Welcome to my Masterlist. I write for Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. I may also take requests in the future. This is an 18+ page, so if you're under that age, please leave this page. Enjoy reading!
(you do not have permission to repost or copy and paste my work anywhere)
- Wolves.
Natasha Romanoff
Resurrection Series - Angst
Having woken up with no memory of the past three years, you try to fix the broken pieces of your former life, while also trying to find out what happened to you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The earpiece clicks once, soft, clean, and final, and your world narrows into a neat channel of sound.
Static. Breath. The faintest digital whine.
Then Wanda’s voice slides into your ear like a blade being drawn slowly from velvet.
“Positions.”
It isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. Wanda Maximoff doesn’t raise her voice in the field unless she wants the whole world to remember she can.
You press two fingers to the comms on instinct. “Copy.”
Around you, the city is a gray mouth held open by smoke. Night rain slicks the cracked asphalt and turns the gutters into thin rivers of ash. A siren wails somewhere in the distance, then abruptly cuts off like something reached up and pinched it shut.
The building ahead is a squat concrete block dressed up as a humanitarian front. The name on the sign is cheerful, rounded letters meant to reassure, RELIEF SERVICES, while the windows are blacked out and the corners are too sharp to belong to anything honest.
Inside, there are hostages.
Inside, there are armed men with cheap rifles and expensive confidence.
And inside, somewhere in the middle of all that human fear, is the reason SHIELD called in the Avengers in the first place an experimental power core stolen out of a secure lab, humming with the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms lift and your teeth ache.
You crouch behind the destroyed shell of a car, rain ticking softly on the roof above you. Your vest sits heavy over your chest, the ceramic plate reassuring in a way that feels almost superstitious. Your fingers are steady on your weapon. Your breathing is controlled.
You’ve been trained by the best.
And by her.
Wanda’s team doesn’t move like chaos; they move like a sentence written in sharp ink. Everyone has a place. Everyone has a job. Everyone knows the cost of getting sloppy.
There’s a shift to your right. A trainee, newer, younger, adjusts their grip too fast. Their shoulder jerks. Their eyes flick up and down the building like they’re trying to count threats by staring harder at them.
You catch it, because you always catch it. You do what you’ve been taught to do: you assess, you predict, you correct.
“Breathe,” you murmur, not into comms, just into the rain. “Slow.”
The trainee swallows and nods too hard.
Wanda’s voice returns, crisp and clean. “Natasha. East entry. Clint, overwatch. Steve, you’re with me on the front breach. Y/n--”
Your throat tightens a fraction. That pause before she says your name always does something to you, even when it shouldn’t.
“--you’re with the hostages,” Wanda finishes. “You prioritize them. You do not chase targets. You do not improvise.”
It’s direct. Commanding. Exact.
And underneath it, if you know her the way you do, there’s a second layer of meaning.
You come back.
You come back.
You come back.
Your lips part around a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding. “Copy. Hostages first.”
“Good girl,” Wanda says, so quietly you almost miss it under the rain and the comms hiss. The words hit the inside of your ribs like a thumb pressed to a bruise--firm, intimate, grounding.
Across the street, Steve gives a hand signal and the front line shifts. Natasha slides like a shadow along the east wall, so smooth she might as well be the night itself. Clint is already a silhouette somewhere high above, bow drawn, watching.
Yelena’s voice crackles into comms like she’s leaning too close to the mic. “I am in position. And if any of you die, I will be very annoyed.”
“Comforting,” Natasha replies without missing a beat.
“It is my love language,” Yelena says, and you hear the grin in her voice.
You almost smile. Almost. You don’t let yourself.
Wanda doesn’t banter. Not before a breach. Not when civilians are involved. Not when there’s too much that can go wrong.
She is, always, control.
That’s what SHIELD saw in her when they asked her to supervise training rotations. That’s why they paired her with you when you arrived, half-broken and too useful to ignore.
You weren’t born into this world.
You were dropped into it.
One day you were somewhere else, somewhere that didn’t have streetlights, didn’t have coffee, didn’t have the mundane, stupid comforts of Earth. Somewhere the sky was too close and the air tasted metallic and your power felt like a sickness trying to crawl out of your bones.
You survived.
You adapted.
SHIELD found you because something bright and wrong lit up their satellites. They brought you in with a soft voice and a hard hand. They called you an asset and smiled like it was kindness.
Wanda was the first person who didn’t talk to you like you were a weapon.
She talked to you like you were a person holding a weapon, and there is a difference so sharp it still cuts when you think about it.
She corrected your stance with two fingers at your elbow, not a shove.
She watched your breathing when your power spiked, not your hands.
She kept you in training longer than anyone thought necessary, because she refused to throw you into the field until you trusted your own body again.
And when you’d flinched once, once, at a sudden sound and everyone else had looked at you like you’d proven them right about you being unstable, Wanda had stepped closer, gaze steady, and said:
“Again.”
No pity. No fear. Just expectation.
You learned to meet it.
You learned to become someone she could trust.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, somewhere between her hands on your wrists adjusting a grip and her eyes on you during a sparring match like you were the only thing worth watching, something in her shifted.
It wasn’t obvious. Wanda is not obvious.
But you noticed.
Because you notice everything about her.
The way her gaze lingers a fraction too long on your mouth when you talk.
The way she says your name when she’s angry, like it’s a restraint.
The way she is harsher with everyone else, and softer with you in the small places she thinks no one can see.
In the field, she never touches the other trainees unless she has to.
With you, she’s always one step closer than necessary.
Always within reach.
Like she’s afraid the world will steal you if she doesn’t keep a hand on the thread.
“Breach in three,” Steve says on comms.
Wanda inhales.
You hear it.
Even over the line, even through the static, you hear the control in it.
Then: “Two.”
You shift your weight, muscles coiling. Your path is mapped, west hallway, down to the holding room. Wanda’s intel says the hostages are in the back, behind a metal door. Your job is to get to them, shield them, get them out.
“One.”
The front wall explodes inward with controlled force. Not Wanda’s magic, Steve’s charge, clean and brutal. Dust blooms into the rain like a gray flower.
The world lurches.
You move.
Everything becomes sound and motion and training.
You sprint, low, weapon up, eyes scanning. The air inside the building is warmer, stale, smelling of sweat and fear and old concrete. A man shouts in a language you don’t understand. Another one screams.
Gunfire erupts, sharp, fast, echoing off the narrow hallways.
Your heart doesn’t race it works. Steady. Efficient.
You take the west corridor, boots splashing through rainwater tracked in, and you are halfway down when the trainee behind you does exactly what Wanda told them not to do.
They improvise.
They break formation.
They push ahead, eager, trying to be heroic, trying to prove something.
You see it like a slow motion nightmare: their shoulder breaks into the open doorway on the left, their body exposed, their weapon angle wrong.
And from inside the room, a muzzle flashes.
Hostages.
The shooter isn’t aiming at the trainee.
He’s aiming past them.
At a woman crouched behind a table, hands over her head, eyes wide and wet in the dim.
You don’t think.
You don’t hesitate.
You throw yourself into the line.
The impact is a sledgehammer to your chest.
Your vest catches the bullet, your plate does its job, so there’s no clean hole, no neat wound, no immediate red blooming through fabric.
Instead, the force drives into you like a car crash compressed into a single point.
Your ribs feel like they fold.
Your lungs forget how to be lungs.
You hit the floor hard enough that your vision whites out at the edges.
Sound becomes underwater.
You try to inhale and nothing happens.
Your body sucks at air like it’s never done it before, like the motion is unfamiliar, like you’re drowning in dry space.
A wet sound tears from your throat.
Blood spills into your mouth, hot and metallic, and you cough--instinctively, violently
and it sprays out in a dark arc across the concrete.
The smell is immediate.
Iron.
Panic.
You claw at your chest, fingers scrabbling over the vest like you can rip your way back to breathing if you just try hard enough.
The trainee screams your name.
You can’t answer.
Your world tunnels into the savage need for air.
Somewhere above you, Wanda’s voice slices through comms.
“Y/n?”
It’s not command.
It’s fear, sharpened into a single syllable.
You try to speak. You can’t. Blood bubbles at your lips instead.
Your hand lifts, weak, reaching for nothing.
“Y/n,” Wanda says again, and you hear her moving, fast, too fast. The air hums. The building itself seems to vibrate with the sudden flare of red.
Steve says something, your name, an order, but it’s swallowed by the roar in your ears.
Footsteps thunder.
And then Wanda is there.
She drops to her knees so hard the concrete should bruise her. Her hands are on you immediately, everywhere, too many points of contact, like she’s trying to anchor you to the world by force.
Her fingers find your jaw, tilt your face up. Her other hand grabs the front of your vest, yanks at the straps with violent precision.
“Look at me,” she says, breath trembling on the words. Wanda Maximoff’s breath does not tremble. She is the calm in the storm.
Except right now.
Right now her hands shake so slightly you feel it in the way her fingers press into your skin.
You try to open your eyes. Your lashes are wet, rain, tears, blood spray, you don’t know. Everything is blurry. Wanda’s face is a dark shape edged in red light.
You cough again.
Blood pours out, thick and relentless, and you make a horrible, choking sound because it’s blocking everything.
Wanda’s eyes widen, pupils blown.
“No,” she whispers, like she can refuse reality into changing.
Her magic flares, scarlet threads curling around your torso, probing, searching, trying to assess damage the way a medic would, except it’s Wanda so it’s like being touched from the inside.
You feel it catch on something, your ribs, your lungs, and her breath breaks.
“moye serdtse” she murmurs, voice cracking. Something soft and Sokovian, something that sounds like a prayer and a promise at once. “moya lyubov'… stay with me.”
You don’t understand the words, but you understand the tone.
You understand the way her thumbs stroke your cheeks like she’s trying to soothe you while you’re actively dying.
Your chest heaves. Your lungs flutter uselessly, bruised and flooding. The world tilts.
You can’t get enough air.
You can’t.
Your fingers curl into her sleeve like a child’s grip, desperate, begging.
Wanda makes a sound, small, broken, furious. Her gaze flicks once, sharp as a whip, toward the room where the shooter was.
There’s a man with a rifle staring in shock. There are hostages pressed into corners, crying.
And there--standing frozen in the doorway, pale as ash--there’s the trainee.
The one who moved wrong.
The one who made you throw your body into a bullet’s path.
Wanda’s face goes blank.
Not calm.
Blank.
It’s the expression she wears when she’s about to do something that can’t be undone.
Red light crawls up her fingers.
The air thickens.
The trainee whimpers.
“Wanda,” Steve says on comms, firm. “Stay with her. We’ve got--”
Wanda doesn’t answer.
Her gaze locks onto the trainee like a target.
And then Natasha is there too, because Natasha Romanoff misses nothing. She drops beside Wanda, one knee hitting the floor, and her hand clamps around Wanda’s wrist.
Hard.
“Maximoff,” Natasha says, low. “Eyes here.”
Wanda’s jaw flexes. Her nostrils flare. Her magic surges against Natasha’s grip like a living thing trying to lunge.
“You--” Wanda starts, and it’s not even aimed at Natasha. It’s aimed at the universe.
Natasha doesn’t let her finish.
“Later,” she says, like it’s a promise and a warning. “Right now, you keep her alive.”
Wanda’s eyes flick back to you.
The sight of your blood at your mouth, the way your chest won’t rise properly, the panic in your gaze, something in her fractures.
She leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. Her breath is ragged in your face.
“Breathe,” she says, voice shaking now. “Breathe for me, detka. Please.”
You try.
You cannot.
Your throat makes a horrible wet rasp.
You see it in Wanda’s eyes the moment she realizes the truth:
You aren’t just hurt.
You are going to suffocate.
Your airway is failing.
Your lungs are failing.
You are drowning in yourself.
“Nat,” Wanda whispers, and there is naked terror in it. “She--”
“I know,” Natasha says.
Yelena’s voice crackles through comms, suddenly sharp. “Why is everyone quiet? Who is bleeding? Is it you? If it is you, I will--”
“Shut up,” Natasha snaps, then immediately softens her tone like she remembers you can hear her. “Yelena. Med kit. Now. West corridor. Run.”
“I am running,” Yelena says indignantly, and you hear pounding footsteps in the background and the clink of something metal. “I am always running in this family.”
Wanda’s hands are still on you. She’s already ripping open the front of your vest. The straps tear. The plate shifts. Cold air hits your skin.
Your chest is already blooming with bruising, a dark, ugly spread under your collarbone. Wanda’s fingers trace it as if touching it gently might undo it.
She presses two fingers to your throat, checking.
Her magic pulses, probing deeper.
And then she goes still.
Her eyes flick up, meet Natasha’s.
A silent exchange passes between them, the kind only people who have seen too much can have.
Natasha’s voice is grim. “Airway’s going.”
You want to say something. Anything. You want to tell them you’re here, you’re trying, you’re not ready, your mind throws a thousand words at your tongue and none of them get past the blood.
Wanda cups your face with both hands now like she’s afraid your head will roll away if she lets go.
“Stay with me,” she repeats, and this time it’s not a command. It’s a plea. “Stay, stay, stay…”
Your vision swims.
The edges darken.
You hear comms like a distant radio in another room.
Steve barking orders. Gunfire. Hostages crying. The mission still happening around you while your whole world becomes the brutal, humiliating fact that you can’t breathe.
Wanda’s thumb presses at the corner of your mouth, wiping blood away with a tenderness that feels obscene in a battlefield.
“Please,” she whispers again, and you realize she’s crying, not openly, not dramatically, but there’s a wet shine gathering in her eyes that makes your chest ache even more than the injury.
Yelena skids into the hallway, breathless, and drops to her knees across from you.
She takes one look at your face, at the blood, the panic, the way your lips are starting to tinge wrong, and she loses her usual sharpness for a beat.
“Oh,” she says, very quietly. “Okay. This is bad.”
“Stop narrating,” Natasha mutters.
“I am not narrating. I am observing. There is difference.”
Yelena fumbles the med kit open, hands moving fast but not smooth. She’s excellent at violence. Comfort is… not her natural habitat.
“Hi,” Yelena says to you, and her voice does something awkward, tries to be warm, lands somewhere near blunt. “Do not die. It will upset Wanda and she will then kill everyone and I will have to clean up mess.”
You might laugh if you weren’t drowning.
Wanda glares at her without looking away from you. “Yelena.”
“What? I am soothing,” Yelena insists, offended. “This is soothing where I am from.”
“Not helping,” Natasha says.
Wanda’s magic pulses again, and you feel it coil around your throat. Not choking. Supporting. Trying to keep tissue open, trying to hold a pathway where your body is collapsing.
But magic can’t change blood flooding your airway fast enough.
Natasha’s eyes track your breathing, or lack of it, and her decision is immediate.
“There’s no time,” she says.
You hear the knife before you see it, the soft metallic whisper as she draws it from its sheath.
Your eyes widen.
Wanda’s head snaps up. “Natasha--”
Natasha doesn’t flinch. “Cric,” she says, like a code. “She’s obstructing. She’s going to suffocate.”
“No,” Wanda says, and you don’t know if she’s denying the plan or denying the reality.
Natasha’s gaze is steady. “Wanda. Hold her.”
Wanda’s face twists. Her hands tighten on your jaw like she’s holding you together by force of will. Her magic flares around you, red threads whipping, frantic.
“You are not cutting her,” Wanda hisses, voice low and feral.
Natasha leans closer, voice even lower. “Then watch her die.”
The words hit like a slap.
Wanda’s breath stutters.
Your chest convulses with another useless attempt at air. A wet gurgle tears out of you. Your vision spots.
Wanda makes a sound, raw, torn, and then she nods once, jerky, like it costs her everything.
“Do it,” she whispers.
And then, because Wanda Maximoff cannot help but be Wanda, she leans down and presses her forehead to yours, hands cradling your face so gently it hurts.
“Look at me,” she says, voice trembling like the edge of a breakdown. “Stay with me. I am here. I have you. I have you…”
Her words wrap around you like a blanket and a chain at once.
Natasha positions herself at your throat. Her movements are precise, practiced. She’s done this before. The fact makes something cold slide down your spine.
Your mind screams.
Your body tries to pull away.
But you can’t move. You’re too weak, too panicked, too trapped in the simple animal need for oxygen.
Wanda’s magic presses you down, not cruel, not painful, just… holding. Immobilizing. Protecting you from yourself.
“Detka,” Wanda whispers, and the pet name lands like a kiss on your forehead. “I am so sorry. I am so--”
The knife touches your skin.
Cold.
You choke on a sound that isn’t a word.
Pain flashes, white, brutal, immediate, as Natasha makes the incision. It’s sharp and clean and it tears a cry out of you so raw it doesn’t sound like you.
Wanda’s hands shake around your face. Her eyes are wide, wet, furious at the universe.
“Breathe,” she says, over and over, like a spell. “Breathe, breathe, breathe…”
Natasha works fast. The world is reduced to sensation: the sting at your throat, the pressure, the awful awareness of something opening where nothing should open.
And then air. Not perfect. Not gentle.
But air hits you like a miracle.
You suck it in through the new passage with a harsh, ugly gasp that makes your whole body spasm.
Your eyes roll back for a second.
You come back with a strangled sob.
Wanda’s face crumples.
She lets out a broken breath like she’s been holding her own lungs shut this entire time. Her forehead stays pressed to yours as if she’s terrified you’ll disappear if she lifts it.
Yelena swears softly in Russian--something that sounds like both relief and rage.
Wanda laughs once, a wet sound that isn’t humor. It’s hysteria brushing the edge of her control.
She kisses your temple--quick, fierce--before she seems to realize what she’s done.
Her eyes flick around.
The trainees nearby stare like they’ve just witnessed something sacred and terrifying.
Because they have.
Wanda Maximoff does not do tenderness in front of them.
She does not show weakness.
She does not kneel.
Except she is kneeling now, covered in your blood, hands cradling your face like you are the only living thing in the world.
Her voice drops, so low it’s almost not comms anymore--it’s just for you.
“My love,” she whispers in Sokovian, words trembling on her tongue. “My heart. Don’t you dare leave me.”
You can’t answer. You can’t speak around the tube and the pain and the shock.
But your hand moves, weak, trembling, and finds her wrist.
Your fingers close around her like a promise.
Wanda’s eyes snap to your hand.
She inhales sharply.
Her magic surges in response, filling the hallway with a low red glow that makes the concrete look like it’s bleeding too.
“Command,” Steve’s voice barks on comms. “We need evac on west--now. Hostages moving. Clint, cover. Natasha--”
“I’m here,” Natasha answers. “We’re stabilizing. She needs a bird.”
“On it,” Clint says. “Clear the roof.”
The mission continues, because it has to.
But Wanda doesn’t move.
Wanda’s world has narrowed to the pulse under your skin and the fact that you are still looking at her.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Even if it’s through a wound.
Yelena leans closer, awkwardly patting your shoulder like she’s trying to remember how humans work.
“You did very good,” she tells you, voice strained. “Very… heroic. Next time, do not be so heroic. It is very inconvenient.”
You manage a small, painful exhale that might be a laugh.
Wanda shoots Yelena a look that could kill.
Then Wanda’s gaze slides past you, past the blood, the shattered hallway, the hostages being guided out by Steve
to the trainee still standing frozen, shaking.
The one who caused this.
Wanda’s face changes again.
Her grief doesn’t vanish.
It weaponizes.
She lifts her head slowly, eyes locking on the trainee like a predator sighting prey.
The trainee flinches backward. “I--I didn’t-- I thought--”
Wanda rises in one smooth motion, still keeping one hand on you as if she refuses to break contact. Her magic coils around her arms in lazy, deadly ribbons.
Everyone in the hallway feels it.
The temperature dips.
Even Natasha’s posture shifts, ready, cautious.
Wanda speaks, and her voice is Supervisor Maximoff again--except now it’s laced with something ancient and cruel.
“You thought,” she repeats softly.
The trainee swallows. “I-- I was trying to help--”
Wanda steps closer.
Red light spills over the trainee’s face, painting them in the color of consequence.
“You disobeyed a direct order,” Wanda says, tone calm in a way that makes your stomach turn. “You broke formation. You exposed civilians. You exposed her.”
The trainee’s eyes flick to you, wide, guilty, horrified.
Wanda follows the glance.
Her hand tightens on your shoulder, possessive even in your half-conscious state, like she’s claiming you with touch.
“She is not your lesson,” Wanda says.
The trainee’s lip trembles. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”
Wanda’s gaze sharpens. “Sorry does not reverse bruised lungs. Sorry does not refill blood. Sorry does not stop her from drowning.”
The trainee starts to cry.
Wanda doesn’t soften.
Natasha steps between them, voice low. “Wanda. Not now.”
Wanda’s eyes flash. “Move.”
Natasha doesn’t move.
Wanda’s magic flares.
Natasha’s hand goes toward her own weapon, not because she expects to use it on Wanda, because she expects to need it to stop Wanda from doing something irreversible.
And then you make a sound.
A wet, rasping inhale through the tube.
A small, broken noise of pain.
Wanda freezes like the sound has struck her physically.
Her head whips back to you.
Your eyes are open, barely, glassy, unfocused, but they’re on her.
There is fear in them.
Not of the injury.
Of her.
The realization hits Wanda like a punch.
Her jaw clenches. Her breath shudders.
She turns away from the trainee like ripping herself free of a temptation.
“Get them out,” she snaps at Natasha, at Steve, at everyone. “Now.”
Steve doesn’t argue. “Moving.”
The hallway becomes motion again, boots, voices, the shuffle of terrified civilians being guided toward the exit. The sound of rain grows louder as doors open.
Wanda drops back down beside you like gravity pulls her there.
She presses her palm to your sternum, gentle, careful, feeling the horrible instability under your skin. Her magic threads into your chest again, soothing bruised tissue as best as it can, trying to reduce swelling, trying to keep your lungs functioning.
Her eyes never leave your face.
“Stay with me,” she says again, quieter now, stripped down to truth. “Please. Please.”
You want to tell her you’re trying.
You want to tell her she’s scaring you and saving you at the same time.
You want to tell her you’ve never felt so held.
Your hand moves again, trembling, and you touch her cheek.
Your fingers smear blood on her skin.
Wanda closes her eyes for half a second like your touch is the only prayer she believes in.
She leans into your palm, breathing hard.
Then she kisses your fingers.
Right there, in the hallway, surrounded by team and trauma and rain.
A small, instinctive act.
Claiming.
Comforting.
Love slipping out despite her iron discipline.
Natasha watches it, expression unreadable.
Yelena’s brows rise in silent, startled recognition, like she’s seeing the shape of something she suspected but never had confirmed.
And the trainees, your team, stare like they’ve just learned what it means to be hers.
Because Wanda has favorites.
Everyone knows she’s harder on some trainees than others. That she demands more, pushes more, expects more.
But with you it has always been… different.
With the others, she says Again.
With you, she says Breathe.
With the others, she corrects mistakes like they’re technical.
With you, she watches your face like she’s reading your soul.
And now, with you bleeding and broken on the floor, Wanda isn’t a supervisor.
She’s a woman on her knees in the rain, desperate enough to bare her heart in front of everyone.
The evacuation bird whirs overhead before you see it, the deep thump-thump-thump of rotors slicing through wet air.
A rope ladder drops down through an opening in the roof.
Clint’s voice crackles through comms. “Roof is clear. Bring her up.”
Natasha moves first, helping position you carefully. Yelena secures the tube and stabilizes it with rough competence, grumbling under her breath.
Wanda’s hands are everywhere again, supporting your head, your shoulders, your ribs, touching you like she can’t bear not to.
Every movement makes pain flare in your chest. Your body shakes with it, weak, helpless.
Wanda’s face tightens.
“I’ve got you,” she says, and this time the words sound like a vow. “I have you.”
You cling to her sleeve again as they lift you, because you don’t know what else to do.
Because your body knows her.
The ladder is a blur of motion and rain and dizziness. Your vision smears. Your stomach lurches. The night air is cold, sharp, and it burns your new airway with each harsh inhale.
Wanda climbs beside you, one hand on you the whole way, magic subtly supporting your weight like invisible hands holding you up.
On the roof, the world opens into rain and rotor wind.
The quinjet door yawns like a mouth.
Inside, medics rush forward.
Wanda doesn’t let them take you immediately.
She stiffens the moment a gloved hand reaches for you.
“Wanda,” Natasha says sharply, right in her ear.
Wanda’s head snaps to her.
Natasha’s gaze is fierce. “Let them work.”
Wanda’s throat bobs.
She looks down at you, your blood on her hands, your eyes half-open, your breathing harsh and mechanical.
She looks like she might refuse.
Then you blink, slow, exhausted.
And your fingers twitch, still holding her.
Wanda exhales shakily.
“Okay,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Okay.”
She lets the medics move in, but she follows like a shadow, hovering so close she might as well be part of you.
They lay you on a stretcher. Straps tighten. A monitor beeps, fast and angry.
Your body shakes with cold and shock.
Wanda’s magic wraps around you like warmth, subtle enough that no one calls it out, but strong enough that you stop shivering quite so violently.
A medic peers at your throat, grim. “We need to get her to the Tower. Now.”
Clint’s voice crackles. “We’re wheels up.”
You feel the quinjet lift. Your stomach drops.
Wanda’s hand finds yours again and this time she laces your fingers together like she’s claiming you, holding you, keeping you tethered.
Her glove is wet with rain and blood.
Her grip is firm enough to hurt.
She doesn’t seem to notice.
She leans down close to your ear, voice low, trembling.
“You did not have permission,” she whispers, and there’s something sharp and possessive in it that makes your exhausted mind snag. “Do you understand me? You do not get to throw yourself in front of bullets. You do not get to leave me.”
Your eyes flutter.
You try to swallow. It hurts. Everything hurts.
Wanda’s thumb strokes your knuckles like she’s soothing a wild animal.
“I know,” she says, as if answering something you didn’t say. “I know you did it for them. I know you would do it again.”
Her breath catches.
“But you come back to me.”
The words are softer now.
Not command.
Need.
Her forehead lowers until it rests against your temple, careful of the tube.
For a moment, the quinjet noise fades behind the sheer intensity of her presence.
The smell of her, rain, smoke, something faintly sweet and human cuts through the blood taste.
You feel tears burn in your eyes, sudden and useless.
Wanda presses a kiss to your hairline.
Then another.
Then she whispers something in Sokovian, rapid and intimate--words you don’t understand but feel in your bones anyway.
A promise.
A prayer.
A threat to the universe itself.
Natasha watches from across the bay, arms crossed, expression hard.
But her eyes flick to Wanda’s face, just once, and there’s something like sympathy there.
Because Natasha knows what it looks like when love becomes a liability in the field.
And she knows Wanda is losing the war against it.
Yelena hovers awkwardly near your stretcher, then leans in as if she’s about to say something kind and immediately regrets it.
“I will… kill the trainee,” she offers instead, quietly.
Wanda’s head lifts.
Her eyes are bright with tears that never fell, full of a rage that is still there, still simmering, waiting.
“Touch them,” Wanda says, voice low as thunder, “and I will stop you.”
Yelena blinks, offended. “I am being helpful.”
“No,” Wanda says, and it’s terrifying because it’s calm. “You are being reckless.”
Yelena’s mouth twists. “Says you.”
Wanda’s gaze doesn’t leave Yelena. “I have reasons.”
Yelena glances at you, then back at Wanda, and her expression shifts into something quieter, something like understanding.
“Ah,” she says softly. “Yes. Reasons.”
Wanda turns back to you, and the whole world narrows again.
Her hand squeezes yours.
Her voice drops into that intimate frequency again, meant only for you.
“I am here,” she says. “You are not alone. You are not allowed to be alone.”
Your vision blurs.
The monitor beeps.
The quinjet hums.
And you float somewhere between pain and relief and the strange, aching fact that Wanda Maximoff is holding your hand like she might never let go again.
You want to tell her you can’t handle how much she cares.
You want to tell her you can.
You want to tell her you’re scared.
All that comes out is a wet, rasping exhale through the tube.
Wanda smiles, small, shaky, broken with relief.
“That’s it,” she whispers. “That’s my girl.”
The words wrap around you like warmth and possession.
Your eyes close.
Not because you’re giving up.
Because for the first time since the bullet hit, your body believes, truly believes, that someone else will fight for your breath when you can’t.
The quinjet lands like a verdict.
The floor shudders under the skids, rotors still hammering the air, and the moment the rear hatch starts to drop, the med bay team is already moving, gloved hands, bright lights, a stretcher rolling forward like it has its own gravity.
You feel it before you see it: the Tower’s sterile cold reaching for you.
Your eyes flutter open at the first blast of white light. The quinjet’s dim interior gives way to the hangar’s harsh fluorescents, and everything becomes too sharp, every sound too close, every vibration too loud.
The stretcher jolts.
Pain spears through your chest, then blooms outward, a deep bruised agony that makes your vision pinch at the edges.
Your hand tightens, instinctively, desperately, around Wanda’s.
She’s there. Still there.
Still refusing to be anything but there.
“I’ve got her,” Wanda says immediately when a medic tries to step in between. Her voice is calm, controlled--so controlled it’s terrifying. “Move.”
“Ma’am,” a doctor says, already walking beside you, fingers checking the tube at your throat, reading your vitals off the portable monitor. “We need clearance. We need space.”
Wanda doesn’t give any.
She walks with the gurney as if she is part of it--one hand anchored to your wrist, the other hovering over your sternum like she can physically hold your lungs together if she tries hard enough.
The hangar doors slide open. Cold air knifes in. The corridor ahead is a tunnel of bright light and polished floors, and the sound of boots on metal becomes the sound of wheels on tile.
They rush you through the Tower like a storm with a purpose.
Your world is fragments.....
ceiling lights streaking overhead
voices calling numbers you don’t understand
gloved hands pulling at straps and fabric
the smell of antiseptic replacing smoke
your own breathing, ugly and mechanical through the new airway
“No,” the lead trauma surgeon snaps, scanning you once and deciding fast. “No time. Straight to OR.”
Wanda’s head whips toward him.
“We stabilize her first,” she says, like she’s used to the world obeying her. Like she’s used to being the final word.
The surgeon doesn’t even look impressed. He looks busy.
“We stabilize her in surgery,” he says. “That tube bought us minutes, not comfort. She needs a chest drain, possible thoracotomy, and we don’t do that in the hallway.”
Wanda’s grip tightens around your hand so hard your fingers ache.
Your gaze drifts to her face--blurred, trembling at the edges--but you see her eyes.
Green, bright, wet. Furious with fear.
The doors ahead are marked SURGICAL WING in big, block letters that look too clean for what they mean.
A nurse steps into Wanda’s path, palms out. “Only surgical staff beyond this point.”
Wanda doesn’t slow.
The nurse’s voice sharpens. “Ma’am.”
Wanda stops so abruptly the gurney nearly bumps her hip.
For half a second the air thickens, and you feel it--Wanda’s power rising like a wave beneath her skin. Scarlet threads gather at her fingertips, the room responding to her emotions the way it always does.
The nurse stiffens.
The surgeon finally looks up, eyes flicking to Wanda’s hands. “Maximoff--”
Wanda’s voice is quiet. “I’m going with her.”
“No,” the surgeon says. “You’re not.”
Wanda’s nostrils flare. Her jaw flexes. The red glow intensifies until the white walls around you seem faintly pink, like the Tower itself is blushing under pressure.
Your breathing rasps. Your vision dims.
Your fingers twitch in Wanda’s grip, weak, pleading.
Not for her to fight.
For her to stay.
Wanda looks down at you.
Your eyes are half-lidded, glassy. Your lips are wrong-colored. Your chest rises unevenly under the torn vest and torn fabric, every breath a battle your body is losing more than winning.
And Wanda...Wanda can tear reality open, can bend minds and space, can rewrite the world into what she needs
but she cannot brute-force a surgical wing into letting her love you back to health.
Not without consequences.
Her expression fractures.
“Detka,” she whispers, the word spilling out like she didn’t mean to say it where anyone could hear. Her thumb strokes your knuckles, frantic-soft. “Look at me. Look at me.”
You try.
You barely manage it.
Wanda leans closer, mouth near your ear, voice trembling so quietly the doctors don’t hear the words, only the shape of them.
“Do not leave,” she says, and the plea is stripped bare. “Please.”
A tear finally escapes her lash line. It trails down her cheek, hot against the cold air.
Then her gaze flicks up, hardening, locking back into something like command.
She squeezes your hand once. Firm. Grounding.
“Stay,” she repeats, softer now. “I will be right here when you wake.”
It’s a promise, and something in her eyes dares the universe to break it.
The nurse steps forward again, gentler this time, like she recognizes the edge Wanda is standing on. “Ma’am. You can’t--”
Wanda’s fingers loosen around yours.
Not because she wants to.
Because she has to.
The separation is immediate and brutal.
Your hand falls back against the stretcher. The air where Wanda’s warmth was feels suddenly empty, too cold, too wide.
Your eyes flutter.
Panic spikes, sharp and animal.
Wanda reaches for you again on instinct
Natasha’s hand appears on Wanda’s forearm.
Not grabbing. Not restraining.
Anchoring.
“Wanda,” Natasha says, low. “Let them work.”
Wanda doesn’t look at Natasha.
Her eyes stay on you as the gurney rolls forward, wheels squeaking softly. The surgical doors swing open like a mouth.
You disappear through them.
And for a heartbeat--just one--Wanda looks like someone has ripped out her lungs and left her standing upright anyway.
The doors close.
The corridor falls into a sterile, horrible quiet.
Wanda stands there, hands still half-raised like she expects you to reappear any second.
Her palms are smeared with your blood.
Her clothes are damp with rain and battle.
Her breathing is ragged.
And then, with a slow turn of her head, she looks down the hall.
The trainee is there.
Hovering at the edge of the corridor like a child waiting outside a principal’s office. Eyes red. Face pale. Hands shaking.
The sight of them is a match struck in a room full of gas.
Wanda turns fully, cloak of control snapping back over her like armor.
“Emergency leadership meeting,” she says, and the Tower seems to listen. “Now.”
A nearby agent hesitates. “Commander Maximoff, we--”
Wanda’s gaze flicks to him.
The agent’s mouth shuts.
Her voice remains quiet. “Notify Fury. Hill. Medical chief. Training oversight. Bring the trainee.”
The trainee flinches like they’ve been slapped. “Wanda, I--”
Wanda takes one step toward them.
One.
They stumble backward.
Natasha moves with her, matching her pace, voice low. “Wanda. She’s in surgery. This can wait.”
Wanda’s eyes flash--bright, feverish with fear and rage. “No.”
Natasha’s jaw tightens. “This is you trying to control something you can’t.”
Wanda’s lips peel back in something that isn’t a smile. “Yes.”
Then she turns and starts walking, fast and purposeful, boots striking tile like a countdown.
Natasha follows. Yelena appears around the corner, still in tactical gear, brows lifted.
“What is happening?” Yelena asks.
Wanda doesn’t slow. “Meeting.”
Yelena’s eyes widen a fraction. “Ah. Someone is in trouble.”
Natasha shoots her a look. “Not the time.”
“It is always time,” Yelena murmurs, then falls into step anyway, because whatever this is--whatever Wanda is about to do--you don’t leave a hurricane unattended.
They move through the Tower’s arteries--security doors opening at the sight of Wanda’s face, agents stepping aside with rigid respect, conversations dying mid-sentence as she passes.
The whole building feels it.
The Scarlet Witch walking with purpose.
Not floating. Not dramatic.
Just… inevitable.
They reach a conference room on an upper level--one of the ugly, functional ones with reinforced walls and a table too large for comfort. A screen on one end displays mission telemetry still live. A thin smell of coffee lingers from whoever was here before they got summoned.
Director Hill is already inside when Wanda arrives, tablet in hand, expression tight. Fury appears a moment later, coat open, eye sharp.
Two training supervisors, a medical chief, and a security lead file in behind them.
Everyone takes in Wanda at once.
The blood on her hands.
The rain in her hair.
The look in her eyes.
Hill’s voice is careful. “Maximoff--what happened.”
Wanda doesn’t sit.
She stands at the head of the table like it’s her throne and the world has forgotten that fact.
“She is in surgery,” Wanda says, and the words are flat, like she’s saying the sky is blue, except everyone in the room feels the weight of it.
Fury’s jaw tightens. “Status.”
Wanda’s fingers curl against the tabletop.
Her nails are short. Controlled.
But the wood beneath her palm creaks faintly.
“Blunt-force thoracic trauma,” Wanda says, voice precise. Clinical. Like she’s reciting a report. “Pulmonary contusion. Internal bleeding. Airway compromise.”
The medical chief nods grimly. “We’re doing everything we can. She’s in the best hands.”
Wanda’s eyes snap to him. “She should not be in surgery.”
No one speaks.
Hill’s gaze flicks toward the trainee--who was brought in by an agent and is now standing near the door like they wish they could dissolve into the wall.
Hill’s voice is sharp now. “Was this a training failure.”
Wanda turns her head slowly.
Looks at the trainee.
The room goes colder.
“It was disobedience,” Wanda says. “It was ego. It was stupidity wearing a uniform.”
The trainee’s voice breaks. “I didn’t mean--”
Wanda’s hand lifts.
Not pointing. Not waving.
Just lifting.
The trainee’s mouth clamps shut like an invisible fist closed around their throat.
Yelena makes a small interested sound. Natasha’s posture tightens.
Fury’s voice cuts in, calm but edged. “Maximoff.”
Wanda’s gaze doesn’t move. “Do you know what I told them before the breach?”
The trainee’s eyes glisten with tears. Their hands shake harder.
Wanda answers her own question. “I told them not to improvise. I told them to maintain formation. I told them their job was support, not heroics.”
Her voice rises--not louder, but sharper. Each word a blade placed carefully on the table.
“They disobeyed. They stepped into an open doorway, exposed civilians, and forced her-” Wanda’s breath catches on the pronoun like it cuts her throat. “--forced Y/n to take the line.”
Hill’s expression hardens. “Is that accurate.”
The trainee nods frantically, tears slipping down their face. “Yes--yes, ma’am. I-- I panicked. I thought I could--”
Wanda’s hand tightens on the table.
The lights flicker.
A pen on the far end rolls, then lifts an inch off the surface like the room itself is recoiling.
“You thought you could,” Wanda repeats, and her voice---God, her voice is so calm it becomes the most frightening thing in the room.
Natasha steps closer, low in Wanda’s ear. “Wanda. Don’t.”
Wanda turns, just enough that Natasha can see her face.
And it’s not rage alone.
It’s terror. It’s grief. It’s love with nowhere safe to go.
Wanda looks back at Hill and Fury.
“You put her on my team,” Wanda says. “You assigned her to my supervision because you knew she was different. You knew she was… vulnerable.”
Fury’s eye narrows. “Don’t do this, Maximoff.”
Wanda’s lips part in a humorless exhale. “Do what. Tell you the truth?”
Hill’s expression is brittle. “Wanda--”
Wanda cuts her off.
“No,” Wanda says, voice finally cracking with heat. “No. You will listen.”
The room stills.
Even Fury doesn’t interrupt.
Wanda steps away from the table and paces once--one tight loop like a caged animal trying to find the seam in the walls.
“She came to us from somewhere none of you can pronounce,” Wanda says, voice low and venomous. “She learned our language. Our procedures. Our rules. She put her fear in a box and labeled it ‘handle later’ because that is what you asked of her.”
Her throat works.
Her hands tremble for half a second.
She curls them into fists to hide it.
“And today,” Wanda continues, eyes bright, “she bled out on a concrete floor because someone decided protocol was optional.”
The trainee makes a small broken sound.
Wanda whips around. “Do you know what it sounded like.”
Silence.
Wanda takes a step toward the trainee.
The air vibrates.
Natasha moves with her, ready to intervene if Wanda goes too far.
Wanda’s voice drops to a whisper that carries anyway.
“Do you know what it sounded like when she couldn’t breathe.”
The trainee sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I swear--”
Wanda’s magic pulses out involuntarily, scarlet pressure that makes the trainee’s knees buckle.
They drop to the floor with a choked gasp, palms braced on the tile.
“Wanda,” Hill says sharply, taking a step forward.
Fury’s voice is iron. “Enough.”
Wanda’s head snaps toward them.
Her eyes are wild now.
“Enough?” she repeats, incredulous. “Enough is what you say when someone breaks a vase.”
She points at the trainee--one sharp motion.
“This,” Wanda says, voice shaking now with restrained fury, “is what you say when someone breaks a person.”
The lights flicker again. The screen behind Hill glitches for a second.
Yelena mutters, almost reverent, “Oh, this is good.”
Natasha shoots her a look that could cauterize steel.
Wanda inhales.
Her chest rises, falls.
She forces herself back into control like it’s a physical act.
Then she speaks again, colder.
“This trainee is removed from field operations effective immediately,” Wanda says. “They will not touch a weapon on a mission for the next six months. They will be reassigned to support and simulation only. They will retrain from day one under direct observation.”
Hill opens her mouth
Wanda cuts her off again, eyes flashing. “And they will apologize. To her. When she wakes up.”
Fury’s tone is clipped. “You don’t get to dictate punishment.”
Wanda’s smile is sharp. “Then you do it. Right now. Tell me what consequence exists in this building that equals the sound of her choking on blood.”
No one answers.
Because there isn’t one.
The medical chief clears his throat carefully. “Commander… the surgical team will update us soon. This--this meeting--”
Wanda’s head snaps toward him. “I called you because I want you to understand something.”
She steps closer to the table again, palms flattening against it, leaning forward like she’s about to bite the world.
“If she dies,” Wanda says, and her voice goes so quiet it chills the room, “you will not have a Scarlet Witch problem.”
Everyone stills.
Fury’s eye narrows to a lethal slit. “Maximoff.”
Wanda’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“You will have a Wanda Maximoff problem,” she corrects softly. “And I will not be reasonable.”
Natasha’s hand clamps onto Wanda’s shoulder--hard. Grounding. A warning only Wanda can feel.
“Wanda,” Natasha says, low. “Don’t say things you can’t take back.”
Wanda blinks once.
A tear slips down her cheek.
She doesn’t wipe it away.
“I don’t care,” Wanda whispers, voice breaking at the edges. “I don’t care about reasonable.”
Her eyes flick toward the closed door behind which your body is currently being cut open to keep you alive.
Her breath trembles again, and this time she doesn’t hide it.
“I told her to come back,” Wanda says, and the words are almost childlike in their rawness. “I promised her.”
The room shifts. Even Hill’s face softens for a fraction.
Fury’s expression stays hard, but his voice lowers. “Maximoff. Go to the waiting area. Let the doctors work.”
Wanda’s gaze snaps back, sharp. “No. I’m not leaving this floor.”
Hill exhales. “Wanda--”
Wanda turns, eyes cutting to the trainee one last time.
The trainee is still on the floor, shaking, tears dripping onto tile. Terrified. Guilty. Ruined.
Wanda’s voice is lethal calm.
“You will remember this for the rest of your life,” she says. “Because if she wakes up and asks me why she got hurt, I will tell her the truth.”
The trainee sobs harder.
Wanda looks back at leadership, and all softness drains from her face again.
“I am going to the surgical wing doors,” Wanda says. “I will wait where I can see her come back out.”
Fury’s jaw tightens. “That’s not how this works.”
Wanda’s eyes flash. “Watch me.”
And she turns on her heel.
Natasha follows immediately--because Natasha knows you don’t let Wanda Maximoff walk through a hallway like that alone. Yelena trails behind, strangely quiet now.
As Wanda strides out, the meeting room remains frozen for a beat.
Hill looks at Fury. “She’s in love with her.”
Fury’s expression doesn’t change. “I know.”
Hill’s voice is tight. “That’s a problem.”
Fury’s eye flicks toward the door Wanda left through, then toward the surgical wing down the hall as if he can see it through walls.
His voice is low.
“So is losing the girl.”
Wanda reaches the surgical doors and stops so abruptly it’s like she hits an invisible wall.
The corridor here is quieter. Cleaner. The air smells like antiseptic and cold metal.
A sign reads AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Wanda stands under it like a threat.
Her hands are still stained red.
Her breathing is too shallow.
Natasha stops beside her. Doesn’t speak. Just stands.
Yelena leans against the wall and folds her arms, eyes on Wanda like she’s watching a bomb and trying to guess when it will go off.
Minutes pass like hours.
Then the surgical doors swing open
and Wanda’s entire body snaps tight like a bowstring pulled to breaking.
A doctor steps out, mask lowered, eyes tired.
Wanda’s voice is barely a whisper.
“How is she.”
The doctor looks at her hands, at her face, at the blood, and seems to decide honesty is safer than soothing.
“She’s alive,” he says. “But it’s critical. We’re still working.”
Wanda’s knees almost buckle.
Natasha’s hand catches her elbow, subtle, quick, before she can fall.
Wanda doesn’t thank her.
She just stares at the doors like she could will them open.
Like she could climb inside and hold your lungs in place with her bare hands.
Her voice breaks, raw and quiet.
“Tell her,” Wanda whispers, eyes shining. “Tell her I’m here.”
The doctor nods once--because even if he doesn’t know how to handle gods and witches, he knows love when it’s bleeding in front of him.
“I will,” he says, and disappears back inside.
The doors swing shut again.
Wanda stands there, unmoving.
Waiting.
Breathing only because you are.
The minutes don’t pass like minutes.
They pass like punishment, each one stretched thin, each one sharp at the edges.
Wanda doesn’t sit.
Natasha tries once, quietly, to guide her toward the chairs in the corner of the corridor. Wanda doesn’t even look at them. It’s like the concept of resting has been deleted from her body.
She stands in front of the surgical doors the way she stood in front of you on the battlefield--like if she holds her ground hard enough, nothing gets through.
Not death.
Not bad news.
Not the universe.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattles and then fades away. An intercom chirps and a voice calls a code you don’t understand.
Wanda understands nothing but the absence of you.
Her hands are still stained. Someone tried to offer wipes. She ignored them.
She keeps flexing her fingers like she can still feel your pulse in her palm.
Natasha leans on the wall beside her, arms crossed, eyes forward. The picture of calm--except every few minutes her gaze flicks to Wanda like she’s taking silent measurements: how close to the edge, how close to breaking, how close to burning the world down.
Yelena paces once, then stops, then paces again. Finally she mutters, “This is stupid. Humans are too fragile.”
Natasha doesn’t answer.
Wanda doesn’t move.
A nurse appears once, glances at Wanda’s face, and decides to walk the other way.
Time keeps dragging its nails down the corridor.
Wanda’s throat works around air that feels too thin. She stares at the surgical doors so hard it starts to feel like she’s trying to peel them open with her mind--not to invade, not to interfere, but to see you.
To confirm you’re real.
To confirm you didn’t evaporate into a nightmare the moment they took you away.
Her lips part on a whisper that is barely sound.
“Please.”
Natasha hears it anyway. Natasha always does.
“You did what you could,” Natasha says quietly.
Wanda’s eyes flick to her--bright, feverish. “I did not.”
Natasha’s jaw tightens. “Wanda--”
“I should have been faster.” Wanda’s voice is flat, merciless. “I should have seen it before it happened.”
“You can’t predict every idiot move a trainee makes,” Natasha says, controlled.
Wanda’s expression twists--pain, rage, grief, all braided together. “I can. I should. That is my job.”
Natasha exhales through her nose. “Your job is not to carry every loss like it’s your fault.”
Wanda’s gaze cuts back to the doors. “It’s not a loss,” she says, like the word itself is poison. “Not yet.”
Another stretch of silence.
Then, soft footsteps.
A shift of air.
The surgical doors swing open.
Wanda’s body reacts before her mind does. Her shoulders lift like she’s bracing for impact. Her hands curl into fists. The red in her veins rises, instinctive--protective, vicious, ready.
A surgeon steps out.
Mask lowered. Face drawn with fatigue. A smear of something dark on his sleeve.
Wanda’s voice comes out wrong--too quiet, too raw.
“Tell me.”
The surgeon looks at her like he understands he’s holding a match over gasoline. He chooses his words carefully.
“She’s alive,” he says.
Wanda’s breath leaves her in a sound that is almost a sob, almost a laugh, almost a collapse.
Natasha’s hand clamps on Wanda’s arm, steadying her without comment.
The surgeon continues, tone clinical, because that’s what he has to do to stay upright in a world where people break.
“Vest did its job. But the blunt force--she took significant thoracic trauma. Multiple rib fractures, severe pulmonary contusion. We placed a chest tube and stabilized internal bleeding. The airway incision bought us the time we needed.”
Wanda listens like a statue.
Like if she moves, the words will change.
“She’s sedated,” the surgeon says. “She’ll be in the ICU. We’re keeping her on oxygen support. She’s going to be in pain when she wakes up.”
Wanda swallows. Her eyes are wet, but her expression is fierce. “Can I see her.”
The surgeon hesitates--because they always hesitate with Wanda. Because she’s power wrapped in human skin, and people are never sure where the line is.
“Briefly,” he says. “One at a time. No touching the airway site. Keep it calm.”
Wanda nods once. Sharp. Immediate. Like she’ll obey any rule on earth if it gets her to you.
The surgeon steps aside.
The doors open wider.
And Wanda moves.
Not fast.
Not like the battlefield.
She walks like someone approaching a chapel, like the air itself might shatter if she breathes too hard.
Natasha follows a step behind, then stops at the threshold when a nurse lifts a hand.
“Only one,” the nurse says gently, and her eyes flick to Wanda with something like reverence and caution.
Natasha pauses, then nods once. “I’ll be right here.”
Wanda doesn’t look back.
She steps through.
The ICU is dimmer than the hallway, blessedly so. The lights are low, the air cool, the sound softened, machines humming and beeping in steady patterns, like the room itself is designed to keep panic from taking root.
You’re there.
In the bed.
Too still.
Your skin looks too pale against the sheets. Your hair is damp and tangled, a trace of dried blood near your mouth that someone tried to clean. Your chest rises and falls, shallow, assisted, stubborn.
There’s tape at your throat where the incision was. Tubing, oxygen, monitors.
A chest drain line curves from your side under the blanket.
Your hands are resting near your hips, palms slightly curled like you fell asleep mid-reach.
Wanda stops at the foot of the bed.
For a second she doesn’t move.
Like she can’t trust her legs to carry her closer.
Then she takes one slow step.
Another.
Her breathing catches on the sound of the monitor.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Life, reduced to electricity and rhythm.
She comes to your bedside and just… stands there, staring, eyes dragging over every bandage and tube like she’s memorizing them, like she’s counting proof that you made it through something that should’ve taken you.
Her hands hover in the air, unsure where to go. Wanda Maximoff--who can grab the fabric of reality and pull--looks helpless for the first time in a way that is almost unbearable to witness.
Her lower lip trembles.
She clamps her jaw to stop it.
A soft sound escapes her anyway, a broken little exhale.
“Oh, detka…”
She reaches out--slow, careful, obeying the rules like they’re sacred--and cups your cheek with the backs of her fingers, barely there.
Not touching the tape. Not tugging anything. Just… reminding herself you’re warm.
Your skin is warm.
You’re warm.
Wanda’s eyes close for half a second, and when they open there’s a shine in them that isn’t just tears.
It’s relief so violent it looks like pain.
She leans down until her forehead rests against the edge of the mattress near your shoulder, careful, controlled.
Her voice drops to a whisper meant only for you.
“You scared me,” she says, and it’s not an accusation. It’s a confession. “You scared me so badly I couldn’t think.”
Her fingers tremble against your cheek. She presses a kiss there, gentle, almost nothing. A brush of lips like a vow sealed in secret.
Then another, to your temple.
She swallows hard.
“You did everything right,” she whispers, like she needs you to hear it even through sedation. “You did what I trained you to do. You protected them.”
Her breath hitches.
“And I am so…” Her voice cracks. She inhales, tries again. “I am so proud of you.”
A tear slips down and drops silently onto the blanket.
Wanda doesn’t wipe it away.
She straightens slowly, gaze sweeping your face again, and her expression shifts, softness giving way to something possessive and resolute, the same steel that kept her on her knees beside you in the hallway.
She leans closer, mouth near your ear.
“Listen to me,” she whispers, voice trembling with the weight of command and love tangled together. “You come back. You heal. You wake up and you look at me, and you let me--”
Her throat works.
She exhales shakily.
“--you let me take care of you.”
Wanda’s hand slides down to your fingers. She doesn’t lace them. She doesn’t squeeze too hard.
She just places her fingertips against yours, like she’s afraid too much pressure will shatter the moment.
“You are not leaving,” she says, voice low and certain like she’s speaking it into existence. “Not on my watch.”
The monitor keeps its steady rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
And Wanda stands there, breathing with you, eyes locked on your face as if she can will you awake through sheer devotion.
Outside the glass, you can faintly make out a dark shape, Natasha, waiting exactly where she promised, arms crossed, silent guard at the door.
Wanda doesn’t look away from you.
Not even once.
Because you’re here.
Because you made it.
Because for the first time since the bullet hit, the world feels like it’s stopped trying to steal you, and Wanda Maximoff, your supervisor, your shield, your secret, finally allows herself one fragile, trembling moment of peace.
Summary: 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.
The idea started from this request
18+
Author's note: Some porn with feelings.
It was a hard mission for Natasha.
No, it wasn’t just a hard mission; it’s been multiple. Over and over. Back to back.
She’s exhausted, and despite having just returned from one, she’s sure that tomorrow, she’ll be summoned for another. It seems like there’s just crisis after crisis these days. Infiltrate this organization, retrieve that intelligence data, handle and escort yet another asset across country lines… and do so through whatever means necessary.
She collapses onto the common room sofa, leaning back against the cushions, eyes slipping shut.
It’s late. No one else is up. She just needs one moment to…
Natasha’s disturbed by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Her eyes reopen tiredly to find you gazing at her, confused and concerned. Well, no one else was supposed to be up.
“Rough mission?” you ask her.
She sighs. She doesn’t want to get into it.
You understand her exhale; you don’t push. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just coming to grab a glass of water. I’ll be out of the space shortly.”
“It’s alright,” she murmurs, and she’s not sure she wants to—she’s had quite the past 72 hours—but it’s you, and she’ll always be soft for you. “Anything in particular keeping you up?” she questions.
You hum. “Not sure,” you reply, “Anxiety, probably. Stress, maybe.”
Natasha gets that. “Wanna sit?”
“Sure.” You’re surprised at the offer—Natasha really looks like she’d prefer to be alone—but you accept anyway, unwilling to turn down the opportunity to spend time with her. You make your way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with some water before walking into the common room and settling on the couch beside the redhead, a comfortable amount of space between you two, perhaps a larger amount of space than usual for two friends.
Natasha’s not one for closeness, for intimacy, and she’s made that abundantly clear time and time again. It’s not uncomfortable, being this far from her, but you wonder what it would be like if she ever let you close the distance.
Her eyes fall closed once more, and silence blankets the both of you.
She looks so small right now. You want to offer something—anything—to comfort her, to soothe and alleviate whatever shadows from her mission may still be clinging to her.
But you don’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to talk, and she’s always rejected physical contact before: Steve’s friendly pats on the back, Wanda’s hugs, your casual linking of arms as you walk side by side.
But tonight, she looks so small, so worn out. You can’t help but try, and you’re willing to admit that you could use some closeness as well.
“Do you maybe… want to come here?” you ask hesitantly, certain that she’s going to reject your offer, but your arms open to welcome her on the off chance she chooses to accept.
And although she doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t even answer with certainty, to your shock, the redhead nods.
Maybe she senses that you need this, maybe it’s just for you, but she’s giving you it anyway.
It doesn’t take long.
Natasha’s head is pressed against your chest as she lets herself just be amazed by the steady sound of your heartbeat beneath her ear. Your arm is draped over her waist, keeping her flush against you, as you gently swipe your thumb back and forth across her hip. Your legs are tangled with hers as you two lounge together on the sofa, something on the TV playing quietly in the background, barely paid attention to by her in favor of reveling in your presence instead.
She’s trembling, everything within her at war. She’s never truly let herself get this near to someone else, and her instincts are both screaming at her to push you away and begging her to tug you even closer. Her nerves are on fire, every part of her body humming at the feeling of being in touch with another, and although lingering unease still swirls in her stomach, there’s also a sense of comfort that comes from being against you.
Everything is new, unfamiliar, and addicting.
She begins melting with each passing moment, relaxing into your hold, her tension unfurling as she surrenders to the sensation of just being held. Her own hands rise to settle around you, to grip at your shirt, the fabric clutched between her fingertips, and a soft sound escapes her, unbidden, as she nestles as if burrowing into your chest.
But it’s not enough. She needs to be closer.
So, Natasha situates herself more firmly against you, curling into you further, trying to gain even more physical contact. Her body moves without her thinking, acting on its own, shifting until she’s then fully on top of you, straddling you, her face soon back to being buried deeply into the crook of your neck, her nose nuzzling the curve of it, brushing the delicate skin there.
You suck in a surprised breath at the sudden change in positions, not having expected Natasha to make such a move. She’s been letting you take the lead, letting you guide her through all these new and hopefully gratifying feelings, but now, here she is, zero space between your hips and hers, her face tucked into you so close that you can feel every warm breath of hers on your throat.
Your hands instinctively grab onto her hips, trying to steady her, to settle her—you can feel the tremors in her body—and Natasha whimpers as the heat from your palms practically sears through her leggings.
You can sense the change, but you don’t understand it.
She grinds down lightly, testing without knowing it, and whimpers again at the ever so slight friction she receives. Her eyes flutter shut.
Your brows furrow at her neediness, but it’s not just neediness; it’s longing. Something is stirring within her, unlocking, making itself known, and you wonder…
You’re not sure you have a right to ask, not sure you have a right to know, but the way she’s acting right now—desperate, wanting, like she’s never felt the touch of someone who was touching her to simply worship her—makes you think. “Have you ever…” you trail off.
“What?” Natasha asks breathily, eyes opening to look at you, trying to focus on your face and your words despite her hips still lightly grinding into your own. She can’t stop them.
“Have you ever…” you try again before rephasing, “Has anyone ever made you come before?”
She stiffens in your arms, and you know you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve made so much progress with her tonight, gotten her to open up to you, to trust you, to let you touch her. You don’t want that to go away, but she does try to pull away, to sit up and move out of your arms, to remove herself from the vulnerable position she’s put herself in.
Your grip on her tightens minutely, attempting to keep her close, fingers resuming trailing soothing patterns along her as if that will get her to stay despite your misstep.
Neither of you two speak. You’re too worried about ruining what was already a fragile moment, and Natasha, she’s embarrassed, ashamed, not sure what she’s supposed to say in the face of the question that she is taking as an accusation.
She’s Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, known for using her body to get what she needs, known for seduction and sex and lust from others, and yet here she is, about to admit that she’s never been touched in a way that’s fulfilled her before.
“No,” she finally murmurs, quietly, almost inaudible, “It’s always just been a job. It’s always just been about the other person. I’ve never-”
You’re still silent, letting the new knowledge of how Natasha’s only ever been used sink in. You remember how her body moved against your own of its own accord, remember the whimper she made in response to her grinding. She needs this. You make a decision.
“Let me do this for you,” you murmur, pulling her upwards onto your stomach instead of your hips, beginning to mouth gently at the curve of her neck. You can feel her body still rigid in your arms, and although you don’t know if you should, you decide to press your luck, your tongue slipping out to hotly slide along her jawline. “Let me show you what real pleasure is. Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.” Your words are said against her skin, and it makes her shiver with want.
Natasha’s eyes drift shut again, and for a moment, just like earlier when you offered her your touch, you think that she’s going to decline, that she’s going to roughly shove herself off of you and tell you to fuck off and never talk to her again, but then she breathes out a small “please”, and it’s all the permission you need.
You can already feel her pulsing along the muscles of your abdomen, so you waste no time. Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of her pants and underwear, dipping themselves into her folds, just feeling her wetness, taking in her heat, and Natasha shudders. It’s not the first time she’s been touched there, but it’s the first time it hasn’t felt like it was for somebody else.
You watch her expression soften as she surrenders to the sensations, and you soften as well.
“I’m going to show you just how good it can feel, just how good you deserve to feel,” you whisper to her, and Natasha’s body yields further, falling limp against you as she prepares herself to simply let herself feel and enjoy it this time.
It’s not a mission, not an assignment, not something that has to be done. This is a choice that she gets to make for herself.
“Tell me what you want. Anything you want, it’s yours,” you tell her as you start to circle her clit, just light circles before pressing down on the sensitive bundle of nerves more firmly, drawing a long whine from the redhead.
You continue teasing her, moving down to her entrance to gather more of her slick before returning to her clit, tapping lightly, swiping across it, using your two fingers to brush and skim and stroke with varying pressures.
For a while, Natasha is speechless, driven into an overwhelmed quiet by your ministrations, but her body aches, her pussy aches, and she needs you to fill her.
“Inside,” she finally gasps out, hips starting to rock up to try and get your fingers to slip into her hole, to delve into her and explore.
You immediately comply, your fingers swiftly entering her. You want to give her whatever it is that she needs. Tonight’s about her.
Natasha’s eyes roll back. She’s felt something similar to this before, felt the fullness and the stretch, but her pussy has never wanted to hold someone within, her pussy has never been desperate for more, her pussy has never throbbed for another person.
You drag your fingers out only to shove them back in, curling them to try and find the spot that the redhead needs, and a whine escapes her again.
Your eyes snap up to look at her face when she makes the noise.
“Right there?” you ask softly, and she nods, her head bobbing up and down multiple times.
“Right there,” she affirms, tone hoarse, voice shaky. Her hips are rolling to meet your every thrust, her body lighting up under your touch. Her hands grip at your shoulders as if that will stabilize herself as you continue pumping into her, and despite her thoughts scattering as the world blurs around the edges, she can’t help but think about one thing: she wants to kiss you.
One of her hands moves to tangle in your hair, to try and draw you closer, to try and pull your head toward hers so she can at first graze her lips against yours. It’s not that she hasn’t kissed anyone—she has many times before—but tonight feels different, this feels different, you feel different.
You acquiesce for a moment, dipping yourself forward until you realize what her goal is, and then you’re pulling away. Although there’s a smile on your face, it’s resigned.
You think she doesn’t know what she’s doing.
Natasha whines for a third time, but this time, it’s out of petulance at being rejected, and she tries to tug your face back to hers again.
You speed up your motions to distract her from her current fixation on your lips, and Natasha’s body arches as you succeed. Despite your movements being restricted by her leggings, you’re quickly taking her up to the edge that she’s always heard contains nothing but pleasure, the pressure building fast and hot inside of her.
And then… it releases. It’s nothing like she’s ever experienced before. She wasn’t aware it could feel like this.
Natasha’s reveling, savoring, basking in the feeling that follows an orgasm—a real orgasm—but… it wasn’t just an orgasm. It was an orgasm given to her by you.
She’s almost recovered after a minute or so, her chest still rising and falling unsteadily, her heartbeat still thumping rapidly in her chest, and she falls back onto her side on the sofa to look at you, her eyes soft. You look so beautiful in front of her. Her hand comes up to frame your face, and you lean into the touch, smiling at the affectionate gesture.
Now’s the moment, right? You didn’t kiss her during the act, but that didn’t mean anything. You were busy; you were preoccupied.
“Can I kiss you now?” Natasha asks hopefully, gaze not leaving your face.
Everything about this moment is tender, the haze of all that has transpired still hanging over the two of you and throughout the room… or maybe just over her.
You pull away from her hand, and your eyes turn… not guarded, but acceptant of the belief you already have.
When you respond, your tone is still gentle, so gentle, but it makes the redhead flinch anyway. “Natasha,” you murmur, and she knows you’re going to reject her again before you even continue. “You’ve never had this before, never felt like this before. I know you needed this, and I’m happy to have given it to you, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that you want me.”
Natasha’s heart breaks. After all this, you think she doesn’t want you?
When she doesn’t respond, you take her silence for confusion. “Don’t confuse your body’s need with what you want,” you explain more.
“No, no, that’s not-” Natasha breaks off, “I do want you. I do.”
You look at her with a mix of disbelief and sympathy, and it kills her. She doesn’t want your pity; she wants your trust.
“You think I would’ve let just anyone touch me?”
You open your mouth to respond, but she cuts you off.
“You think I would’ve let just anyone fuck me?”
“You’ve never-”
“It doesn’t matter that I’ve never been with someone like this before, I want you.”
“You’re just touch starved-” you protest.
“I’m able to tell the difference between touch starvation and feelings. You believe me. You have to believe me.”
She can tell by the look in your eyes that you don’t.
“Every other time, it’s always been for a job, with a goal in mind, but this time, it was a choice. I got to choose. Please don’t demean that; please don’t take that away from me.”
“Natasha,” you try one more time.
“After all that, don’t you… don’t you choose me too?”
It’s your turn to melt for the night, and your hand cups her cheek, fingers caressing her face as you finally lean in and give her what she’s been asking for.
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader The Loud House - 5 years later
But love built this family. And maybe love is what will hold it together.
Masterlist | General Masterlist
Chapter Summary: we talk to the kids
w/c: 6.6k
Note: We're all adults here, right? 😉
You were on a redemption tour of sorts.
You wanted to be intentional with your family again. You needed to be.
Your kids were growing right before your eyes, and while you’d always been active and involved, that wasn’t necessarily what they appreciated most from you. Not really. Quality time had always been the thing that kept your family close. It was how you stayed in the know.
You’d always silently judged parents who didn’t know their teenager’s favorite music, best friend, or what they were nervous about lately. You’d scoff at the fathers at the firm who bragged about only paying a couple of hundred dollars in child support, like it was a badge of honor instead of embarrassment.
You weren’t that type of parent.
You never would be.
Today was about Paige.
Charlie had bragged endlessly about the basket she got when she first got her period. It had become somewhat of a tradition after Cara. But for Paige, you knew a basket alone wouldn’t really do it.
Which was how the two of you ended up at Off The Record, a small mom-and-pop record store tucked into the city, smelling of old paper sleeves and incense.
Paige was your youngest girl and, unsurprisingly, the most detached in a way. Independent. Reliable. Sometimes, too much so for a child who was only nine going on ten.
Sometimes you missed when she used to cling to your leg every waking second, wanting nothing except to be wherever you were.
Now she wandered.
Browsed.
Built little pieces of herself privately.
You looked over at her now as she stood at the counter, seriously explaining to the cashier what kind of music she liked while flipping through stacks of CDs. Paige was taller now. Long-legged and expressive with her hands when she got excited. Her hair was pulled into two pigtails that bounced every time she turned her head.
“…and my sister says Lauryn Hill changed her life,” Paige informed the poor cashier with complete seriousness. “So I probably need to hear that too.”
You smiled to yourself before looking away quickly, suddenly overwhelmed by how fast all of this was happening.
“Mom,” she called suddenly. “I’ve never listened to a full Mariah Carey album before, have I?”
“We’ve listened to some singles, but never a full album, no,” you shook your head.
Paige gasped softly like this was a genuine parental failure.
“So can I get that too?” she looked up at you with wide puppy eyes. “And maybe Taylor Swift? Oh, and Beyoncé. I’m old enough for her music now, right?”
“I’d say no, but I won’t deny you the queen,” you leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
Paige grinned triumphantly before immediately turning back toward the shelves.
“How much is all this going to cost me?” you muttered, finally glancing down at the price tag on a Michael Jackson Off the Wall vinyl nearby.
Your eyes widened. “Forty dollars for one record?”
Paige blinked innocently beside you. “You said whatever I wanted.”
“I always tend to eat my own words.” You mumbled.
“You’re the best mom ever,” She bounced on her toes.
You snorted softly under your breath, shaking your head as she carefully pulled another vinyl from the rack. Watching her here, excited, curious, growing into her own little person with opinions and taste and favorites, made something ache warmly in your chest.
This was what you’d been missing.
The next stop was a boba tea shop. Boba was her new obsession, and though you weren’t a big fan, you wanted to indulge her. Paige amazed you in more ways than one. She and Charlie were little fashionistas in their own ways. While Charlie was more New York chic, Paige, meanwhile, took a softer approach. Vintage denim jackets. Colorful sneakers. Hair clips shaped like stars and butterflies. Though the purse she carried was no doubt her older sister’s. You wondered if Charlie even knew.
You watched her now as she carefully stirred her drink with concentration, brows pinched.
“What?” She looked up immediately, catching you staring.
“Nothing,” you smiled into your own drink. “You’re just getting big.”
Paige groaned dramatically. “You say that every five minutes now.”
“Because every five minutes you grow another inch.”
“That’s not scientifically possible.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” she slurped loudly from her straw. “I’m literally in advanced science.”
You laughed softly, leaning back into the booth.
Outside the window, people passed by without much thought, the city moving around the two of you like always. But for once, you didn’t feel rushed to catch up to it. Cincinnati was supposed to be slower than New York. It was supposed to be your break from the big life you left behind.
Paige reached into the record bag again, peeking down at her choices for what had to be the tenth time already.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I think this is my favorite day we’ve had in a while.”
“Yeah,” You nodded. “Me too.”
Paige seemed to blush, then hid her curiosity by taking another sip of her drink.
“You want to ask something?” You guessed. She seemed a bit surprised, but then rolled her eyes at herself. You’re her mom, of course, you could tell.
“Do I look like her?” Paige asked, kicking her feet under the table. “My mommy. My birth mommy. Karen.” She felt the need to clarify. “Halmeoni always says I do, but I don’t know.”
You knew how important it was to answer truthfully. “Yes. You do.” You try to hide the sadness still in your voice. Thinking bout your best friend always brought a sense of melancholy. “You have her eyes, “ you continued. “Especially when you’re annoyed.”
Paige snorted softly.
“And your smile,” you added after a moment. A smile of your own spread wide across your face. “That little crooked thing you do when you’re trying not to laugh? That’s all her.”
Paige looked down into her drink, strangely shy now.
“She was really pretty,” she mumbled. “I mean, from all the pictures I have and the videos.”
“She was,” you agreed instantly. “And loud. And dramatic. Like someone else I know.”
That earned you a laugh.
“She sounds fun.”
“She was,” you smiled softly. “She loved really hard, too. Especially you.”
The smile on Paige’s face faded into something smaller. More thoughtful.
“You think she’d like me?” she asked quietly.
Your chest tightened so fast it almost hurt.
“Paige,” you reached across the table for her hand. “She would’ve been obsessed with you. She was obsessed with you. ”
Paige blinked quickly after that, looking away toward the window before you could fully catch her expression.
“And she didn’t die because she gave birth to me?” She asked. That question practically knocked the wind out of you. What was it with your kids and asking incredibly hard questions at random times?
But Paige was getting older now. Of course, the questions were changing too.
You squeezed her hand gently before answering.
“No, baby,” you said carefully. “No.”
Paige looked back at you immediately, searching your face to see if you were telling the truth or just trying to protect her feelings.
“Your mom got very sick after you were born,” you explained quietly. “And the doctors missed some things they shouldn’t have.”
Even now, years later, anger still flashed low in your chest when you thought about it too long.
“But you are not the reason she died.”
Paige’s eyes dropped again.
“Not even a little?”
“Not even a little,” you repeated firmly.
The boba straw bent between her fingers as she messed with it absentmindedly.
“I think about it sometimes,” she admitted. “Like… if she didn’t have me, she’d still be alive.”
You got up from your side of the booth before you could think twice about it, sliding in beside her instead.
“Oh, Paige,” you pulled her into your side immediately. “Listen to me.”
She curled into you without resistance, suddenly looking much younger than she had when walking through the record store earlier.
“Your life was never something bad that happened to her,” you murmured into her hair. “You were the best thing that happened to her. To all of us.”
Paige stayed quiet after that, small against your side as the city moved outside the window beside you.
“You really mean that?” she whispered eventually.
“With everything in me,” you answered.
“Sorry for making this sad,” She said. “I know that’s not how you want to spend your time off work.”
Your face softened immediately.
“Hey,” you reached up to move one of her pigtails from where it had fallen into her face. “This isn’t sad to me.”
She looked unconvinced.
“It’s important,” you corrected gently. “There’s a difference.”
Paige picked at her straw. “I just don’t want you getting tired of me asking about her all the time. We don’t talk about her a lot anymore.”
“Oh, baby.” You pulled her closer again without hesitation. “I will talk about Karen with you for the rest of my life if that’s what you need.”
That seemed to hit her harder than expected. She blinked quickly, trying to keep herself together in the way your kids always did when emotions caught them off guard.
“You know what your mom used to say when she was pregnant with you?” you asked softly.
Paige shook her head against your shoulder.
“She said she hoped you’d be stubborn enough to survive this family.”
A tiny laugh escaped Paige before she could stop it.
“And look at you,” you kissed the top of her head. “Bossing me around in record stores and spending all my money.”
“I’m glad you and Mama aren’t getting divorced,” She admitted. “We were really scared.”
“Me too,” you confessed. “Your Mama and I love each other and you guys too much.”
“Good,” Paige said. “Sometimes I miss it. Like when we first got here, and Cara was home. We would do all these things together.”
“Well, your birthday is next week, and I have it on record that we will all be together.” You promised. “Mama and I will try to make an effort to keep those family things going. Movie nights. Dinners. All those board games we have are collecting dust.”
“And Charlie hates me sometimes,”
You sighed softly through your nose.
“Yeah, I heard about that,” You nodded. “I’m not too happy with how that’s going between you two. I thought we solved it.”
“I guess,” Paige shrugged. “She acts like she doesn’t even want to be my sister sometimes.”
“You sound just like her with Cara,”
Paige’s face twisted immediately. “That’s different.”
“It’s really not.”
She groaned, already knowing where this was going.
“You and Charlie are a lot alike,” you continued. “Too alike sometimes. And when sisters start growing into different versions of themselves, there’s usually some bumping around.”
“She’s quitting ballet,” Paige frowned. “That’s something we always did together. I mean, I even joined because I wanted to be like her.”
You smiled at that. You remember Charlie being so excited to take her younger sister to school.
Paige pushed her drink away. “She’s changing,” she admitted quietly. “Everybody is.”
The honesty of it sat between you. You reached over, smoothing your hand over the top of her hair.
“Baby,” you said softly, “your sister growing up doesn’t mean she’s growing away from you.”
Paige looked unconvinced. “But things are different.”
“Yeah,” you nodded honestly. “They are.”
You looked out the window for a second before continuing.
“When Cara left for college, Charlie cried in her room for two days straight.”
Paige blinked. “Seriously?”
“She made Natasha drive her to campus three separate times in one month because she ‘forgot something.’”
“I did forget things,” Charlie had insisted every single time.
Paige smiled at the memory.
“Families change,” you continued quietly. “People get older. Interests change. Schedules change. But that doesn’t mean the love leaves with it.”
Paige rested her cheek against your shoulder then, quieter now.
“I don’t like it.”
“I know,” you kissed the top of her head. “Me neither sometimes. Neither do your siblings. But we’re working on it. Hey, ask her to help you with last minute things about your party. I bet she’ll answer.”
“That’s a good idea,” Paige nodded. “Can we go to one more place? The bakery on Scott?”
“Sure, we have time.”
“Great, I have ideas.” She said. You wondered what she was cooking up.
—-----
It was a great day to be outside. For Natasha, this meant sitting on the sidelines, watching as Luke and James attempted to teach Max and Midnight new tricks. She sat stretched across one of the patio chairs with her bare feet tucked under her, a pen balanced between her teeth, and her yoga manuals spread out before her. Every few minutes, she would underline something, scribble in the margins, and then glance back out at the yard.
“No, no, you have to say it with authority,” James snapped his fingers so Midnight would sit.
“Midnight,” Luke squared his shoulders. He deepened his voice and said, “Roll over.”
The dog barked once and sprinted off in the opposite direction.
Natasha smiled into her book. They’d be at this a little while longer.
The backdoor slid open behind her. Yelena stepped out carrying a bottle of water and one of Natasha’s protein bars she definitely hadn’t asked permission to take.
“You know,” she said as she settled into the chair beside her, “watching you become suburban has been one of the strangest experiences of my life.”
Natasha didn’t look up from her notes. “You say that every time you visit.”
“And every time it becomes more true.” Yelena gestured vaguely toward the yard. “You’re outside annotating yoga books while children train rescue dogs. You used to fall asleep in vents.”
“I’ve never fallen asleep in a vent,” Natasha scoffed.
“Twice you did,” Yelena shrugged. “Once in Venice.”
“You and I remember that differently,” Natasha flipped through another page. “How long are you here for again?”
“Until Kate is done visiting with the Bartons,” Yelena tore open the packaging of the bar. She bit into it, her nose scrunching at the taste. “Tastes like chocolate chalk and ass.” She dropped it onto the table between them.
“You would know what that tastes like,” Natasha muttered without missing a beat.
“You’re so funny,” She rolled her eyes. “So,” She said casually. “I can’t help but notice your wife is not home,” Yelena looked around the yard. The boys were playing some kind of game of tug-of-war with the dogs and James’ t-shirt. “Again.”
“She’s with Paige,” Natasha closed the book against her knee. She looked at Yelena fully.
“Funny, I didn’t see her kiss you goodbye this morning,” She said.
“Why don’t you come out and say what you really want to know?” Natasha raised a brow.
“No, ice cream together. No disgusting cuddling on the couch,” Yelena began to list off. “No displays of affection that make me want to hurl. I would say your marriage is in trouble.”
“You’d make a wonderful spy,” Natasha shook her head. She looked back into her chair. “My marriage is not in trouble.”
“But it’s not like normal? Tell me I’m wrong,” Yelena threw up her hands.
“You’re not wrong,” Natasha sighed. “We’ve become disconnected. But we’re trying. Actually, we were supposed to have this talk with you together.”
Yelena narrowed her eyes. “You think I couldn’t handle the truth.”
“I think you’re our child by proxy at this point,” Natasha shrugged. “You tend to dig your nose into our marriage anyway.”
"Hey, it's traumatic when you two stop flirting? The whole house becomes cold.”
Natasha laughed despite herself, shaking her head.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I am serious,” Yelena pointed at her. “You and Y/n are like… weirdly in love. It’s unsettling. So when that disappears everybody notices.”
That quieted Natasha a little. Her eyes drifted back toward the yard where Luke had now wrapped himself around Max like a backpack while James argued with him about “proper dog training techniques.
“It didn’t disappear,” Her voice was even softer now. “At least that’s what I keep telling myself. She’s been busy with work.”
“So, it’s her fault?” Yelena tilted her head.
“No,” Natasha denied. She fiddled with her hands. Very uncharacteristic. “I think it’s been building up for a while. Starting with me after that mission.”
“That was five years ago?”
“She mentioned it in an argument,” Natasha nodded. “I mean, would you really expect your wife to get over saying you wanted to abandon her and the kids? Especially without telling them?”
“You did that?” Yelena gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I almost did,” Natasha said. “I wasn’t in the right headspace after that mission. Wanda had to step in and find me, but…there’s a reason I don’t like magic.”
“But why didn’t you want to come home?”
“I didn’t feel like me anymore,” she admitted finally. Her fingers twisted together again. “And when I looked at them…” she swallowed. “I loved them so much it scared me.”
Yelena’s face softened immediately.
“I thought if I came home like that,” Natasha continued quietly, “I’d ruin everything.”
“But you still stayed,” Yelena pointed out gently.
Natasha looked back toward the house. Toward the kitchen windows. Toward the life inside it.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment.
A small, almost disbelieving smile crossed her face. “Because apparently I love my wife more than my own self-destruction.”
“And this now is payback?”
“I think it was an indicator we needed counseling together,” Natasha breathed. “We still made time. We still had our moments, but we both got too busy. Too wrapped up in emotions and jobs and the kids.”
Yelena leaned further back in her chair, staring up at the sky dramatically. “This is all way too mature for me,” she declared. “I liked it better when relationship problems were just somebody cheating or getting arrested.”
Natasha snorted softly. “You’re thirty-four.”
“And still emotionally nineteen.”
“That explains a lot, actually.”
Yelena ignored her. “I just…” she sighed, glancing over again. “You two have always felt permanent to me.”
“You know what the weird part is?” Natasha asked after a moment.
“What?”
“I don’t think either of us realized how bad it got until we stopped touching each other.”
“No more couch cuddling?” Yelena grimaced. “Tragic.”
Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it this time. “I’m serious,” she murmured. “We stopped reaching for each other.”
“When’s the last time you had sex?” Yelena asked. “Wait, too mature, again. Don’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Natasha laughed. Her sister was genuinely unbelievable at times. Though in her own head, she probably couldn’t tell her a date. There was still work to do. “I met this widow,” she changed the subject. “She has a kid, and she wants me to help her meet the kid.”
“Why you?”
“I asked the same thing…” Natasha exclaimed. She was happy for the topic change.
—-----
Paige stood right next to Charlie’s bedroom door for a long moment before finally knocking. She could hear music permeating through the door. It was slow and calm.
“What?” Charlie called through the door.
“It’s me,” Paige answered.
“Go away,” Charlie said.
Paige rolled her eyes. Typical. “I have something for you.”
“What kind of something?”
“Open the door and see,” Paige knocked again. “I’m going to drop it.”
The door finally cracked open just enough for one suspicious eye to peek through. Charlie’s curls were piled messily on top of her head and she was sporting black eye liner and mascara.
“You’re annoying,” she mumbled.
“And yet you opened the door.”
Charlie sighed dramatically before opening it wider. Paige stepped inside, balancing a box of macarons and two cups of matcha from the bakery.
“I picked these up when I went out with mom,” Paige set them on the desk. “These are your favorite right?”
“They are,” Charlie’s eyes lit up. “So, did you do the whole period basket thing.”
“I got vinyls,” Paige shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Wait, that’s way cooler,” Charlie gasped.
“I know,” Paige grinned.
“I still think it’s weird you kept it a secret from everyone,” Charlie bit into a macaron with a frown.
“It wasn’t really a secret,” Paige tilted her chin defensively.
“Then what was it?” she asked. “I mean… weren’t you scared?”
Paige was quiet for a second longer than expected.
“A little,” she admitted eventually. “But mostly I just didn’t want everybody acting weird around me. I already knew what to do.”
“But you didn't come to me,” Charlie looked over at her. “We tell each other that stuff.”
“I don’t know,” Paige shrugged again. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, okay,” Charlie let her have it. “Is that the only reason you came in here?”
“No,” Paige took another macaron for herself. “I wanted to talk about my birthday party. I was wondering if you could help me dye my hair.”
“You’re going to dye your hair?” Charlie’s mouth dropped. “Dude, moms will kill us both. You’re turning ten, not sixteen.”
“It wouldn’t be permanent or, like, my whole head,” Paige defended quickly. “Just maybe the front pieces. Or underneath.”
Charlie stared at her for another second before narrowing her eyes thoughtfully.
“…What color?”
Paige grinned immediately, knowing she’d won her over a little. “Maybe dark red?”
“Oh, that would eat,” Charlie admitted before catching herself. “Wait. No. I’m supposed to be responsible.”
“You literally have a Pinterest board called hair inspo.”
“That is private information.”
Paige laughed into her drink.
Charlie watched her for a second after that. Really watched her.
“You’re getting big,” she mumbled.
Paige groaned loudly. “You sound like Mom.”
“Well, you are.” Charlie reached over, absentmindedly fixing one of Paige’s pigtails where it had started coming loose. “It’s weird.”
“You’re weird.”
“True.”
“Maybe we could do a little trim too. I’m good with scissors,” Charlie pretended to search for them.
“No way,” Paige shook her head.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Charlie said. “But we have to ask Moms. I’m not getting grounded over this.”
“Fine,”
—----------------- —-----------------
The first thing Natasha noticed when she stepped into your shared shower was the delicate gold anklet wrapped around your left ankle. Tiny little charms glittered against damp skin every time the water hit it. It was new, and she wanted to question where you got it from, but it seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
You were carefully scrubbing around it as you hummed softly to yourself, completely unaware she’d followed you in.
For a second, Natasha just watched.
The steam curled around you, your braids pinned messily up away from your face, one of her oversized shirts abandoned somewhere on the bathroom floor outside the glass doors.
“Can I join you?” She asked, finally.
You jumped slightly, hand flying to your chest as she stepped inside anyway.
“Natasha!” you laughed breathlessly. “You scared me.”
“Mhm.” Her hands settled automatically at your waist once she was close enough. “That was the goal.” She didn’t mind the hot water splashing against her back.
You rolled your eyes, though the smile stayed as warm water splashed against both of you now.
Natasha’s eyes drifted downward again.
“When did you get this?” she asked quietly, kneeling so that her thumb brushed against the anklet.
You looked down like you’d forgotten it was there.
“Oh,” you smiled softly. “A few weeks ago. I picked it out when I went shopping.”
Natasha hummed at that, still tracing absent patterns against your ankle underwater.
You tilted your head slightly at her silence.
“What?” you asked softly.
Natasha just shook her head once before leaning down to kiss your calf.
“Nothing,” she murmured against damp skin. “You’re just pretty.”
“Just pretty?” You pulled her into your arms. The steam made your cheeks flush, or maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the feel of her bare skin against yours. “Nat, you’ve called me a lot of things over the years. Just pretty feels like an insult.”
A slow smile spread across her face. She reached up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Alright then. You’re devastatingly beautiful. You’re the kind of beautiful that makes people forget their own names. Better?”
You pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against your lip. “Hmm. Getting warmer.”
Natasha laughed, a real, unrestrained laugh that echoed off the glass walls. She pulled you closer, water streaming between your bodies. “Fine. You’re so beautiful it physically hurts me sometimes. There. Are we done rating my compliments now?”
“Depends,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss her jawline. “Are you trying to get lucky?" It sounded sexier in your head, and you both knew it, sharing a smile between the two of you. "It's been too long."
"Eight months," She said, closing her eyes after a particularly hard nip at her throat. "But who's counting?"
"Is that why you came in here?" You questioned. "To talk about my anklet and how pretty I am?"
"No. I came in here to see how long it would take to get you on your knees." Her response was quick, and you shivered despite the steam.
"It's a shame. You beat me to it." You whispered.
The water continued its steady rhythm against your skin, but Natasha’s focus was solely on the way your body moved against hers. She let out a shaky breath as your fingers traced the line of her collarbone, down between her breasts.
She bit her lip. This was what she had been wanting for so long. "I need..." The redhead started.
"I know, baby," you murmured against her skin. "I know."
Her hands tangled in your braids, gently guiding you back to her lips. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something more desperate. Months of unspoken tension, of carefully maintained distance, melted away under the hot spray of the shower.
Your hands roamed her body with a confidence that made her tremble. You knew every sensitive spot, every place that made her gasp into your mouth. When your thumb brushed against her nipple, toying with the jewelry piercing both ends, she arched into your touch with a soft cry.
"I've missed this," she whispered against your lips. "I've missed you. I wanted it to be more special for us. Dinner. Candles." Her speech was broken by pants as your other hand traveled lower, tracing patterns on her stomach.
"We can have dinner tomorrow," you murmured, nipping at her earlobe. "Or I could make you wait."
"You could," She nodded. "I came in here to be with you. Not for sex."
"Hmm," You nodded. Natasha pulled back slightly, her green eyes dark with desire and something deeper. That unwavering devotion that had defined your relationship from the beginning. She watched you for a moment, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.
"You still want me, right? Even after everything? After my stupid pride and the distance and..." Her words faltered as your fingers continued their torturously slow descent.
"Every day," you said simply, and it was the truest thing you had ever spoken. "Even when I was angry with you, I still wanted you."
That was all the encouragement she needed. Natasha surged forward, pressing you against the tiled wall of the shower as the water cascaded over both of you. Her kisses grew more demanding, her hands exploring every curve of your body.
"I love you," she gasped between kisses. "I never stopped. Not for a second."
Your response was lost in a moan as her teeth found your shoulder, biting gently before soothing the skin with her tongue. Your fingers finally reached where she wanted them most, and Natasha's knees nearly buckled at the contact.
You found her clit with ease, circling slowly at first, building tension with each pass. Natasha's head fell back against the tiles, water streaming down her face and neck as she surrendered to the pleasure you were giving her.
"Fuck," she whispered.
The water began to cool as you brought her closer to the edge. Your other hand came up to cup her breast, thumb and forefinger rolling her pierced nipple between them. Natasha's hands gripped your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as her hips began to move against your hand.
"Look at me," You commanded softly.
Natasha's eyes fluttered open, locking with yours. The intensity of her gaze nearly undid you. In that moment, there was no distance, no months of separation, no stubborn pride. There were only the two of you.
"I love you too," you murmured, and with those words, you increased the pressure, your fingers moving faster as she cried out your name.
Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her body trembling against yours as she gasped for breath. You held her through it, your movements gentling as she came down from her high.
Natasha slumped against you, her face buried in the crook of your neck as her breathing gradually returned to normal.
"Wow," she finally managed, a weak laugh escaping her lips. "Just... wow."
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Yeah."
The water was definitely cold now, but neither of you seemed to notice or care.
"I came in here innocently at first," She spoke against your skin. "Just wanted to be with you."
"I know, Tasha," You kissed the top of her head. "Get out. I'll be there in a minute."
She pulled back reluctantly, her eyes searching yours. "Don't be long."
"I won't."
As Natasha stepped out of the shower, you watched her grab a towel, her movements slightly unsteady. She caught your eye before wrapping the towel around herself, and the look she gave you was full of promise for what the rest of the night might hold.
You finished washing up quickly, your mind racing. Eight months. Eight months of distance, of carefully constructed schedules, of avoiding the one person you needed most. And all it took to break through everything was one innocent question about an anklet.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped securely around your body, you found Natasha perched on the edge of the bed. She hadn't bothered dressing, just holding the towel around herself as she watched you approach.
"I was thinking," she said as you stopped in front of her.
"About?" You asked, reaching out to tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear. You stood between her legs, caressing her face.
"About how long it's been since we had a vacation," She said, tracing the back of your thigh with the tip of her fingers.
"Hmm."
"I booked us something for the week after Paige's birthday. Paris."
Your eyes widened. "Natasha—"
"Don't," She interrupted. "No excuses. Just say yes."
You studied her face, seeing the determination in her green eyes. "What about the kids"
"My parents can handle things for a week," She said dismissively. "And I've already cleared it with Yelena to help."
You laughed softly. "Of course you have."
"So?" Her fingers stilled on your leg. "Is that a yes?"
You leaned down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Yes," you whispered against her mouth. "That's a yes."
Natasha's relief was palpable, her whole body relaxing as she deepened the kiss. When you finally pulled apart, she was smiling, a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes.
"I was worried you'd say no," she admitted.
"After what just happened in the shower?" You teased. "I'd say yes to just about anything you asked right now."
Her grin widened. "Good to know. You don't think it was too soon?"
"I think it was too quick," You clarified at her eyebrow arch. "I meant I want us to have the opportunity to go all night." You lowered your head to her neck. "Too soon isn't a thing for us after almost two decades in. That's our problem, we're working off what we think should happen or schedules and everything else. If I wanted to eat your pussy in the parking garage of the therapist's office, I would." You paused. "Don't get any ideas."
She laughed. "Noted. No parking garage cunnilingus." Her hands slid up your back, tracing the line of your spine. "But the bed is fair game?"
You hummed, leaning in to nip at her jawline. "The bed is very fair game."
Natasha's response was to capture your lips again, this kiss deeper, more demanding. Her hands roamed your body, mapping familiar territory. You responded in kind, your own hands exploring as you slowly backed her toward the center of the bed.
When the back of her knees hit the mattress again, Natasha fell back with a soft gasp, pulling you down with her. The towels between you felt like an unnecessary barrier, and she wasted no time in remedying that. She flipped the two of you, effectively pinning you.
"Much better," she murmured against your skin as she finally got you naked beneath her.
You laughed, arching into her touch as her mouth found your throat. "I agree."
Natasha took her time rediscovering your body, her lips and hands tracing every curve, every dip, every scar she already knew by heart. It was both familiar and new, like coming home after a long absence.
When her mouth finally closed around your nipple, you gasped, your fingers tangling in her damp hair. She teased with practiced skill, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with minimal effort.
"Natasha," you breathed, your hips rising to meet hers.
She lifted her head, her green eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," she said, her voice husky with need.
Instead of waiting for a response, she began her descent, pressing kisses along your stomach, dipping her tongue into your navel, smiling against your skin when you squirmed. By the time she settled between your thighs, you were already panting with anticipation.
She paused, looking up at you from between your legs. The intensity in her gaze made your breath catch.
"You're so beautiful," she whispered, and this time, the compliment felt like a revelation.
Then she leaned in, and all coherent thought ceased to exist.
The first stroke of her tongue against your clit sent a jolt of electricity through your body. Eight months of pent-up desire melted away in an instant. Natasha had always known exactly how to touch you, how to read your responses, how to push you to the brink and then pull you back, drawing out the pleasure until you were begging for release.
"Babe, we didn't lock the door." You didn't even know why the thought crossed your mind when she was tongue deep inside you.
"Then I'd guess you better be quiet so the kids don't come in," She mumbled without breaking her rhythm.
You rolled your eyes at her cockiness but didn't protest again, lost in the sensation of her tongue exploring your folds. Your hands found her hair again, guiding her as she built a rhythm that had your hips moving against her face.
When she added two fingers, curling them perfectly to hit that spot deep inside, you couldn't suppress the cry that escaped your lips. Natasha smirked against you, clearly pleased with herself as she increased her pace, her tongue working in tandem with her fingers to push you higher and higher.
The tension coiled in your stomach, tighter and tighter, until finally it snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your back arched off the bed as you called out her name, your fingers tightening in her hair as your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm.
Natasha stayed with you through it all, her movements gentling as you came down from your high. When your breathing finally returned to normal, she placed one final kiss on your sensitive flesh before crawling back up to lie beside you.
You turned to face her, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "Wow," you whispered, echoing her earlier sentiment.
She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "I thought we could be spontaneous for a change."
"So you came in from your little yoga reading session and thought, damn, I wanna fuck my wife?" You teased.
"Not exactly," She rolled onto her side to fully face you. "I wanted to talk to you about the trip, and then I saw your tits." She shrugged.
You let out a laugh, the sound filling the quiet room. "Always so romantic, Romanoff."
Natasha's smile softened, her fingers tracing patterns on your arm. "I want you again," she admitted quietly. "If you're up for it."
You raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"It's been eight months," she reminded you. "I have a lot of lost time to make up for."
The thought of another round sent a fresh wave of desire through you. You leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. "I'm always up for anything with you," you murmured against her lips.
Natasha responded by deepening the kiss, her body pressing closer to yours as one of her hands slid down to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it hardened under her touch. You arched into her, wanting more, needing more.
When her other hand slipped between your legs, you gasped into her mouth. She wasted no time, finding you already wet and ready for her. Her fingers explored with familiar confidence, stroking, teasing, building that fire in your belly all over again.
"I missed this," she whispered, her lips trailing along your jawline. "I missed being inside you."
"Then stop talking," you breathed, hooking your leg over her hip to give her better access. "And fuck me."
Natasha's response was to enter you with two fingers, slow and deliberate, drawing a moan from your lips. She set a languid pace at first, her thumb finding your clit as she moved within you. The familiar stretch, the perfect angle, it all came rushing back like second nature.
You met her gaze, seeing the raw emotion in her green eyes. Eight months of distance, of carefully maintaining space, all melting away with each thrust of her fingers. You reached up, caressing her face.
"I love you," you whispered, the words coming easily now.
"I love you too," she replied, her movements gaining speed as her own arousal grew. "So much."
You could feel her need pressing against your thigh, and it spurred you on. You rolled your hips, meeting each thrust, encouraging her to take you harder, faster. Natasha obliged, her fingers moving deeper, her thumb working your clit with skilled precision.
The second orgasm built more slowly but was no less intense. When it finally washed over you, you cried out her name, your body trembling with release. Natasha didn't stop, continuing to move within you, drawing out your pleasure until you were completely spent.
Only then did she withdraw, gathering you in her arms as you both caught your breath. The room was quiet except for your ragged breathing, the cool air from the open window doing little to cool your heated skin.
"I think we're going to need two weeks in Paris," you finally spoke.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Natasha’s never quite seen herself like this before.
I almost managed to fulfill the entirety of the request, but alas… whoopsie
18+
Author’s note: Honestly? It's just porn. The word “cock” is used in reference to the strap.
It’s initially just black, darkness surrounding her, Natasha simply reveling in everything happening to her… until a sudden, sharp stinging is felt on the inside of her thigh, your hand coming down and making firm contact with the plushness there. Her eyes shoot open, a cry of surprise escaping her mouth that progresses into a high-pitched whine when the first thing she sees is herself reflected back at her in the mirror.
God, she looks absolutely pathetic right now—fucked out in a way she’s not used to seeing, never having been forced to watch herself before—and she closes her eyes again in an attempt to avoid the sight.
“Eyes open,” you tell her, “Eyes on you, unless… you want me to stop?” It’s teasing. You know very well what the answer to that question is, how much she currently needs you to keep going, for the pleasure you’re providing her with to keep sparking under her skin and firing up and down her spine until it settles back in her core.
But still, despite her desperation, she doesn’t reply to you.
“Use your words, Natasha,” you demand, punctuating your sentence by bucking your hips up to push into her a few times.
Your actions don’t make it any easier, and you smirk as she moans, loud and uncontrolled, echoing through the room and off the walls in the way that means she’s close. You’re lucky that Tony soundproofed your quarters after the first time your and Natasha’s romps were heard throughout the night, keeping the other Avengers awake with sounds that they never wanted to become familiar with in the first place.
“No, please, please don’t stop. I’m so close. Please,” Natasha then begs, her hips rolling with urgency, her body eager for you to keep relentlessly pounding into her, eager for the heat that being so completely filled by you brings about, for the ache from deep within her that only you can soothe to lessen.
“Already?” you ask even though you’re well aware of how near she is to tipping, how near the redhead is to falling into sweet oblivion. You know the signs of Natasha’s pleasure better than she does, able to recognize every expression that twists her face, able to decipher every jerk and jolt of her body, well acquainted with every potential reaction you could receive whenever you’re fucking her.
She just nods her head, struggling to find her voice. There’s too much input, too many sensations for her to process all at once.
“I said ‘words’,” you remind her, and you decide to let up, transitioning from harsh thrusts to languid ones in order to help her answer.
It doesn’t work.
“Can’t-” She almost doesn’t get the word out. “Fuck, can’t, can’t- so close, can’t, fuck-”
You hum, the noise more mocking than understanding. “Let me help then,” you murmur, reaching your hand toward the bedside table, grabbing at the vibrator you had left there beforehand. You switch it on, and the low buzzing that begins to fill the room makes a soft, helpless noise leave Natasha as she realizes just what’s coming.
You slowly skim the vibrator along her inner thigh, dragging it lightly across the sensitive skin there, a trail of goosebumps following the path it takes. It feels like it’s miles away from where she’s throbbing for it, so her back arches and her hips buck up in impatience, trying to make contact with the toy. She lets out an unfiltered whine as the strap shifts and reangles itself inside of her, falling forward, her hands landing on your knees.
She tries to catch her breath, but you don’t allow her to.
It’s at the lowest setting, but that doesn’t mean that the vibrator’s first touch against her clit doesn’t cause her eyes to roll back in her head, her hands quickly moving from your knees to scrabble at the sheets, grabbing hold of them and crushing them between her fingers. “Fuck!” she exclaims, startled by the suddenness. Her entire being is feverish, overheated, hypersensitive. There’s both satisfaction as the vibrations finally rack through her frame but also a burning need for more.
“Keep moving,” you demand when you notice her motions falter, when she starts to let the vibrator do all the work for her.
With difficulty, she begins pushing herself up before dropping herself down, resuming burying your strap deeply within her sopping hole. Her breasts jump with every movement as she continues to impale herself on the silicone, riding you like you requested, her fingers clutching at the sheets as she rocks weakly, overcome by the feelings that make her body twitch and writhe on top of you.
“That’s a girl,” you praise, “Bouncing so sweetly on my cock. Do you see yourself? Taking me so well?”
Natasha nods, her ability to speak having been stripped away by the almost unbearable sensation of you—the one hand holding her hip feeling like a brand, your strap stretching her cunt out deliciously, the vibrator pressed firmly to her clit to the point where she doesn’t know if it’s making everything better or worse at this point.
Her eyes are half-lidded, her mouth parted with irregular breaths as she takes in the sight of herself in the mirror again. She can see every piece of her—or perhaps pieces, as it feels like you’ve torn her apart bit by bit and left her scattered around the room—laid bare before her. Her skin shines with a thin sheen of sweat, her chest flushed a bright pink as she clearly becomes fatigued from all the exertion, but she stays determined, nonetheless. She can easily make out the sticky mess between her legs in the reflection; she watches how the silicone shaft glistens with her juices every time she raises her hips up and comes off its length slightly before sinking back down.
And she begins working faster, harder, grinding in needy, clumsy circles, as if seeing herself only furthers the fire she has building inside. Her dignity was abandoned somewhere along the way, and she can’t bring herself to care when you’re stuffing her full like only you ever can.
You notice her gaze drop to where you’re both connected, staring fixatedly at how the strap rhythmically plunges in and out of her hole, slick noises mixing with her moans.
“Just look at you,” you say, “You’re dripping, soaked. This pretty pussy was just begging to be fucked like this, wasn’t it?”
Natasha warms at the vulgar way you’re talking about her, blushing at your tone, at your words, but her body betrays her, and she clenches down on the silicone unconsciously.
A coy smile appears on your face at her bashfulness, at how she tries to hide just how much she’s enjoying everything. You can’t help but tease her further. “Say it,” you request.
When she doesn’t answer, shaking her head, too embarrassed to do so, you repeat yourself.
It’s a command this time—you’re no longer asking—and she knows that, so she takes a breath in preparation to echo the crude words back at you, but you don’t give her enough time, turning the vibrator up to the highest setting, the touch causing her entire being to thrum.
Natasha jumps as the sudden increase, the switch from the soft and steady vibrations to the severe ones jarring, you giving her no warning or chance to adjust. “My pussy was begging for it!” she cries out, “Fuck! It was begging! I’m begging!”
You hum again in satisfaction when she finally gets the words out. “That’s right,” you agree, “And begging girls don’t get to come.” You turn the vibrator back down, a chuckle leaving you when you see how her eyes widen in desperation. She’s trembling with the need to finally make it over the edge you’re keeping her on; you’ve been tormenting her by dangling her release just out of reach.
“No,” she pleads, “No, please, I’m good. I’m good. I’m not begging, I’m good.”
You just shake your head, tutting. “You just said you were begging,” you remind her.
Natasha whines. It’s true. She is begging, but she’s willing to say whatever it takes right now for you to let her to come.
“I’m good,” she tries to convince you again.
You then shush her, taking pity on the redhead that’s currently been reduced to a simple, babbling mess on your lap.
“I know you are,” you reassure softly, “My good girl, always my good girl.” And then you turn the toy back up, letting the vibrations resume their assault on her sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that you know will send her careening in just moments.
When she feels the intensity spike, Natasha stops remembering how to hold herself together; she doesn’t want to hold herself together. She’s falling with no desire to catch herself as everything overloads her system and takes her apart. Her release crashes through her and makes her forget how to breathe altogether, both her inhales and exhales stuttering to a stop in her chest before she remembers that she actually does need oxygen.
It’s the best form of torture when you continue to hold the vibrator directly against her clit, not giving her any respite, and her body shakes and shudders as the onslaught remains rushing through her.
“Wait, no more,” she chokes out, “Can’t- no more.”
“Someone just told me she wanted this. Now you’re saying that your greedy little cunt can’t take it?”
“No- no,” Natasha keeps protesting as you don’t let up, “S’too much-”
“You can do it,” you encourage, knowing her limits, knowing when to push and when to pull away, and right now, despite her objections, there’s no way Natasha truly wants you to ease up. She craves another climax; her body craves another climax. It’s blatantly telling you so as her hips still rock back and forth on your strap, as her walls clamp down tightly on the silicone as if trying to milk every drop of pleasure from you that she possibly can.
You start moving with her, hard and forceful snaps of your hips into her squelching cunt as the vibrator still buzzes against her causing her to gasp at the dual sensations.
A moan catches in her throat, her breath hitching, overstimulation warring with the euphoria that always follows an orgasm given to her by you. She goes to protest again but is abruptly stopped when you shove two fingers into her open mouth, effectively cutting the redhead off, preventing her from voicing anything further.
“Hush,” you murmur, your voice just a soft whisper against the shell of her ear, the brush of your lips along her skin making her shiver. Her tongue instinctively swirls around your digits before sucking on them gently, soaking them with her saliva, a trail of it beginning to dribble out the side of her mouth.
“There you go,” you praise, “Just stay quiet and let me play with you.”
This time, Natasha complies, focusing now on you in her mouth, on the weight of your fingers on her tongue, trying to distract herself from the unrelenting pressure of the vibrator and the wet slide of the strap inside her.
She can tell she’s quickly approaching another peak, and she wants to tell you, to warn you, but with your fingers pushed to the back of her throat, all she can do is whimper around them.
Fortunately for her, she doesn’t need to say anything. You can see it clear as day on her face in the mirror, see it in the way her head is lolling from side to side against your shoulder as her back leans heavily against your front. The vibrator is still at the highest setting, persistent and ruthless in its stimulation, and Natasha, even though she was just overwhelmed with ecstasy, is back to feeling starving for more, hips still working.
“One more,” you tell her before asking a question even though you know she can’t respond with your fingers caressing her tongue: “You can give me one more, can’t you? Just one more?”
She groans, eyes fluttering shut, trying to nod as she continues to suck and lick at your skin.
“Then come for me again,” you command, “I want you to come again all over my cock.”
Those words are all it takes, Natasha never able to disobey you, and she’s thrown into yet another climax after only just having recovered from the first, a loud, keening sound getting ripped from deep within her chest. She’s engulfed by it, drowning in it, the entire room feeling as though it’s spinning as she becomes dizzy with pleasure, unable to find her equilibrium through the vibrations that you still haven’t yet turned down. The only thing holding her together right now, the only thing grounding her, is the feeling of you, stable behind her.
After a few seconds of tension, of her muscles pulled taut, she drops limply against you, hips finally going still, too exhausted to keep moving. You gently pull the vibrator away from the apex of her thighs, switching it off, the sensations still there but now dulled to residual, phantom tingles that spread from her core outward to the rest of her body in waves.
You let her settle, Natasha very obviously spent, unable to take any more for the time being, and she curls into you, the strap still buried between her legs as she shifts to press her face into the crook of your neck.
You brush a light kiss to the crown of her head. “Is it safe to assume you can’t handle another?” you ask playfully.
Synopsis: There’s something you and Natasha have needed to discuss for a while. It seems there’s only one way to get her to talk.
Warnings: Pure smut and tooth rotting fluff
Words: 2161
You had to admit that you had been a little sly and not entirely forthcoming with your intentions. Inviting Natasha over for dinner and then into your bed had all been part of a predetermined plan and although you thought it arrogant to pat yourself on the back for it, there was no denying that it had gone perfectly.
For the last few months now things had been developing in your relationship with your team mate. What had started as lingering stares and playful flirting had progressed to spending more time alone together. This had lead to a first date, and then a second, and then to Natasha’s bed, until eventually you couldn’t remember a time when every inch of the red head’s body wasn’t seared into your memory. Her company was addictive and you found yourself drawn to her and fascinated by her in equal measure. The sight of her smiling would send a wave of warmth through your body and the smallest graze of her fingertips over your skin was enough to make you shiver. The way she looked at you sometimes would send you spiralling, overwhelmed by the feeling that a simple look from this beautiful woman could give you.
You could see it in her eyes when she smiled at you that she felt the same. You heard it in her voice when she would lay beside you on a morning and chat lazily about nothing of great interest. You could feel it in her touch when every time you parted she seemed to hold onto you just a fraction longer than the last time.
The one thing she didn’t do was say it.
Then, just a week ago amidst a heated making out session on the sofa, as you detached your mouth from hers just long enough to snag her lower lip between your teeth, she had pushed out a heavy breath and the words had followed before she could stop then.
“I really think I might be falling for you.”
The pair of you had frozen instantly, hands stilling from roaming her body and instead resting either side of her head on the couch so you could hover above her enough to see her face. Natasha’s panicked expression was enough to tell you that she hadn’t meant to vocalise her comment aloud and it seemed that she didn’t really know what to do next.
“Nat …” you said her name warily, a little lost for words and not wanting to say anything that would make her obvious panic any worse.
“I’ve gotta go.”
She pushed you in the chest so that she could sit up from underneath you, bending down to the edge of the sofa and picking up her shoes before quickly pulling them on.
“Hey it’s okay.” you placed a hand on her back but it was quickly shrugged away as she rose to her feet and grabbed her jacket from the back of the couch. “Look it’s okay we can talk about this.”
“I errr…” she cleared her throat awkwardly, taking a half step towards the door before she frowned and paused again. She seemed to stutter in place, eyes glued to the floor as she hovered between just bolting for the door and pacing in a circle. Taking a calming breath, she finally looked up from the ground and shot you a fake smile, “I’ll call you.”
And that was the last thing she said before she quickly left your apartment. True to her word she had called you, a sheepish conversation the next afternoon where she pretended nothing had happened, and you were too concerned she’d freeze up to mention it. Things had gone on as before, meeting up for lunch or calling each other just to check in. You had still been able to wake on a morning with the red head soundly sleeping next to you and you had still spent the nights showering her body with attention under the sheets. A couple of times you had gotten brave enough to attempt to bring up what had been said, but she would shut you down in a matter of seconds, making it clear that the subject was not up for discussion.
Natasha didn’t give up control often. She wasn’t the type of woman to purposefully put herself out of her comfort zone and that was a mentality she struggled to shift even when it came to you. She knew in her heart that she had fallen and in a rare moment of weakness where she had allowed herself to succumb completely to her feelings, a confession had slipped from her lips before she could even comprehend where it had come from. The realisation was always going to be a shock but shock, she could deal with. The thing that caused her to run from it was what scared her. Now you knew. Now you knew how she felt, she had given you everything and what scared her was she had to trust you not to hurt her.
No, she didn’t like giving up control at all. But you had discovered that there was always one way to get Natasha to let down her walls and be herself with you. You were able to see her in a way that she only seemed able to expose with you and she put herself completely in your hands.
And that is how she had found herself; on her back, writhing underneath you in pleasure and entirely at your mercy. Her nails were clawing at your back with each thrust of your hips against her, one hand pressed between your bodies with your thumb nestled against her clit as you pushed into her again with the dildo strapped to your waist.
“Fuck, harder.” whimpered Natasha, her body trembling beneath you as you ran a hand up her body to pinch at one of her nipples.
Natasha felt like she was on the verge of passing out, sure that you had to have been pushing her towards the edge for a lifetime now. She would beg for more from you. Harder. Faster. Harder. And you would indulge her for a moment, picking up the rhythm of your hips and circling over her clit more firmly, the sounds of loud moans and curses a welcome reward for your work. Then just as you felt her thighs begin to tighten around your waist and her fingernails digging into your shoulders, you would return to the same slow, languid strokes inside of her.
“Baby … please.” a whine of frustration left the red head as you rotated your hips slowly “I wanna come so bad, please.”
Pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw, you couldn’t help but grin in satisfaction that you were able to turn this cool, composed woman into a total mess. You kissed along the side of her neck, your hands moving down to her hips to hold her in place and stop her attempts at grinding into you.
“Do you know how sexy you look,” you paused to press another kiss below her ear as you pushed deep into her again, “writhing around underneath me, begging me to make you come? Let me hear how badly you want me to fuck that pussy.”
She huffed out a breath, one hand coming up to clutch at her forehead as she tilted her head back and shut her eyes, “Fuck, I need it please, fuck me please.”
“That’s it pretty girl.” you whispered against the side of her neck, slowly picking up your pace inside of her. “You want more?”
Natasha could only offer a loud moan in response, the harder thrusts and your words sending a powerful shudder of arousal through her body. As you moved faster she could already feel her legs tightening around your waist, gripping her hands to your shoulders as her fingers twitched impatiently the closer she got to an orgasm.
“Oh god, fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Natasha’s words were getting sloppy now, muffled by moans and gasps each time your thumb grazed her clit or you pressed into her harder.
“You want me to keep going?” you teased, dragging your attention away from her neck so you could look at her. You used one hand to grip the underside of her chin, forcing her head down so you could see her face properly and press a brief kiss to her lips, “You wanna come, princess?”
A lewd groan of Russian spilled from her lips at your question as she pushed into each of your thrusts, and you could only chuckle at the sound. You tightened your hold on her jaw a little, holding her face towards you as her eyes bunched closed with another roll of your hips.
“Look at me.” you mumble against her lips, never ceasing your movements inside of her as she struggled to open her eyes and do as you asked. “Did you mean it?”
Even delirious with pleasure Natasha didn’t need confirmation of what you were asking. She had seen it in your eyes every day since she had blurted those words out on your sofa, and she knew how important her answer was to you. All she had to do was ask herself whether she trusted you enough to let her fall.
Her hands moved from your shoulders to your cheeks, gripping your face as she resisted the urge to let her eyes roll back into her head as her body began to shudder with pleasure. Pulling you forward, Natasha kissed you hard, fingers digging into the side of your head as she broke the kiss but kept you close. She took a deep breath and then she spoke before she could talk herself out of it,
“I love you.”
The feeling that swept over your body at her words was incomparable to anything you had felt before. It was euphoric and all you could do was lean forward and reattach your lips to kiss her in the hope that it could convey what you were sure words could never do justice.
One of Natasha’s hands moved to the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair and tugging lightly as she broke the kiss to laugh quietly in between sharp gasps for breath, “God you definitely better not stop now.”
You returned the laugh, running your tongue over her collarbone as you gripped her hips and increased your pace inside of her again. Her laughter quickly turned back to moans as she arched her back off the mattress into you, grinding down to meet each of your thrusts as she began to chase her high. In a matter of moments you could tell she was close, the movement of her hips becoming sloppier as you felt her clit throb against your thumb and her thighs begin to twitch and shudder either side of you.
“Good girl, that’s it. You gonna come for me?” you praised, using the hand that wasn’t circling over her clit to reach up for one of her breasts and squeeze gently. She gave a loud moan in response, a string of curses following quickly after as you rolled her nipple between your fingers.
Natasha dragged her fingernails down the length of your back, the sensation nothing short of heavenly as you arched into it and groaned out in satisfaction. Her moans were getting louder and she was almost chanting your name, desperate pleas not to stop filling the room as you felt her beginning to lose control. You felt her teeth sink into your shoulder and a sharp pull on your hair as her thighs clamped around you and her body start to shudder. The sight below you had to be one of your favourites as Natasha released a loud moan of your name and pushed back onto the dildo eagerly, riding out her orgasm as you continued to move inside of her and gradually slow your pace. Her moans changed to whimpers and soft sighs as she came down from her high, slipping her tongue into your mouth and kissing you deeply with her arms wrapped around your neck. The kiss didn’t last long as you both struggled to catch your breath, the woman below you sucking in deep, shallow breaths as she reached up to push the hair away from her damp forehead.
“Oh my god.” she pushed out between pants for air, reaching up to press one hand against your chest, “You’re amazing.”
You chuckled quietly, brushing your nose over hers to tilt her face to look at you, “I love you too.”
The smile that spread across Natasha’s lips threatened to break her face and she bit down on her lower lip as she arched her brow sceptically, “You do?”
Pressing your lips to hers in a lingering kiss, you smiled reassuringly with a nod of your head, “Of course I do.”
I saw an idea like this online ages ago and it’s just come back to me like ... I could imagine Natasha doing this. You’ve been married a year and you both celebrate your wedding anniversary on the wrong day
Natasha Romanoff X Reader - SAVE THE DATE
Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic
Synopsis: On the day of your third wedding anniversary with Natasha, you realise that you’ve both been celebrating the wrong date
Warnings: Language
Words: 598
Natasha was humming quietly to herself as she arranged the flowers in the vase on the kitchen counter, a content smile on her face. She was so lost in her own world, happily trimming the stems of each flower that she didn’t even bother to check who was knocking at the door to her apartment, instead just shouting for them to enter.
When she heard the heavy footsteps of several people, she finally did look away from what she was doing, glancing up at the new arrivals with a frown.
“What are you doing here?”
The men laughed quietly, not at all surprised by Natasha’s apparent distaste for their company having known her so long by now.
“Nice to see you too, Nat.” teased Clint, giving the red head a playful smile as he stepped further into the room.
Tony pushed the door closed behind him, side stepping Steve and Clint as he made his way furthest inside and stopped on the opposite side of the breakfast bar in front of Natasha, “You act like you’re not pleased to see three of your favourite colleagues?”
“You’re not my favourites.” shot back Natasha, her tone emotionless but a small curve to her lips none the less. “I married my favourite.”
Ignoring Natasha’s response, Tony nodded to the flowers she was arranging, “Those are nice.”
“Aren’t they?” Natasha was unable to hide the happiness in her voice, a beaming expression making its way across her face as she looked over the flowers again and slid another into place. “My wife knows what she’s doing.”
“I’ll say.” agreed Tony, hopping up onto the counter and leaning back to look at the red head, “What’s the occasion? What’d she do wrong?”
Tony appeared puzzled for a moment, looking like he was going to say something before abruptly closing his mouth in thought. He glanced over at Clint who was checking his watch with interest, both men sharing a look once he lifted his head.
It wasn’t often Natasha missed something and she definitely didn’t miss the awkward silence and eye contact between the two men, her hands stilling momentarily as she gave them both a frown, “What?”
“What’s the date?” asked Tony.
“The fifteenth.”
Tony clicked his tongue, looking back at Clint who shook his head vigorously from side to side in warning. Natasha didn’t miss that either.
“What’s wrong with all of you?”
Steve cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping forward so he was in the middle of Tony and Clint and the two men could no longer keep looking at each other, “It’s nothing Nat, that’s really sweet that you got flowers on your anniversary, congratulations.”
The mumbling of the man on the counter didn’t pass Natasha by, however he had said it so quietly that she couldn’t quite catch what the words were. Picking up one of the roses, she pointed the stem at him threateningly, “Spit it out, Stark.”
“Well the thing is ... I remember your wedding. It was a beautiful day really, I-“
“I wouldn’t Tony.” cut in Clint, certain that what was going to happen next wouldn’t be pleasant. The death glare he received from Natasha was enough for him to throw his hands up in surrender and fall silent again.
Tony cleared his throat, “So ... see ... I can’t help but think that there was a little discussion about the date because we had some work issues we needed to resolve.”
“Yes, I remember.” agreed Natasha.
“And do you also remember you two getting married on the thirteenth? Because I do.”
Natasha scoffed, “No we didn’t.”
“Clint?”
At Tony’s call of his name, Clint looked down at the ground, scuffing his boot against the floor as he scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably and tried not to shrink under Natasha’s gaze.
“Well?” asked Natasha impatiently.
Clint winced at the irritated tone, reluctantly meeting her eye with a small shrug, “It was the thirteenth, Nat. Remember? It was a Friday? We all made a joke about it being bad luck?”
Opening her mouth to retort, Natasha quickly shut it again as she narrowed her eyes and thought for a moment. Instead of arguing with her team mates any further, she raised her voice so it would reach the bedroom down the corridor, “Babe, can you come in here a sec?”
As you made your way into the kitchen, you hadn’t been expecting company and offered the men in your apartment a warm smile. You moved over towards Natasha, resting a hand on her hip as you leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek but weren’t given the chance as she stepped back to speak.
“What date did we get married?”
The fact she hadn’t allowed you to kiss her along with the question threw you a little, not sure if it was a test of some kind as you glanced around everyone in the room with a suspicious frown before looking back at your wife, “The fifteenth? Hence the flowers? Is this a trick because I’m a little confused.”
“They say it was the thirteenth.”
Your eyebrows furrowed further, rubbing at your chin in thought as you gave your head a shake slowly, “No ... it was definitely the fifteenth.”
“You know you two were lucky you had us helping you for the wedding because you’re both useless.” cut in Tony, going to place one of the flowers beside him into the vase but receiving a smack to the back of his hand from Natasha, “It was the thirteenth, dummies.”
“No ...” this time you didn’t sound so confident and Tony had to laugh.
“Oh come on! You don’t remember us teasing you?” asked Tony, a disbelievingly smile on his face. “We were all like ‘wow can’t believe you’re not only going to marry the black widow but you’re doing it on Friday the 13th’. Any of this ringing a bell?”
Looking away from the other men in the room, you gave Natasha a glance. The other woman looked like she couldn’t decide if she found the whole thing terribly annoying or just funny.
“I’m getting our marriage certificate.” you announced, making your way hastily out of the room and all but running down the corridor back to your bedroom.
By this point even Steve and Clint had joined in with Tony’s amusement, all three men trying and failing to hide their smiles as they waited patiently for you to return with the news. Not one of them could contain a laugh as they heard you shouting from the other end of the hallway.
“Holy shit they’re right!” you brought the piece of paper with you for good measure, dashing back into the kitchen and holding it up to Natasha in disbelief, “We’ve been celebrating on the wrong date.”
“Haven’t you guys been married like three years now?” asked Steve.
“That’s enough out of you, Captain Obvious.” you scolded, looking back at your wife, “Is this my fault or your fault?”
Natasha shrugged with a smirk, “I’m not sure but let’s say it’s yours.”
“Yeah that sounds about right.” you muttered, tossing the certificate onto one of the kitchen sides as you made your way towards the fridge and looked inside.
“What a relief I hadn’t given you your present yet. Now I can save it until next year.”
At Natasha’s words you immediately closed the fridge door, turning to the other woman and quirking an eyebrow as you opened the bottle of juice you had just retrieved, “Well that hardly seems fair, I already gave you yours.”
“I know ... and your present was soooo much better than flowers as well.” teased Natasha.
“Hand it over.”
Natasha smirked, going back to arranging the flowers and shrugging, “Couldn’t possibly give you it now. It’s more of a private gift and we have company.”
“Yeah, why are you guys here again?” you asked, directing your question to your team mates as you suddenly became desperate to have Natasha to yourself.
“Funnily enough it wasn’t to watch you two have anniversary sex two days too late.” joked Tony, hopping down from the kitchen counter, “Work beckons.”
You groaned, “Seriously?”
“We’ll let you two get ready, meet you downstairs in ten minutes.” Stated Steve, offering you both a nod before all three men started to make their way outside.
Grumbling quietly, you took a few swigs of your juice before tossing it back into the fridge. Just as you closed the door, you felt two arms wrap around your waist and Natasha’s chin resting on your shoulder.
“Seems marrying me on the thirteenth was bad luck after all.” teased Natasha, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck, “Now you have to work and miss out on your anniversary gift.”
Turning in the other woman’s arms, you gave her a grin as you brushed your thumb over the side of her jaw, “Oh honey, you’re gonna be giving me that gift later. And it’s already two days late so you have some making up to do.”
Natasha laughed, giving you a quick kiss as she stepped back with a wink, “Challenge accepted.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Can you do a Natasha request with Nat as the sub and Reader is teasing her. Love all your work so far!
Natasha Romanoff X Reader - SIT DOWN
Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic
Synopsis: Natasha wants attention and she’s not afraid to act a little bratty to get it.
Warnings: Language, smut
Words: 874
Natasha Romanoff was used to getting her way. She was well practicing in manipulation, bending people to her will and she had unparalleled powers of persuasion. She wasn’t afraid to use what she had to her advantage, not too worried if she had to bat her eyelashes or flash a bit of skin to get the upper hand. It had been part of her training and she saw no reason not to use her skills in every aspect of her life.
Even in her relationships. Not that there had been too many of those in the past but still, she had always felt confident that she was the one in the drivers seat.
Since you had started dating Natasha, neither one of you was under any illusion that you weren’t completely and utterly infatuated with the woman. Of course she had you wrapped around her little finger. One of those smiles that was just so Nat was enough to render you helpless, pretty much willing to walk through fire if it meant she just kept looking at you like that.
But that didn’t mean you didn’t know how to get ahead of her every now and again. Being an Avenger yourself supplied you with your own impressive skill set and naturally that aided you. However there was something about your relationship with Natasha, neither of you able to quite put your finger on what it was, that sometimes made all of her assertiveness and control go out of the window. It was like you’d been given a manual that explained what things to say, what things to do, what buttons to press and Natasha could do nothing but surrender to it. Although she’d never admit it to anyone, there was nothing else she’d rather do.
It didn’t stop her from messing with you. It didn’t stop her from trying your patience. And it certainly didn’t stop her from teasing the living hell out of you.
She’d been at it for most of the day. Starting with lingering touches and sideways glances. Fingertips grazing against your skin in places she knew would make you shiver and kisses lasting longer than usual.
Natasha knew exactly what she was doing. The smirk she kept giving you when you shot her a warning glare was enough to tell you that.
Obviously you couldn’t just let her get her way though, right?
Both of you knew what she wanted from you and it was more than just a bit of attention. If it was attention she craved, there was plenty of places she could go to find that. No, what she wanted from you today was much more than that and she was willing to try every trick in the book to get it. Unfortunately for her, in addition to admittedly turning you on a little, her actions had also irritated you and you had every intention of making her pay for it.
The second it was just the two of you alone, Natasha looked at you in a way that said she knew what she’d done but to be frank, she didn’t really care. The company you had shared that afternoon had made their way home for the evening, leaving you and Natasha to enjoy a rare night in together. As soon as the sofa was vacated, she’d stretched out across the length of it, slouching down into the corner and resting the side of her head against the back rest to look at you as you closed the front door and headed back into the living room.
Neither one of you broke eye contact as you slowly settled yourself back into the arm chair opposite, propping an elbow up on one of the arms and tilting your head slightly to lean against your hand. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even move as you crossed one leg over the other and continued to stare her down. Her eyes only flickered from yours as you ran your tongue over your lower lip in quiet thought, waiting to see if she would break and do something first.
After several long moments of silence, you crossed and uncrossed your legs as you shuffled further into your seat and finally spoke, “You care to explain yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
Her mock innocence was alarmingly convincing and you had to laugh under your breath, “Oh really? This is how you’re gonna play it?”
“Play what exactly?”
Wetting your lips again, you nodded your head slowly and drummed your fingers against the arm of the chair, “Okay fine. I guess you don’t want anything from me then ... right?”
No matter how good Natasha might have been at masking her emotions, you could see her inner conflict a mile off as she wrestled with whether to give you the satisfaction if it meant getting what she wanted. She should have known better than to make another play for the upper hand.
“Are you trying to say you don’t want me?” Asked Natasha, cocking her head to the side and quirking an eyebrow in question.
“I’m trying to say ...” you started, skimming your hand over the arm of the chair before looking back up at her with a small smile, “I don’t think it’s me that has to beg for it here, is it sweetheart?”
Her jaw worked for a second, “Begging’s not really my style.”
“Isn’t it?” you asked, sitting up straighter in your chair and rubbing at your chin in thought.
Natasha almost looked annoyed, eyes narrowing just a little as she studied you properly to try and work out if you were being serious or not. She didn’t respond to your taunting question. Her reluctance to hand over control was obvious when she finally broke eye contact and got to her feet, taking a few steps to the side and turning her back to you as she raked a hand through her hair.
“Sit down.”
Your demand got her attention, turning slowly on the spot and arching a brow at you in a way that would have probably terrified anyone else. There was several seconds where neither of you spoke and you simply stared each other down. You had reached a point where someone had to cave and the look in your eyes told Natasha that if she had any hope of getting what she wanted, it was going to have to be her. She had no hope of beating your stubbornness and you both knew it.
Slowly and reluctantly she turned back to face you properly, taking the few steps required until she was in front of the sofa again. She was about to settle back down into her seat, but she paused when she heard you click your tongue disapprovingly and she looked up to see you shaking your head.
“Not there. Here.”
Natasha swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, hesitating for just a second before giving in to your demand and walking over towards where you were seated. She stopped just in front of you as you uncrossed your legs and sat up a little straighter, looking back at her with an expectant raise of your eyebrows. That was enough for Natasha to make her final move, setting one foot on the ground either side of yours and settling down gently into your lap.
Resting your hands on her legs, you ran them slowly up her thighs until your fingertips dipped just under the hem of her dress. You didn’t miss the shiver from Natasha. Hours of thinking about what would happen once the two of you were alone combined with your hands on her bare flesh was enough to make her skin tingle.
You raised a hand to her face, gripping her chin between your thumb and forefinger as you tilted her face to look at you, “You know you’ve been behaving like kind of a brat tonight, baby.”
Natasha didn’t say anything as you pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw, letting out a shaky breath as she felt your fingers dig more firmly into her thigh. She had to resist the urge to move her body against you, desperately wanting to just nudge her hips forward or something to create enough friction to release some of the pressure that had started to build.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, you kissed a little further up her cheek before grazing your teeth over her jaw line, “It’s not polite to act like that when we have company.”
“I didn’t ...” Natasha paused, her eyes fluttering closed and letting out a whimper as you sank your teeth more harshly into her skin.
You tutted disapprovingly, “You’re really gonna lie to me?”
Natasha raised her hands to rest them on your shoulders, her fingers digging into your shirt more with every kiss and flick of your tongue against the side of her neck, “I just want you.”
“You do?” you asked, your tone almost innocent as you slipped your hand higher to place it on one of her hips.
Nodding her head up and down, Natasha had a hard time keeping her breathing in check with the way your mouth was working against her skin and she instinctively pushed down into your lap.
“You want me to fuck you, is that it?”
Your breath against her ear combined with your words made Natasha shiver and her nails dig into your shoulders as she gave another nod of her head.
“Cause I think you need to learn some manners first, Natasha.”
The sound she let out was akin to a whine, her breathing getting heavier as you attached your lips to the underside of her ear and continued to lavish her skin with attention. The subtle movements she was making against your body hadn’t gone unnoticed but you allowed her to gently rock her hips against you, knowing it wasn’t going to give her enough for what she wanted when you had both hands on her waist to stop her moving too much. Her breathing was already getting heavier, struggling to focus on anything but the rapid beating of her heart and the strong arousal building in the pit of her stomach. If Natasha had been turned on before, that was nothing to how she was feeling now. Her mind had wandered much too often throughout the evening and as a result she could feel the evidence of how much she wanted it pooling in her underwear. She felt utterly desperate for you to give her what she wanted, all other thoughts than you just pushing her underwear to one side and fucking her leaving her head.
“Please.”
She had spoken so quietly that it was almost undetectable but you heard it, your lips turning up into a satisfied grin at the plea. It wasn’t often Natasha would allow herself to come across so downright desperate but it didn’t take an expert to see how much she wanted it.
You chuckled quietly against the side of her neck, leaning back so you could look at her properly, “I didn’t realise you could be so needy.”
“I just ... please ... I need you.” breathed out Natasha, unable to focus on anything but her own arousal by now as she felt your hands gripping her hips more firmly and guiding her movements carefully. Every time she moved back and forth, the seam of your jeans would brush gently against the fabric of her underwear making her shudder, but it was nowhere near enough friction and only made her hungry for more.
Running one hand down slightly, you dipped it just far enough under her dress to ghost your thumb over the top of her panties, “You need me here?”
Natasha huffed, trying to push down against your hand and near enough crying out in frustration when you simply moved it out of the way to stop her. “Yes ... I ... yes, I’ll do anything.”
At her words you brushed your thumb over her again, pressing a brief kiss to her lips as she let out a soft moan, “I’ll give you what you want Nat. But after that performance, you’re going to have to work for it. You think I’m being fair?”
Natasha nodded her head again, wrapping her arms around your neck and releasing a gasp as you pushed her underwear to one side and ran a finger along the length of her pussy. You had to resist the urge to moan yourself as you dipped your finger into her wet folds, the feeling of just how soaked she was stoking your own arousal.
“Good girl.” you praised, leaning back in your chair so you were able to appreciate the view in front of you properly. “Now how about you ride my fingers and show me how badly you want me to make you come, how does that sound?”
Natasha groaned, one hand still resting on your shoulder and the other pressed against your thigh underneath her in an attempt to support herself and stay upright. The way you were gently stroking your fingers over her was making her head swim and she was pretty much prepared to do anything if it meant you’d give her what she wanted.
Lowering your hand slightly, you lined two fingers up with her entrance before pushing them slowly inside of her. Natasha’s eyes bunched closed at the action, her mouth dropping open slightly as she grabbed a fistful of the front of your shirt, letting out a low moan as your fingers slipped completely inside of her and then stopped. She wanted to be annoyed that you had so effortlessly managed to gain the upper hand, but it was impossible to feel anything other than satisfaction with the way your fingers were filling her so well and she couldnt help but roll her hips almost immediately against them. Natasha was dripping with arousal already, making it all too easy to do as you requested, moving her hips up and down at an already frantic pace. The way your palm was grazing against her clit and the pleasant stretch of your fingers was making her moan out in satisfaction already.
You couldn’t get enough of the sight in front of you. Even though Natasha was still fully dressed it was still a breathtaking view. Her chest was flushed pink already, rising and falling rapidly as her breathing got heavier with each downward thrust of her hips against your fingers. The look on her face had you clenching around nothing; mouth slightly agape as the occasional moan or curse tumbled from her lips, and her eyes scrunched closed in pleasure.
It didn’t take long before you felt her squeezing around your fingers, the movement of her hips becoming sloppier as she grinded down against the palm of your hand and you could only watch in awe. Natasha’s moans were getting louder, the grip on your shirt pretty much all that was keeping her grounded as she chased the release she had craved for so long now. She could feel it bubbling in the pit of her stomach, muscles tightening around your digits as each rock of her hips brought her closer.
It wasn’t until you gave just the subtlest curl of your fingers inside of her, brushing against that spot that had Natasha feeling like she was on her verge of passing out as with another rough thrust of her hips and a shudder, her orgasm finally hit. She near enough collapsed forward in your lap, resting her forehead against your shoulder as she moaned out loud in satisfaction and continued to rock her hips against your fingers, slowing her movement slightly as she rode out her high.
Recieving a few more clenches around your fingers, you gently removed your hand from her underwear earning you a twitch and a groan from the woman in your lap.
You sat back far enough that she was forced to raise her head from your shoulder, still trying to catch her breath as she opened her eyes to look back at you. Natasha was surprised to see you smirking back at her, one eyebrow arched in a way that filled her with dread, as you leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Now I don’t remember saying you were allowed to come.”
Synopsis: Natasha has been working a lot of hours at the moment and is ridiculously sleep deprived. Will she accept some help?
Words: 2000
Stepping out of the elevator into the tower, Natasha felt like she could barely lift her feet off the ground as she raked a hand through her hair and exhaled heavily. Her exhaustion effecting her senses meant that she was unaware she was being watched with concern from the other side of the room as she dragged herself towards the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. It was strange to see the woman who always carried herself with such elegance looking so pathetic, shoulders slumped and head hung low as she rubbed at her eyes tiredly.
Walking into the kitchen she finally caught your eye in the dim moonlight that was coming through the window, letting out a surprised gasp and clutching a hand to her chest.
“Dammit, lurk much.” She muttered, blowing out a relieved breath and stepping around you to pick up the kettle from the stove.
Taking a sip of the drink in your hand, you continued to study her over the rim of the mug as she reached for the coffee in one of the cupboards.
“You need sleep, not caffeine.”
She ignored you, opening a drawer to her left and picking out a teaspoon before spooning three large heaps into a mug as she waited for the water to boil.
“Natasha.”
Still she said nothing, palms resting against the counter tops as she clicked her fingernails impatiently against the marble, eyes focused intently on the kettle. Even in the minimal lighting you could see the dark circles under her eyes, hair slightly disheveled compared to normal and posture not quite as proper as usual. It seemed almost as if she literally needed to hold onto the kitchen counters to keep herself upright.
You let out a sigh, placing your mug down on the surface behind you and taking a small step towards her so that you were close enough to rest a hand on the small of her back. The second you touched her you felt her body stiffen before she rolled her hips to shrug you away from her.
“Nat, come on y-“
“I don’t need your help.”
Another exasperated breath left your lips, taking a step closer so you were right beside her, tilting your body to the side of her in an attempt to make eye contact, “What exactly are you trying to prove here?”
“Don’t.”
“You can’t survive without sleep.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened at your words, eyes still trained on the kettle despite your hand resting on the counter in front of her as you attempted to put yourself in her line of sight.
“Come on, this is stupid.”
“Oh so I’m stupid now.” Natasha said under her breath.
“You’re acting stupid.”
Her jaw worked again, “I have work to do.”
“You don’t have to work twenty four hours a day.”
“Obviously I do.”
Daring to attempt it again, you were relieved when a gentle touch to her back wasn’t shrugged away, “We can talk about th-“
“I can’t.” She interrupted, her voice sounding like it was on the verge of breaking.
“Natasha.”
Clearly you had pushed things too far as once you said her name in that warning tone again, she finally pushed you away, taking a few steps to the other side of the kitchen and put some distance between you. Although this time she was actually facing you, her arms were folded protectively in front of her, head ducked low and eyes glued to the floor. You had never seen her look so small.
“When was the last time you slept?”
Not offering a verbal reply, Natasha shrugged lazily and tightened her arms across her chest.
“Something like three days about right?” You challenged, taking a step towards her.
“Stop it.”
You took another step closer, “This is not the way to deal with things, we can talk abo-“
“I said stop it!” She snapped loudly, finally looking up from the floor and glaring at you. The genuine fury in her eyes actually scared you and you almost put some of the distance back between the pair of you.
Silence filled the room as you stared each other down, the anger practically radiating from her body as her darkened eyes bore into you as if she was challenging you to push her further. But you could see past it. You could see that all of the rage and defensiveness was a front to hide something worse; pain. It was obvious that the other woman was hurting and she didn’t know how else to deal with it than to push it down and pretend it wasn’t there.
Your staring match was interrupted as the high pitched whistle of the kettle pierced the silence and the red head finally broke your gaze and looked over at the stove. Running a hand through her hair uncomfortably, she swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat and walked towards the source of the noise. Maybe it was the distraction of your conversation or perhaps it was just pure exhaustion but without thinking she gripped the metal handle of the kettle, instantly dropping it down again and letting out a loud yelp of pain.
You watched in genuine surprise as the usually composed and closed off woman in front of you for once seemed completely and utterly incapable of holding in her emotions and let out a scream of frustration. She buried her face in her hands, stamping a foot angrily against the ground as she tried to push back the tears that were forming in her eyes.
“I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” Natasha cried out, shaking her head slowly from side to side with each word that left her lips.
Your chest ached to see her fall apart in front of you, a soft sob finally escaping her body as she continued to mutter to herself under her breath. Taking a chance, you moved towards her and placed a hand on her back, tugging her towards you and enveloping her in your arms. At first her body went rigid against you, hands still clasped to her face as she reluctantly let you pull her into you, but as you rested a hand on the back of her neck, the other rubbing gently up and down her spine, you felt her slowly relax as another sob wracked through her.
“It’s okay.” You said quietly, rubbing your thumb comfortingly at the base of her neck.
She shook her head again but finally lowered her hands from her face, resting her forehead against your shoulder as she accepted the embrace and wrapped her arms around your waist. Her grip on you felt heavy and demanding like if it wasn’t for this small gesture of comfort she would fall apart. You could feel the dampness of fresh tears against your shoulder and you squeezed your hand on the back of her neck comfortingly, her arms tightening around your body at the action.
“It’s not your fault Nat.”
A louder sob left her at your words, fingers gripping into your shirt, “It is.”
“You can’t save everyone.” You said quietly, moving your hand from her neck to run your fingers through her hair and move it away from her face.
“I should have been better prepared.” She stuttered, words difficult as her breathing hitched occasionally from the crying, “I should have done things differently.
Removing your hands from her body, your took her face in your hands and lifted it so that she was forced to look at you. It was difficult to see her looking so broken, rubbing your thumbs under her reddened eyes to wipe away the tears, “You can’t put that on yourself. It was a team mission, we were all there.”
“If I had gotten there sooner I-“
“No … don’t think like that.” You interrupted, “We all made that plan together, any one of us could have had that floor to cover and all of us would have done the exact same … it was that damn bomb that killed them, not you.”
She swallowed and tried not to start crying again, sniffing back fresh tears, “I failed them.”
“You saved so many people Natasha, you can’t always save everyone. It was an impossible mission.”
“But …”
“But nothing.” You stated, brushing your thumbs over her cheeks again as you pulled her closer and rested your forehead against hers, voice lowering to a whisper, “There is nothing more you could have done.”
Natasha let out a long, heavy breath, the toll of everything no longer making it possible for her to keep her defences up as she gratefully accepted the affection from you, hands still gripping tightly at your waist to keep your body close to her, “All I can feel is guilt. All I can focus on is how much of a fraud I am … how stupid it was to believe I could ever be one of the good guys.”
“I wish more than anything you saw yourself the way I do.” You returned, smiling sadly back at the other woman as you ran the fingers of one of your hands through her hair, the other still resting against her cheek, “You need to sleep.”
Nodding her head gently, Natasha tightened her hold on your shirt, “Will you stay with me?”
“Of course I will.”
Lowering a hand to your side, you linked it with one of Natasha’s, weaving your fingers together as you tugged her lightly away from the room, down the corridor towards her bedroom. You knew there was a lot of work to be done and that the road ahead was not going to be easy for her. It was true that in a team mission people had died. And it was true that Natasha had been tasked with saving them. But what she didn’t seem to grasp was that if anyone had been capable of saving them, she could have and would have managed it. More than anything you wished you could make her see herself as something other than the woman she showed to the world. Behind closed doors she wasn’t The Black Widow. She wasn’t an Avenger. She was just a woman who had to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders and every now and again, it was just too much to bare. It didn’t come easy or naturally to her to let anyone see her coming undone but on rare occasions it had happened and you would let her unburden her emotions and feelings on to you. You felt almost privileged that she had chosen you each and every time she let her guard down and as a result, you were more than happy to help her carry the weight of her struggles. To you, she would never be just The Black Widow. She would never be just an Avenger. She was simply Natasha and if she needed you, you would be there.
Synopsis: You have wanted Natasha to teach you a few things in Russian for a while now but she’s not too keen. Will you ever change her mind?
Warnings: Language, reference to sexual content
Words: 2185
Okay this is a request for @pleasantlyfullnacho … hopefully this is the kind of thing you were after, it is SUPER fluffy. Shocking fact about me - I don’t speak Russian and so unfortunately this has had to be a google translate job. I apologise to all Russian speakers, it probably sucks. Anyway … Story number 25! 😱 and I guess this is also to mark 250 followers now so, thanks for sticking around. Requests are open and enjoy! ✌️
Taking a sip of your tea, you watched the red head pacing around the kitchen with her phone pressed to her ear, talking animatedly to the person on the other end of the line. Given her facial expressions and tone of voice, you assumed she was having an argument but you couldn’t be sure as she wasn’t actually speaking in English. It wasn’t often that you heard Natasha speak Russian, usually just when it was necessary for work but there was the occasional time where it slipped out and so you had gotten used to it over time. The first occasion you heard her speak Russian was when she lost her temper over something silly; making her way sleepily through her apartment one morning she had stubbed her toe on the corner of the sofa, doubling over and hissing out several Russian curse words under her breath. You had almost laughed from where you were sat watching her, having never expected your usually composed girlfriend to have such a hot-headed reaction to something so simple.
The next time she’d done it you had enjoyed it more than you initially cared to admit. The two of you had been fooling around on the couch, lips locked together in a heated making out session as you pulled Natasha into your lap. As she manouevered her body into place, your thigh pressed at just the right angle in between her legs and she broke the kiss to push out a heavy breath, resting her forehead against your own as she gripped your face in her hands. “я хочу тебя так много, детка”
“That is totally hot but I have no idea what you just said.”
Natasha smirked, standing up from the sofa and holding her hand out for you, “Follow me and I’ll show you.”
From then on, it was pretty much only those scenarios where her native tongue would slip out. You liked it that there were times where even someone like Natasha could lose herself for a second, be it in anger or in pleasure, and the Russian would slip out without thinking about it. It became something that you looked forward to hearing, enjoying the fact that she felt comfortable enough around you to be herself. It was for this reason that you decided you wanted to understand more. Waiting patiently for Natasha to finish her phone conversation, you sat yourself down at the kitchen table and poured a bowl of cereal. It was only a few minutes later that she joined you, apologising for taking so long and opening up the paper as she took a gulp of her coffee.
“I might learn Russian.” You stated, seemingly out of nowhere as you stuffed another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.
Looking up from the newspaper she was reading opposite you, Natasha quirked an eyebrow, “Why?”
“I wanna know what you’re saying.”
“You could just ask me.” said Natasha, looking back down at the paper and turning a page over.
You rolled your eyes, not at all surprised at Natasha’s lack of enthusiasm, “Yeah but I wanna know, I don’t want to have to ask you everytime.”
“It’s not exactly an easy language to learn, you’d have to get familiar with a whole new alphabet for a start.”
“Well I don’t expect to be fluent in it I’d just like to know a few things.”
Looking up briefly from what she was reading, Natasha caught your eye and she felt herself soften slightly at how eager you appeared, “Babe it’s not … even I hardly ever speak it.”
“Nat.” you said her name pleadingly, adding a pout for good measure and the look that she gave you told you that you’d already won.
Natasha let out a long sigh, folding up the newspaper and pushing it to one side, “What do you want to know?”
“Okay so like … how do you say hello?”
She pushed out an amused breath, “What use is that?”
“Well its a good place to start!”
“You know … they sell dictionaries for this kind of boring stuff.”
Shaking your head at her response, you groaned in frustration at how stubborn she could be, “Natasha.”
“Just saying, I thought you would at least ask me something more interesting than that.”
“Well what would you have me ask you how to say?”
“наташа красива“
You snorted, “Your name is the same in every language you know?”
“So what did I say then genius?”
“Well knowing you it was probably something incredibly complementary about yourself.”
Natasha smirked, “Someone’s a fast learner.”
Shuffling your chair a little further around the table so that you were closer to her, you gave the red head a serious expression, “Come on Nat, I mean it, I wanna learn things.”
“Сделайте мне еще одну чашку кофе, и я подумаю об этом“
You scrunched up your nose, “What does that mean?”
“Make me another cup of coffee and I’ll think about it.”
Rubbing at your eyes tiredly, you were unable to hold in a laugh, “You are insufferable sometimes.”
“Но я того стоит“ returned Natasha, earning her a curious glance that encouraged her to explain herself, “But I’m worth it.”
“Hmmmm we’ll see.” you muttered, reaching across for her mug and getting to your feet. You should have known that Natasha wouldn’t share your keenness to help you learn a few things but you had wanted to try anyway. You couldn’t help but feel a little dejected by her reluctance and it must have showed in your body language as you busied yourself with the coffee as a few moments later you felt her arms snake around your waist.
Resting her chin on your shoulder, Natasha’s tightened her hold on you and lowered her voice, “Мне жаль … means I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, it doesn’t really matter.” you insisted, allowing yourself to relax into her embrace and resting a hand on top of hers.
“I love that you want to learn, it’s really sweet. And I’m sorry I’m not always as enthusiastic as you are … I guess I can be a bit difficult sometimes.”
Tilting your head so that you could reach, you placed a kiss on her cheek and smiled, “It’s okay Nat,”
“Вы хотите, чтобы я показал вам, как мне жаль?“ she whispered, turning her face so that her lips were closer to your ear.
Despite not knowing what Natasha had actually said, the tone of her voice was enough to make your body flush hot and you swallowed down the lump that had formed in your throat, “What does that mean?”
“It means …” Natasha paused as she pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw, “Do you want me to show you how sorry I am?”
The atmosphere in the room had changed almost instantly, your next breath coming out shaky as her lips moved further up your jaw line and she spoke again, “или ты слишком сердишься на меня, чтобы трахать тебя?”
As her hands travelled further up your body and her fingertips danced over your ribs, you felt goosebumps rise in their wake and you were unable to deny how impossibly turned on you were getting already, “Okay I was wrong … you’re a great teacher.”
“Do you want me to tell you what I said? It was kind of a question that required an answer.” she asked, smirking against the side of your neck as you nodded your head eagerly, “I was asking if you’re too annoyed for me to fuck you.”
Not able to wait any longer at her question, you turned on the spot and gripped her face in your hands, tugging her towards you and crashing your lips together. The smile on her face threatened to break the kiss as you tightened your hold, threading your fingers through her hair and pulling her body flush against you. The kiss was harsh and demanding and the pair of you seemed just as keen as the other for more. Reaching up and gripping your shirt in her hands, Natasha tugged you with her as she started walking backwards out of the room, “Постель.”
Chuckling quietly against her lips as she led you away, you broke the kiss briefly, “That one I know.”
A few hours later when you awoke in bed, your girlfriend was nowhere to be found. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep but obviously you had been more tired than you had thought and having sex with Natasha was never going to help that. Rubbing groggily at your face, you reached down to where your pants lay in a crumpled pile by the bed, pulling your phone out of the pocket and checking the time. You couldn’t help but groan at how long you had allowed yourself to sleep for, having wanted to get several chores out of the way today.
After pulling on your clothes, you made your way out of the bedroom in search of Natasha and hopefully some coffee. As soon as you entered the kitchen you found her, sat back at the kitchen table as she had been earlier with an assortment of files and papers in front of her as she typed away on her laptop.
Leaning down you pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she hummed in response, looking up at you with a smile, “There’s coffee in the pot.”
“I knew I kept you around for a reason.”
As you pottered around in the kitchen to make a drink, you could feel her eyes following you but each time you would glance over at her suspiciously, she would look back down at her work and pretend she was engrossed in it. After the third or fourth time, you couldn’t help but laugh, “Okay what are you up to?”
“Nothing.” mumbled Natasha, staring avidly at her computer screen and resuming whatever she had been typing.
“Alright weirdo.” you chuckled, making your way to the fridge to collect the milk. Picking up the carton, something caught your eye and you turned it over in your hand to see what had been written on the side. You broke out into a wide smile and looked over your shoulder to see Natasha watching you.
Raising your eyebrows questioningly, she simply gave you a bashful shrug “You said you wanted to learn.”
“You’re such a softy sometimes.” you teased, studying the letters that had been written over the word ‘milk’ more carefully.
“Yeah well … I felt bad for raining on your parade.” stated Natasha, pushing her chair back and getting up so that she could stand closer to you. Taking the milk carton from you, she ran her thumb over where she had translated the word for you, “I wrote it with English letters so you could pronounce it … I figured you’d wanna be able to say it more than read it.”
Your eyes drifted to the other contents in the fridge, breaking out into a grin as you saw that pretty much everything had received the same treatment as the milk. “Seriously Nat?”
“I kind of got carried away …” joked Natasha, motioning around the kitchen, the numerous post-it notes on the appliances and utensils catching your attention, the sheer volume of them making you wonder how you hadn’t noticed them before.
The gesture made your heart swell and you couldn’t stop the small squeal that left your lips as you enveloped Natasha in your arms. She broke out into a laugh as you squeezed her tighter and lifted her off the ground, “Alright, alright, calm down, it’s just a few things.”
“I know but it means a lot to me.” you insisted, placing her back on the ground but keeping your hands on her hips, “Thank you.”
“There’s one left.” she stated, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out the pad of post-it notes. She pulled the first one from the top, a word already etched onto the paper and grinned at your playfully as she pressed it to your forehead so it would stick.
You chuckled and shook your head at the action, “Well I can’t exactly read it now can I?”
Reaching up to grab the piece of paper, you pulled it from it’s position and lowered it to eye level so that you could read the words on the page. “Я люблю тебя”
Natasha gave you a moment to read it over before stepping forward to rest a hand on the back of your neck. Pulling you forward she rested her lips by your ear and lowered her voice, “It means I love you.”
Leaning back so you could see her, you looked back at her curiously with a smile, “When did you become such a romantic?”
“I guess you’ve brought it out in me.” she stated, wrapping her arms around your neck, “But if you tell anyone, I’ll be forced to kill you.”
“Okay deal.” you laughed, raising your hand with the post-it note again and flattening it against her head to stick it in place, “And I love you too.”
Synopsis: Your relationship with Natasha has been going great over the last few months. The only problem is that no one else in The Tower knows about it. This is how each person finds out
Warnings: None
Words: 2451
Tony
Settling himself down into the chair in front of his work station, Tony took an eager sip of his coffee as he loaded up his latest project. His eyes scanned over the numerous monitors in front of him as he gulped down another mouthful of his drink, trying to find where he had left off the night before. He wasn’t particularly stressed about the task at hand, his current plans not exactly of huge importance as it was more of a personal project. He had promised the team for weeks now that he would remodel most of the living quarters, each person having their own reason as to why they needed an upgrade. Stupidly he had made some promises that would possibly be a little hard to keep, but that didn’t dampen his spirits much.
Setting his coffee down on his desk, Tony cleared his throat “Friday show me the blueprints for the far west corridor again.”
“Yes sir.” Came the reply as the information Tony requested materialised in front of him. The billionaire cocked his head to the side, reaching out to rotate the plans so he could study it more carefully.
His eyebrows knitted together and he stroked his beard slowly in thought “And show me an image of the corridor now.”
At his words the blueprints vanished and in their place another screen appeared displaying a video of what Tony wanted to see. At the sight of image in front of him Tony nearly fell from his seat, leaning forward impulsively like he needed a closer look to make sense of it. He raised both of his hands, pointing each index finger at the screen and spreading them apart to zoom in a little, his nose as close as he could get it to the monitor.
“Friday is this live?”
“Yes sir, as requested this is the far west corridor at this very moment.”
Tony broke out into a wide grin, leaning back in his chair as he kept his eyes on what was unfolding on the screen, “Interesting.”
He was torn between feeling extremely smug that he was the only one to have seen what was happening, and wanting to run out of his lab as quickly as his legs would carry him to tell everyone else. The sight of his inherently private and mysterious team mate, Natasha Romanoff, trapped between the wall and your body with both of your mouths pressed together in a heated kiss was enough to make him want to squeal out in glee that he had stumbled across such exquisite gossip. He rarely saw Natasha express particularly strong emotions so to see her in such a passionate embrace was a strange and peculiar sight.
Looking back at the screen for just a few more seconds, Tony shook his head gently and let out a small chuckle, “Friday stop monitoring please and can you delete any footage that include those two lovely ladies giving each other an internal examination.”
For now, Tony decided he would let you have your secret however he couldn’t hide how ecstatic he was to know something that no one else did.
Bucky
He was still getting used to spending so much time at The Tower, unable to help being surprised by how welcoming everyone was being to him given what had happened in the past. Just because he didn’t want to actually live there with everyone, didn’t mean that Bucky wasn’t a frequent guest with The Avengers. He often joined for movie nights or to have a few drinks with Steve, enjoying the easy company that the team provided him.
As it was he had been invited by Steve to come over for a film. The Captain had been very excited as it was his turn to pick the movie, the rest of the team not sharing his enthusiasm as they knew this would more than likely mean watching something older than they were. Bucky of course didn’t mind this and had gratefully accepted the invitation, entering the living room a few hours later with a six pack under one arm and a bright smile on his face. Halfway into the film he had drawn the short straw, losing a game of rock, paper, scissors with Sam for who had to make the popcorn next. Protesting playfully he had risen to his feet with an over-dramatic groan, giving Sam a small shove for good measure before scooping up the bowl on the table and making his way towards the kitchen.
As he stepped into the doorway, he froze in place as he discovered that there was actually already people in the room. You had your back to him so you didn’t realise you had company as you pressed another kiss to Natasha’s neck. The red head had her arms wrapped around your shoulders, eyes closed and a smirk on her lips as you whispered something in her ear and kissed her flesh again.
Knowing Natasha all too well and fairly certain he knew exactly what would happen if he was spotted, Bucky turned on the spot with a gentle shake of his head, “Nope.”
He walked back into the living room, flopping into his previous seat and tossing the bowl back onto the table. As Sam turned to look at him questioningly, he turned his hands up and shrugged, “No popcorn left, sorry.”
Clint
Walking into the gym in search of his best friend, Clint stopped in the centre of the room as his eyes fell on her. He watched curiously from his position as Natasha threw her head back and laughed at something you’d said, the two of you settled close together on a bench by the far wall. She rested a hand on your upper arm and pushed you playfully as her laughter increased further and you squeezed her thigh in return. Clint’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took in the exchange a few moments longer before continuing his journey towards her.
“Hi girls.”
At the sound of his voice, Natasha looked up to greet the man’s arrival. It didn’t pass him by that she put a considerable amount of distance between herself and you once she realised company was present, clearing her throat and plastering on what he was sure was a fake smile.
“What brings you by? Kids driving you nuts?”
He laughed quietly, “Three kids, who told me that was a great idea?”
“Definitely wasn’t me.”
There was a long pause as he stood in front of the bench where you sat, looking between Natasha and yourself carefully as his lips turned up into a smirk.
“So … when did this happen?” He sang teasingly, flitting a finger between the pair of you with a smirk.
Natasha attempted to hide her discomfort at his question, about to plead her ignorance as to what he could mean before remembering who it was she was talking to and realising denial was futile. She let out a long sigh, rubbing at her forehead in frustration, “Don’t tell anyone.”
“We’re still figuring his whole thing out, please Clint.” You added pleadingly, trying your best puppy dog eyes for good measure.
“My lips are sealed on one condition.” He stated firmly, Natasha quirking an eyebrow in question. Kneeling down in front of the pair of you, his smirk broadened, “Tell me everything.”
Steve
Making his way out of the gym one morning, Steve slung his workout bag over one shoulder, mopping at his face with a towel. He always felt considerably better after an intense gym routine and that had certainly been the case today. He hummed quietly to himself as he pushed open the doors and walked down the corridor towards the changing rooms, already looking forward to the hot shower that awaited him. Not expecting anyone else to be up so early, it came as no surprise that he wasn’t sure what to do next when he stepped into the room to find two of his team mates locked in an intimate embrace.
The sight seemed to stun him completely, unable to actually make his body move or look away as he felt a furious blush begin to rise up the side of his neck. If he had been given the opportunity to place a bet on the strangest thing he would see that week, never in a million years would it have been you and Natasha making out like a couple of teenagers amongst the lockers in the changing rooms. At the sound of the red head releasing a quiet moan, his cheeks burned hotter and he suddenly seemed to snap into action at the realisation that he had stumbled in on an incredibly private moment. His shower long since forgotten, he scuttled out of the changing rooms as silently as possible, power walking back down the corridor and into the elevator.
He hammered his finger against the button for the living quarters, knowing full well that it would go no faster the more he pressed it but doing it regardless. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt stupidly guilty for what he had walked in on. As the elevator opened and he stepped out again, his eyes fell on the person in the kitchen and he was unable to stop himself from darting forward and trying to get their attention.
“Tony, Tony, Tony, Tony, Tony.”
At the sound of his team mate’s frantic tone, Tony turned on the spot and looked back at Steve enquiringly, not failing to notice how flustered he appeared. “What’s up Cap?”
He rubbed at his eyes briefly, taking a few breaths as he tried to compose himself, “I just saw … I just walked in on … you won’t believe what I’ve just seen.”
At his nonsensical jabbering, Tony smiled in amusement, “Would you care to calm down and explain yourself in a way I can understand?”
“Okay I was in the gym … I went to the changing room … there was … already in there … it was (Y/N) and Nat …”
As he said your names, Tony rolled his eyes with a smirk, no longer needing Steve to elaborate, “Oh … that.”
“Wait. What?” Now he was even more confused
Sam
Lost in his own thoughts as he sat in a quiet corner of the armoury, Sam took one of his guns apart and continued to wipe down the various components. Cleaning his weapons was a chore he hated doing but he understood the importance of it so begrudgingly he would try and get it done as early as possible on the assigned day to get it out of the way first. He scrunched his nose up in concentration as he held part of the weapon up to the light before wiping at it again. His ears perked up slightly at the sound of muffled voices, feeling a tad disappointed that his peace and solitude was about to be interrupted.
“I’m just saying Nat, we can’t keep hanging out here, I want to take you out properly.”
Sam recognised your voice instantly, interest piquing as he tried to figure out what you were talking about.
“Yes I know babe but if we want to keep things a secret for now then we can’t go somewhere public, too many people recognise us.”
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at Natasha’s response, the next few exchanges muffled out as the two of you rummaged on the shelves for the equipment you were looking for to train with.
“Maybe we should tell everyone.”
Sam heard you let out a long sigh, “You just know they’re going to make a huge deal out of it and act like us dating is going to change things.”
“You don’t know that, they’re our friends.” Returned Natasha, the sound of something else being picked up echoing throughout the armoury, “Come on, watch me kick your cute ass.”
The last thing Sam heard was the lingering kiss you left on the red head’s lips and a quiet giggle before you both made your way out of the room, completely unaware that your cover had been blown once again.
Natasha
Stepping into the living room and setting eyes on the movie title that was loading on the screen, Natasha groaned as she flopped down beside you on the sofa, “I thought Steve picked last week.”
You chuckled quietly, “This one’s on Bucky.”
“They should only count as one person.” Protested Natasha, shuffling further back into her seat so she was pressed against your side.
Now Natasha was no idiot and she certainly didn’t miss things easily which is why she glared at Sam suspiciously as his eyes trailed over where she was sat, gaze drifting between the pair of you as he tried to hide a smirk before looking back at the screen. Bucky caught her attention next, side eying the two women beside him on the sofa in what she assumed he thought was a subtle way. Next to Bucky was Steve, his neck and cheeks turning an embarrassed shade of pink as he stared avidly at the television screen as if it were the most fascinating thing on Earth. Finally Natasha looked at Tony, the man sat in an armchair beside the sofa with one hand covering the bottom of his face in an attempt to hide a grin as he took in the expression on the faces of the other men in the room.
Letting out a long sigh, Natasha rolled her eyes as she sat up straight in her chair and looked around the room, “Does everyone know?”
There was a long pause as everyone seemed to consider the consequences of honesty, looking quickly between one another and seemingly coming to a joint decision as they released a collective “Yes.”
Synopsis: Natasha comes home from work to find the last thing she wanted waiting for her.
Warnings: Language
Words: 1140
I have done this as a gift to myself as it is my birthday today and what better way to celebrate than with Natasha. Hopefully you all enjoy, feedback gratefully received, requests open etc etc etc ✌️
Natasha hadn’t moved since stepping into the dark apartment and switching on the lights, the room suddenly brightening so she could see the scene unfolding before her. She had frozen instantly, not even making it through the doorway properly and her hand still resting on the door knob as her mouth dropped slightly and her eyes widened.
Taking a tentative step towards the red head, you smiled nervously and went to reach out for her hand, “Nat…”
“I can’t believe you’ve done this to me.” Whispered Natasha, hand dropping limply from the door handle as her eyes drifted briefly to the person stood behind you and then back to you, “You said you would never do this.”
“Natasha, honey it’s oka-“
“Don’t honey me.” Shot Natasha, finally making some sort of movement and pushing the door closed.
Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you cautiously moved closer to her, “Look … I know how you feel about this but let’s just talk about it okay.”
“You promised me this wouldn’t happen.” said Natasha quietly, her heart still pounding in her chest and stomach churning at what she had come home to, “You promised me.”
“Nat listen …”
“I need a minute.” Muttered Natasha, ducking her head to avoid your gaze and scurrying out of the room. You could do nothing but push out a long sigh as you watched her hastily make her way down the corridor and into the bathroom, the sound of the door slamming behind her followed by the click of the lock echoing through the apartment.
Not really sure what to do next, you rubbed at your chin thoughtfully as you tried to think of the best course of action. You had expected Natasha to be somewhat irked but you hadn’t thought she would storm out of the room. You had actually thought she might be happy and that pretending she didn’t care was all an act. Sadly it seemed you were wrong.
“Well … I hate to say I told you so.”
“Shut up Tony.” You muttered, turning slightly to scowl at the man before making your way out of the room and down the corridor towards the bathroom, ignoring the sniggers behind you.
Stopping in front of the bathroom door, you took a deep breath before knocking on the wood, hoping that maybe Natasha had calmed down a little.
“Go away.”
Sighing again, you pressed your forehead against the door, “Come on Nat, let me in.”
“No.”
“Baby please I’m sorry, let’s just talk about this.” You tried, pushing down on the handle just in case it happened to be unlocked.
“Leave me alone.”
Raising a hand, you drummed your fingers against the door impatiently, “I’m not going anywhere, please open the door.”
“No.”
“Please.” You pleaded, more than aware that you were starting to sound pathetic now. However your tone seemed to do the trick as a few seconds later you heard the door unlock and you were finally able to push it open and step inside.
Natasha was sat on the edge of the bath, arms folded across her chest and a look on her face that told you she was extremely annoyed. You couldn’t help but feel even more nervous now you were in front of her, leaning back against the door for support as you gave her what you hoped was a charming smile.
“Surprise?”
“Go. To. Hell.”
Exhaling heavily, you decided to take a chance and walked over towards the red head, kneeling down in front of her and resting your hands on top of her legs, “Nat, I’m sorry okay? I honestly thought once you got over the shock that you would like it.”
“Do you know me at all?” Asked Natasha dryly, her eyes still narrowed in your direction although admittedly she didn’t push you away from her.
“This doesn’t have to be a big deal you know?”
Natasha rolled her eyes, “That’s exactly what I wanted it to be, not a big deal.”
“So then that’s what it’ll be …babe everyone loves you and wants to celebrate with you, that’s all it is … is that such a bad thing?”
“I don’t celebrate my birthday.” Stated Natasha flatly, folding her arms tighter across her chest and turning her head to the side.
Not wanting to make things worse, you desperately tried to fight the urge to grin at how childish she was being, “Come on, it’s just another party with the team … you love parties!”
“Not when I’m the centre of attention.”
“We got you a cake?” You tried, Natasha’s eyes briefly flitting back to meet yours, “It’s a chocolate cake.”
She pursed her lips, “You are not going to manipulate me with cake.”
Giving the red head a smile, you leaned forward to rest your lips beside her ear and lowered your voice, “I also have a very special present for you tonight if you’re not too angry with me.”
Natasha finally turned her head to look at you, narrowing her eyes once again but this time playfully as she smirked back at you, “So you’re using cake and sex to manipulate me? Seems you do know me after all.”
“Come on, just a few drinks and then we’ll kick them all out and I can give you your present.” You tried, taking one of her hands and giving it a squeeze.
Letting out a defeated sigh, Natasha shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes again, “Fine.”
Breaking out into a wide smile, you couldn’t stop the small squeal of excitement that left your lips as you rose to your feet, pulling her up with you and leading her towards the door.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed mind.”
At her words you turned on the spot, resting your hands on her hips and leaning it to kiss her. As you pressed your mouth to hers , you felt her lips turn up into a smile and she raised a hand to cup the side of your jaw. Your lips worked together slowly, her tongue slipping briefly into your mouth to brush against your own before you broke the kiss and rested your forehead to hers.
“I love you.” You stated quietly, “But I’m not going to apologise for loving you and wanting to spoil you on your birthday.”
Unable to pretend she was still angry at your words, Natasha rubbed her thumb over your cheek and pecked your lips, “I love you too.”
“Now come on,” you started, reaching down and slipping your hand into hers as you pulled the door open, “They’re all going to think you’ve killed me.”
“It was a close call.” Teased Natasha, allowing you to lead her out of the bathroom and back down the corridor.
Stepping into the living room, everyone looked a little nervous as they waited to see if Natasha was still angry. In an attempt to defuse the situation, it was Bucky who acted first, picking up a party popper and firing it into the air as he shouted a weak ‘happy birthday’.
Smirking back at the rest of her team as they tried to gauge her reaction, Natasha shook her head gently from side to side, “Thanks assholes.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Synopsis: You and Natasha have secretly sleeping together for a few weeks now. How long can you continue to keep it from the team?
Warnings: Language, mentions of sexual themes
Words: 2750
MASTERLIST
—————————
“NATASHA!” You shouted angrily, rubbing your hand over your neck as you studied yourself in front of the mirror on your bedroom wall.
Clearly not fazed by your irritated tone, Natasha didn’t even leave the bathroom where she was fixing her hair, “Yeah?”
“Are you kidding me?!” You rubbed at your neck again, stupidly hoping that maybe if you rubbed hard enough the marks would disappear.
Finally poking her head around the bathroom door, Natasha understood what you were annoyed about and caught your eye in the mirror, lips turning up into a smirk, “Yeah sorry about that.”
“You’re sorry about that?” You repeated dryly, turning on the spot and narrowing your eyes at the red head, “How am I supposed to cover these?”
Synopsis: Since becoming an Avenger you’ve had your eye on one of the ladies on your team. Will you ever be brave enough to say something or you will have to rely on someone else’s meddling.
Warnings: Language
MASTERLIST
———————————
“You’re doing it again.” Sang Tony quietly, flicking through the channels on the television from where he sat beside you on the couch.
Snapping your head to look at him, your cheeks flushed red in embarrassment as you tried to pretend you had been watching the screen as well, “What?”
Keep reading
Female Fight Club @when-wolves-howl - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook