Interlude

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

-Raven <3

Hold Me in Your Lap of Luxury

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summary: Facing the threat of deportation to her home country Russia, book editor Natasha Romanoff comes to an agreement with her assistant to get married. With that, comes a visit to the assistants hometown and meeting all of her family. Can they fool everyone that they’re in love? Will they have to pretend for the rest of their lives?

Tags: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff Fic, Natasha Romanoff Fanfic, Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow Fic, Movie Fic, The Proposal (2009), Reader has Daddy Issues, Natasha is Readers Boss, Fake Marriage, Fake Dating, Meeting Family,

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Sex, Marriage?, Daddy Issues, Boss x Assistant,

Word Count: 3.4K

Taglist: @timmyslover (please ask to join through asks or message me!) Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series :)

A/N: this fic is based on the 2009 movie The Proposal with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. some of the events have been changed to fit Natasha and to make it easier for me lol. please please leave comments or come scream at me about it :)) i’m actually estatic about this fic istg. also i’m seeing spider-man for the first time today wish me luck. just got my booster shot so i’ll exercise my arm while wiping tears

The Proposal Chapter One

Working for Natasha Romanoff is hard on a normal day. On a day like today, it’s absolute hell. You woke up later because the power in the building went out sometime in the night. Which leaves you where you are now, rushing around your apartment, looking for anything you can put on. There’s one clean dress shirt hanging in the closet, and you find the slacks you wore yesterday on the floor. They look clean enough, so you put them on, hopping around on one foot frantically while putting on one shoe.

You practically run to the Starbucks that’s close to where you work. Kate, the barista, already has your drinks made.

“You’re a lifesaver, Kate.”

“Don’t forget it,” she calls back with a smile.

You go as fast as you think you can with hot coffee, yelling apologies behind you at the people you bump into.

The elevator doors shut behind you just as you make it into them.

“Just in time,” you say to yourself, casting glances and awkward smiles at the people next to you. As soon as you hear the ding for your floor, you get again start hauling ass to Natasha’s office. Unfortunately, because that’s how today is going to be apparently, you crash into someone, spilling coffee down the front of your shirt.

A string of curses falls from your lips as you help the man up. Your shirt has dark stains all down the front. You’re pretty sure it’s not something Natasha will accept in her office.

You walk down the row of desk and stop in from of the first person you see that’s wearing something you can match with and not look like you picked a random shirt.

“I’ll give you company seats to the New York Avengers if you give me your shirt. You have five seconds to agree.” You start counting, and they run to the bathroom to change. You follow, thanking them profoundly along the way.

You rush to Natasha’s office, getting there right before she does. When Natasha walks in, you’re waiting by her desk, coffee in hand. She curtly thanks you and sits down at her desk, going through her paperwork.

She’s wearing a dark blue dress with a matching belt. Her hair is pinned back in the illusion of a simple bun, but you know how long she probably spent doing it. You’ve never seen her hair down. You know better than to ask.

“Your immigration lawyer called,” you say quickly, wanting to get this part of the day out of the way and go back to your desk.

“Cancel the appointment. And add open up my schedule on that weekend in September we talked about. Fury has decided to do Oprah.”

“Fury decided or you worked your persuasive magic on him and made the decision for him?”

“They’re the same thing,” she dismisses.

“Right. You have a conference call with Steve Rogers in 37 minutes and a staff meeting at 9:00. Also, someone called about the winter release for-“

“Tell then it is what it is and that if they think I can change time they should pay me more.”

“I’ll tell them politely no.”

“Waste of time,” she mutters. You’re about to leave when you remember that you have one more think to ask about.

“Did you have the chance to read the manuscript I sent you?” you ask, standing on the opposite side of Natasha’s desk.

“I started it, but I lost interest fairly quickly. Nothing really impressive about it.”

You start to exit the room and relax a little bit at your desk, but Natasha calls you back.

“Wait. Who is Kate and why does she want me to call her?”

You turn around slowly, meeting Natasha’s uninterested gaze. “That was mine. Yours spilled.”

“You drink a lavender latte with almond milk and foam?”

“Yes,” you say convincingly. “It tastes like summertime in my mouth,” you end lamely, your statement sounding much more like a question.

“Hm. It’s strange, because that’s my exact drink order. You wouldn’t possibly be ordering my drink for yourself in case you spill one of them because you’re scared shitless of what would happen. No, that would make you very much pathetic.”

That’s actually exactly what you do. She knows it. You know it. You should admit it. But what comes out of your mouth instead is: “Of course not. I just really like lavender coffee.”

“Mhm. The phones are ringing. Go do your job and answer it.”

“You got it.”

Again, before you leave she calls out to you. “Oh, one more thing. There’s a book fair this weekend that I need you to go to with me.”

“This weekend?” you ask.

“Yep,” she says, popping the p loudly. “Is that a problem?” Yes.

“No.”

You spend a while at your desk, taking calls and filing through the manuscripts that Natasha thinks are worth her time. You make sure to check the simple things like format and grammar, outlining them in red pen so she doesn’t have to do it.

Being an editor has always been your dream job. Growing up, books had been your form of escape from the overwhelming weight of your family. They led you through good times and bad, and gave you something to look forward to during the worst. Being Natasha’s assistant gives you an amazing opportunity to be just that, if you can make it.

You’re interrupted from a thrilling story when the phone rings.

“Ms. Romanoff’s office, how can I help you?“

“There’s my baby,” a familiar voice says.”

“Hi, Mom. I’m at work, is everything okay?”

“You sound stressed? Is that devil woman working you too hard again?” she frets. You can hear her frown.

“When is she not? Look, mom, I needed to talk to you anyway. I can’t come to Grammy’s birthday this weekend.”

“What?” You have to hold the phone away from your ear, wincing at the sudden volume of her voice. “You already bought tickets. You promised you would be here.”

“Yeah, well plans changed. It was nothing I could control.”

“Put your boss on the phone. I have a few choice words for her.”

“If only I could”- you look up to see Natasha walking over to your desk-“offer you a better deal, but unfortunately our prices are set. Goodbye.” You hang up the phone and turn to Natasha.

“Was that your mom?” she asks, walking down the aisle.

“Yep.”

“Did she want to kill me like usual?”

“Yep. She’s mad you’re making me miss Gammy’s 90th birthday.”

“Good. Consistency is key.” She stops at the door marked for D. Dreykov, knocking and pushing the glass door open.

“Ms. Romanoff, it’s good to see you,” acknowledges Dreykov, putting down his drink. With a vague sense of puzzlement you notice that it’s whiskey.

“It’s fucking eight thirty in the morning,” you murmer, low enough so Dreykov doesn’t hear. You’re pretty sure Natasha does, but she hides her smile by turning away. Even if she wasn’t, you’re going to pretend she does just to annoy her.

“You as well. How are you?” she ventures, looking pointedly at his glass.

“The same. You?“

“I can’t complain,” says Natasha, turning to a huge wooden armoire in the corner of the room.

“Is it new?” she inquires, tracing it with her fingers.

“It’s an eighteenth century piece,” he brags. “But to my office, yes it is new. You can't come here to talk about furniture, Ms. Romanoff. How can I help you?” You brace for what comes next. Knowing Dreykov, this isn’t going to go well.

“You’re fired,” Natasha says bluntly, no look of sympathy on her face. It’s a face you never hope to see looking at you.

“You better be joking,” laughs Dreykov.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You’re overreacting. You got Fury to do the show anyway.”

“Am I? You have two months to find yourself a new job. Everyone will be told that you resigned.” With that, Natasha walks out, you right behind her.

“What’s the update? How’s he looking?” she asks, questioning you about Dreykov’s reaction. You look back and see Dreykov pacing around the room.

“Fuming. Trying to decide if he’s going to come over here.”

“Shit. Don’t do it, Dreykov. It’s the wrong move.”

“He’s doing it.”

“Damn it.” Natasha turns around to see Dreykov coming towards her.

“You bitch,” he seethes. “You fired me because you thought I was better than you! You’re threatened by me, so you took me out. This has nothing to do with the Fury interview.” His voice raises volume, attracting interested stares from the people in the office. The same people who are quick to look away whenever Natasha starts speaking.

Calmly, she explains. “You’re right. I didn’t fire you because of Fury. That would be pointless and putting my own neck on the line. I fired you because, not only are you lazy and an asshole, you treat everyone in this office, including me, your boss, like they owe you something just for being in your presence. You show up late, drink all day, and turn in shitty work. And, frankly, I just don’t like you. So there you go. That’s why you got fired. If I hear another word I’m going to have my assistant over there call security to escort you out. Looks like you won’t be resigning after all.”

He starts to speak, but Natasha cus him off. “Not another word.” Her eyebrows raise, almost challenging him to speak again. He doesn’t. Instead, he storms off to his room like a child.

“Upstairs called my office directly. I’ll have to go up there in”-Natasha checks her watch-“five minutes. After ten in the room, I want you to make up an excuse and come get me. We have to much to do.”

“Sure thing.” Natasha heads the opposite direction while you go back to your desk. The office relaxes significantly as she leaves, people starting to talk about what just happened. You almost hear a sigh of relief sweep across the office when she’s gone.

You wait ten minutes, answering one call and sitting there the rest of the time. Then, you take the elevator to the next floor, deemed by everyone “the upstairs.” At the end of the hallway is a large office with huge windows.

You pop your head into the door of the office and are met with an immediate call to get out. Such polite people.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. Natasha, I have Sam Wilson on the phone for you. I told him to call back later, but he insists that it’s important and cannot wait.” You expect her to come with you like she always does when she tells you to do this, but she doesn’t move. She just stares at you, then looks back at her bosses, then back at you.

She mouths something to you that you can’t decipher. She does it again, and motions for you to go stand next to her.

“I understand the situation that I’m currently in, that’s why I think it’s important that you know…”

She puts her arm around your shoulders awkwardly and announces: “We’re getting married.”

“Who is?” you question, a fake smile on your lips.

“Us. Me and you. The lovebirds of the office,”she says through her teeth.

“Uh, right,” you turn to her bosses and smile at them, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

“You know, she’s just so…” Natasha trails off, looking at you.

“I feel like it shouldn’t take that long to think of an adjective,” you mutter.

“Honest,” bites Natasha sweetly. “She’s honest to me. It was all those late nights together and early mornings, you really see the worst of each other. But that couldn’t stop us, could it sugarbear?” Sugarbear? Really? You send an unamused look at Natasha, who smiles pointedly back at you.

“Sure, honeycomb,” you grimace at the endearment, hoping it doesn’t sound half as ridiculous as you think it does. “We just couldn’t help ourselves from the attractive pull.”

“Something simply happened between us that I can’t explain,” concludes Natasha.

“Something definitely happened. And there’s definitely no logical explanation,” you agree.

“Is this-this is what you want, right? This is good?” Natasha motions between the two of

you, looking at the two men in front of you. They’re both wearing business smiles.

“Just make it official,” one says, pointing to his ring finger.

“That’s hot,” says the other. You want to punch him. You don’t think your fiancé (?) would appreciate that, though.

“Great. We’ll go to the immigration office right now and get this all sorted out. Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Of course. Ms. Romanoff, Ms…” the man at the desk trails off, giving up on remembering you name. He shrugs and goes back to his work.

“Ouch,” you murmur. You walk the rest of the way in silence, trying to figure out what’s going on. Natasha looks completely calm and in control.

Once you make it to you office, you shut the door, expecting some sort of explanation. Instead, Natasha sits down and starts working.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about? Because last time I checked we aren’t engaged and very much aren’t in love.”

“I was going to be deported to Russia and fired. This makes it where that doesn’t have to happen,” she states simply.

“And why would I comply with this? No offense, but I don’t need you to have a career here,” you inquire.

“Because if you don't, do think you’re going to be fired.” You raise your eyebrows at her, and she continues. “Dreykov, who we just fired, is going to take my place. You think he’s going to keep you around? I can answer that for you. No. He’s not. So if you want to be an editor, you’ll do this.”

“Jesus fucking shit.”

“That’s quite a swear,” notes Natasha mildly. “Don’t stress about it. We’ll get married, wait for me to get my green-card, and then get a quick divorce. Easy.”

“Easy,” you repeat, not convinced. Natasha tells you to clear her schedule for today and get all the papers ready to go to the immigration office. By the time you’re done, she’s waiting at your desk for you. “Let’s get this over with. Did you make an appointment?”

“I don’t think you know how this works.”

You’re proved correct when she skips the line, cutting in front of tons of people.

“You can’t just do that,” you protest.

“I just did.” You sigh and follow her, apologizing to the people you just cut in front of.

“I need this to file for a fiancé visa, please,” she says. She slides the papers across the desk, and a man approaches.

“Ms. Romanoff?” he asks.

“Yes?” Natasha answers, looking up from her phone.

“I need you to follow me.”

She turns to you. “See, I know how to do this.” The man leads you to a small room with a table and three chairs. He sits in one and the two of you sit across from him.

“I’m Mr. Smith. And you just be her fiancé?” he asks, looking at you.

“Yes. That’s me. Natasha’s fiancé,” you say smoothly. Natasha kicks you under the table.

“We appreciate you seeing us on such short notice. It all just happened so quickly,” thanks Natasha.

“That it did,” you agree. She kicks you again.

“I just have one question to ask you, and then you can be on your way.” He turns to face you. “Are you marrying Ms. Romanoff to save her from being deported to Russia, therefore committing fraud which has a penalty of five years in prison?” You stare at him with his mouth open like an idiot. Natasha tries to speak up, but he stops her.

“Because that’s what we think you happen to be doing, let me explain the steps that you will have to go through.”

“First, we ask around. Friends and coworkers will be asked if they know anything about you. Then, we ask families. After that, we check phone records and sightings. Lastly, there’s an interview. You will be asked everything about each other. If there’s even a slight difference in your answers, Romanoff will be deported and you will be put into jail for at least five years under the charges of fraud.”

“Unfortunately, your scare tactics won’t work because I’m totally and completely in love with this woman,” says Natasha, startlingly convincingly.

“What she said,” you second, trying not to sound miserable.

“If you’re not going to cooperate, things are going to get worse.”

“Ms. Romanoff, have you told your family about the engagement?” he asks blandly.

“My birth mother is dead and even she didn’t know who my father was. My adoptive father just got out of prison in Russia and my mother is on a farm with no way to contact her,” states Natasha matter-of-factly.

“It says here that you have a sister, Yelena Belova.”

“I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Are you currently in contact with her?“

“Yes, but we don’t talk about our dating lives,” Natasha says.

“What about you, ma’am? Have you told your family?”

You try to stutter out an answer, but nothing of substance comes out. You look at Natasha, hoping for a lifeline.

She rolls her eyes at you. “We were going to tell her family this weekend. It’s Grammy’s birthday.”

“How old is she turning?”

“90. Right, baby?” Natasha asks you. You nod.

“That’s a big one. She can’t come here. Where does Grammy live?”

You’re completely positive that Natasha doesn’t know this. “Why am I answering all the questions? It’s her family,” laughs Natasha effortlessly.

“My family is from Sitka. Everyone but me lives there.”

“Fine. Friends? Do any of them know? Or does anyone at your work know?”

“We couldn’t tell them because…” Natasha looks at you for help.

“Because of my big promotion. I was going to be promoted to editor next year, which was a decision made before we started dating, and we didn’t want people to think-“

“Right,” he cuts you off. Mr. Smith sighs and tells you that you can go. “I’m warning you, though. I’ll make sure that this is real.”

“God forbid the book editors start taking over America,” mutters Natasha. “Thank you for your cooperation,” she calls back at Mr. Smith, flipping him off.

You walk quickly out of the building, Natasha right on your heels.

“We’re going to have to push back all of our meetings for this weekend. Can you call Steve and tell him? And we need to get a first class plane for today to Sitka. And get me the vegan meal, last time I had this terrible chicken salad,” says Natasha.

“I’m sorry, were you not in the same meeting as me? I could go to jail for doing this, and the only reason I am is so I probably don’t get fired,” you exclaim, halting your walking.

“Well, what do you want?” she asks impatiently.

“I want to be an editor.”

“I’m not promoting you to editor,” she laughs.

“Then I’m not doing this. Being your assistant for the next few years isn’t worth the possibility of jail. Have fun in Russia.”

“Fuck,” she groans. “Fine. Welcome to the fucking team.”

“And I want my manuscript published.”

“Ten thousand copies,” she agrees.

“And if I’m going to do this, you’re going to have to ask me nicely.”

“Fine. Marry me,” she says flatly.

“You can do better than that. Come on, get down on a knee and ask me to marry you.”

“I’m not doing that,” she hisses.

“Have fun in Russia, Natasha,” you reply cheerily, starting to walk away.

“Jesus. Okay, okay! I’ll do it.” Muttering insults under her breath, she slowly gets down on her knees. “Dearest love, will you marry me? Nothing would make me happier.”

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but I accept,” you say.

“You don’t really have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” you say lightly.

“Is it really a choice when one of the options is absolutely shitty?” she questions, still on the ground.

“Sure it is. I’ll see you at the airport.”

“You’re not going back to work?” she stands up clumsily, her skirt getting caught on her heel. It’s one of the only times you’ve seen her not the epitome of perfection. It’s almost endearing. It would be more so if she wasn’t asking you about work, but you’ll take baby steps.

“Fuck no. I’ve earned the day off. Bye sugarbear.”

“Piss off, homeycomb.”

kotenok part. twelve

while you and natasha share a moment of serenity with each other, it’s interrupted when you argue about the conflicts in your relationship.

older!natasha romanoff x younger!reader

kotenok masterlist

You wake with your head buried between her neck. Natasha smells like lavender, honey, and vanilla all at once. With her hair strewn across her pillow, crimson red locks, curled into little ringlets, they make way for the features on her face.

The way she scrunches herself nose in slumber, pink lips parted as she breathes, and the freckles say a quaint hello as the sun shines softly on the both of you.

It’s small.

The days like these where New York city isn’t in a cloud of pent up rain and thunder, the days where the sun is out to play, shows off for a daring sunset when it hits eight o’clock right on the dot.

The days where you get to wake up with the love of your life in your bedroom with your head buried in the crook of her neck.

You’re the first one to stir awake. Your limbs aching from prior activities from the night before. Only then, which to remind you of the purpling hickeys left on the skin of your inner thighs and thin parts of you neck.

A thumb rubs along the bruising colour on your leg, hissing when you realize it’s still fresh as a wound. You don’t mind it, it’s all what makes you owned by Natasha and you’re proud.

But as the chilly air of the AC hits you awake, you sit up against your body’s aching will and a yawn washes the sleep away.

Natasha is next to wake up. Her arm moving over to your side in instinct of searching for you. When she fails and feels your side empty, but warm, her eyes flutter open to find you staring at her with swollen eyes.

“Morning.” You beam at the older woman with a looped smile, which she returns in the process. But when the slumber in her slips away and Natasha leans her head against your back, you feel her warm breath fan against your skin.

Her arm circles against your tiny body and tugs you close against her front. The older woman has no trouble dragging you against her for the sole reason she overweights you in size.

When you melt against her front, feeling her mock your actions as she buries her face against your neck, your body loses all control in an effort to just feel your lover.

“Good morning, moya krasivaya devushka.” She whispers it like a nun in prayer, like you were the only thing she believed was worth worshiping.

And despite the language barrier, you welcomed her embrace and smiled through it all.

“I have no clue what that meant, but good morning to you too.” The redhead hums against your skin, her pale slender fingers drawing circles against the skin that protects your ribs.

She makes another noise of content, this time, pulling her head away to pepper open mouthed kisses on the paper thin skin of your pulse. You jerk slightly in response, but found pure and content comfort in her touch and hold.

The older woman held you like that, breathing in and out as her chest presses against yours. With the curve of your back pressed against her chest, her lips on your skin, gentle sayings were whispered along the way.

“I love you.” She tells you, and Natasha makes you feel it every day of your waking moment.

You smile in return, your head lulling back against her shoulder. The action makes the older woman pause and sigh. “I love you more.”

When you and Natasha finally find the energy to slip away from bed and enter the common room, the two of you are greeted by your friends. Steve is bright and awake, covered in his gym clothes, you have no doubt he just came back from running with Bucky.

Natasha has her hair in a braid, settled to one side, she dawns black leggings with a zip up hoodie that looks too small for her. You gave that to her, the grey hoodie from Lululemon that was a size too big for you, was then rewarded to your girlfriend when she said she was a size four while you were a zero.

She makes oatmeal for the both of you. Raisins in yours and she likes hers bland. Wanda enters the room, and when she does, awareness of her presence is inevitable. But she gently smiles when she sees the two of you.

Suddenly, it’s not all too bad.

When the two of you sit on the barstool next to each other, Natasha plans the day ahead.

You stand beside the older woman as she signs the receipt, with a big purchase like that, Natasha doesn’t even blink an eye at how the total exceeds two zeros.

You pursed your lips in tow, biting your tongue after to let the question from slipping from your lips. But just as Natasha finishes with the sales associate, the redhead looks up from heavy red lashes and stares with striking emerald eyes.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

The sales associate disappears the moment the bag is in Natasha’s hand. She doesn’t bat another eye at the employee despite being well aware of his knowing look towards the famous Avenger.

It’s the first time Natasha calls you by such name in public and especially around people. As you stare into her gaze, the smile on her lips present and deepening the smile lines and wrinkles, you know it’s genuine.

You shake your head, smiling as you flush under her gaze. “Nothing. I love you.”

Her brows raise a bit. Her lips purse just as yours did, the only difference is that she’s forcing a smile away. Her pale cheeks are red now, you almost feel bad for making such a sensual woman blush within a simple advocation of admiration.

But she expresses back with a hand reaching out to yours. She squeezes your hand, and then she lets the grin rip all over her face.

Only then, you remember the very first time you’ve loved a girl. The brown headed girl, with the pale skin sprinkled with freckles, and her striking green eyes.

You don’t remember anyone else to love after her. She was only there for a brief moment in your life, a few years or so, sat on different sides of the steel bars, and only then, you remember what it is to feel in love.

You know, and you remember because as you stand there with a smiling Natasha Romanoff, you feel it in the bones that were once broken and bruised, now healed and kissed by none other.

She cocks her head this time, curious and concerned for the sudden silence on your end. And this time, she reaches out with a touch of comfort on the pads of her finger tips.

“You sure?”

You balance the weight of your body on your right feet, shoulders sagging as you blink naively at your lover.

“Did you see the smile Wanda gave us today?”

Natasha is the type to suppress her emotions. The type to have been trained to do so for her whole life. And with that training, comes a time of need. In this moment, you can’t read her.

Your shoulders sag and you purse you lips, waiting for her answer if if it were going to burn you.

“I did.”

“I’m glad.”

She raised a brow. “Are you?”

You nod this time, a small smile erupting on your chapped lips. “I am.” You sigh softly. “I think... Well, I hope, she’s opening up to the idea of my happiness with you.”

“I hope that’s her intentions.” Natasha stands taller now and the sales associate is long gone, had been since he handed her the bag. “You never know with Wanda.”

“She has been hurt, Talia.”

“As if you hadn’t been.” The redhead scoffs, almost offended. “Do not apologize on behalf of the woman who hurt you, darling. It only makes you look bad.”

You get angry with Natasha for a moment. Your heart aches with a hurt that you’ve haven’t felt.

“I’m not apologizing for her behalf.” You snap back accordingly and this time, Natasha stands to tower your small stature. “I’m merely sympathizing for her pain because I know what it had been like for someone important to me be taken away.”

You go on with a warm face and blurred vision. It makes Natasha look like a white blob with red hair.

“It’s not wrong to care, Natalia. It’s not wrong to care about people who have been hurt. And it’s definitely not wrong to care about someone like Wanda who’s experienced enough torment in their life. I am trying to be better than the people who have made me. But I am sorry if you cannot see that.”

“I’m not blind.”

You huff at your girlfriend’s words and for the very time, your throat aches at the idea of talking to Natasha about such a topic.

“I never said you were.”

“You implied it.”

You shake your head, attempting to remove the impending ache that spread across your temple and your front. You sigh when it doesn’t work and so, your shoulders sag in defeat.

“I’m ready to go home.”

And this time, Natasha doesn’t reply back. She doesn’t snap back with a comment, she doesn’t try to talk back to you with a tone that makes you want to step away.

Instead, she leads the way out of the store, then through the crowded floors of the mall, and then into the parking where a valet driver returns her car. You sit where you’ve always have, next to her, but as the silence settles in her Corvette, you realize how much the argument has affected her.

She even goes to grip the steering wheel with a hold that makes her knuckles white and she huffs. As she stares right ahead of her, through the glass and the line painted onto the concrete floor of the parking garage, she’s the first to break the silence.

“You’re right.” You blink up at her when she says the words and the anger you held for the older woman shatters with a crack. “I suppose I’m afraid of her hurting you the way other have done it. I just want you to be happy and I just want your life to be filled with people who do make you happy. Even if it means rejecting those who fit into mine.”

She goes on. “You’re right that it’s not wrong to care about people but I just want you to be careful about how you care for them. I’ve met the other end of the witch, darling, she’s just not all about the words she speaks. If she wanted, and that’s a big if, she could make you disappear.”

You swallow to speak but apparently, she had more to say. “Wanda... I never loved her. At least not in the way she wanted me to. We both craved something that we couldn’t fully give, I needed a distraction, she gave it, but she expected more and I didn’t. It’s hard enough loving someone who’s twenty years your junior and everyone is chastising you for it but doing it with a failed one night stand who seems to have fallen for you? I’d take you anywhere just to have peace with you.”

When the silence settled back in and she finishes, you reach for the love of your life’s hand with a touch so gentle, she would’ve never even felt it if you hadn’t slipped your fingers through hers.

“Wanda is someone we can’t force out of our lives.” Natasha knows that and you too. “But I want to keep loving you without fear or judgment of others. And if apologizing and catering to her will do that, I’d gladly take the opportunity.”

When Natasha turns her head and faces you, a pink shade to her cheeks, a frown blossoms on your lips.

“I never meant to chastise you for caring about people. I think it’s great that you do, but I worry and I just want you to live your life to the fullest. Wanda has no part in our relationship and I don’t think she should, regardless of what she used to mean to me.”

“I know. I know.” Your response to her apology is one that’s genuine. And as Natasha starts the car and backs out of the parking garage, you hold her hand and squeeze it. You turn to her with gentle eyes and an aching heart.

For a moment, she takes her eyes off the road, it’s empty anyways, Natasha has a sense of a bird, of an assassin. She’s always on guard. And for a second between that moment, her eyes shine with glimmer.

“I love you.”

Her hand squeezes yours, and the air runs through the locks of your hair as the windows come down. Your gaze never leaves your lover and you know, even now and even through the argument, you love her, no doubts, no hesitation, even through the worst of it all.

“And I’m sorry.”

You shake your head at your lover’s words. Despite it all, you know she means well, she means her words and her actions with all the love she has for you.

She’s willing to drop everything for a life of happiness with you and your heart aches at the thought of her selfishness, her willingness to just be with you.

You smile at Natasha when the car stops at a light, your features soft while she replicates your own.

“I know.”

There hasn’t been any certainty for a while in your life but as you look at the redhead, you know you’ll be alright.

2012 fanon avengers when the assemble alarm goes off during their bi-weekly team dinner

At Her Altar, As Her Worship

Ever since your turning you have been succumbing to the cold. Your faithful mentor and vampiric 'mother,' Natasha would never allow it to happen.

Warnings: General blood themes because of vampires, Natasha gets bitten consentually on the breast by reader, reader drinks breast milk and blood, reader sucks on Natasha's breasts, no pronouns are used for reader, reader gets called little love, fluffiness, gave me a cavity💕

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

Also in case it wasn't clear Natasha is reader's 'mother'(?) in this cause Nat turned them so she takes care of them :)❤️

The warmth from Natasha's skin felt as though it was sinking into your lips and aching fangs, warming the perpetual chill inside you. Her long soft red hair brushes against your cheeks.

--

From your position buried in Natasha's neck you couldn't see her face, but the sweet lilt to her low humming said that Natasha was content. A callused hand gently cups the back of your head, before deft fingers begin to smooth down your baby hairs.

You could smell the sweet detergent clutching to her bare chest, a fluttery kiss pressed to your temple. The soft crackling of the ridiculously large victorian fire place popped gently in your ears as your head perks up shyly. Natasha's fond smile growing at the sight, her lullaby tapering off.

"Go on little love, just like how I taught you." The feeling of her full, plush breasts pressed against your shoulder and neck sent a warm flush to your ears.

You are guided toward her chest and pink perky nipples, your lips parting hesitantly. Gleaming fangs gently pierce the milky skin around her nipple before your mouth suckles on her breast. Warm blood with a slight tang and sweet milk flows into your awaiting mouth.

The unrelenting sour hunger finally eases and warmth flows into your previously stiff and chilly fingers. Eyes flutter as your mind grows warm, hazy and sleepy. Natasha rubs your back affectionately, beginning to hum another lullaby.

Y/n: when I was in 3rd grade, we had google earth on the computers. There was also a flight simulator and I would ask kids for their addresses. I would then show them the flight simulator and proceed to fly the plane into their house telling them I destroyed it remotely

Nat muttering: and I’m the bad guy

loose cannon

| natasha x reader |

summary: she’s not a great teacher. you’re not a great learner. but to be fair to yourself, she’s very distracting.

warnings: weapons handling, cursing : rating [T] 

a/n: uhhhh i have no shame. enjoy

Keep reading

*Y/N getting a tour of the Avenger Compound*

Natasha: There are so many rooms in this building you will inevitably get lost, but don't worry the only one you'll need to know is down the hall. You'll be spending most of your time in there anyways.

Y/N: *Curious* Oh, what room is at the end of the hall?

Natasha: My bedroom.

Y/N: Oh.

Y/N: Oh.

Feeling So Tired; Falling Apart

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You don’t think you could ever be loved again, until Natasha comes into your life and refuses to be pushed out.

Word Count: 1,051

Warnings: Severe depression, self-hate, loneliness, isolation, heavy mental health issues and discussions, angst, and cursing.

A/N: This is just a vent fic that I wrote for myself because I’m not ok lol and I cope with fictional characters. Again- this is a vent fic, and please proceed with caution. Title is inspired by My Kind Of Woman by Mac DeMarco because I cry to his music.

You didn’t know when you realized that you were unlovable.

Maybe it was when you noticed how during your entire childhood the kids from school wouldn’t talk to you or invite you over to their birthday parties, or when you would hear their laughter in the hallways when you walked past them.

Maybe it was when everyone talked about their best friends and their plans for the weekend, but you had just decided to take on an extra shift at work to ignore the loneliness you were drowning in.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was when you were finally fucking old enough to stop being so goddamn stupid, and realize that everyone who told you that they cared or loved you was lying.

The only person who maybe could sometimes make you feel loved was Natasha.

Natasha.

She was the one person who was there for you. And you loved her for it. God, you fucking loved her so much.

But even with her support, you couldn’t drive away your depression and your isolation.

Because, unlike you, Natasha had other people. She was reunited with Yelena and spent a lot of time with her. Wanda was her best friend, and you could almost always catch them together. Even though she was your girlfriend, it didn’t feel like Natasha thought of you as her favorite person.

Because, quite frankly, no one ever did. And no one ever will. And fuck, it was the loneliest feeling in the world.

A feeling that even Natasha couldn’t and wouldn’t understand. No matter how hard she tried.

“Please baby, please. You can’t just push everyone away like this.” Natasha’s voice broke, but you couldn’t even hear it. You were huddled under your blankets, tears streaming down your face. You couldn’t listen to her.

You took a breath in when you felt the bed dip and arms wrap around your waist. “Natasha, please go away.” You whispered. You reached out for your phone and huffed in annoyance when the redhead grabbed it out of your hands.

“You’re not doing this again. I will not watch you spiral, Y/N. We all love you and support you and care. I cannot stand by and watch the love of my life do this to themself. Please, just let us-”

You felt rage bubble in your stomach, and you threw her arms off of you. “Who’s us, Nat? No really, who’s fucking us? Because as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have anyone, Natasha! I’m fucking alone, and you can never fucking understand it!”

Natasha shook her head, “Baby, please listen to me. I hear you, and I understand you-”

“Fuck!” You yelled, tears streaming down your cheek as you stood up from your bed. “No, no you don’t! You have people who love you! Yelena’s your sister, and you talk to her! Wanda’s there and-”

“Y/N, listen to me,” Natasha said firmly, grabbing onto your arms and forcing you back down onto the bed. “Do you think in the Red Room that I never felt alone?”

You went silent, unable to respond.

“I was alone my entire childhood. Actually, I don’t even think what happened to me counts as a childhood. So please fucking believe me when I tell you that I know what’s it’s like to be so fucking alone. But guess what?”

You looked up at her.

“I found a family. The Avengers. I thought I’d be doomed forever too. It’s hard to get out of that mindset, I know. But you will find people who love you, honey. I love you. Yelena loves you. Wanda loves you.”

You shook your head and tried to ignore the sobs that were rising. “No, that’s different. You were made to be lovable because you’re… you’re a good person. You’re enough, you’re worthy. And I’m not.” You couldn’t hold back your sobs anymore.

You could practically feel the redhead’s heart break from your words as she pulled you into her arms, and refused to let you out of them. “You’re so worthy. So beautiful.” Natasha whispered in your ear, gently rocking you.

“No, I’m not. I’m so alone. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t-” Natasha shushed you and turned over, spooning you close to her. “Everyone says they love me but they never really do. I’m no one’s favorite person, no one’s top priority, I just-”

Natasha shook her head once again, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, “But you’re my favorite person, honey. You’re my top priority, the light of my life. I need you, okay? I care about you so, so much. And other people do, even if you can’t feel it.”

“That’s not true. So many people say that and they’re lying- you’re fucking lying!” You couldn’t contain all the pent-up emotions from the years hiding anymore. You tried to escape the redhead’s grasp but she simply held you tighter and peppered kisses on your face.

“I’m not lying. Baby, I love you so much. It breaks me to see you hurting like this, it really does. I know the other team feels the same way. We all want you to be okay, we want you to feel happy. Because if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

You finally stopped fighting and let yourself cry. Natasha traced patterns on your back and whispered affirmations in your ear, unwilling to leave you alone, even for a moment.

“Go to sleep. I know you’re tired baby.” Natasha said in a soft tone, helping you get back under the blankets. “And when you wake up, I’ll get you some food, okay? Just rest for now, love.”

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“No. I don’t want any apologies to be spoken, okay? You have nothing to be sorry for. I love you and I’m not leaving you. No matter what you go through, I will be here. My love is unconditional, and I’m not going anywhere.”

With blurry eyes you looked up at her, “Do you promise? You promise you won’t leave me?” Your voice broke, and Natasha nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And with the redhead by your side you realized that with Natasha, you maybe had a chance.

You had a chance to feel better. To be better. Because unlike everything else in your life, Natasha stayed.

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Natasha Romanoff Taglist: @milfloverslut @ghostlybailiffathletestatesman @madamevirgo @proudmorning @fanfictioniseverything

Hurt/Comfort Taglist: N/A

What about..,,, college professor Nat who wears those fancy blazers with dress pants and has this amazing expensive cologne :) She gives you these dirty flirtatious looks during class...🥰

i just saw this babes i’m so fucking sorry 😭 but ur right, college professor nat would be the type to smell like sexy, expensive perfume, you know it’s expensive cuz you probably told her she smelled good and she told you what it was... she’s so sexy, alluring, and she loves picking on you because she adores how you flush in embarrassment