drabbles

⧖ masterlist

norway!nat

⧖ masterlist

Alcohol's Effects on the Body

⧖ masterlist ⤷ Nerd!Nat x r

Apartment 224

⧖ masterlist ⤷ Nat x neighbor!r

Pay-Per-View (upcoming)

⧖ masterlist ⤷ OnlyFans!Nat x r

oneshots

⧖ Finish What You Started ᥫ᭡ ⤷ You finally manage to convince a rightfully reluctant Natasha to bring you with her to work.

⧖ You Were Are Hers ꩜ ⤷ It’s been eight years since. ⧖ You Were Are Hers pt. 2 ⤷ Four months later.

⧖ Alice, Who? ᥫ᭡ ⤷ You’re always hearing about how the Black Widow is hot, but seeing her in person, getting personally trained by her, is something else entirely. Oh, she’s hot, hot. ⧖ Alice, Who? pt. 2 ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Natasha doesn’t want you, or so she keeps telling herself. But you’re relentless in your attempts to build an amicable relationship with her, and then, when your attention is suddenly pointed at someone else? Well, now she has to do something about that.

⧖ What Made You Think That You're in Charge? ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Even when you think you’re in control, Natasha’s always there to prove you wrong.

⧖ Such a Skeptic ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Enchantedstrap!Nat x r ⤷ Natasha may be excellent in bed on a normal day, but she definitely lacks in the reciprocation department when you enchant her strap for the first time. You can’t blame her though. Nothing could have prepared her for something to feel like that. ⧖ Such a Skeptic pt. 2 ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Once Natasha experiences your pussy for the first time, she becomes determined to do two things: 1) fuck you on every surface in every room in every position possible and 2) actually make you come.

⧖ I'll Hold it for You ꩜ ⤷ Natasha isn’t used to this feeling, but luckily, you’re there to help her realize that not everything has to fall only on her. She deserves to let herself breathe sometimes.

⧖ Don't Call it a Mistake .ᐟ‎ ꩜ ⤷ You run into Natasha, your ex, at a local cafe that you both used to frequent together. It’s been over a year since you two broke up, so you thought that you would be ready to potentially face her again. Apparently, you need a few more months… or years… or forever.

⧖ Unsteady ⤷ Natasha never gave up hope that one day you would be returned to her, but the reunion doesn’t go quite like she had imagined.

⧖ Puppy-Dog Eyes ⤷ Maybe you can teach an old dog (Natasha) something new… or Natasha learns that not all dogs are something to be bothered by.

⧖ Just Once More .ᐟ‎ ꩜ ᥫ᭡ ⤷ “It’s not what Natasha wants. God, it’s not what she wants at all. But she’ll take it, she’ll take you, in any way that you’ll let her.”

⧖ For Fuck's Sake, It's a Werewolf ⤷ Halloween 2025 ⤷ The Avengers were sent to a small town in Romania for a mission, and Natasha brought her girlfriend along for some sightseeing. When they arrive, it seems that so did some unknown being that begins terrorizing the town. What coincidental timing.

⧖ Not Like Them ⤷ (Soft) mob!Nat x stripper!r ⤷ A redheaded stranger walks into your club one night, and despite doing your best to prove to both her and yourself that she’s just like everybody else, she doesn’t allow you to.

⧖ One of Everything ⤷ It can be argued that this is the most Natasha’s ever said to you, usually coming in like a storm, all mouth and teeth, muffling any small talk you might have offered and replacing it with moans of her name.

⧖ Blinding ⤷ Everything is too much, including the sight of your green-eyed, redheaded savior. ⧖ Blinding pt. 2 (upcoming) ⤷ The adjustment to your enhanced senses in the real world isn’t easy, the darkness and muffled noises from the cell you were kept in having always protected you. But Natasha’s there every step of the way, determined to help you regulate everything that overloads your system. ⧖ Blinding pt. 3 ᥫ᭡ (upcoming) ⤷ Everything still overwhelms you sometimes, but now, you don’t mind when it’s because of her.

⧖ “It's Complicated” .ᐟ‎ ⤷ Natasha’s recognized while she’s on the run with Steve. She probably should’ve thought things through when she ghosted you. ⧖ “It's Complicated” pt. 2 ꩜ ⤷ She may be a coward, but Natasha's trying—she’s really trying—the only way she knows how. ⧖ “It's Complicated” pt. 3 ⤷ “Natasha has really left, hasn’t she?” versus “She’ll stay for you.”

⧖ Still Handcuffed to That Bedpost ꩜ ⤷ It doesn’t happen often, but every now and again, Natasha finds herself back there, her mind returning to the oppressive former belief that she doesn’t exist for anything but to be used. How is she to show you her in her entirety?

⧖ Worth Every Penny ⤷ Winning a night with the Black Widow—to Natasha, charity auction be damned—turns out to be, despite her initial disgruntlement, the start of something neither of you could have predicted.

⧖ Shouldn't Have ꩜ ⤷ The world may continue on, but her world stopped that day. Hopefully, you get Natasha's voicemail.

⧖ Artificial ⤷ Nat x android!r ⤷ One of Tony’s prototypes becomes activated while Natasha is living—trying to survive—on her own at the Compound during The Snap. Maybe, all this time, she hasn’t been as alone as she thought. ⧖ Artificial pt. 2 ꩜ (upcoming) ⤷ summary redacted

⧖ Notability .ᐟ‎ ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Natasha never looked your way… or at least, not how you wanted her to. But maybe it was silly to think that the world’s greatest spy didn’t notice you.

⧖ Said Through Blue Lips ⤷ You and Natasha have never been all too fond of each other. Leave it to a near death experience, a bout of hypothermia, and a delirious confession to change that.

⧖ Catalyst ⤷ After Tony’s words do nothing to alleviate the uncertainty surrounding your relationship status with Natasha, you find yourself going home alone… or almost home. Getting kidnapped wouldn’t be your first choice of motivator to discussing whether or not she is serious about you, but it certainly gets the job done.

⧖ Home Sweet Home ᥫ᭡ ⤷ You purchased yourself something new to try while your wife was away on a long mission. She comes home earlier than planned, but why let that interrupt your fun?

⧖ Permanently Yours ꩜ ⤷ Even three years of separation can’t erase eight years of love, can it?

⧖ A Likely Story ⤷ Both Natalie Rushman’s quick arrival and even quicker disappearance are suspicious. You wish she didn’t leave so soon.

⧖ Office Hours ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Philosophy professor!Nat x student!r ⤷ Your professor notices that you need some extra assistance understanding the material to pass her final exam. She’s determined to help you out, but you find that her methods are a little more than slightly distracting. ⧖ Office Hours pt. 2 ⤷ It may be a little petty, but in your eyes, she started it.

⧖ Take a Look ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Natasha’s never quite seen herself like this before.

⧖ Not in the Job Description ⤷ You have no idea how to physically, mentally, or emotionally handle when Natasha Romanoff flirts with you—you’re just a records technician. Well, at least she seems to enjoy your fluster.

⧖ Choose Me Too ᥫ᭡ ⤷ The presumed by everyone (including herself) touch-averse Black Widow needs physical contact like anybody else. It only took you to show that to her. Now, she just needs to convince you that touch starvation isn’t the driving force behind her want to kiss you. ⧖ Choose Me Too pt. 2 ᥫ᭡ ⤷ Now that you’ve kissed her and gotten a first taste, you can’t stop… you need to taste all of her.

⧖ Number Seven ⤷ Basketball player!Nat x tutor!r ⤷ When Natasha gets injured, the school tells her that the six weeks of no training will be the perfect break that she needs to improve her concernedly low GPA. It’s either shape up or ship out, and considering basketball is everything to the star player, the latter isn’t an option.

⧖ Table for One (For Now) ⤷ Nat x waitress!r ⤷ Same day, same time, same order.

⧖ Off the Record (upcoming) ⤷ You have to completely rebuild the idea you had of the Black Widow when you see that the woman everyone warned you about doesn't exist… or rather, exists only for people who never gave her a reason to be anything else.

The trip back to Natasha’s quarters isn’t a slow walk, it’s a flurry of frantic kisses trailing down her neck before your mouth reconnects with hers so your tongue can sloppily push its way past her lips, your hands roaming her body like you can’t get enough of her… and you can’t.

The moment you make it into her room, you’re quickly tugging at her shirt, roughly pulling at her pants, needing to remove all articles of her clothing that are preventing you from feeling her bare skin as fast as possible, needing to see her stripped and uncovered and in all her true glory.

Your hands shove up her shirt until her midriff is exposed for you to touch, and then they begin to slide lightly across her stomach, traveling to grip at her hips tightly in order to hold her to you for a few seconds before you resume trying to help her fully discard her shirt and bra.

You groan once the barriers between you two are gone, when the heat of her naked torso is flush against your body for the first time. You swear you can feel the hardness of her nipples as they press into you, and you know it’s not from just the chill of them now being out in the open. You’re immediately rolling one of the perked buds in your fingertips, unable to resist pinching at it until it peaks even more and draws a surprised noise from Natasha.

You repeat the action, wanting to elicit another one of her sounds, and then switch to the other side, skimming your thumb over her nipple and grabbing at and squeezing the softness of her breast until you’ve become thoroughly acquainted with her chest.

You shift your focus down to her pants, a damp spot still present from earlier between the apex of her thighs, soaking her leggings. You’re urgently pulling at them, attempting to rid her of her underwear simultaneously, Natasha assisting you by kicking the last barricade of clothing away.

And all the while, you’re still trying to kiss her. Your lips remain stubbornly locked onto hers with no space or breaks allowed. After your first kiss, gentle and lingering—you wanted to convey every bit of affection and desired intimacy you have for her—you’re now eager and desperate for more, everything in you begging to never let your lips part. Your kisses are no longer light touches. They’re haphazard and chaotic, tongues and teeth clashing with overwhelming need.

Natasha is moaning almost nonstop into you, sounds of pure pleasure escaping before getting swallowed by your mouth with each press of your lips, with each hot brush of your tongue against hers.

You pull back for a moment, your voice a mere whisper, in awe. “You’re so vocal,” you murmur, and when Natasha flinches despite your soft tone, you freeze as you realize that you’ve made another mistake.

“I- I’m sorry,” the redhead says weakly, and your heart breaks as you see the nervousness and embarrassment and shame visible on her face as she thinks she’s done something wrong.

For so long she’s been performing—to those she’s had to seduce or bed or sleep with for missions, to the people she had to pleasure without receiving anything in return, to everyone that came before you. Her sounds have always been theatrical, sensual in the way she knows will be regarded well, an inauthentic display intended to simply turn on the other person. They were never honest. And now that they are, she doesn’t know how to believe they’re not imperfect now that they’re not rehearsed.

You never want her to feel like that with you, to believe that she has to stifle any of her expressions, stifle any of the pleasure she experiences. You’re kicking yourself for your careless words, for the way you should’ve known how they could possibly be taken.

It gets worse when Natasha tries to pull away, to fully extract herself from up against you.

“No, no, Natasha, you have nothing to apologize for,” you try, holding her, keeping her right where there’s still no distance between your bodies. “I didn’t mean it like that. I love how you sound.”

Your words don’t remedy the situation like you were hoping, Natasha still worrying, and she says sorry again, small and subdued.

The repetition of her apology, the way she’s still shrinking back despite your steady grip and sincere gaze, despite your reassurance, makes your guilt twist further. One of your hands raises from her waist to cup her cheek. “I wasn’t complaining, I swear. I want to hear you; I want all of you—vocal, candid, loud—however you are.”

Natasha looks up at you uncertainly, still afraid of overstepping some invisible line that doesn’t exist, will never exist with you. “I didn’t mean it,” she says quietly.

“Didn’t mean to, what? Be loud for me? Moan for me? Fuck, I meant it when I said that I want that. Don’t apologize for making noises; don’t apologize for reacting how your body wants. Don’t hold yourself back for me, for anyone.”

She tries to compose herself, to untense her shoulders, to convince herself that you truly desire her even when unfiltered and unrestrained and undiluted, but it’s hard.

You slowly walk her backward to her bed, gently pushing her down until she’s laying back on the mattress and looking up at you as you stand over her. You blanket yourself on top of her body. Your words clearly aren’t enough, so you’re going to show her just how much you love her sounds, show her just how much you want her in this moment and every moment after.

You kiss her again, this time long and drawn out, pouring every ounce of adoration you have for her into it, trying to coax another moan, another whimper, another anything out of her, but you get nothing back. Your heart breaks again as you realize what she’s doing, as you see the way she’s holding back, trying hard to control herself because she thinks that her reactions aren’t something you desperately desire from her.

She doesn’t understand that the very thought of hearing her—her mewls, her whines, her gasps and panting—is something you’ve dreamed of.

“Please don’t be quiet for me,” you tell her, “Not ever.”

Natasha’s silent.

“Natasha,” you breathe out, “I need you to be loud. Your sounds are addicting.”

You begin to trail lazy kisses down the column of her throat, teeth scraping lightly against her skin, trying to entice her to make any noise. When she finally lets out something small, breaking her silence, unable to suppress it, you smile against her at your success.

“There it is,” you whisper, “Now, louder for me.”

She moans again at your demand, as you pick up where you left off, your mouth reattaching to her neck. You’re careful not to mark her despite your desire to—she’s so new to genuine attentiveness, after all, and you’re not sure how it would be received—but Natasha once again catches you off guard.

“Harder,” she pleads after a slightly firmer but still mindful bite.

You pause, pulling back to gaze at her, needing confirmation that you heard her right.

She whines at the new distance, weaving her fingers through your hair to try and tug you back in. “Harder,” she requests again, “Please.”

“Any harder and I’ll leave marks,” you warn her. Her unfamiliarity with touch, her insecurity… you’re unsure if she knows what she’s asking for, if she actually wants the reddened skin that’s going to follow your teeth and mouth.

“Please,” she says again, “I want them; I want everyone to know you touched me.”

And she does. Natasha wants there to be physical proof that you made her feel good, wants something that she can stare at in the mirror tomorrow and the next day and maybe the next, wants evidence that not only a person but you cared enough to give her something instead of take, that you spent time revering her instead of exploiting her.

You soften at her begging, at her words, at the look in her eyes, and when you move back to her neck, you mouth at it a little harder, suck a little more forcefully, dark marks instantly blooming in your wake. Your tongue laves over the areas to soothe the sharpness you know she’s feeling, but Natasha doesn’t seem to care. If anything, she seems to enjoy the dull sting, marveling in the consequence of your bites.

Your begin to continue down her body, descending to her collarbone and leaving more trails of love bites as you go, making your way to her chest where you swirl your tongue around one nipple before heading to pay attention to the other, licking a path down her stomach, nipping at her hipbone, and then positioning yourself at the foot of the bed in between Natasha’s thighs. Your mouth waters at the sight of her laid out before you, the wetness and need of her pussy more than obvious. You lean in closer, and the scent of her hits you hard, your eyes fluttering for a moment as you simply revel in it.

Her hips rise off the mattress impatiently, needily, trying to get her heat to come in contact with your mouth, but all it does it tease her more when you remain just out of reach, your warm breath now puffing against her slicked-up folds.

You stay just centimeters from her core, drawing out her desperation, her whines getting louder and more uninhibited with each second you refuse to give in. Eventually, you can’t keep the denial up. You need to taste her, to envelop yourself in her arousal, to get it to drip down your chin, and so you close the distance, licking a slow stripe from her entrance up to her clit before flicking the sensitive bud a few times, testing the waters, trying to determine what feels good to her.

You groan at the initial taste of her, savoring the flavor as it coats your tongue. “Fuck, you’re so wet, so sweet,” you murmur into her pussy in between licks.

Natasha’s legs try to snap shut at the stimulation, overwhelmed already, and your hands move up to grip her thighs, fingers digging into the plushness, keeping her spread open for you and your mouth.

You bury yourself into her pussy, wanting to smother yourself within, to practically suffocate in her folds. You want her to stay on your tongue for days after this, want to have her juices flood your mouth as you eat her out messily, your lips wrapping around her clit and sucking lightly.

Another moan leaves Natasha, and you keep up the suction just enough for her to whimper at how close she’s getting toward falling over the edge before pulling back.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you mumble against her core, the vibrations only adding to her stimulation. You shift to push one of her legs over your shoulder to give you better access. With the increased distance between her thighs, you dive back in, this time plunging your tongue into her hole, pushing in as deep as you can go.

With your previous reassurances, Natasha is now anything but quiet, sounds leaving her in a continuous succession. When you go back to her clit, you’re rewarded with a high-pitched noise that you’ve never heard from her before.

“You make the most perfect sounds,” you tell her softly before returning to your work.

Natasha’s hips are rocking, rutting up to get more of you, and you can tell she’s close yet again. Her eyes are screwed closed, her mouth parted with erratic breaths, and you decide to add your fingers, using them to replace your tongue.

One finger enters her, and then two, and she can’t believe that you’re able to wreck her to the extent you are right now. You start thrusting in and out at a fast pace, knowing she only needs a little more for the world to feel as though it’s tilting on its axis from pleasure.

Her face is flushed and gorgeous as your fingers drive into her, your hand slippery from her juices making the slide of your fingers in and out of her pussy almost too easy. Every breath of hers comes out as a moan and when you curl your fingers and are given an even louder cry, you know you found the right angle to hit that spot inside.

“Come for me,” you say gently, eyes locked onto her blissed out and focused expression, “I want you to come all over my tongue; I want to taste you as you do.” And then you’re hungrily lapping at her clit once more as you drag your fingers against her inner walls, rubbing parts of her that she didn’t know existed. You feel her getting tighter, pulsating around your digits as you continue your steady pumping, her legs shaking around your head.

Natasha falls apart in just mere seconds, her hips grinding down onto your face and fingers in an uneven rhythm after you speak to her in that tone of voice that indicates you are just as needy for her as she is for you. Everything seems to spin—the world tilts further—and then she’s floating on a high she never thought she could reach. If she thought earlier was good, she didn’t realize you hadn’t given her everything you had yet, didn’t realize that your hot mouth, your talented fingers, your unobstructed efforts, could affect her like this.

You slowly halt your movements when her trembling begins to subside, removing your fingers from within her in favor of stroking her inner thigh instead, the touch meant to soothe now instead of stoke fresh heat.

She’s still overwhelmed, still overcome by the feelings no one’s ever taken the time to give her before, but your caresses, your proximity, your closeness—both physically and emotionally right now—threaten to cause her heart to beat out of her chest while also settling the frenzied thumping behind her ribs.

“Feeling okay?” you ask.

She just nods her head. Natasha’s not yet certain that she can form words, but she after more than a few composing seconds, she tries. “I’m good,” she mumbles, barely successful at managing to talk, “Better than good.”