tasted faintly like whiskey, warm against yours as they moved together. She guided your bodies backwards to be out of sight of the party goers, her lips never left yours until she pushed your back against the corridor wall. Her kisses continued down to your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck whilst your hands roamed her waist, her body feeling perfect under your touch.

She nipped at your bottom lip, the gasp it elicited posing as ample opportunity for her tongue to slip into your mouth, swirling with yours as you kissed. Her hips pushed into yours as the kiss grew heavier trapping you between her body and the wall, not that you minded.

Her fingers gripped one of your hands that lay on her waist guiding it to the waistband of her trousers, pulling back with heavy breaths, eyes a darkened hue as she undid the button. Her eyes bore into yours as she inched your hand down, fingertips brushing against the hem of her underwear.

"Nat, here?" You breathed out, looking around the empty hallway, the noise of the party in just the next room filling the air.

"Mhm, make daddy feel good baby." She rasped, looking to you to make sure you were on board, the name she used only made the heat course further through you. She sighed into your mouth when your fingers slipped down further making contact with the wetness between her folds.

Your fingertips collected some of her arousal before rubbing over her clit, neither of you caring in that moment if somebody were to walk out and see, both you even going so far as to hope Bruce might wander out. You could only smirk at the thought whilst her tongue licked over a harsh bite to your collarbone, a way to muffle the moan at the back of her throat.

She squeezed a handful of your hair into her fist as your movements continued, pleasure building, hips rocking into yours slightly as she grew nearer to her release. You'd only ever imagined how she would sound coming undone by your hand and as cliche as it sounds, it was music to your ears. A deep groan with shuddered breaths against the shell of your ear, scalp being tugged with how her hand clenched down onto your hair and her body falling into yours.

"Such a good girl, hm?" She panted out, placing kisses along your throat before quickly pulling you along - you both wanted more.

In a haze you found yourself in Natasha's room, you knew that Bruce never comes in here so it was distinctly hers: delicate floral scent in the air, bed neatly made, a photo of you and her taped to her mirror.

She quickly rid you of your shirt, kissing the skin of your chest as she fiddled with the button of your trousers. "This okay, love?" She asked, only pulling them down your legs after receiving an eager nod on your part.

You fell with a quiet thud onto her bed, head resting on her pillows as she climbed on top of you slotting her lips with yours again. Your fingers fumbled with buttons of her shirt, blazer already discarded just inside the door, revelling in the sight of her flesh spilling out of the top of lacey black material. She shrugged the shirt off her body with a smirk looking down at you, throwing it aside before climbing off your body, chuckling slightly at the small whine you released at her absence.

"Wait a second, baby." She muttered as she rid herself of the rest of her clothes, confidence only adding to her allure as she walked away totally nude. "So impatient, huh?" She tutted with a smirk, shuffling in her wardrobe.

Your eyes widened with a quiet gasp as she smugly turned back with a red strap on in her grasp, stepping into it before sauntering back over to the edge of the bed.

"I've not been able to use this, don't you think that's so sad baby?" She pouted, holding your chin between her thumb and forefinger.

"Mhm." You nodded, matching the smirk that pulled her lips.

"You'll let me use it though, hm? Let me fuck you?"

"Yes, daddy." You breathed, and she was satisfied with your answer, climbing back on top of you and kissing your with fervour. You could feel the arousal pooling at the feeling of her hand pressing against your throat whilst the tip of her strap brushed over your clothed core, her teeth biting into your bottom lip before she pulled away.

Her fingers against your skin sent shivers through you as she pulled the underwear from your body, observing every inch of you as you lay vulnerably bare beneath her.

She eased the length into you, moving easily from the wetness between your folds. "So wet for me." She mused, eyes completely focused on the way her cock disappeared into you and the sigh you released at the slow action, adjusting to the size.

She soon increased her pace, thrusting into you rhythmically at the perfect angle that had your eyes rolling back. Her hands dug into your waist to keep her balance, teeth biting down on her lip as she watched your breasts lightly bounce with each thrust, your mouth parted slightly and breathing growing heavy.

"Fuck." She groaned, the strap positioned in a way that hit against her still sensitive clit. "I've always wondered what you'd look like under me like this. Panting, looking like a desperate whore for me." She leant down without letting her movements falter, biting down on your neck and you could feel her hot breath against you. "You like it when I do this?" She muttered as her hand wrapped around your neck, thumb pushing down to restrict your airways.

"Y-yes, fuck." You choked out, climax growing nearer.

"Daddy's little whore." She smiled from above you, her hand reached down to rub over your clit, shocks going through you as your orgasm rapidly approached and the way her hips began to falter showed her second was soon approaching too. "Cum for me, baby. Let me hear how you sound."

The way her finger circled your clit and her hips snapped into you had the pleasure washing all over you not long after, a loud moan tumbling from your lips as you body shook beneath her. The sight was enough for her to fall over the edge right with you, heaving breaths as she held her body up, hands planted either side of your head as you both came down.

"Shit." You sighed out, sweeping the hair that had fallen over your eyes and smiling into the kiss as Natasha pressed her lips to yours once more. She eased out of you leaving you empty and you felt your cheeks heat up at the sight of the wetness on the strap before she dropped it on the floor. Her kisses felt more perfect than you could have imagined, tongue swirling around yours as her hands squeezed your breasts.

"You need to clean up this mess you've made, dorogoy." Her voice rasped before she fell onto her back beside you, dragging you on top of her body by your hair. You crawled down until your face hovered above her slit, glistening with her slick, coating her upper thighs too.

Your tongue licked a stripe up to her clit, humming against her at the sweet taste dancing on your tongue, the vibrations making her hips buck upwards with a low moan. She was sensitive, the way her hand gripped your hair at just a small lick showed you that. You sucked on her throbbing bud, licking over it as her nails dug into your scalp.

"Such a good girl for me." She moaned out. "Mm, so perfect for me princess." Her free hand clawed into the sheets as she fast approached another orgasm, eyes scrunching closed with a grunt as it washed over her, flooding her senses.

She came into your mouth, tongue darting out to catch every last drop, lapping it up eagerly as she had told you to. Her grip on your hair loosened when her heart beat finally calmed down, wiping at the sweat that glistened on her forehead before pulling you back to her. She could taste herself on your lips, only urging her to continue even more.

"You are so good, Y/N/N." She smiled, cheeks blushed red still.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm, so good. I haven't had orgasms this good for six months." She sighed with a roll of her eyes, you grinned knowing that that's how long she'd been dating Bruce, a laugh falling from your lips before you cut yourself off. She laughed too before cupping your cheek with her hand, soft look in her eye as she smiled. "Let me make you feel that good too."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. So sure, let daddy treat my princess how she deserves." She uttered as she flipped your bodies back over, pecking your lips and jaw. "I can't get enough of you, baby. I just wish I'd realised sooner."

A/N - i love that i implied that bruce wouldn't let nat peg him :)

dorogoy - sweetheart

Moon Song ➺ N. R.

Summary: It’s hard not to feel like Nat hates you – maybe it’s because you’re not good enough.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Gn!Reader

Word Count: 696

Warnings: Self-doubt, swearing, angst with a happy ending :)

A/N: This fic was inspired by “Moon Song,” by Phoebe Bridgers.

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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?”

Yelena *panicking*: Natasha's going to kill me for letting you get hurt.

Y/N: It wasn’t your fault though, I’m the one who snuck away!

Yelena: Trust me, that’s going to mean jack shit to her when she sees that bruise. I don’t think you understand just how much of her sanity hinges on your happiness and safety.

Speak Up Baby.

Mommy decides to test your limits. It will of course, be fun for you.

Or

Natasha fucks you until you cry.

Warnings: Heavy general NS*FW themes, presumed mutual consent, presumed safe word, mommy kink, use of a vibrator on reader, use of a strap on- on reader, use of bondage (ropes) on reader, reader gets breasts played with, overstimulation, reader gets manhandled by Natasha, reader cries from pleasure and overstim, mentioned edging, reader begs to stop, clitoral and gspot over stimulation, reader sucks on Natasha’s breasts, multiple orgasms, reader gets called a sl*ut, sweet heart, baby and kotenok, Natasha gets called mommy once, no pronouns are used for reader, reader has a pus*sy and breasts

Note you do not have permission to translate and or repost this story thank you :)

It’s straight up just porn lmao💀 It was inspired by one of @nermalina ’s posts but I couldn’t find it😪 I just woke up when I posted this so apologies for any errors, I hope you enjoy :)💕

Asking for permission

The sounds of your whines and whimpers were smothered into mommy’s breasts as you suckled on them, the couples vibrator inside you sending waves of pleasure into your swollen clit and gspot. Your arms were tightly and expertly bound behind you by a stunning crimson red dyed jute rope. It managed to be soft and worn in, while still being rough enough to hold you still and to leave reddened marks.

The coolness of the bed sheets sank into your bare legs, a puddle of your cum dripping off Natasha’s thigh. Mommy had decided to try and see how many times you could cum before passing out after edging you for hours, and you had already done so about three times.

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