Natasha Romanov - Blog Posts
If you think about it they all make sense
Natasha : Why do you look like that?Bucky, laying face-first on the floor : Like what?
Natasha : Like you’re dead.
Bucky : It’s because I’m dying. Leave me here to perish.
Steve : Bucky accidentally called Sam “babe” in front of everyone today.
Bucky : *sobs into the floor*
just two characters who wiggled their fingers before their death that they knew was coming
Avengers play Cards Against Humanity
Black Card: _____ that's how I want to die
Tony: Alcoholism
Steve: Doing the right thing
Peter: Vigilante justice
Natasha: Pretending to be one of the guys but actually being the spider god
Bruce: Science
Clint: The biggest blackest dick
Thor: Powerful thighs
Harley: Poor life choices
Scott: A fully dressed female video game character
Shuri: The entire internet
Hope: Multiple stab wounds
Bucky: The Great Depression
Sam: A perfectly cylindrical vagina
T'challa: Depression
Pepper: Dying
Rhodey: Being black
Wanda: Being a motherfucking sorcerer
Loki as Czar: '...Being a motherfucking sorcerer, that's how I want to die.'... Preach.
EXACTLY?? like this movie forever has my heart and I only ever hear people shit talking it..
whoever said the black widow movie is bad genuinely what the fuck are you talking about
like this movie is AMAZINGLY cathartic as someone who was trafficked.
the humor and writing in this movie is top notch
i’m convinced people didn’t like it bc all the main characters are women
ALSO THE FIGHT SCENES???? civil war can eat its fucking heart out the fight scenes in this movie are incredible
Pretty Thing
pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem
context: After you refuse to give up any information, the black widow finds another way force it out of you
warnings: choking, fingering, forced orgasm, smut, corruption kink
At first you thought you had a chance against her, your plan was foolproof or so you thought. When you were told by your boss to take out the one and only Black Widow, you were terrified. But the plan your boss gave you installed confidence so you went. In the beginning you thought you could actually get her, breaking into her home unannounced.
But she heard you, she found you and she got you, I mean of course she did she was the Black Widow after all. She grabbed you before you could even register that she as behind you.
Now here you were sat on the chair, hands tied behind your back, legs tied to the chair and a cloth shoved in your mouth.
The read head walks around in a circle like a predator does its pray, her strong eyes watching every small move you make. She studies you trying to figure you out. Your big eyes stare back at her terrified, for all you knew she could kill you right now, she had a reason too after all you broke into her home trying to kill her.
Her eyes bore into yours as she bends down right infront of you “Now little thing did you really think you could get me?” she asks.
Not moving a muscle you stare back at her not daring to say a word, not that you could with the cloth in your mouth.
The widow smirks “I’ll make you talk” she says walking away from you. Her back faces you as you try to break free from the ropes tying you down. It goes to no use as she turns around blade in her hand “Now when I take this out of your mouth you better not scream or I’ll cut you” she threatens holding the knife to your throat.
Slowly she pulls the cloth out of your mouth throwing it beside her. You swallow your spit mouth dry as you cough slightly. Her eyes bore into yours as she pushes the knife harder into your neck, but not hard enough to draw blood “Now tell me suka, what were you trying to do?” she asks you her other hand coming to hold your jaw and make you look at her.
Staring into her green eyes you keep your mouth shut, staring at her blankly. You know if you have up any information they’d kill you on the spot.
“Oh no we can’t have you all quiet can we? Not at all now I’ll ask again, what were you trying to do?” Natasha asks her knife pushing deeper in your skin causing a few drops of blood drip down the knife.
Whimpering slightly you drop your eyes down to the floor still refusing to speak. Her mouth comes close to your ear her breath fanning the side of your face “Oh come on little thing speak for me, let me hear that pretty voice” she husks in your ear her hot breath on the side of your face.
Keeping your mouth shut, you can’t stop the heat the pools between your legs. Your thighs clench together at her voice and your eyes falter slightly.
She noticed and laughs “This turns you on pretty? Huh guess we could have fun” she smirks moving her lips to your neck kissing the side of it, moving the knife down onto the floor.
You stifle a moan as her free hand moves to your thigh rubbing up and down. Her hand moves higher and higher until it’s at the waistband of your pants “Pretty little thing arn’t you” she says moving away from your neck to look at your face.
Her face comes closer to yours her lips almost touching yours as she stares at you. Her hand moves into your pants, her fingers rub your folds above your panties “Your so wet you do like this don’t you?” she asks feeling the wet spot on your underwear.
She moves your underwear to the side slipping her fingers through your folds “F-fuck” you stutter your chests falling up and down as your breath heavily.
Her lips turn up into a smile “So you can speak dekta” she mumbles pushing her two fingers on your clit. Keeping pressure there she watched as your face starts to crumble “Come on speak for me and I’ll make you feel good pretty thing” she tells you pushing harder on your clit.
“What- what do you want me to say?” You ask her breathlessly.
Natasha brings her face closer to yours closing the gap between you two as she kisses your lips. She dominates the kiss pushing her tongue in your mouth exploring your mouth her fingers move down prodding at your hole.
Abruptly she pulls away from the kiss “Tell me what you want dekta” she commands her green eyes boring into your waiting for your response.
She didn’t think this was how things would have went between you both but she wasn’t complaining. In her eyes you were gorgeous and she truly did wonder why you tried to kill her knowing how strong she was. She liked your confidence and how hard you tried to stay strong but she needed to see you break, to crumble under her, for her to corrupt you.
“I-I want you to, make me feel good please Natasha— please” You beg her just wanting to feel good, the ache between your legs growing by the second.
The widow nods “Of course dekta I’ll make you feel good” she smirks shoving two of her fingers into you without warning.
Your jaw drops as you moan your body quivering slightly as her two long fingers stretch you out.
Her other hand comes to hold your neck, her fingers wrap around almost fully as she holds you in place.
Natasha’s fingers pump in and out of quickly as she squeezes your neck stopping the moans from leaving your lips.
“Come on pretty thing speak to me, tell me how I make you feel” She commands her fingers curling inside of you.
Taking in a deep strained breath with her fingers still around your throat “F-fells so good Tasha— so good” you tell her the best you could without whimpering.
Smirking she starts pumping her fingers deeper into you hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars.
Squeezing harder around your neck she stops your airflow. She watching as your wide eyes stare at her terrified, your hands trying to pull out of the restraints. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out for a second she stares at you before letting go.
Finally being able to breathe you suck in air, filling your lungs “W-why did— why did you?” you can’t even finish your question through your breathing.
“Because I like watching crumble under me dekta, just look so pretty like that” She whispers her fingers speeding up, her thumb comes to rub your clit quickly matching her thrusts.
Your walls squeeze around her fingers “Please, please let me cum” you beg her your breathing picking up once more.
Watching you for a moment she nods “Go on pretty thing fall apart on my fingers” she tells you pushing down on your clit.
You let go letting yourself fall apart as you cum on her fingers with a loud moan. Her eyes watch your face as your jaw drops eyes staring into hers.
Your juices cost her fingers as she slowly pulls them out of you before putting them into her mouth. She sucks your juices off of them moaning “Fuck dekta you taste so sweet” she tells you after pulling her fingers out of her mouth.
She slowly moved her face closer to yours once more her breath fanning your lips “Now tell me pretty thing, why were you here in the first place?” she asks you.
Would yall read if I wrote for the marvel??
- Wanda Maximoff
- Natasha Romanoff
- Yelena Belova
- Kate Bishop
Or others if requested
WAAAAAAAA I looooooooovvveeee 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼
𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄
summary : raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.
genre : country!au, wlw, countryside life.
warnings : beefy!nat, top!nat, sub!reader, age-gap (r is 24 and nat is 32).
words count : 2.6k
𖦹 part one 𖦹
HORSES & ROMANCE :
— Baked Goods & Conversations
📍Langford's Estate,
Clare Valley, Southern Australia
The sun rose slow over the rolling hills of Langford Ranch, lighting up the sea of golden grass and rows of early-spring grapevines like it had every morning for as long as you could remember.
It painted the landscape in brush strokes of amber and coral, and even though you'd seen it a thousand times before, it never lost its magic.
You leaned against the fence post, one boot perched on the lower rail, the familiar weight of your cowgirl hat tipped just enough to shield your eyes. The morning breeze brought with it the scent of hay, dew, and something sweet—probably the peach trees blooming behind the barn.
Your mare, Alba, huffed behind you, nudging at your shoulder with the soft impatience only a horse could get away with.
"Alright, alright," You chuckled, patting Alba's muzzle. "You'd think I forgot breakfast was a sacred ritual around here."
The sound of boots on gravel made you turn. Your father, Georges Langford, was walking up from the lower fields with his usual purposeful gait— sun-baked, worn-in, and always moving like the land wouldn't let him sit still for too long.
The man was the backbone of Langford Ranch and he looked it —broad-shouldered, silver at the temples, with lines carved deep from years of working under sun and storm alike.
"Mornin', sunshine," He greeted, pulling off his hat to wipe his brow.
"Mornin', Dad. Thought you were checking fence lines today?"
"I was. Had Carter do the west end. That post by the creek needs more than nails—it needs a prayer."
You grinned. "Doesn't everything out here?"
You both stood in comfortable silence for a beat, eyes drifting across the property. The vineyards curved along the hills like ribbons, and the stables were starting to come alive with movement—hooves on wood, snorts in the air, Carter hollering something at the barn cat.
Georges cleared his throat, one hand resting on his belt.
"By the way," he began, in that tone he used when he was about to drop something mildly important but wanted it to sound casual, "We've got someone movin' into one of the guest houses tomorrow."
At the news, you arched a brow. "Oh, yeah? One of the hands?"
"No. She's not a ranch hand. She's a colleague, technically. Been working in livestock management and field logistics the past few years—real sharp, real quiet. Does good work, and I could use the extra brain with the contracts we've got coming up. She'll be helping out part-time on the cattle rotation too."
"She?"
Georges gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "Her name's Natasha Romanoff. Comes with strong references—worked some rough terrain in Texas and Idaho. Kept to herself but got a rep for being dependable. Heard about her through Greg Havens. You remember him, used to run those horse clinics down in Abilene?"
"Sure. He's the one who taught Brandy how to sit for carrots."
You replied casually, looking over at Alba as you fed her a carrot. She gruffed quietly, then you ran you other free hand over her muzzle to soothe whatever was threatening to upset her.
Georges nodded, chuckling. "Same guy. He vouched for her, and that's good enough for me."
You bit the inside of your cheek thoughtfully.
New faces weren't exactly common out here—Langford Ranch didn't have a revolving door. People came, worked, and stayed for seasons, sometimes years. Others never left. So someone moving into one of the guesthouses —someone your father trusted enough to share work and land with— wasn't something you could ignore.
"She know what she's walking into?" You questioned, "This place isn't exactly a weekend retreat."
Georges smirked, the kind of smile that meant he was already ten steps ahead, patting Alba's head in a gentle manner. "She's got boots older than Carter. She'll manage."
A low whistle went past your lips. "Well, damn. Guess we'll see."
He started walking back toward the barn, calling over his shoulder, "And don't scare her off before she even unpacks."
"No promises!" You hollered back, grinning as you turned to your horse. "What do you think, Albs? Sounds like trouble to me."
Your chestnut mare whinnied, flicking her tail like she agreed.
The sun kept rising, golden over the fields, and you found yourself staring in the direction of the empty guest house—the one with the white porch swing and the wraparound view of the west hills.
You had no idea what this Natasha Romanoff looked like. But something in your chest shifted—a quiet hum of interest, like the first stirrings of wind before a storm.
Not that you minded a little storm now and then.
Especially if it came with sharp eyes, rolled-up sleeves, and a story worth unfolding.
🎀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🎀
The vineyard stretched endlessly, rows upon rows of grapevines curling around the earth like veins of the land itself.
The estate had been in the Langford's hands for generations, a legacy carried through the years by blood, sweat, and a relentless passion for the soil beneath their feet.
To those who visited, it was a picturesque sanctuary, a symbol of hard work and perseverance. But to the Langford's, it was everything—family, history, and identity.
Natasha had been in the business of wine for a while now, though her path to the Langford Estate was as unconventional as she was. A successful winemaker in her own right, Natasha was known for her larger-than-life presence, a woman whose strength was both literal and figurative.
With arms built from years of physical labor and a back as strong as any farmer's, she was an imposing figure, even among the burly, weathered men and women who worked in the vineyards.
She was no stranger to hard work, though her reputation often preceded her—a reputation built on an iron will, business acumen, and a certain raw magnetism that pulled people in, even when they weren't sure they wanted to be.
The guest house she had been owning for almost a day sat on ten acres of mostly flat earth. It had a porch that creaked under her boots and a wind chime made of spoons that clinked gently in the breeze. It was a fixer-upper. Natasha liked fixing things.
The redhead stretched her arms above her head, boots scuffing against the wood of her porch as she eyed the grass lining the front.
Her flannel clung lightly to her frame from the morning work, sleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms. She had been there all of twenty minutes when she heard the distant sound of an engine, then a dog barking. She glanced toward the road and there you were, driving a red ford pick-up truck, the golden retriever settled in the passenger seat.
Natasha leaned one shoulder against the porch column as she watched you cut the engine, arms crossed, eyes scanning with interest. Not even trying to hide it.
"You must be the new neighbor," You spoke up, stepping out of the vehicle before letting your dog out. "Heard from my father that someone finally brought the Cross property."
The elder woman's lip curled. "Is that what they call it?"
"Sure is," You held up the basket of warm goodies you held in hand. "I brought you some cinnamon rolls. Freshly homemade from this morning."
She raised an eyebrow, stepping down to meet you. "Cinnamon rolls? Are you trying to seduce me already?"
You smirked, "Damn, you catch on fast."
The redhead smirked, taking the basket from your hands. Her fingers brushed yours, rough calluses meeting warm skin. If Ethan Langford was a great co-worker to be around, she was sure she'd appreciate his daughter's company, maybe a little too much. "Name's Natasha."
You introduced yourself next, and she let the name roll around in her mind, pairing it with your smile. It suited you. There was a light to you -- an ease. Nat hadn't felt ease in a long time.
You tilted your head, gaze sweeping over her like you were sizing her up. And who wouldn't? Biceps under sun-kissed skin, a scar just over her eyebrow, so faint that you would've missed it if you didn't look so closely, and the kind of posture that said she didn't run from anything. You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip and cleared your throat.
"You're planning on staying around more often?"
"Depends," Natasha replied, eyes steady on yours. "You planning on bringing me baked goods every day?"
You shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on if you're worth the flour."
She laughed as you turned to go with a smirk, your dog trailing behind. You called out while walking back to the pickup.
"Nice meeting you, Natasha."
"Believe me," The redhead called back, watching the sway of your hips. "The pleasure was all mine."
🎀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🎀
The scent of warm earth filled the air as midday settled across Langford Ranch.
The sun rode high above the valley, glinting off metal fence posts and the waxy leaves of grapevines stretching in neat rows as far as the eye could see.
Georges Langford’s voice cut through the quiet as he stood beside Natasha Romanoff, gesturing out over the vast spread of land like a king showing off his kingdom.
“This vineyard’s been in my family for four generations. My great-grandfather planted the first vines himself back in the early 1900s. Clare Valley wasn’t what it is now. Just dry heat and stubborn soil.”
Natasha listened, eyes scanning the curves of the land, the way each line of vines bent gently with the slope. “You’ve made something out of it.”
“We didn’t have much choice,” he replied with a chuckle. “We were Langfords before we were winemakers. And Langfords don’t quit easy.”
They paused at the vineyard’s edge, where symmetrical rows of early-season vines curled along the gentle hillsides like organized chaos. The sun cast their shadows long between the rows, and Georges ran a hand along a twisted vine like it was part of his body.
“These grapes—Shiraz, mostly—go into the reserve reds we bottle each March. We sell local, export some to the States. My wife—God rest her soul—used to say you could taste the earth in every drop.”
An old well house nearby that had been converted into a wine cellar, its stones weathered by time, came into view.
He pointed out the fermentation shed, the mechanical harvester they only used in a pinch, and the solar panels that lined the western slope.
“Hard to imagine this place any other way,” The Russian admitted.
“That’s how you know it’s in your blood,” Georges said, glancing sideways at her. “You start seeing it not just as land, but as story. As legacy.”
He paused to pick up a handful of dry earth, let it sift through his fingers.
“You got family, Natasha?”
She hesitated. “Not in the way most people mean it.”
He didn’t press further. Just nodded like he understood and changed the subject.
They continued past the cattle paddocks—wide, open pastures edged with eucalyptus trees—where Georges pointed out the rotational system they used for grazing. Natasha absorbed every detail, asking questions here and there, sharp and precise. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was clear she’d done her homework.
When they came up the path near the back stables, Georges paused, brow furrowing slightly.
“There she is,” he said, and the redhead followed his gaze.
You were across the field, just beyond the fence, seated effortlessly atop Alba. The mare’s coat shimmered like brushed copper under the midday sun, and your posture was easy, confident. One hand rested lightly on the reins, the other lifting to wave when you noticed them.
The wind lifted your hat slightly, sending loose strands of hair brushing across your face. Romanoff’s eyes lingered.
“Y/N grew up in that saddle,” Georges said with a hint of pride. “Taught her how to ride before she could tie her own boots. Girl’s got her mother’s balance and her own kind of grit.”
Natasha didn’t answer immediately. She watched as you guided Alba into a smooth canter, posture fluid, in perfect rhythm with the horse. You rode like you belonged there. Like the land bent to you out of love, not force.
Georges watched his daughter for a beat, pride softening the lines of his face.
“She grew up on that horse,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Alba was born the same spring Y/N turned three. They're a pair, those two. I swear that horse listens to her better than most people.”
“She’s got good instincts,” She finally murmured, her eyes locked on your figure.
“That she does,” Langford agreed. “She knows this land better than anyone alive. And don’t let her fool you—she acts like she’s all mischief and cinnamon rolls, but she’s got steel under all that charm.”
Nat smirked faintly. “I noticed.”
You trotted over, reigning Alba in just a few feet from the fence. You slid off
the horse in one smooth motion, boots landing in the dust with a satisfying thud. The redhead watched the way you walked—loose, unhurried, confident.
“Everything alright with the tour?” You asked, brushing dust off your jeans.
“Your dad runs a tight ship,” Natasha said. “Impressive place.”
You nodded, offering a small, proud smile. “It’s home. And a hell lot of work.”
There was something in the way you said it—not arrogance, but ownership. Natasha respected that. She respected people who didn’t just show up, but showed up for the land, for the animals, for the legacy.
You scratched behind Alba’s ear, then looked at Natasha again. Your voice quietening but also softening as you spoke.
“You settling in okay?”
She nodded, “Starting to.”
“Well,” You began, “if you ever need anything...wine, fence wire, conversation—I’m usually around.”
The way you said conversation was light, but it wasn’t nothing. The Russian caught it, held it for a second, then let it pass.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” She said, voice low.
Your father cleared his throat, clearly sensing something unspoken pass between the two of you. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to flirt while I go pretend I’ve got paperwork to do.”
“Dad,” You said flatly, cheeks blooming a hint of color.
Natasha just chuckled, deeply amused. “Thanks for the tour, Georges.”
"And also, we always have dinner out on the porch around six-thirty. Nothing fancy, but real food and even better company. You’re more than welcome, Red.”
“I'll keep that in mind.” She tilted her head for a nod.
He tipped his hat. “Try not to let her talk your ear off.”
And with that, he walked off toward the barn, leaving the two of you standing under the shade of the gum trees, horses grazing nearby, breeze rustling through the dry grass.
Natasha followed the curve of your form as you walked—long legs, dust on your boots, and a playful tilt to your hips that didn’t feel like an accident.
You glanced back at Natasha, a lopsided smile playing on your lips. “So,” you said, brushing back a windblown strand of hair, “You going to take the dinner invite?”
“Maybe.”
You looked her up and down, not shy. “I’d recommend it. My grandma’s lasagna recipe still makes grown men cry.”
Natasha huffed a quiet laugh, her expression unreadable. “You always this charming?”
You leaned against the fence casually. “Only when I know it works.”
For a moment, the wind quieted. The dog—Cooper—came loping up the trail behind you, flopped down in the dirt, tongue out and panting.
Natasha looked down at him, then back up at you. “Guess I’ll see you tonight.”
With a nod, you concluded, “Looking forward to it.”
And somewhere deep inside Natasha, something settled—like boots finding firm ground.
She hadn’t come here looking for anything beyond work and quiet. But life, like land, had a way of growing things you didn’t expect.
➪ next part.
*The squad over at Steve’s house*
Thor: Ohhh, we each get our own oven?
Steve: …N-No…
Steve, laughing: How many ovens do you think I have???
Thor, motioning to the kitchen: Three, I thought!
Bruce: I see a—
Steve, motioning to one device: This is a microwave.
Thor: Oh, well I—
Steve: Hey wait, wait, actually- hang on- *fiddles with the buttons on the microwave*
Steve, amazed: It’s got a bake setting!
Clint: Ohoho, you learn something new everyday!
Tony: Do we- Do we roshambo for who gets to pick first?
Steve: Now I’ve just discovered I have more ovens than I thought, we don’t need to roshambo nothin!
Steve: I am someone who owns four ovens…
Steve, louder and way too happy: I am someone… who owns FOUR OVENS…
Steve: I didn’t know I was so rich with ovens…
Natasha, pointing to another appliance: Also the toaster oven!
Steve:
Thor: Ohhh, toasty boy! Four- Five ovens!
Steve:
Steve, fucking ECSTATIC: I AM SOMEONE WHO OWNS FIVE OVENS
There is something inherently gay about Captain America/Carter in the Cinematic Universe as every version of them always has a “Very Close partner of the same gender but it isn’t gay” thing going on
No judgement here. You gotta carry a lot of shit in the battlefield. How else are you gonna at least keep it organized?
That fight scene tho 👀
Bonus Yelena:
Some avengers portrait studies that I really liked haha
No because Steve had 5 years to get with Nat but instead chose to go to therapy and talk about a dead b*tch from the forties. Smh.
to play the fool pt 2
| natasha x fem!reader |
warnings: injuries, idiots, claustrophobia tw
a/n: I know I wrote this but DAMN just kiss already
Keep reading
random OPF hcs because I can
| natasha x reader | only pretty faces |
warnings: the absence of correct grammar formatting. zero capitalisation because r is free so therefore i am free.
Keep reading
Be Kind
Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Word Count: 1K Words
A/N: Smut. You're naked in bed with your girlfriend Natasha.
Natasha didn’t have to tell you about her long day. You already knew. You kissed her shoulders as she walked through the door. Her arm wrapped around you easily, filled with affection and relief at the sight of you.
It was late evening, you’d both eaten already. It seemed natural to lie in bed together. Sleep wasn’t coming. You watched the lingering stress in her body.
You watched television for a little bit. Letting her hold you, letting the warmth of her press up behind you. Being here reassured her. You knew that. Still, you wished you could do more.
You told her so.
You felt Natasha’s smile as she kissed your shoulder.
‘You are beautiful.’ She told you. ‘I just want you here.’
‘I would carve these thoughts into your skin if I could.’ She added lightly, teasing you with the slight scrape of her teeth.
You turned in her arms readily.
You let your finger follow the weighted curve of her breast.
You smiled as you kissed over her nipple lightly.
‘Maybe I will too.’ You pretended to consider. Letting your teeth scrape the sensitive area.
Natasha’s breath caught.
‘No.’ She decided for you, carding her own fingers through your hair. ‘Be kind.’
‘Okay.’ You mumbled obediently enough, taking her nipple between your lips and sucking slowly.
Goosebumps ran flush across her skin. You touched them with a heady mix of awe and curiosity at your effect. Natasha sighed, her voice keening at the slow pressure of your palm on her breast.
You sucked lightly again. You felt her hip buck into your abdomen. You turned her on her back, smoothing her hair away from her face. She watched you with the slight uncertainty of anticipation. Attraction rushed through you.
You let your cheek fall against her tight nipple. You smiled at the feel of it pressing into you too.
You turned your attention to her other breast. Watching the same goosebumps coat her skin as you rubbed her other nipple between your thumb and forefinger.
Natasha let out an incoherent sound under her breath. You glanced up to see her bite her lip.
You frowned automatically, tugging her lower lip free with the pad of your thumb.
You crawled forward over her front and kissed her slowly.
Kissing Natasha felt like you were falling. You loved it. Maybe it was because your eyes were closed. You felt alone and safe. You could taste her, and feel her chest move beneath you. You could hear the hums of pleasure she made at the taste of your tongue.
Her fingers slipped between your legs. Her hand slid against your vagina roughly. You jolted in sudden pleasure. Your own taut nipples brushed against hers.
Natasha swore at the sensation. Her breathing was erratic. You watched her face, her eyes raised up to the ceiling. The pink flush on her cheeks.
You slid back down her front. You sucked at each nipple before letting your thumb pads take up a steady rhythm of tugging and teasing.
You slid lower.
Natasha said your name. Low and soft and wondrous. Her body curved as she sat upright with you between her thighs. Her hands gripped your shoulders tightly then. You felt the strength she never showed, slowly coming free at her fingertips. You knew there’d be bruises on your skin in the morning.
You ran your tongue from her belly button down her left thigh.
Natasha whined as your lips brushed past her vagina.
The sound curled like heat between your legs.
You sucked at the skin of her upper thigh. There was a small scar here. Tiny, faded and secret to the world.
You kissed the mended skin reverently. You could smell her wetness this close. It caught in your throat, like something extravagant you wanted more of.
You moved your tongue closer to her vagina and Natasha sighed in relief. Her fingers slid expectantly into your hair, ready to hold your mouth where she wanted it.
You teased her more. You couldn’t help it. Every panting breath of her anticipation made you wet between the legs too.
You licked lightly along her labia. Natasha gave a small cry. You lapped at the soaked wetness she couldn’t help. You savoured the taste of her again in your mouth.
Natasha fidgeted with desperation. You felt her thighs twitch as she barely resisted holding your head tight between them. You smiled at your own effect.
Natasha said your name again, this time she was pleading.
You ran your tongue along her labia one more time, resting with the slightest pressure at her clit.
‘Be kind.’ Natasha moaned suddenly, and the desperate order made you smile wider. You moved your hands to slide up and down her thighs.
With sudden intent, you slid your tongue between her folds and caught the edge of her clit.
Natasha held your hair tighter than ever. You could feel the muscles in her thighs twitching uncontrollably now.
‘Be kind.’ She whispered breathlessly, obviously sensing she’d found the magic words.
You obliged, again gliding your tongue lightly over her clit.
Natasha let out a barely muffled scream.
‘Be kinder.’ She pleaded tensely.
You pressed your tongue harder against her clit, swirling slow circles against it. Natasha’s ragged breathing pierced the room, stuttering along with your vacillating touch.
Every part of her tightened in anticipation. You felt the nearness of her orgasm and licked faster.
Natasha mumbled incoherently. You dipped your tongue inside of her and dragged it out slowly.
Natasha screamed your name.
Her legs tightened immediately around you. She fisted your hair suddenly as her stomach coiled and uncoiled.
You tasted the final rush of wetness and lapped at it eagerly. You stayed gentle, Natasha’s soft panting telling you how sensitive she was to any more touch.
As the orgasm slipped away, Natasha lay back against the bed. You crawled forward again, missing the feeling of being flush against her.
Her eyes were closed. All subtle signs of stress were gone from her face. You revelled in the moment. Her lips were parted. You licked your own before you kissed her.
Natasha gave a lazy grin as she looked up at you. She reached up to touch your cheek with her thumb.
Love spiralled up inside your chest.
You could hear the affection and relief in her voice.
‘You were kind.’ She praised you gently.
Tagging:
@whofan88 @lostandsearching @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @xxromanoffxx @b-5by5 @peggycarter-steverogers @iblameitonclint @natasha-danvers @reminiscingtonight @mindofwesley @blackxwidowsxwife @wandaromanova @wandavixen @peabrain112 @theperfectlovestory @wellsayhelloaagin @owloftheshadows @wickedmuses @strangegardentaco @hallecarey1 @marvels-writings @alexzz13 @ic-4u @007giuliastonem @natashabelovas @iliketozoneout @chasethemoon @p0orbaby @tastetherambeau @rightwereyouleftme @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday @whataloadof @fxckmiup @333hhm @women-am-i-right @pleasantbearscissorstoad @blackwidow-3 @nowthisisliving27 @wandastan-2
to play the fool pt 1
| natasha x fem!reader | request by @strangegardentaco
summary: You’re not an Avenger. Not even close. But sometimes, damn, you really wish you were so everyone would stop getting on your ass.
warnings: blood, violence, spidey-baiting, r is an idiot
a/n: this was the greatest request I’ve ever received. I wrote way too much and I’m sorry. Probably will have a part 2, maybe a part 3. Also I’M ONE FOLLOWER AWAY FROM 150! i know that’s probably not a lot to most people BUT IT IS TO ME so I posted this because people always follow me after I post my fics :)
Keep reading
and it bears repeating how hard my heart’s beating
synopsis: you and Natasha had always had that spark between you, now it’s brighter than ever.
pairings: natasha romanoff x reader
genre: some angst, fluff.
warnings: none.
please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.
———————————
Keep reading
Marching On
(Bruce / Tony / Clint / Steve / Natasha)
Masterlist
(Gifs not mine)
(After the events of the Avengers, everyone moves into the tower; such broken people saved the world.)
1/ Bruce
He thinks she doesn’t like him.
It’s fair, he supposes, after the events on the helicarrier. He purposefully stays out of her way for the first month at least.
It’s easier when there are others around, and everyone makes an effort. Tony engages him in conversations of biomechanics and the theory of nanotech; and he watches Steve awkwardly adapt to the niceties of having money and time to live that’s not in war.
Clint, he watches more than the others. His quick smile and easy humour is genuine that he can tell, and he finds that when he’s quite he can hear the intelligence of the archer in all the things he doesn’t say.
.
Bruce moves into the Tower at Tony’s request. He’s been a nomad for so long that he figures it doesn’t really matter where he stays, and Tony promises to pump money into the vaccine program in India, where Natasha found him.
It’s probably more good than he’ll ever do.
There’s mandated therapy for all of them after the events of New York.
Guilt tears at him and he tries to explain to the therapist that he has had enough therapy for a lifetime, he knows he’s responsible for multiple deaths, and it’s things he lives with daily.
He tells her that her time would be better used with people that actually need it; children that have lost parents, people who have lost their partners, those that are injured, traumatised… the list could go on.
He should be last on the list, he tells her, of people getting help, and with that he’s promptly signed up to fortnightly sessions.
Tony laughs when he tells him, and says she said the same to him. He clasps him on the back and leads him to his lab.
“Build something,” Tony advises, “it helps.”
And Bruce knows that he’s made the right decision in coming here.
.
He likes watching people.
Clint the most, he thinks.
Tony is predictable.
Steve is aloof, polite.
And where there’s Clint, there’s usually Natasha.
It’s rare that they aren’t together and he can see how protective she is of him.
It’s little things. The way she walks through the door last, checking his back. The way she makes sure he eats, and refuses when he offers her some.
And the way she is quick with her words whenever anyone says a bad word against him.
She can be caustic where Tony is blunt, matches Steve’s quietness and there’s times that he’s left the room at her suggestion but it’s felt like his own idea.
He likes watching Clint, because it means he can also watch Natasha.
.
He feels particularly rattled after a therapy session, and he passes Natasha going in.
“Good luck,” he murmurs, and she smiles shallowly at him. He doesn’t think much of it and heads straight to bed even though it’s just after 3pm.
He wakes up some time around midnight, his stomach rumbling and his throat parched.
His room holds snacks, but he wants the left over fried rice they had two nights prior.
A beer would also be good, he thinks, even if the buzz he once experienced no longer occurs.
Slowly moving to the kitchen, he finds Natasha sitting at the breakfast bar eating cereal.
Purposely, he makes some noise to alert her to his presence but she already knows, standing and moving around the bench bringing her bowl with her, throwing the rest of the food into the disposable.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he opens with.
She shrugs.
“Was done,” she says, with a tired smile.
Bruce nods and pulls the rice from the fridge. Looks for the beer and pulls out two, offering her one that is declined as she seems caught between keeping him company and sneaking out.
“You can go,” he tells her, putting the food in the microwave and opening the beer as it cooks.
It works to catch her and social pressure makes her sit.
“You couldn’t sleep, either?”
Natasha watches him closely, as he pulls the hot food out and shakes his hands against the heat. He feels idiotic around her.
In a moment of abject honestly, she shakes her head.
“Clint had a nightmare,” she says, not looking at him.
Bruce finds it interesting, that in the middle of the night is when Natasha is most honest.
He nods, sitting next to her with his food and beer.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks.
He doubts that she will, as silence fills the kitchen.
So he offers up some of himself.
“Today in therapy,” he starts, “we talked about hyper vigilance and how I over obsess… over-estimate, maybe, the potential for danger at any given moment.” He takes another bite and wonders where he’s going with this.
“The practice was to be more mindful but not fearful of my surroundings.”
He scoffs.
“Why does therapy always seem so draining?” he finishes. He starts eating again, not expecting answers, even almost expecting her to leave as he sips his beer and finishes off the rice.
Natasha watches him closely, he feels her gaze run over him, and it’s likely that this is what the therapist was talking about.
“There’s three doors in this room, I have two guns ready, ones under the table,” she pauses.
“Tony is in the lab, Clint is asleep in his bed, and Steve is in the gym,” cocking her head, she stares at him.
“And you’re in here eating.”
Straight faced, they make eye contact.
“I think we must have had similar conversations.” She smirks.
Bruce grins.
“Tony should get a refund, that’s two for one advice,” he jokes.
“Was your homework the same too?” He laughs.
She grows serious, and he wonders what he said. As much as he watches her, he still has no idea what she’s thinking.
“Small acts of trust,” she says, as she stands and heads for the fridge.
He laughs.
“At least it’s tailored to our particular issues,” he deadpans.
He watches as she takes some string cheese from the fridge, slowly opening it, and pulling it apart.
He stands and disposes of his bowl and as he turns he watches her chew on the cheese as she disposes of the rest.
Shrugging, Natasha yawns, and bids him good night.
He replies in kind, and, as Bruce heads back to bed, it occurs to him that it was likely Natasha practicing what the therapist had asked of her.
Even if to him it seemed like nothing.
.
There’s a difference, Bruce notices in the way Natasha acts with him.
It seems that on days that therapy occurs they end up in the kitchen at midnight. Sometimes Clint is there, sometimes Tony.
It’s like a repair of sorts, where he offers her something of himself and when he’s lucky she offers something back.
Small acts of trust, he thinks, is a lesson they’re all learning.
.
only pretty faces: saccharine
| natasha x fem!reader | part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven |
summary: She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll find you. She’ll–
warnings: r being completely batshit insane AGAIN lol, FLUFF FINALLY : rated [T]
a/n: god im over it now i just wan them 2 be happy
Keep reading
This isn’t Taylor or Leigh but simply ✨her✨
oh bestie... beefy Nat... get ready for needy beefy Nat content. This turned into uhh... not a drabble, but I don't think anyone is gonna be mad about it? I wrote this to that "training with Nat" playlist that's literally like... sex playlist?? Shay knows the one
words: 1.2k
warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI; smut; physical restraint (but reader is like, used to it); fingering; clothed sex; daddy kink; mocking; Nat pound me into the training mat challenge
summary: honestly just.. Nat gets needy after sparring
It wasn't fair how much Natasha had to suffer over the past hour. You'd invited her to come workout with you, nothing too intense, just a sparring partner to work on hand to hand combat with; there was no one better to ask than her.
The entire time the two of you went back and forth on the mat, she got the upper hand and while you were tired of losing, you were even more tired of how distracting she was. Natasha typically wore shirtless tops around the compound, that wasn't new, but facing her in a fight you could see the muscles in her arms and you didn't know if you were out of breath because she was putting you through the wringer or if the fantasies in your head were getting the best of you.
Sparring was effective, but you wished Nat would toss you on the mat for a completely different reason.
"Okay okay, I give up!" It was the fifth time she'd pinned you and fuck, you would be surprised if you could stay coherent enough to make your way back to your room. Yes, you shared one with the redhead, but she liked to train longer than you so you figured that maybe if you were quick enough you could spend time recovering with a hot bath and your fingers between your legs.
Natasha let you up, rolling onto her back as you left the mat. The angle gave her the perfect view of your ass, outlined by the tight fabric of your stretchy shorts. For as much as you'd been watching Natasha, she'd been watching you right back; each time she took you down was a struggle in restraint. It'd be too easy to take you right there, but she'd resisted only because any one of your teammates could walk in. "Quitting already? But we were having so much fun."
Could be having a lot more fun upstairs. The thought came to your head before you could stop it and the resulting whine was too loud in the quiet room to go unnoticed. "Letting you run me into the ground repeatedly is a very one-sided type of fun, Natasha."
The older woman jumped up with ease, years of endurance training letting her recover with a quickness you could only ever envy. You didn't see her walking over to you, too preoccupied with gathering your bag together to get out of there. When she spoke again, she was right behind you and Natasha smirked as she caught your thighs instinctively pressing together. "You couldn't convince me you don't like losing to me if you tried."
"Why would I like losing?" You kept your back to her on purpose; if you looked at her you were sure you'd end up begging her to take you right there.
Natasha stepped closer, just enough to grab you. She was too fast for you, too strong, and she had you pressed flush against your front before you could process your shock. "Because I know you too well; you’re not subtle and you love it when I trap you."
Squirming away was fruitless; Natasha barely gave you room to breathe. You couldn't complain though, not when her hand was making its way to your breasts, squeezing roughly even when you cried out. The fights and her show of strength left you powerless to do anything but let your girlfriend touch you as she pleased, nipples pebbling both under her teasing and with your top half now exposed to the cold gym air. "Natty, we can't.. not here..."
She shushed you way too gently for how brutishly her other hand was sliding down the front of your shorts, hot breath tickling your ear. "I can do whatever I want and right now, I need my sweet girl to stay still while I fuck her."
You nodded quickly, your knees going weak almost as soon as her fingers spread you open. Risky as it was here out in the open, this was so much better than your fingers would ever be. She kissed your bare shoulder as she examined and groped you hungrily at her will. When her fingers were easily coated with your slick, the both of you groaned so loud there was no way anyone passing by the door wouldn’t have heard.
It was messy and crude, Natasha circling your clit until you’d soaked through your panties and possibly even your shorts— you loved it. “Daddy, please…”
“Oh fuck,” Maybe Natasha hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but she did and if the hard bite where your neck met your shoulder was any indication, she was quick to hide any other impulsive reactions. It was no secret how much the redhead adored the title, especially from you. Anything from you, really; she needed every part, every word, every whine you blessed her with. “Say it again, tell me how much you want it.”
“I-“ Stringing a sentence together proved difficult, Natasha’s fingertips just barely grazing your entrance throwing your brain into one thought alone. “Fuck me, please, daddy! I need you inside…”
A singular finger slid in, slow and steady and not at all what you needed to get off. You whined pitifully, trying to force yourself down on her hand to no avail. “I thought you wanted to wait? What happened, changed your mind?”
You wanted to yell and scream that it was all Natasha’s doing, that you’d be upstairs in your room if you had any say in the matter, happily bent over the mattress while you thrust onto your favorite vibrator. But that didn’t matter; you’d still be thinking of her, wishing it was her taking charge instead of a toy you controlled.
In her strong arms you felt captured and kept; no matter how you struggled, her hold on your body kept you still as a doll in a child’s grasp. “Stop squirming, baby. Daddy just needs to make you feel good.”
She was certainly doing just that, having slid a second finger alongside the first, stretching you perfectly. Your hips bucked back into her own and as her thumb played deviously with your swollen clit, you were even more grateful for Natasha’s support because without her, your knees would’ve given in a while ago. It didn’t take long before you were fighting off your orgasm, begging breathily to be allowed much needed release. “...’m so close.. Please…!”
Trying to escape her touch was pointless; Natasha was relentless in how she played with you, “Shh, it’s okay. Go on… cum for me.” It only took two curls of her digits to make you fall apart completely, your whimpers echoing off the solid walls of the empty training room. Your vision left for a moment, ears ringing as your body fell slack. Not for a second were you in danger of falling to the ground because Natasha was still holding you against her, one hand toying with your breast as her other was firmly buried between your shaking thighs.
The heel of her palm brushed over your over sensitive bud and you flinched away, but her grip never eased. The tip of her nose grazed the shell of your ear slowly, gently, unbothered by how you struggled against her firm body as she started fucking into you all over again. Natasha had stood and fought with you that afternoon on her best behavior, suppressing the urge to call off your training for her own favorite form of exercise. But now she’d won all rounds and she was going to be as selfish as she pleased. “Oh no, princess, I won five times and you owe me my rewards.”
i read your dog tags fic and i have always thought the whole dog tags thing is hot but you think you could do one w natasha? an au where she was a soldier or wte and just a different plot or something idc i just think it’d be so hot for natasha
i don't really know about soldier type stuff so i did it as though she got the dog tags from working at shield - hope that's okay anyway :)
original dog tags fic with carol danvers is here
quiet
natasha romanoff x reader
warnings - smut; daddy kink, thigh riding, necklace as a gag, top!natasha, kinda sex in a public place, i think that's it
word count - 1149
The mission today had been emotionally exhausting for you considering your history with Hydra, having to go back to the base you’d been imprisoned in until just a few years ago. It had gone well though, nobody was injured, you just felt a little down.
You sighed as you slumped into the seat beside Natasha, instantly seeking comfort by resting your head on her shoulder, she kissed your head as you nuzzled into her neck readying for the long flight back.
“You okay, princess?” She murmured against you, feeling the shrug you gave her in response, trailing her fingers over your back down to your hip. “Want me to make you feel better?”
You hummed against her neck pressing a kiss to the skin beneath her ear, “Please daddy, make me feel good.” You mumbled beside her ear with a pout, she choked back a groan at the back of her throat at the words, digging her fingers into your hip to pull you up with her.
Neither of you paid any mind to the others, not caring of any funny looks you may have been receiving as she pulled you towards a secluded area of the quinjet out of sight; she pushed your back against a wall peppering kisses over your face, melding her lips with yours eagerly.
She held you by your waist as she kissed along your jaw, grazing her teeth over your skin as you held her close to your body, desperately clinging to her as though she could float away. Your needy hands wandered, fiddling with the zip of her tactical suit and tugging it down letting your hands brush over the soft skin of her chest, the glistening silver metal of her dog tags she’s worn since she joined Shield dangling against her, resting in the valley of her breasts.
She held the back of your head when you kissed across the skin, sucking at the flesh of her breasts that spilled out of the top of her bra, letting you revel in the taste of her skin - wanting anything to help you feel better. She yanked you back by your hair with a hiss at an overly eager bite to her skin, a dark mark no doubt being left behind.
You pouted to her innocently with your lips swollen red, mischievous smirk tugging at your mouth when she looked at you with a glare, eyes darkened and lustful. She pulled the zip of your suit, yanking the material down your body exposing your bra clad torso, closing the space between you with her lips attacking your neck. She slipped her hand beneath your bra, roughly pinching your nipple between her thumb and finger with a twist only tugging on it more at the sound of a whimper falling from your lips.
“So pretty baby, falling apart under my touch like this already. You’re desperate, hm?” She rasped, her lips brushing over the shell of your ear.
“Mhm, just wanna feel good. Make me forget, daddy - please.” You pleaded, goosebumps raising over your skin when she scratched her nails down your body pushing your suit further past your hips.
“Focus on me, princess. By the end of the night you’ll know nothing but my name.”
Your hips bucked up into hers involuntarily at the way she growled out her words before crashing her lips to yours, frenzied and eager kisses as she danced her fingers beneath the hem of your underwear, teasingly stroking over your clit.
“I need you, Natty, please.” You whined out in frustration, feeling her smirk against your chest as she slid her fingers through your wet slit, plunging two fingers into you without a warning. You gasped out at the contact, her digits immediately curling inside you, brushing against your g-spot and the heel of her palm perfectly positioned over your clit.
You put all of your focus into trying to be quiet, trying to be consumed only by the way Natasha pumped her fingers into you with a sublime rhythm and her lips kissed over your neck but the added pang of arousal from the grunt she let out beside your ear made it impossible to swallow the moan at the back of your throat. She’d positioned herself over your thigh, grinding on your leg in a way that had her suit rubbing against her clit magnificently.
She stilled all movement to look at you with green eyes glazed over with arousal, “Quiet, baby - can’t have the others hearing all your pretty sounds.” She murmured, bringing the pendant of her dog tags to your lips. “Open.” She instructed, shoving the metal past your lips watching as you latched your lips around it with a suck. “Good girl, baby, stay quiet for daddy.”
The metal was cold against your tongue, clicking under your teeth as you bit into it to quell the feeble whimpers begging to tumble past your lips. Your nails dug into her shoulder blades as her fingers pulled you closer and closer to your climax and your face grew hot at the way you could hear her fingers pushing into you; she could feel how wet you were, how close you were, slowing her movements agonisingly.
“Hold it, baby, wanna cum with you.” She breathed, her hips moving rapidly in stuttered pushes along your thigh, her breath growing heavier by the minute.
When she could feel her orgasm fast approaching she quickened her pushes into you, your hips bucked forward to match her rhythm, chasing your release by grinding your aching clit against her palm. Natasha muffled her loud moan as she came with a harsh bite into the flesh of your shoulder, harsh enough to draw blood in tooth mark grooves, low whimpers at the back of her throat as she tried to catch her breath.
“That’s it, princess.” She cooed as she felt a gush of wetness over her fingers, your hips still moving lazily against her as the overwhelming pleasure brought tears to your eyes; biting down hard onto the pendant in your mouth with a pull that dug the chain into the back of her neck. “So good, so good for me angel.” She praised, planting kisses over your warm cheeks, holding your limp body up as your chest rose and fell in a chase for oxygen.
She pulled the necklace from your mouth gently, a string of saliva following it and coating your swollen lips, brushing stray hairs out of your face. She held your waist as she pulled her fingers from you, pleased at how they glistened in the light, humming in delight as she sucked your cum from them, looking forward to tasting you properly later.
“Thank you.” You mumbled out meekly, returning the smile Natasha gave you easily.
“My pleasure, baby.” She smirked. “I was only getting started. I’m gonna fuck every thought out of that pretty head.”
All I Ask of You | Masterlist
Pairing: Natasha x Reader (established), Dom!Wanda x Reader
Summary: When you love someone you’d do anything to make your relationship work, but you never expected your girlfriend to suggest you have sex with someone else. Like the saying goes, it's unrealistic for one person to be everything you need.
When you meet Wanda, you soon realize that maybe the saying was right - and just maybe, you have enough love for two people. The question is, will they be ok with the other occupying your heart?
18+ minors dni
Part 1 Judgment
Part 2 coming soon
Part 3 coming soon
Part 4 tba
Part 5 tba
Part 6 tba
"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong, Fear of Flying
-☾-
a/n: I'm really excited about this one! It started as a dream and then morphed into what may be a long series but damn has it been fun to write. I hope you all enjoy!
Natasha x reader.
Natasha has a nightmare and reader hears from her room so she goes to comfort her and they both fall asleep in the end
warning: best friend!natasha x fem!reader, best friend to lovers trope, slight angst? mutual pinning, and sad nat :(
Her room is quaint but ever so full of her personality. With her white coated rug and fancy little Eames chair, you frown knowing that even in her sleep, Natasha finds no serenity.
Instead as you enter and find her whimpering and turning under her duvet, you rush to her aid. Worry present on your features before you wake her up in fear that she might hurt herself.
“Natty?”
You’re hopeful that your voice will lull her back to the land of the living and when it does, a sigh of relief falls so effortlessly from your lips.
Victory is short lived when you find her looking at you in distress. With brows pinched and lips quivering, a hand cups her cheek out of empathy.
“You okay?” You ask, though you’re more than aware that she isn’t. You’re giving her the opportunity to open up to you, on her own terms and on her own field. “Bad dream?”
She nods carefully, but melts within your touch. It flutters something inside of your chest, mixing with the guilt of falling in love with your best friend.
“Was about you,” she confesses. Her eyes flutter close in shame but you’re there to remind her that she’s not alone.
“You don’t have to talk about it, Natty,” you say, voice gentle and understanding that this, her trauma and her past, is a hard experience to go through again. You’re in no place, regardless of your friendship with the woman, to condemn her back.
She nods, grateful for your understanding. Though her fears return when she realizes that once you leave, she’ll be alone once more. Another night spent cold and heartless, a feat that she struggles to deal with every day until you came into her life.
And so through a quivering lip and flushed cheeks, she turns to you in hopes of an answer. “Will you stay?”
You freeze in your spot. Never have you slept in her bed with her beside you. Sure you’ve done it in the couch during nights dedicated to spending time with her but never alone in her room where vulnerability and trust are at stake.
Unsure, you look at her to confirm that you had heard correctly. “You want me to?”
Natasha shrugs, nearly embarrassed but still ever so truthfully in what she wants. The mere thing you adored about her, her honesty and while to some, her bluntness.
“If that’s alright with you,” she says.
Her words make a grin sprout on your chapped lips, but it’s when you nod that confirms your eagerness.
“I would love nothing more.”
Yes, Mistress: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader
A series of related fics following the relationship of the reader and her new Domme, Mistress Natasha, as they explore her sexuality and submissiveness.
Series warnings: sub/Dom dynamics, sexual themes, kink negotiations, explicit f/f content
Join a taglist here!
The Meeting - The reader goes to a quiet café to meet Mistress Natasha in person for the first time and they talk through what she can expect from this new relationship.
Floating - Mistress Natasha takes it easy for the reader’s first session to ease her into the release that can be expected from their time together.
Responsive - Before their next session, Mistress Natasha picks out her sub’s outfit and then invites her to meet at the park. She rewards the reader’s good behaviour in the bathroom of a café.