⟡

i am obscene to you, but to myself, i simply am.

[dahlibae]

dahli! twenty two. woc. she/her. wanda’s little girl. mina’s baby. minjeong’s gf. æspa girlie. illit dollie. sanrio luvr. regina sympathiser! :3

— ౨ৎ : masterlist

— ౨ৎ : fic recs are under #myrecs! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

— ౨ৎ : this is an adult only side blog.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

[wandaslittleweirdo]

Oh that hung smile…

[cinnamongirl-444]

you with me - Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

short summary: Natasha comes back home to you after the events of Ultron. She'd love to be nothing but normal around you, but she's still shaken from a reason she's hesitant to confess.

words: 4.3k !!! warnings !!! : *** blood, mentions of death, swearing ***

-

“Hello?”

“Hey! It’s me.”

You don’t know what to say. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

You only answered your buzzing phone after four relentless calls from the same number, intrigued and a little annoyed after the first few attempts. You almost hang up on what you think is a waste of your time, when you hear the suspected spam caller laugh. 

You press the cool glass screen further into the side of your face, listening intently as she continues. 

“I’ve just been so occupied with the kids, I’m sure you understand.” The slight rasp in the tone of her voice is one that you recognize with a crashing wave of relief. Your eyes close, feeling a significant weight lifted from your mind's worries. 

Natasha.

It was the first you’d heard from her in weeks. You try to play along the best you can, knowing little about their situation at hand. Articles and broadcasts had been screaming the word “Ultron,” and you felt like you had somewhat of an idea.

“Yeah, of course- I just- you and the- um, the kids are okay?”

“Good as we can be.” There’s a pause, and you can feel like she’s hesitant to tell you more. The pitch of her voice returned to normal. It was obvious she couldn’t say too much about where she was or what she was doing. 

This fleeting moment would tie you over for right now. 

“I miss you,” you whisper, almost inaudible. Your hand curls around your phone tightly as you await her response. Whatever she was so afraid of revealing could pause for just one second. 

An eerie silence is followed by, “I miss you too.” 

She quickly hangs up after her confession, slamming Clint’s landline back to its charger in the wall. She was angry with herself, helpless in this situation. Natasha takes a deep breath before feeling her observing teammates' eyes on her.

A small smirk lines her lips.

“What? Clint’s not the only one with a secret.”

-

You don’t see Natasha for another week. Plus three more days. 

You knew better than to watch the news for accurate updates, but you couldn’t avoid it. You had seen how they’d twisted everyone’s perceptions of the Avengers; the world was like putty in their hands. 

They were brutal towards each member of the team, but the comments made about the conniving ‘Black Widow’ left a sickly feeling in your stomach. You preferred your information straight from the source itself.

Still, you wanted to protect her from all of it. 

You knew the risks. You’d felt them the second things between you and her began to turn real. 

You found yourself drowning in imaginary scenarios and overthinking every time she was assigned to a mission, or when an Earth-shattering event from the Avengers was broadcasting live on your TV. 

Everything in Natasha’s life was out of your control, including her safety. 

-

“Nat,” you whisper against her neck, after pulling her into your apartment. 

She holds you tightly, making up for lost time and explanations. Two soft knocks on your door had you instantly drop the cooking utensil in your hands, impatiently waiting for her return since the phone call. 

Her eyes close, lost in the warmth that now surrounds her. The scent from your sweatshirt fills her nose, along with the familiar smell of your apartment. It’s like she was saying, “finally”, as she practically melted into your embrace. 

The events of Sokovia were brutal, unlike anything you've seen from the Avengers since New York. You felt nauseous every time you thought of what could've happened. You pull her in closer to you.

“You should really give me a key, y’know. I could’ve surprised you.” She smiles at you, her eyes scanning your whole face.

You kiss her, wearing a wide grin you’re unable to shake. 

“I was under the impression you were able to break into the highest guarded facilities.”

“Hey,” Natasha frowns, but you kiss her again before she can say anything else. Your hands gently cup her face, pulling her in to meet your lips over and over. Her strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you steady.

Pulling away, your thumb strokes the skin on Natasha’s face, examining her like it was your first time. You landed on a forming scar in Natasha’s lower lip, slightly faded into the top of her chin, and she looked away, half-ashamed. 

You press your lips to the side of her face. “Did you eat? I’m making dinner.”

-

Natasha watches you as she sits on your couch. You’re in your own world, humming to soft music playing from a speaker, stirring bubbling water every couple of minutes. You move with ease, chopping up ingredients quickly, tossing them into a bowl. 

Natasha feels herself zoning out at the sight, thinking how different her life was just a week ago.

For a moment, she feels envious of your carefree spirit. You’re so happy to be cooking for your girlfriend, to share the same space with her, and grateful that she’s come home to you after weeks without seeing her. There’s a small smile that lines your lips, a love shining within your eyes each time you meet Natasha’s steady gaze. 

A warm dish of pesto pasta is served, and you place it in Natasha’s grateful hands, accompanied by a small kiss on her cheek. She takes a small bite as you beam down at her, watching her face for a reaction. 

“Very good. I love it.”

You sit next to her on the couch, your leg bumping into hers as the cushion dips beneath you. Always a little extra clingy when you haven't seen your girlfriend in a while, your body is slightly pressing against hers, taking in the comfort her presence possesses. 

“Mmm- hot,” you say between bites, reaching for your TV remote. Natasha gives you a small smile, continuing to eat her meal. 

The TV turns on, and onto the channel you’d been watching last. 

Of course, it was the news. 

Clips of Sokovia smothered in smoke play loudly, the volume louder than you usually had it at. There are images of buildings crumbled to the ground, wildfires burning down forests, and separated families…

It takes Natasha right back. 

“Turn it off,” she says suddenly, feeling the muscles underneath her eye beginning to twitch. The sound of her fork clangs against the ceramic. 

You’re fumbling for the remote, flipping through channels to change it to something different, but you can’t escape the media coverage. 

“Shit- sorry.”

As much as she wants to, she can’t tear her eyes away. There are clips of Sokovia burning, crumbling, and exploding in the sky. Footage of the Avengers fighting off armies of robots, structural damage to people’s homes, and stories of grief from family members of those they couldn’t save. 

“This week, live from Sokovia-”

“Artificial Intelligence from Tony Stark himself causing irreversible damage-”

“Secretary of State refuses to speak on behalf of the Avengers-”

Natasha practically rips the remote out of your hands. The screen turns black, and silence fills the small space the two of you share. Your leg that’d been resting on hers gets shaken off as Natasha sits up straighter, resting her plate on the small table next to the couch. 

“Natasha, I’m sorry I-”

“It’s not you,” she says gently, after exhaling a tight breath, like she’d been holding it in. 

You touch her thigh, searching her face with an earnest concern. For a minute, it’s like she’s not with you. And for a sliver of a second, she looked like someone else, a shell of the person who’d returned to you. An expression passes through her face, one that you couldn’t depict what she was thinking. 

Natasha found it so easy to forget all of the parts she hated about herself when she was with you. Sure, the Avengers did that as well, but this was different. With them, Natasha fought all the time, spending her days trying to atone for her past, answering to those who assigned her to missions.  

After a long week of fighting or a grueling mission, she’d return to your apartment if she wasn’t needed at the compound. She’d found safety and peace in your arms that she’d never quite had with anyone else before. 

In order to protect that, she wanted to be nothing but normal with you. 

“I’m not really in the mood for TV anyway, let me clean up.” Natasha stands, feet moving quickly towards your kitchen.

“Okay,” you say. Your eyes drift to her plate, more than half of the pasta still untouched. 

You watch her move around your kitchen with haste, like she’s driven to complete a task instead of existing in the space. She tightly wraps up leftovers, scrubs silver pans, and wipes down your countertops with disinfectant. 

You’ve seen this before, usually after a serious mission. Her walls, the careful distance, the way she folds everything inward where no one can reach it. Pushing too hard would only make her retreat further, and you don’t know how the events of Sokovia have affected her over these few weeks. 

Your chest aches at the thought.

“Nat,” you say, but she doesn’t turn around. She’s rinsing a bowl, eyes fixed on something that clearly isn’t your sink. 

You push yourself off the couch, and your movements are silent against the floor as you walk over.

Slowly, gently, your arms slide around her waist from behind. You’re careful, giving her more than enough time to pull away if she wants to.

You press yourself against her back, resting your cheek lightly between her shoulder blades. You can feel the tension there, coiled and stubborn. Just like always. 

Natasha relaxes against you. She stops her movements, letting the dishes rest in the sink. Neither of you moves; you just simply hold her, and she lets you. Your nose slightly digs into the fabric of her long-sleeve, and you press a kiss to the middle of her back. 

“I don’t care what we talk about,” you start, your voice gentle. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to say anything about work to me.”

Her breath catches subtly, but you feel the rise in her stomach. The water keeps running for a moment longer before she shuts it off. You shift slightly, loosening one arm so you can turn her around in your hold. 

She lets you.

“I just want you here.” 

Natasha nods, her jaw tightening as her hands slide over your arms, squeezing gently. Her fingers play with the hems of your sleeves. Her head hangs with sorrow, refusing to even look you in the eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, but you shake your head. “I haven’t even asked about you…”

You stifle a small laugh. Your hands move to hold her face, smoothing your thumb over her skin. Her hand follows, holding your wrist gently. “I think you’ve had more important things to worry about.”

“Hey, I’m serious. Tell me everything, tell me about work. Please,” Natasha smiles sadly. 

You lean forward and kiss her.

- 

The rest of the night settles into something quieter.

Dishes eventually get put away, this time together, slower. The music picks back up, low and steady, filling the spaces where words don’t need to go. You talk about nothing that matters. Your job at the office, neighbors, something dumb you saw earlier in the week. 

You make a small plan for tomorrow, wanting to bring her to a new coffee shop you’d found, just a few blocks away. 

Natasha listens more than she talks, but she stays close to you. Her knee presses into yours on the couch. Her hand finds your fingers absentmindedly as you talk, nodding along to your words and asking small questions.

Time passes quickly, and suddenly it has been hours since Natasha walked through your door. You kiss her softly once, then twice, before commenting how you’d like to shower. 

The apartment dims. 

Bathroom light spills into the hallway as steam curls out from the half-open door. Natasha listens to the familiar sounds of running water, the soft clatter of bottles, and soft music that plays from your phone. 

She hasn’t moved much since you’d left, sitting at the edge of your bed as she waited for your return. Your sheets are slightly rumpled beneath her hands, her fingers running through the white fabric. 

Her eyes are heavy, and they close, but she can’t seem to let her body fall just yet. There was too much at the forefront of her mind. Her body sways forward slightly, and she feels herself falling into a daze, waiting for you. 

The sound of running water stops, and silence follows. 

Natasha exhales sharply, burying her face in her hands, tightly pressing into her bones. Her hand drags through her short curls, then back over her face, her posture slumping with her movements. 

She only sits up when she hears the door open, taking her hands away from her face quickly. But you saw. 

“Hey,” you say, smiling faintly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Natasha breathes. She takes in the sight of you, wet hair clinging to your face, sporting a loose t-shirt and black underwear. “How was your shower?”

“So nice. Join me next time,” you grin, making Natasha blush, her head resting on her shoulder. Your voice echoes from the bathroom, putting something away that she can't see. 

You toss your clothes from the day into your laundry bin and miss the words Natsaha says next.

“Hm?”

“Come here,” she repeats, voice low. 

“Are you ready for bed?” You ask, obeying her command and walking over to her. Soft arms wrap around your thighs, her head leaning onto your stomach. 

Natasha nods, digging her face into you further, letting her eyes close, tucked into the smooth fabric of your shirt. 

Your fresh smell fills her senses, and the fragrance of your shampoo and lotion is all she thinks about for a moment. 

Your skin is warm and slightly damp against Natasha’s. You run your hands through her dark red curls, soothing the back of her head. 

She looks up at you, and all you can focus on are the green eyes you’ve loved for so long. The face you dreamed about at night, the body that you missed by your side each time she was out saving the world. 

“I missed you,” you say so carefully, she almost doesn’t hear it. 

“I missed you, too,” Natasha whispers back, her lips trailing over your stomach, leaning down to kiss your thighs. She rests her face back to where it was, nestled back into your t-shirt.

“Are you okay?” You ask again, your hand travelling to her neck, brushing through her baby hairs. Natasha doesn’t respond, and you cut her off before she can even think of a good enough response. “Shit, Nat, you’re bleeding.”

The black tank top she wore exposed her shoulders well enough, where you could see a long gash deep in her pale skin. Dark blood trickled down her back, and you quickly went to the bathroom to find your first aid kit. 

You fold a piece of gauze and press it into the back of her shoulder, applying a firm amount of pressure to soak up any blood that threatens to surface. Natasha winces slightly, sitting up straighter on your bed. 

“Must’ve just reopened, I didn’t even know I had one there,” Natasha comments. 

“How did you get this?” You pull the bandage away slowly, checking the progress. More pressure follows, pressing back into the wound. 

Earlier, you didn’t ask about the scar on her mouth or the healing scab on her wrist. You respected her boundary for not wanting to talk about work immensely, but you couldn’t help yourself now. There was always a line she hesitated to cross with you when talking about work, or even her past. 

Like if she showed you that side of herself, you’d never look at her the same way. 

“I uh, I was taken.”

“Taken?”

“I don’t remember a lot, but it was a pretty far distance. Must’ve happened there.”

Your movements slow, like you’re physically processing her words. 

“You were taken?” You ask again. 

Natasha nods once, eyes fixed somewhere on the ground. “It was quick,” she says. “One second I was with Clint, in the back of this truck, then…” She trails off, jaw tightening. “He had me.”

“He?”

“Ultron.”

The name feels heavier hearing it from her. Now it wasn’t something filtered through headlines or anchors, the sole word you’d been hearing for weeks on the news. This was something Natasha had dealt with face-to-face, something that had physically harmed her. Your stomach churns, and you try not to let too much emotion take over, keeping your composure. 

You dig through the first aid kit with one hand, still keeping your hand firmly pressed into her shoulder. You apply a thin layer of antiseptic before changing the current gauze with a fresh bandage. 

Natasha turns around, eyes staring into yours, still sitting with the weight of her confession. Your eyes drift back to the wound on her shoulder. Then to the faint scar on her lip. The bruises you hadn’t questioned.

How much had she chosen not to tell you?

“I’m glad you’re okay, I just…” Your expression softens, voice breaking a little. “You could’ve died.”

Natasha nods, unable to say anything in response to that. You can see her eyes well up with tears, and she swallows hard, a burning sensation travelling down her throat. Her eyes drift back to the ground as you begin cleaning up from your first aid kit. 

“There’s something else,” Natasha says. “It’s not an injury. This was after.”

You nod in understanding, urging her to continue. You make room next to her, setting the first aid kit on the ground, the mattress dipping beneath you slightly as you sit down. Your eyes scan over her face, trying to read her. 

“Steve and I, we were on top of the city, as it was in the air, it was getting harder to breathe. Pieces were falling off, people were still down there, and still in the city,” She cut herself off, shaking her head slightly. “It was bad, and we just…”

You don’t interrupt.

“I remember looking down,” she says. “And thinking, this is it.” 

Natasha lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, like she’s in disbelief that she’s even telling you this.

“I’ve been in bad situations before,” she continues, eyes distant. “But with this, there wasn’t a play, no way to fight it. No one was coming up with a solution. And I just,” Natasha lets out an exhale. “I was ready.”

“What?” You blurt out, frowning.  

You feel something twist painfully in your chest. Your hand inches forward, settling on her thigh, taking in the gravity of her words. You lean in closer, clinging to the sound of her voice, trying to process everything. “Natasha, I-”

She shakes her head quickly. “No, listen.” She takes a deep breath, debating whether or not she should say her next words. If she were you, she’d want to hear them. 

“I didn’t think about you.”

Your face is an unreadable expression, and Natasha forces herself to look away from you and your widened eyes, the sadness beginning to grow in them. She can’t bear it. 

“I didn’t think about anything,” she says. Her jaw tightens. “I just stood there and waited for it to be over.”

The sickly feeling that’d been with you since she’d been gone returns, but not for the reason she’s explaining. You don’t care that she didn’t think about you, about your relationship.

It’s something worse.

Your breath catches, and you feel yourself pull away. You can’t look at her.

Your mouth opens to speak, but you can’t find any words. You swallow, shaking your head slightly, like you’re trying to physically make sense of what she just said. “You were just going to let it happen?”

Her life, her precious, valuable life, wasn’t something worth holding onto in her eyes. 

“I keep thinking about it,” Natasha admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Ever since. And I can’t fix it.”

Your brows pull together. “Fix what?”

“I can’t find a reason to make it better. And then I come back here,” she adds, quieter again. “To you. When I didn’t even-” Natasha cuts herself off, biting her lip, refusing to let any more words escape. 

You stare at her, silence filling the room, all except for her quiet breaths. You watch the slow rise and fall of her chest, her eyes that were covered with guilt.

What mattered was that she was still here. That she had come back home. 

“I don’t- I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising. “I don’t want just to be where you come back to. I want to understand what you’re going through. Even if it’s something like this, even if it scares me.”

Natasha studies you for a long moment, like she’s trying to decide if you mean it. If what she’s said isn’t too much for you to handle. 

“It should’ve mattered more,” she insists. “When I have this whole life here,” she weakly gestures between the two of you. “When I have you.”

You shake your head. It seems like she’s already decided the answer to this. You reach for her, intertwining her fingers with yours. Her hands are tense and cold, but your warmth spreads. 

“You called me. When you probably shouldn’t have with something that dangerous. That doesn’t seem like I don’t matter to you.”

“I know,” you say, but it comes out uneven. Your grip tightens around her hand. “I just… I don’t think this is something you could’ve controlled.”

Her mind flashes back. Her lungs struggling for air, Steve’s solemn face. The peace in her heart where there should’ve been devastation. All she could focus on was the view, grateful that this would be the last thing she laid her eyes on. 

“And as for me,” you add, “I don’t need to be the last thing on your mind for this to be real. I don’t care about that. I know that you love me, Natasha.”

Her breath catches slightly, and you pull one of her hands into you, resting your forehead on her skin, your eyes closing. Her hand moves to your face, holding your cheek with her hand, fingers hooking underneath your jaw. She can’t believe you, your words, the gentle look of love in your eyes, all just for her. 

“I’ve always known the risks of your job. I know the line of work you’re in, and I know your safety isn’t promised when this is your life. I know what that’s cost you,” you say softly, eyes locking with hers. 

Tears well up over green irises, and she bites the inside of her cheek, trying to contain herself. 

Her shoulders drop, tension easing just slightly, and her hand pulls away from your face, her shared warmth with yours disappearing. 

“I still should’ve thought of you,” Natasha whispers.

“You came back,” you say. “That’s the only part I care about.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief, colliding with the tears that stay glossed over. She looks at you like you’re not understanding a single word she says. 

And maybe you aren’t. You can’t understand the way she felt standing there, waiting for the end. Only she could. 

And as much as you want to reach into her body and fix the way she was feeling, you can’t.

Instead, you just reach for her. Your hand hovers for a second before it lands, like you’re not sure she’ll let you. Your fingers brush her wrist. “Hey.”

Natasha doesn’t move. Just sits there, shoulders tight, jaw clenched like she’s holding back, like she’s debating whether or not she deserves your soft touch, your kind words. Her lower lip trembles as she looks back at you. 

“I should’ve-” she starts, but the words fall apart before they can fully form. She breaks first, leaning into you. Her forehead hits lightly against your collarbone before she settles there, breath uneven against your skin.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, your face tucked into the side of her head. You pull back just enough to look at her, your hand sliding to her cheek, brushing away tears she didn’t even notice falling. Her skin is warm. Damp beneath your fingers. 

You press a kiss to the side of her face, and she leans in to kiss you. Her lips move with yours, slow and careful, breathing the scent of you in like she needs it. You taste the salt from her tears and savor the softness of her skin, her hands finding their way back to your face. 

When she finally pulls back, it’s only an inch, her eyes fluttering shut. She presses her forehead to yours. 

The rest of the night falls quiet, and your room floods with darkness. Shadows stretch across the walls as everything slows.

Natasha’s pressed up against you, one arm draped heavy over your waist, the other tucked between you to avoid her shoulder. Her face rests warm against your back, her breath soft and uneven at first, then gradually steadying.

There’s a quiet understanding between you. There are still things she hasn’t said, things you don’t understand yet. The unspoken promise to continue lingers in the air. 

But all of that could wait. 

Your hand moves slowly over her arm, tracing familiar patterns into her skin. Reassuring yourself as much as her that this is real, that you’re both still here. Natasha’s breathing evens out, until you can hear the moment she drifts completely. 

You feel the weight of her settling fully against you, and you tighten your grip, just slightly. 

And she stays.

-

a/n: feeling a bit domestic with this one! Thank you all for the love and support on all of my fics, I am so so greatful. 😭❤️‍🩹

[bwfambi]

zuko having one child is insane i would’ve been pregnant every damn year

#KeepPounding

[fairytopea]

֗ ۪˖̣̣̣ ͏ ় 🧁✴︎ ֗ unicorn 𓈒 ֹ fluff 𐅛 ۪ ﹡ ⋅ . ˳ ˳ . ⋅

[4h20art]

[05112005]

on the run

[marvelselfinserts]

Can I request a Natasha x fem Reader?

Starts out with Reader dating a different girl (who is terrible). Reader works with the Avengers (maybe does something smart and not with strength), and her and Natasha are best friends. Natasha is, unfortunately, in love with her best friend, and Reader is completely oblivious. When Nat finds out that Readers girlfriend hit her, the Black Widow comes out in full force 🫣 Then soft Nat finally swoopes in and gets her girl

Friends with Feelings

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader [A/N] Late update tonight, been working so much since I got home 😂 Hope you enjoy this one, thanks so much for the cute request my lovely 😘

Natasha has to resist the urge to snatch your phone out of your hands and throw it across the yard. It might be just a slight overreaction but she hates that phone. Hates the sound of it pinging, the way your attention is drawn away from her and towards the little device. And she especially hates the person who’s texting you.

Given that Natasha has hidden feelings for you it would’ve been hard for her to like any girlfriend you had. Lyra is particularly easy to dislike though. Natasha had met her a few times, particularly at the start of your relationship, back when everything was new, and you were excited and in love.

The first time she’d met her you’d all gone to a bar. Natasha had brought Yelena for back-up, Yelena being the only one she’d trusted with her secret. Lyra had spent the entire evening on her phone, ignoring all of your attempts at conversation and affection. It had made Natasha’s blood boil. This girl had won the fucking lottery and had the best girlfriend ever yet she couldn’t even appreciate you? It hadn’t escaped Natasha’s notice that you’d bought all their drinks too, Lyra not lifting her head from her phone long enough to offer to pay once.

If it had been up to Natasha she would’ve had nothing more to do with Lyra but you kept inviting her round. To parties, to work events, sometimes just to chill at the compound. Every time Natasha noticed something new about Lyra that pissed her off. The way she laughed a little too loudly when Tony had made a joke at your expense. How her eyes had glazed over when Steve had been praising a piece of work you’d done. Your arm around her waist, your attention on her but hers always wandering, always looking for something or someone more interesting.

Natasha had been your best friend ever since you’d moved into the compound - you’d come along at a good time. Natasha had finally relaxed into Avengers life, was finally allowing people in rather than pushing them away, realising she’d found a home for life. When you’d arrived, a scientist who’d been head hunted by Tony Stark himself, she’d been tasked with showing you around. You’d both clicked immediately. You were quieter, more reserved and sometimes afraid of your own shadow but your differences just seemed to work. Soon you were inseparable.

It hadn’t taken long for Natasha to develop feelings for you but she hadn’t acted on them, assuming you were heterosexual and not wanting to make you uncomfortable. She could’ve kicked herself when you announced you were dating Lyra. Realising she’d lost you to someone so awful only made it worse. If Lyra treated you well, Natasha would still hate her but at least she’d be comforted knowing that you were happy. You’re unhappy though. It’s obvious to everyone except for you apparently.

You’re in the compounds garden having lunch with Natasha. You’ve both gotten into the habit of having lunch together, a routine that Natasha looks forward to every day. Natasha watches as you check your phone then sigh, putting it back down without answering “Who was that?”

Natasha already knows that answer so isn’t surprised when you say it’s Lyra. “I asked if she wanted to come to the Avengers party tonight and she’s asking if she can bring a plus one. But… She’s my plus one. Right? Plus ones don’t get a plus one.”

“No,” Natasha replies thoughtfully, taking another bite of her food. “Who does she want to bring anyway?”

“Some girl from work she’s been hanging out a lot with. Marigold I think her name is.”

Natasha has to bite her tongue. It’s not unreasonable for Lyra to have a friend – your relationship with Lyra hasn’t affected your friendship with her after all. But there’s something about Lyra wanting to bring someone else to this party that irritates Natasha. Still, if Lyra was distracted by someone else, maybe she could have more of your attention to herself. That thought makes her cheeks flush and she has to look away quickly. She needs to get over this – you’re taken.

“You’re coming to the party, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Natasha replies. “I’ll be there.”

“Stark loves an opportunity to throw a party, huh?”

Natasha nods. It’s true; Tony barely needs an excuse to decide they should all celebrate. Tonight was a particularly big celebration – Wanda’s birthday. She was turning twenty-one, and had insisted she didn’t want a big fuss but of course Tony hadn’t listened. “I tried to tell him Wanda might want something quieter. It’s Pietro’s birthday too after all, but he didn’t listen,” You say worriedly.

“She’ll be okay; we’ll keep an eye on her.”

You and Natasha had been particularly protective of Wanda ever since she’d joined, especially you. You were an only child and had seen Wanda as your new little sister, something she seemed to appreciate too. Natasha tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching as you glance down at your phone again. That stupid girl. Natasha is not looking forward to seeing her tonight but she can’t exactly bow out of Wanda’s birthday. Besides, she needs to be there. Needs to see you, even if it means seeing her too.

For the first couple of hours Natasha barely sees you but doesn’t think much of it until Wanda finds her and asks where you are. Although you’re not usually the life and soul of the party you normally work your way around the room, making sure you speak to everybody. Natasha asks some of the other Avengers and finds that none of them have seen you all night. You’d definitely been there at the start – Natasha had watched Lyra arrive, the way you’d wrapped your arms around her waist and she’d barely looked at you. Natasha had had to look away.

Natasha goes looking for you. The rest of the compound is empty during parties and at first all she can hear is the distant thump of music and talking. Her footsteps are slow as she approaches your bedroom until she hears the sound of crying from within. Natasha doesn’t even knock, just throws open the door and finds you sitting at the end of your bed, your head buried in your hands.

“Y/N?” Natasha quickly crosses the room, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”

“Tony’s going to fire me.”

Natasha’s eye-brows furrow. You complain a lot about Tony but in a light-hearted way. The way one would complain about a particularly annoying brother. Tony finds great delight in winding you up, the way he does with most people, but it’s obvious to everyone that he’s fond of you. What could have happened during the party that would make you so convinced he was going to fire you?

“Start from the beginning,” Natasha encourages.

“Nat, I feel so fucking stupid.”

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. Just tell me and I can help you fix it.”

“Lyra brought her friend with her.”

Natasha frowns, feeling a stab of irritation and hatred for that annoying girl “Didn’t you tell her not to?”

“Yes but she brought her anyway and I felt like I couldn’t tell her to leave,” You sob. “They wanted a tour of the compound so I said okay.”

Natasha waits for you to continue, her hand rubbing over your back. When you don’t she prompts you “What happened on the tour?”

“I showed them the lab. I wanted- God, I’m so stupid; I wanted to show off to Lyra. She’s never cared about my work. I showed her something me and Tony had been working on. It’s top secret; I shouldn’t have- She took pictures, her and Marigold. I tried to get them to stop-”

You cut yourself off with a sob and Natasha wraps both arms around you, pulling you to cry into her chest as she strokes her fingers through your hair “Where are they?”

“I don’t know. They wanted to keep looking around, I asked them to delete the pictures, I begged…”

Natasha takes your face in her hands, turning you to look at her and her heart nearly stops when she sees the dark bruise beneath your eye “What the fuck-”

“Nat, please-”

“Who did this to you?”

“Nat-”

“It was that bitch, wasn’t it? I knew she wasn’t good enough for you but I never dreamed...”

“Nat!” You call but it’s too late, Natasha has jumped to her feet and is storming through the compound.

Natasha moves quickly, eventually finding Lyra outside smoking a cigarette with another girl who she assumes is Marigold. Lyra raises her eye-brows when she sees Natasha approaching “Oh! It’s the Black Widow, here to-”

Natasha doesn’t finish her sentence before slapping Lyra so hard that she’s knocked off her feet. Marigold gasps “Wow! Calm down, you can’t just-”

The other girl isn’t permitted to finish her sentence either before Natasha knocks her off her feet too. Lyra tries to get back up but Natasha puts her foot to the girl’s shoulder, keeping her down as she bends down, snatching up her phone “What the Hell are you-”

“Did you send those photos to anyone?”

“What photos?”

“From the lab. Or any others that you’ve taken in here that you shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking-”

Natasha leans her foot into her shoulder harder, making Lyra shriek and squirm but Natasha doesn’t let up. With a scoff Natasha turns her attention to Lyra’s phone. It’s locked but that’s no problem for the Black Widow. Soon she’s in, deleting all the photos, checking to make sure Lyra hasn’t sent them anywhere else. She scrubs the phone clean before picking up Marigold’s and clearing hers too. Once she’s sure there are no photos of anything there shouldn’t be she throws the phones on the ground, stamping on each one, breaking them completely.

Before either girl can complain Natasha pulls Lyra to her feet by the collar of her shirt “You stay away from Y/N from now on if you know what’s good for you,” She hisses. “I see you round here again and I’ll break both your fucking arms. Got it?” Lyra glares at her and Natasha kicks her hard in the shin “Do you fucking hear me?”

“Ahh! Yes, fuck!”

Natasha shoves her back to the ground “I oughta give you a black eye too you bitch. Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”

Lyra scrambles to her feet, rushing off, leaving Marigold in the dust as she scrambles up after her. Natasha glares at them, making sure they’re off the premises before heading back to your room. Her expression softens as she sees your tearful face “It’s okay,” She reassures you; sitting down on the bed and pulling you back into her arms. “I deleted the pictures, you’re not going to lose your job. I wouldn’t have let that happen, no matter what.”

You sniffle “I was so stupid Nat.”

“I hated her from the start.”

“You did? Why didn’t you say something?”

Natasha smiles and rolls her eyes “You’re so oblivious. You really couldn’t tell I hated her?”

“No! I wish you’d said something. You’re my best friend; I value your opinion a lot.”

Natasha hesitates, her hand stroking up and down your back “Well, I… If I’m being honest… I didn’t like the way she ignored you. The way she didn’t seem to realise just how good she had it. How your face would fall every single time that she text you. It always seemed like you were running around after her and she never gave you anything in return.”

“I didn’t realise-”

“She should’ve made you happy Y/N. You always seemed so unhappy. It made my blood boil. If I’d only had a chance, I would’ve-”

Natasha quickly cuts herself off, realising she’s said too much. Her heart pounds in her chest so loud that you must be able to hear it. Neither of you says anything for a long moment so she starts to speak again “I just think-”

“Did you want a chance?”

Your voice is so quiet. Natasha closes her eyes, holding you a little tighter, as if afraid once you know the truth you won’t let her hold you like this ever again. Natasha thinks of the sleepovers where you’d shared a bed, staying up late and watching movies, just the way you’d told her you had as a kid. Sleepovers had been a foreign concept to Natasha and she’d loved them. Loved curling up next to you and falling asleep, the scent of your shampoo in her nose, your body soft and warm next to hers. What if you didn’t want to do that anymore?

“I love you Y/N,” She confesses quietly. “Seeing you with another woman killed me but having it be someone as horrible as her… Fuck, it’s been torture.”

Silence descends on the room again and Natasha continues to hold you, leaning her head against yours. After a couple of minutes you ask “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know if you- You started dating a girl and I realised but by then… It was too late and I couldn’t…” Natasha hesitates. “Y/N, can I… Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

Natasha’s heart sinks and she squeezes you before starting to let go of you. You grab her arm “No! No, I meant- Nat, I’ve wanted you to kiss me forever. But… I want it to be perfect. I don't want a runny nose and red eyes and teary cheeks.”

Natasha looks down at you, cupping your cheek with her hand “So… You’re saying… You and me… We could go on a date?”

You nod “Yes. Well, not imminently, I need time to… Catch up with whatever the fuck happened tonight. And technically me and Lyra are still dating-”

“Ah, I uh… Don’t think you need to worry about Lyra anymore,” Natasha says, her cheeks flushing.

You smile through your tears “Nat… Did you kick her ass?”

“… I could’ve been worse in my defence. I actually really held back.”

You smile, leaning your head on her shoulder “Always looking out for me.”

Natasha huffs “Someone has to. And it wasn’t gonna be that- Forget her. Okay? I’m gonna take you on a date so good that you’ll forget you ever had any other girlfriend.”

You laugh as Natasha runs her fingers through your hair. Part of you had thought maybe Natasha had feelings for you but she’d been so hard to read and you hadn’t wanted to ruin the friendship either. Tonight has been difficult and you’re going to need some time to get over it but you know Natasha will be by your side. And that makes the whole thing more bearable.

[meanbuddhist]

i have got to give up the desire to be understood. lol

[kosmogrl]

[papayajuan2019]

killing myself out of habit

[urloserfemgf]

bratty subs who are deep down shy and pathetic you can’t fool me

like it’s all a set up, it’s all an illusion, a game, but who do you really think you’re fooling? we all know you’re just puffing out your chest, all bark and no bite.

just embrace it baby, you can’t be tough all the time. what’s wrong with being needy if it’s just a secret between us? don’t worry I won’t tell your friends just how submissive you can get when I press the right buttons, unless you want me to? god could you imagine what they’d think? if I told them how much you love getting fucked by me every night? the look on your face would be priceless if they knew, I bet it’s even turning you on at the thought.

don’t act like you don’t like it. that you hate when I baby you, when I sweet talk you? when caressing your inner thigh, like it’s nothing. I can see it in your eyes, your body language, you’re trying so hard to not crumble at my presence. It’s so adorable.

I’ll be sweet if you just admit it. Just say you’re sorry baby, that you know your place. If not, I don’t mind fucking the apology out of you. You know you can’t do this without me, no one fucks you the way I do, and you’re hooked. Just say it, I won’t stop making you come until you do, until you have tears pricked at your eyes and your weak for me.

[seasonofhorror]

VAN HELSING

2004, dir. Stephen Sommers

[randomgirlduh]

This, Every Day - Natasha Romanoff

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

summary: somewhere along the way, without ceremony or negotiation, the girls chose who they run to when something hurts — and you and Natasha learned to love what that meant.

tags/warnings: domestic fluff, soft emotional moments, mentions of missions / temporary separation, minor illness (fever), married Natasha, mom Natasha, established relationship, family dynamics, Natasha Romanoff Deserves Happiness.

author's note: hey loves! 💛  i know i said stay tuned… and here we are, very early actually.

i completely forgot i had this written, and then i stumbled across it earlier and just thought, why not post it today? it felt right. it’s soft, domestic, no big plot—just feelings. and honestly, i really loved revisiting this little family. you know I love my nat and reader wives so much.

english is not my first language, so please forgive any mistakes and be kind. the russian dialogue includes english translations so everyone knows what’s being said—but i obviously do not speak russian 😭 so if anything sounds off, please blame the translator and not me.

i always love reading your thoughts, so don’t be shy. your comments truly make my day 💛

There is an unspoken rule in your house that no one has ever admitted out loud, not once in all the years it has existed. If the world feels heavy — if something went wrong at school, or a friendship cracked down the middle, or you just feel stretched thin in that quiet, invisible way that's hardest to explain — you go to Mom and Mama's room. It doesn't matter how old you are. It doesn't matter if you're twelve or fifteen and have been spending considerable energy convincing everyone around you that you don't need anyone anymore. The door is never really closed. It never has been.

You and Natasha never planned it. You never sat down at the kitchen table and divided loyalties, never encouraged preference, never drew invisible lines between yourselves and hoped the girls would find their way to the right side. If anything, you both tried very hard to avoid it — or at least to keep things even, symmetrical, fair. But children are not interested in fairness when it comes to who they run to when something hurts. Somewhere along the way, without anyone announcing it, without ceremony or negotiation, the girls chose. It happened the way all quiet and important things happen: gradually, and then all at once.

Valerie has always gravitated toward Natasha. Even when she was little. Even when Natasha still carried that sharpness around her like armor, she hadn't yet figured out how to set down. Especially then, maybe, because Valerie is the kind of person who does not need softness when she's overwhelmed — she needs steadiness. She needs someone who will not overreact, who will not rush in with words before there is space for them, who will listen without flinching and answer calmly and directly. That is Natasha, entirely and completely. And Natasha — who spent the better part of her life believing she was built for destruction, not devotion, who never expected a child to look at her the way Valerie does, with that quiet and absolute trust that borders on reverence — never quite recovered from being chosen. You watch it happen sometimes, the small astonishment that flickers across her face when Valerie leans into her, and you think: she still can't believe it. You love her for that. You love them both for that.

Mila is yours. Entirely, effortlessly, without question. She does not think before reaching for you. If she is cold, she presses against your side. If she is tired, she leans her full weight into your shoulder without apology. If she is unsure, she finds your expression first before deciding how she feels about anything, using your face as a compass. She talks things out. She processes at full volume, out loud, in the middle of whatever room you're in. She needs reassurance in words, not just presence — she needs to hear it, hold it, turn it over. And you give it to her instinctively, patiently, without ever making her feel like too much. You catch Natasha watching sometimes, watching the way Mila fits herself into you like she was built for that specific space, and you can see Natasha still learning how to understand that kind of tenderness. Not jealous of it. In awe of it, more like.

It is most obvious at night.

Valerie does not announce that she's coming in. She knocks once — always exactly once, never twice, because she is fifteen and careful about her dignity even when she is not okay — and then opens the door just enough to step through. She walks straight to Natasha's side of the bed every time. If she had a long day, if something at school pressed too hard against her, if she argued with a friend or spent too long holding herself together in public, she doesn't say much. She just climbs in beside Natasha and rests her head against her shoulder, and Natasha doesn't ask questions immediately. She shifts onto her back so Valerie can tuck into her side, one arm coming around her automatically — secure, but not tight. Never tight. She learned the difference years ago.

Sometimes they lie there without speaking for ten full minutes before Valerie exhales the kind of breath that sounds like she has been saving it for hours and says, “Can I tell you something?”

And Natasha answers, without hesitation, every time, “Of course.”

Valerie tells Natasha things she doesn't tell you first. Not because she loves you less — you have always known that, have always been certain of it — but because Natasha meets her intensity with steadiness. When Valerie spirals, Natasha grounds her. When Valerie doubts herself, Natasha reminds her who she is without dramatics, without inflation, just clean and direct and real.

“You don't have to be perfect to be worthy,” Natasha tells her one night, voice low in the dark.

And Valerie nods against her shoulder like she is filing it away as law, like she will carry it with her into every room she ever enters.

Across the bed, you watch them and feel nothing but gratitude. That is the only word for it. Pure, uncomplicated gratitude.

Mila, on the other hand, has never knocked in her life. She wanders in and climbs directly into your side like gravity pulled her there, like there was never any other option. She curls into you, tucks her face under your chin, presses her knees against your thigh, and then she talks. About a classmate who ignored her at lunch. About the teacher who made her nervous in front of everyone. About how she is pretty sure she messed up the presentation even though she practiced. You stroke her hair and answer gently, patiently, giving her room to feel everything without minimizing any of it. Natasha listens from the other side of the bed, sometimes offering a quiet suggestion, but she understands this rhythm belongs to you. She does not interrupt it. She knows that Mila needs warmth first. Solutions later, if at all. And you provide it without even thinking about it, the way you breathe.

-

Saturday mornings are sacred in your house.

Natasha leaves early for the gym. She always does — the same quiet routine, boots set down carefully, a kiss pressed to your temple, a hand briefly over whichever girl has migrated into the bed and kicked her blanket off overnight. By the time she comes back, flushed from exertion, hair still damp with sweat, the scene is almost always identical. Both girls in your bed. Valerie pretending she's there just to talk, sitting up with her arms crossed, trying very hard to look like someone with a purpose. Mila not pretending anything at all — fully curled into your side, hair in every direction, barely awake, happy as anything.

You are lying on your back while they ramble about whatever is pressing that particular morning. Something from school. Something online. An argument that happened in the group chat. Something Mila read that she cannot stop thinking about. It is wonderful and completely unremarkable, and you would not trade it for anything. Then the front door opens, heavy boots set down in the hall, and Valerie hears it before you do.

“She's back,” she says.

Both girls sit up just slightly — a reflex, almost, like a shift in the room's gravity.

Natasha appears in the doorway in her workout clothes and just stops.

Three bodies tangled in her bed. The way the morning light is sitting on everything. The sound of the girls already starting to say her name.

Her whole face softens in a way she would never allow anywhere that wasn't home.

“Well,” she says dryly, “I see I've been replaced.”

Mila holds out one dramatic arm. “Mama, come here.”

And Natasha doesn't hesitate, she climbs directly onto the bed without caring that she's warm from the run, settling into the space that seems to appear for her automatically.

“You're sweaty,” Valerie complains.

“And yet,” Natasha says, wrapping an arm around her anyway, “you are not moving.”

Valerie absolutely does not move.

You watch them for a moment — Natasha in the middle now, Mila tucked under her arm, Valerie already leaning into her shoulder — and Natasha glances at you over both their heads. That look. Soft, grateful, almost disbelieving.

She mouths two words without sound: We did this.

And you smile back and think we did.

-

Weekday mornings are a different kind of beautiful.

Dinner is chaos. Beautiful, specific, yours. Valerie arguing her case for a later curfew next weekend, presenting evidence with the kind of precision that makes Natasha quietly proud even as she declines. Mila dramatically offended that the answer about adopting the cat she found online is still, inexplicably, no.

“Your argument,” Natasha says calmly, addressing Valerie, “is that you are responsible.”

Valerie confirms this.

“You left a towel on the bathroom floor this morning.”

Valerie sputters. “That's unrelated.”

Natasha raises one brow. “Is it?”

Mila points triumphantly across the table.

You are trying very hard not to laugh while serving food. Natasha catches your eye in that moment, and there is that quiet amusement sitting in her expression — she loves this, you can see it, the normalcy of it, the trivial arguments about curfews and bathroom floors and rescue cats.

Later, when the girls clear their plates with theatrical sighing, Natasha reaches for your hand under the table, and her voice drops low.

“Sometimes I still can't believe they're ours.”

You squeeze her fingers. “They are.”

And the way she exhales after that — like she needs to hear it said out loud sometimes, needs someone to confirm the reality of it — makes your chest ache in the softest possible way.

-

Mila is undeniably your girl. She doesn't try to hide it. She doesn't see any reason to.

One afternoon she is at the kitchen counter doing homework, frustration building in waves — the pencil tapping, the eraser smearing, the pages turning with increasing violence.

“I'm stupid,” she mutters, under her breath, like she doesn't mean for you to hear it.

You hear it.

You walk over and gently take the pencil from her hand and wait until she looks up at you.“Look at me малыш.” Baby.

She does.

“You are not allowed to talk about my daughter like that.”

Something in her eyes softens immediately — completely, instantly, like a door opening. You pull her into your chest without ceremony, and she folds there the way she always has, the way she has since she was small, fully and without reserve.

“You're frustrated,” you say into her hair. “That's different.”

She nods against you.

In the doorway, Natasha is watching, quiet, and the look on her face is something close to reverence. Because she sees it — you don't just love them. You build them back up in real time, piece by piece, without ever making them feel like a project. You do it the way people breathe.

-

Valerie's attachment to you is quieter, but it runs just as deep.

One evening she knocks on your office door.

“Do you have a minute?”

You always do.

She sits on the edge of the chair, fidgeting with her sleeve, and it takes a little while to get going.

“There's this thing,” she starts.

And then she finds her way into it. Something about a friendship that feels complicated, or something she's scared to name quite yet, or something that happened that she has been carrying alone all week.

You don't interrupt. You don't rush toward solutions. You just sit cross-legged on the couch and give her your full attention, all of it, and when she finishes, you say gently, “That makes sense.”

No judgment. No overreaction. Just — that makes sense.

Valerie exhales like she has been holding her breath for days.

“You're not mad?” she asks.

“Why would I be?” You reach out and squeeze her hand. “I'm on your side. Always.”

When she hugs you goodnight, she lingers a beat longer than usual.

Natasha notices. She always notices.

There is also the protective side of you that lives just underneath the warmth, and the girls have both seen it operate.

-

When a teacher misjudges Mila — calls her distracted in a tone that is dismissive rather than concerned — you don't raise your voice. You schedule a meeting. You sit across from that teacher calm and composed and completely unwavering.

“My daughter is thoughtful. If she's distracted, there is a reason. Let's figure out what it is instead of labeling her and moving on.”

Natasha sits beside you, quiet but imposing, saying nothing and requiring no words. The teacher backtracks in short order.

Afterward, Mila looks at you like you hung the moon yourself.

“You didn't have to do that.”

You don't hesitate. “Yes. I did.”

Valerie hears the story later and mutters, entirely casually, “Mom’s scarier than Mama.”

Natasha laughs out loud — genuinely, completely.

You just raise a brow. “Good.”

The affection is constant and ordinary and everywhere. You kiss their foreheads absentmindedly while passing through rooms. You text them during the day just to say thinking about you, and they respond with varying levels of teenage nonchalance that does not fully conceal how much it means to them. You remember everything — Valerie's exact favorite snack, the specific tea that helps Mila when she's anxious, the projects that are coming up, the friends whose names matter, the tiny details that add up to being known.

They gravitate toward you without thinking about it. On the couch they lean into you. In the kitchen they hover beside you. When you're cooking, Mila will wrap her arms around your waist from behind and just stand there — her chin on your shoulder, her arms loose — not saying anything, not needing to.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she says.

She doesn't move.

You cover her hands with yours and keep stirring the pot. Natasha walks in and just smiles. Because she knows what that is. That is safety, plain and total and unconditional, and you provide it the way some people provide sunlight — without ever seeming to try.

-

The language is its own thing entirely.

Natasha never forced it on them. She didn't sit them down with textbooks or make it a lesson. It came the way all the most important things came in your house — gradually, softly, without announcement. It came through pet names, first. Солнышко murmured into sleepy hair at bedtime. Моя девочка when she was proud. Котёнок when someone was upset and trying not to show it. The girls grew up hearing it like background music — familiar and warm, something that meant Mama is near and everything is fine. And then, without anyone noticing when exactly it shifted, they started giving it back.

Mila is the one who does it first on purpose. She is maybe nine years old, curled up next to Natasha on the couch while you move around the kitchen. Natasha is braiding her hair, slow and patient, fingers working carefully.

“Mama?”

Natasha says, “Yes, малышка?” Baby.

Mila pauses, concentrating visibly. “Я тебя люблю.” I love you.

Natasha's hands go still. The whole room seems to hold its breath.

She answers immediately, voice softer than you have ever heard it. “Я тоже тебя люблю.” I love you too.

Mila beams like she won something enormous. Later, she tells you she practiced that sentence for two days.

Valerie's version is subtler. She is too self-conscious for full sentences, at least about it, at least out loud. But when Natasha comes home from a mission and Valerie wraps her arms around her in the hallway, there is usually something muttered into her shoulder, almost too quiet to catch.“добро пожаловать домой, мама.” Welcome home mama.

Natasha always squeezes her tighter after that, without comment, without making it a thing.

Or sometimes in the early mornings, when Natasha is already in her jacket and boots and Valerie appears in the doorway looking half asleep, Valerie will say, casual as anything, “Будь осторожна.” Be careful.

She says it like it means nothing.

Natasha hears everything in it.

Mila uses Russian when the feeling is too big for English. When she's sick and half asleep and the fever finally starts to break, she will whisper, “Мама,” in a way that sounds smaller and more fragile than the English version, like the word itself is made of something more tender. When she's overwhelmed and Natasha is holding her, she will murmur, “Неуходи,” Don’t go. not dramatically, not even always consciously, but Natasha catches it every time.

She answers in the same steady, low voice, “Я никуда не уйду.” I’m not going anywhere.

Even when she has to leave later. Even if it's only for a week. In that moment, it is true, and Mila knows it is true, and that is enough.

At dinner, in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday, Mila will toss out a random word mid-sentence and not notice she did it.

“Мама, where's my phone?”

And then, Valerie: “Moooom, Mila took my blanket, это нечестно.” That's not fair.

Natasha never corrects the code-switching. She smiles faintly, that private smile that she doesn't always let people see, like she is holding something precious between her hands.

The first time it happens in public is almost funny. You're in a grocery store. Natasha is comparing prices, focused. Mila tugs on her sleeve.

“Мам, можно это?” Can I have this?

Natasha doesn't even blink. “Нет.” No.

Valerie snorts audibly. The cashier looks deeply confused.

“She said no,” Mila rolls her eyes.

Natasha leans down slightly and says, quiet and entirely serious, “I always say no in Russian. It sounds softer.”

Valerie looks at her. “It doesn't.”

She is smiling when she says it.

When Natasha is gone, the language sleeps. The girls don't use it as much — it belongs to a frequency that requires her presence to transmit properly. But it slips out at the edges. Mila texts her, “Спокойной ночи, мама.” Good night mama.before bed, and Natasha responds every time. Valerie, before a weekend mission, left a sticky note on Natasha's pillow: Возвращайся домой. Come back home.

Natasha kept it in her wallet for months. You found out when it fell out at the grocery store and she picked it up quickly, almost embarrassed, and you looked at it and looked at her and said nothing because there was nothing that needed saying.

You don't feel left out. You never have. You love watching it because you understand what it is. It is not exclusion. It is inheritance. It is Natasha giving them a piece of where she came from — not the violence, not the parts she has spent years trying to reckon with, but the language. The softness hidden inside it, underneath everything she was made to be.

And sometimes, when the house is quiet and the girls are asleep and it is just the two of you in the dark, Natasha will pull you close and murmur against your hair, “Моя любовь.” My love.

You understand that one perfectly.

-

The hard moments come quietly.

Natasha has been gone four days. A short mission, not dangerous, not dramatic — just long enough. Long enough for the house to feel slightly uneven, like a table with one leg a little shorter than the others. Long enough for Mila to start sleeping with your pillow tucked under her chin because it smells like both of you and that specific combination is the one that means home, completely.

You are at the kitchen table on FaceTime, the connection flickering a little with the distance, but Natasha is there — alive, real, smirking at something you said. Mila is standing around the corner, listening. You can see her shadow.

“Come here,” you call gently.

Mila shakes her head quickly. “She's busy,” she whispers.

Natasha hears it anyway. “Mila.”

Just her name, just that — and something in the way Natasha says it breaks the dam. Mila walks into the kitchen slowly, trying to look composed, trying to be twelve and brave and fine.

Natasha's expression changes the instant she sees her. Completely.

“There's my girl.”

Mila's mouth trembles before she can stop it. “Hi.”

“You're not coming to say hello?” Natasha asks, mock offended.

Mila steps closer. “I didn't want to bother you.”

Natasha goes still. “Bother me?”

Mila shrugs. “You're working.”

Natasha leans toward the camera, voice dropping to something careful and absolute. “Listen to me. There is no universe in which you bother me.”

Mila presses her face into your side.

“You miss me?” Natasha asks softly.

Mila nods without lifting her head.

“I miss you too. Terribly.”

After the call ends, Mila does not let go of you for a long time.

-

The fever comes in the middle of the night, the way the worst things do.

You wake to the sound of coughing — the deep, chesty, miserable kind that pulls you out of sleep before you are even fully conscious of it. Natasha is gone. Three days into what is supposed to be a routine, safe, short trip. You are already out of bed.

Mila's light is on. She is sitting up when you come in, hair plastered to her forehead, blanket tangled around her legs, eyes glassy.

“I'm fine.”

You press your palm to her forehead and she is not fine.

“You're burning up.”

She insists it's just a cold. Her voice is small and thick, and she lets you take the thermometer from the nightstand, which tells you everything you need to know about how bad it is.

“Don't tell Mama.” She says quickly when you check the reading.

“Why not?”

“She'll worry.” A pause. “She can't come home.”

It is not dramatic. It is not a tantrum. It is just a twelve-year-old being practical about the people she loves, trying to protect her mother from worry the way Natasha has spent years trying to protect her from everything else, and it hits you somewhere right in the center of your chest and stays there.

You spend the rest of the night in her room. Cool cloth on her forehead, medicine measured carefully, soft murmurs when she drifts in and out. Around three in the morning she shifts restlessly and finds your wrist in the dark.

“Mommy.”

“I'm here.”

A long pause. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, “I want Mama.”

She sounds ashamed of it, which breaks your heart completely.

“I know, baby.”

She presses her face into your stomach the way she did at five during thunderstorms.

“She would sit with me,” Mila whispers. “She does that thing with my hair.”

Your throat tightens. “She still can. Just from far away right now.”

Mila shakes her head weakly. “It's not the same.”

“No. It isn't.”

In the morning, Valerie appears in the doorway. She tries to look composed, which she mostly fails at.

“Did you call Mama?” she asks you quietly.

“Not yet.”

Mila grips your shirt. “Don't.”

Valerie frowns. “Why not?”

“Because she'll feel bad.”

Valerie goes soft immediately.

“She always feels bad,” Valerie says quietly. “That's kind of her thing.”

There is no resentment in it. Just understanding. Just knowledge of the person they share.

Natasha calls around noon. You answer in the kitchen.

“How are my girls?”

A fraction of a second's pause before you answer, and Natasha catches it before you can smooth it over.

“What happened?”

She listens. There is a silence on the other end that hums.

“How high?”

You tell her.

“I'm coming home.”

You hold your ground firmly. “You are not. It's a cold. She needs to know you'll always come back — and you will.”

A long exhale. “Put me on speaker.”

When Mila hears Natasha's voice she tries to sit up straighter.

“Mama?”

“Hi, my sick little bird.”

“I'm okay,” Mila says quickly.

“I know you are,” Natasha says, and the tenderness in her voice is almost unbearable.

“I didn't want you to worry.”

“Mila.” Natasha's voice drops, careful and precise. “If you are sick, I want to worry. That is a privilege.”

Mila's eyes fill before she can stop them.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Natasha says immediately. “Every minute.”

“I want you to sit with me.”

On the screen, Natasha closes her eyes for just a moment.

“Then I will. We'll stay on the phone. I'll sit right here.”

And she does.

For forty-five minutes, Natasha talks softly — she tells stories, rambles about small things, drifts into the memory of when Mila was a baby and refused to sleep unless Natasha hummed the same off-key lullaby every single night for almost a year.

Valerie eventually climbs into the bed too, pretending she is just checking on her sister. She stays.

Natasha notices.

“Both my girls in one bed?”

“Shut up,” Valerie mutters.

She is smiling when she says it.

-

The fever spikes that night. Mila gets clingy in a way she hasn't been in years, openly and without embarrassment, and you welcome every inch of it.

“Can I sleep with you?”

You don't hesitate. “Of course.”

She curls into your side immediately, forehead against your collarbone, fingers hooked into your shirt.

In the dark, barely audible, “Mama would've carried me.”

You press a kiss into her hair. “I can carry you too.”

She shakes her head slightly. “It's different.”

It is. Natasha carries like she is shielding the world from them — like her arms are the last line between them and anything that would dare. You carry like you are holding the pieces together, like your hands are what keeps everything from scattering. Both things are necessary. Both things are love.

-

Natasha comes home two days later.

The fever is gone but Mila is still pale, still slow, still wrapped in three layers of blanket when she hears the door. She freezes at the top of the stairs. For a moment she just stares. Then she runs. Not with her usual wild energy — with relief.

Natasha catches her easily and lifts her without hesitation despite the extra height, holding her tight, cheek pressed to her temple.

“You're still warm.”

“I'm better.”

“I know.”

Mila buries her face in Natasha's neck. “I wanted you.”

Natasha closes her eyes. “I know.”

Valerie joins the hug from the side, quieter, her arms going around both of them. You wrap around all three of them. A mess of limbs and love that doesn't fit neatly together but fits anyway, the way it always has.

-

Later that evening the girls are settled on the couch — Mila half asleep against Natasha's chest, Valerie leaning into her shoulder, the television on but no one particularly watching it.

Natasha looks at you over their heads.

“I hate missing things.”

“You didn't,” you answer steadily. “She knew you were there.”

Natasha presses a kiss into Mila's hair. “She'll always be my baby.”

You smile. “They both will.”

And they will.

-

The moment with Valerie comes on a different kind of night.

You're folding laundry on the bed. Natasha is in the shower, steam curling faintly under the bathroom door. The hallway light shifts — just a shadow, just for a second — and you think someone is walking past. Then it stays. Still.

You open the door and Valerie is standing there in oversized sleep shorts, arms crossed, working very hard to look casual.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey.”

She shifts her weight. Doesn't quite meet your eyes.

“I was just — I don't know. I couldn't sleep.”

You open the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

She hesitates.

“I mean,” she says quickly, defensive before anyone accuses her of anything, “I know I'm kind of old to just — you know.”

The bathroom door opens before you can answer. Natasha steps out, towel over her shoulders, hair damp. She reads the scene in one glance — Valerie's posture, the set of her jaw, the careful way she is trying to make herself small.

“Why are you standing in the hallway?” she asks. Genuinely confused.

“I was just going back to my room.”

Natasha crosses to her without hesitation. “You were not.”

Valerie braces — but instead of correction, Natasha places a hand at the back of her neck, the same way she did when Valerie was small and overwhelmed and furious at herself for being overwhelmed.

“If you want to be in here, you come in,” Natasha says. “There is no expiration date.”

Valerie's face does something complicated. Relief and embarrassment and relief again, tangled together.

“I just didn't want to be annoying.”

Natasha's brows pull together. “You have never been annoying for needing us. Not once.”

You step closer and wrap an arm around Valerie's shoulders and she melts — immediately, completely, like she has been holding herself together with tape and someone finally said it was okay to let go.

That night she sleeps on Natasha's side, head tucked against her mama's chest, and Natasha runs her fingers through her hair long after Valerie is asleep.

Later, in the dark, Natasha whispers across the pillow, “Who told her she has to outgrow comfort?”

You think about it. “No one. The world does it quietly.”

Natasha's exhale is sharp and certain. “Not in this house.”

Some nights both girls end up in your bed, and the alignment is always the same.

Valerie at Natasha's side, head against her chest, arm slung around her waist in a way that is too big and still unmistakably childlike. Mila pressed into you, fingers hooked loosely into your shirt even in sleep. You in the middle of it all, feeling the weight of four bodies sharing a mattress that was never meant for this and was, somehow, always meant for this.

Natasha's hand finds yours over Valerie's shoulder. You squeeze gently. Neither of you speak.

-

One night — both girls heavy with sleep against her — she turns her head and says, barely above a whisper, “She trusts me.”

You know which one she means.

“She always has,” you say.

Natasha looks at Mila curled into you, then back at Valerie, then at you.

“I don't know what I did to deserve this.”

You reach across the tangle of blankets and take her hand and hold it.

“You stayed,” you tell her.

And in this house, in this family, in this life you have built inside these four walls — that has always been enough.

-

On the couch, a Sunday, late in the afternoon, no particular event: Valerie laughing at something on her phone, Mila on the floor surrounded by homework she is barely doing, Natasha beside you with her feet tucked up, your hands loosely linked between you. Nothing is happening. It is completely ordinary.

Natasha goes still for a moment. Her eyes move between the girls, slowly.

“They're everything,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

“And you—”

She doesn't finish it. She looks at you instead, and you look back at her, and the sentence completes itself in the space between you where all the most important things have always lived.

The girls look up.

“Are you two being gross again?” Mila demands.

“This is my house,” Natasha says solemnly. “I'll be gross if I want.”

Valerie makes a face.

You laugh. The house fills with it.

Not because of the noise.

Because every room has love in it, and neither of you — not for one day, not for one moment — take that for granted.

[aurasaur]

ITS BRIGHTER NOW

SUMMARY — until you met your girls, you once believed love would be burning red, but it turns out, it’s everything in between, and that couldn’t be more golden. i wanna be defined by the things that i love, not the things i hate, not the things that i’m afraid of, not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night, i just think that you are what you love

PROMPTS — “sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you” & “will you stay with me?”

WARNINGS — mentions of battle, injury, anxiety, overall just fluff and comfort for arguably the best avengers and their girlfriend

Like every relationship, yours has its ups and downs. Although most times, you’re met with nothing but outstanding partners who try their absolute hardest to maintain open communication and boundaries, they’re still human, and Avengers, and while some consider that a fairytale circumstance, not many stop to think about how challenging it can be at its worst moments. Not many people, or any at all who aren’t in the lifestyle or one similar, think about how they’re gone for days at a time, sometimes weeks or months if it’s an undercover mission, and how when they finally do get back, they’re never the same as how they left. But honestly, how could they be? They’ve done things no average citizen would ever be expected to do, seen things and handled situations that are dangerous and traumatizing, and just like anyone else, those things haunt them. Wanda is better about unpacking those skeletons in her closet then Natasha is, but the both of them take things personally, and if things go south, it’s never good.

Both of your girlfriends had been gone from the compound for days. They’d been called out to an active Hydra base in Russia, and three days later, things had gone south and they’d been in active combat since. You didn’t talk to them much, with battles and timezones and everything else that got in your way, but you had heard through the grapevine that Wanda was pretty banged up and Natasha had been left with no choice but to shoot to kill after a particularly gruesome fight. Hearing that never got any easier, especially when they were halfway across the world and had no idea when they’d return. It was missions like these that made you yearn for a simpler life. One where Wanda was an artist, Natasha probably took up something flexible like tattooing, and you did literally anything else to just have some peace and quiet and promised safety.

You had met Natasha first, after Maria recruited you to join Shield. She had been skeptical of you, as she was of everyone, but you broke down her walls as easily as you’d picked the lock to Clint’s farm the one time you were placed on a strike mission together. She had been hurt pretty badly, and his farm was the closest place to land. That had been an interesting day, no thanks to your girlfriend who was draped across your arm with a shallow bullet wound and a startled Laura who was screeching about blood on her new couch. Things with Clint were still chaotic as ever, but he eventually got over you busting his brand new lock, and the two of you joked about it now, although now you had a key so no locks had to be busted in the event of an unplanned visit happening again. When you met Wanda, she fell into your dynamic easily, and at first, neither you nor Natasha had realized that you’d kind of adopted her as a third girlfriend until a drunken night when she ended up in your bed and never left. Now, sleeping without them is hard, but you’re forced to manage as best as you can, seeing as you don't really have much of a choice.

It was going onto the sixth night without them home when you finally retired from the couch, and decided to head to bed, figuring that at two in the morning there was no chance of them coming back until the next morning at the earliest. It was hard enough when one of them was on an active mission with no return date, but when both of them were gone, it truly felt like your heart was missing from your chest and you were just going through the motions and holding your breath until they got back. Most people only had one person to worry about, but having two people to lose, with jobs in this line of work, you felt like you were always looking over your shoulder and expecting the worst. As often as they could, your girlfriends declined missions together, even though they felt comfortable on the battlefield together and it was a comfort to not be alone, but neither one of them wanted to risk not coming home to you. They didn’t have a choice this time, so reluctantly they packed up their duffles and headed for the quinjet, with a kiss on your head and a promise that they would fight to come home to you, that they would try to make it back. There were still two mugs of tea on the countertop in the mini kitchen, and although it was disgusting and the tea had gone bad, you couldn’t bring yourself to clean them up. If that was the last thing they ever touched with you, when they were just Wanda and Natasha and not Avengers, you wanted the picture of mismatched mugs burned into your eyelids for the rest of your life. They deserved to be remembered as real, genuine, soft and stubborn, sometimes infuriating but lovable and loved people, not just heroes who had a cause when things went south.

You tossed and turned for probably an hour, groaning in annoyance for how empty your bed felt without them. How had you gotten so attached? That was the one thing you’d tried your hardest not to do when you got into this, and yet here you are, in Natasha’s t-shirt and Wanda’s panties, unable to sleep because the bed feels too cold and the walls feel too big and the room feels too empty and your heart feels misplaced. You’d heard somebody say love is golden once, not burning red, and you’d never understood that until a moment like this a few years ago, when Natasha left for the first time and you were utterly alone in the tower. They were golden, they were light, they were pouring rain in the middle of the day with the sun shining and not a cloud in sight, and they are the best moments of your life that you wish you could frame in a moving picture, because no, a picture can’t say a million words when it’s them. You need every word in the dictionary and then some. You will never be able to elaborate on how much you love them without falling short, and feeling like there's still so much you could’ve said. Everything felt so gray without them. It had to be after three in the morning when you finally fell asleep, probably closer to four, but you didn’t think about how long you’d been waiting up for them, just flopped onto your back and sprawled out like a starfish, and let sleep take over so you could have a few hours without consciously missing them. Missing them was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

You’re pulled from your sleep by hushed voices and a door closing, convinced that the hinges are louder at inappropriate times just to spite you. You try to ignore it at first, finally in a comfortable position and getting some rest after a long day of running trials with Cho, but the noises persist despite your displeasure. A sound between a groan and a whine is extracted from your chest when something bumps into the bed, and any thought of going back to sleep leaves your mind. Unlike your girlfriends who can sleep through a natural disaster and fall asleep again if god forbid it wakes them up, once your eyes open you’re awake for the day, and it seems like this is where your day starts.

Although with blurred vision from the very few hours of sleep in your eyes, you’re able make out Wanda hunched over the bed, grasping at her side that is noticeably bloody, while Natasha is digging through the drawers to your left probably attempting to find a loose fitting top for Wanda to change into. All exhaustion leaves your body at the sight of them, and you spring up, rubbing your eyes with a wince as they burn in disagreement with your current state of consciousness. Wanda’s head snaps up, on high alert, but she forces her shoulders to relax when she realizes that it’s just you and not a threat.

“Sorry, we didn’t want to wake you.” She apologizes weakly, through clenched teeth and apparent sleepiness. You wonder when the last time they got a decent amount of rest, when they weren’t looking over their shoulders in paranoia or tossing and turning in pain from an injury that couldn’t be properly treated, but you force yourself to not dwell on it too much. You can’t change the past, and neither can they, all that matters is how they recover, and how they need you to help them heal from everything they were exposed to while in Russia. You’re the clean up, another factor that nobody considers while talking about how romantic and protected you must feel having two superheroes as partners. If anything, you feel more exposed. Like all eyes are on you and a monster is always lurking in the room over.

“No, no that’s okay. I only went to sleep a few hours ago, anyway. Here.” You know that the shirt Natasha is probably looking for is the one currently on your body, and you offer it to Wanda with no hesitation, already making a b-line for her when she just barely has the strength to reach for it herself. You pull the bloodied top over her head gently, thankful that the blood it’s soaked with is dry, and her wound is covered in gauze, meaning they’d probably stopped by the medbay before they made their way in here. “A little banged up, aren’t you?” You comment, although it's rhetorical and you know she won’t tell you how it happened just yet. That usually comes a few days after the mission, when the trauma isn’t so fresh and they’re not still on edge that something else is coming for them. You help her out of her pants as well, thanking Natasha when she hands you a fresh pair of undergarments to pull up Wanda’s legs before you even have to ask.

“We’re still in one piece.” Natasha promises, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around your waist. She’s tense all over, but she does her best to relax as she holds you, grounding herself in the moment and not the nightmares that have been going around in circles in her mind since getting on the quinjet to come home. “We missed you.” She kisses the skin beneath your ear, lingering for a few seconds before she untangles herself completely and gets ready for bed herself.

“That’s all that matters.” You reassure her, pecking Wanda’s lips gently, knowing she doesn’t have the energy or the strength to match any moment of passion right now. It’s not something that bothers you, maybe it used to, just the slightest bit, but it’s a routine you’re used to now. “I missed you too.”

“I told Steve we’re not taking any missions for a while. Especially not together.” Natasha hands you another one of her tops to slip into, and watches you throw Wanda’s bloodied one into the garbage beside your vanity. She won’t wear it again, not when it’s got so much history now, even if you could get the blood stain out. Again, it’s a routine you’ve found comfort in. The clothes they return home in almost always end up in the garbage, no time for working through PTSD that’s stitched into the fabric when you can just get something new to start fresh in.

“That’s good. I heard from Maria how tough this one was. I don’t know if I slept much the first few days.” You hate to worry them, or make them feel bad, but they hate when you’re not honest with them, and there’s nothing any of you can do about them being sent out on missions, so it’s not like you’re haroboring negative feelings toward them directly, which they understand, but your girlfriends do a great job of beating themselves up about certain things out of their control, this being one of them.

“Or at all. We still have cameras, you know.” Natasha muses, thoroughly amused when you turn a deep shade of crimson and kick Wanda’s discarded pants up toward her. Your other girlfriend, who has been noticeably quiet through the entire exchange, is curled up in bed, looking unbothered by the conversation but intent on finally getting some sleep in her own bed without the possibility of being blown to bits by the enemy.

“Spying on me, are you Romanoff?” You tease, shutting all the drawers Natasha left open and picking up all of her discarded clothes to throw them in the bin as well. She thanks you silently with her eyes that are practically bleeding with pain and adoration, but you don’t say anything. This is the least you can do for them right now.

“Gotta keep an eye on my girl.” Although it’s an easy statement, you know that it’s riddled with nothing but genuine anxiety. Both of your girlfriends are worrywarts when it comes to leaving you alone, for any amount of time but especially undetermined chunks like this mission, and although its heartwarming to be so cared for, it breaks your heart to know that they have valid reasons to be afraid. Another thing nobody even considers when they make comments toward your relationship. Wanda makes a huffing sound beside Natasha and both of your lips twitch in amusement, “On one of my girls, sorry, malysh.”

“You both should get some rest.” You comment, seeing that almost an hour has passed since they stumbled in. You won’t be able to fall asleep again, and even if you could, you’re apprehensive to crawl into bed with Wanda and accidentally hurt her more, so you have all intentions of wishing them a goodnight and going to finally clean up the mugs of tea that are resting on the counter.

“Where are you going?” Natasha wonders, watching you closely, like she’s scared that you’re going to fall apart right in front of her. You hate these moments, when they’re first getting back and they still feel like they’re stranded in a battlefield. It takes days to get back to some kind of normalcy without walking on eggshells, and by that time, they’re usually cleared to start training again and working their strength up for the next mission. One day, you just want to be done, but they’re not ready yet and that's okay.

“To clean up the tea mugs you left before you went. I didn’t have the heart to clean them up, in case…” You train off, but Natasha knows what you’re going to say and her face sinks even deeper.

“In case we didn’t come back.” She finishes your thought, hand rubbing Wanda’s back now that the woman is on her belly, seeking pressure against her wound that’s probably aching beneath the gauze. She shouldn’t be putting any pressure on it, but you’re not about to scold her right now. She needs to be comfortable, any torn stitches can easily be mended tomorrow morning when she’s well rested.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, releasing the tension that gathered in your shoulders at the simple thought of losing them. They’re okay this time, you can let go of all that pent up anxiety and dread for the time being. But it crosses your mind that there's always next time, and they might not get so lucky.

“Will you stay with me? Please?” Wanda asks, voice muffled by the pillow her face is pressed into, her arms beneath her head as she gives Natasha full access to her back, and the aching muscles that have probably been pulled a couple thousand times since leaving. Natasha works harder at releasing some of that tension, looking at you with broken eyes that you can’t say no too. Your worries are squandered when Wanda speaks again, lifting her head just enough to be able to see your face, peering into your eyes with a passion and seriousness that burns you inside. “You won’t hurt me, stop thinking that. I just want to hold my girl.”

“Ahem.” Natasha clears her throat, and Wanda lets the slightest smile pull her tired lips upward.

“One of my girls, sorry, detka.” She apologies before dropping her face back into the pillow, tightening her grip on it when Natasha hits a sore spot in her back. The redhead keeps at it, knowing how easily the Sokovian can pull her muscles when she’s lifting heavy things with just her tendrils.

“Are my thoughts that loud?” You ask meekly, abandoning your intention of straightening up the kitchen and instead coming closer to the end bed, still without pants and just Natasha’s shirt that hangs to your mid thigh.

Natasha stops rubbing Wanda’s back in order to grab at your thighs and pull you closer, rubbing the skin of your legs the same way she had been rubbing Wanda’s back. Though she’ll never admit it, you and Wanda have a sneaking suspicion her love language is physical touch, and that just maybe, physically feeling you both silences her anxieties over you just disappearing from her. Whatever her reason, neither of you protest, and admittedly crave her touch by the end of the night when you crawl into bed.

“Mhmm, I promise I’m okay. Doesn’t really hurt anymore, s’just sore.” She promised, sounding half asleep the longer she lays, adjusting her head so her neck is turned toward both you and Natasha, but her eyes are closed, a content smirk on her lips that only grows bigger when she hears you sigh your agreeance and then feels the bed dip with your weight as you climb into bed.

“Lay your ass down, or I’m gonna fall asleep sitting up.” Natasha scolds, playfully slapping your ass as you crawl over her and into the center of the bed, which is no longer warm from your body. You settle in between them, humming contently when Wanda loops an arm around your waist and then Natasha pulled you into her chest, your legs intertangling messily beneath the sheets.

“I missed this. I can’t sleep when you’re gone, everything feels so empty.” You admit, letting your eyes close even if you’re going to have a few hours of painful silence and stillness before you can even consider actually falling asleep.

Natasha presses her lips into your head and Wanda tightens her arm around your middle, neither saying anything, but not having to as their words and their presence says it all. Surprisingly, you fall asleep in minutes, and not a single one of you wakes up for the next ten hours, desperately needing the rest all together again.

[toodrunktofindaurl]

the mayor x sheriff dynamic is still unmatched

twitter | bluesky | insta | 🔞 patre0n

[marvelselfinserts]

hello, author! i'm back. i've been quite busy with college this past few weeks but now i'm here again with another angst request!

i'll send my request in another ask so you can use this one to respond to since it's quite long and detailed again.

thank you so much in advance, author!

— 🤓

Doubt

College AU Playgirl!Natasha x Nerd!Fem!Reader [A/N] Thank you for this request, I had so much fun writing it! I've had a similar one come through, seems the people yearn for Playgirl!Natasha 👀 Good luck with your college studies but don't work too hard, take breaks, request fics 😂❤️ Hope you enjoy lovely!!

Natasha Romanoff had never really crossed your radar when you first began college. Well, that’s a lie –Natasha was the kind of girl who crossed everyone’s radar. You’d hoped that college would be less cliquey than High School but so far it wasn’t. Natasha was the popular girl – the one everyone loved and followed around. You could see why. She was beautiful and she knew it. Everyone knew it.

You weren’t ugly but you didn’t put such high importance on your looks. You were at college to learn – you’d been offered a scholarship, an opportunity that was too rare and perfect to pass up. And you weren’t going to throw it away. Whereas Natasha seemed to be here more for the social aspect of college – learning and studying didn’t even come second on her list of priorities.

As far as you were concerned you hadn’t crossed Natasha’s radar. You were both majoring in different fields – you only knew about Natasha because, well, everyone knew Natasha. It was hard not to. The redhead was infamous at your college, almost like a minor celebrity. She was always being followed around by hordes of girls, desperate for her attention, hanging on her every word.

One night you’d been studying late – you live on campus and always made use of the 24 hour library. You were a bit of a night owl and during the day the library was bustling with activity whereas at night you mostly had it to yourself. The silence meant you could actually concentrate and your nose was buried in a book when you suddenly felt someone sit down next to you.

You were surprised to see it was Natasha – you’d assumed she’d be out at another party or at a club or in some sleazy kind of bar that you’d never be seen dead in. But there she was, grinning at you like you’d both been friends forever rather than relative strangers “Y/N, right?”

That took you by even more surprise. She knew your name? “Yeah,” You eventually stammered “That’s right.”

She held her hand out “Natasha Romanoff.”

You shook her hand, not bothering to point out that you’d already known her name. Natasha was aware of how infamous she was and you weren’t going to inflate her ego even more by pointing that out. When she didn’t say anything for a long moment you turned your gaze back down to the open book in front of you. She snorted “Majoring in history, right?”

Every word from Natasha’s mouth left you more and more stunned. How on Earth did she know all of this? You glanced at her and nodded “Yeah.” You hesitated and then offered “Journalism?”

Natasha had grinned. It was well known that Natasha wrote for the college newspaper and you knew she was good at it. You could see Natasha being a journalist one day – she wasn’t afraid to be pushy and seemed to always get what she wanted.

Apparently, including you.

Natasha had sat chatting with you and soon you’d found yourself opening up easily. Clearly she had that way with people. You’d told her about your strained relationship with your parents, how you weren’t homesick at all, about growing up in Washington. Natasha had confided in you too, telling you about how her parents had died when she was young and she’d been raised by family friends. They’d had a daughter too, Yelena, a girl that Natasha now considered her little sister.

You couldn’t help hearing this little voice in the back of your head insisting that Natasha was trouble, even if she was confiding in you. Despite this you still gave her your number when she asked. Saying no to Natasha was practically impossible.

And now here you were, dating for six months. You wish you could say everything is perfect. But it’s far from it.

You love Natasha – you’d been the one to say ‘I love you’ first. Natasha had said it right back but there was something about the way that she’d said it which had filled you with doubt. In fact you might as well have the word ‘doubt’ tattooed across your forehead at this point because that was all you ever felt.

It was no secret that Natasha was a bit of a player. Well, that was an understatement. You’d figured when you’d got together that Natasha would cut back on the flirting – it wasn’t something you’d ever talked about, just something you naturally assumed would come to an end. But you’d been wrong.

You noticed this almost immediately. Natasha had invited you along to her sorority’s Halloween party and although partying wasn’t really your thing you’d agreed to make her happy. You’d even let her talk you into wearing a couples costume – she’d convinced you to go as Cat Woman and Harley Quinn. Natasha looked amazing as Cat Woman whilst you felt uncomfortable in the tiny shorts Natasha had convinced you to wear for your Harley costume.

It hadn’t taken long for Natasha to fall back into her usual party antics even though she was there with you. You’d felt nervous about attending the party but figured with Natasha by your side it would be a bit easier. Except she was barely by your side. She was in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other girls and made no attempt to try and include you. So you’d sat on the couch watching her and, dare you say it, sulking.

The dancing had been fairly innocent if not infuriating at first but then one pretty girl had sidled up next to Natasha. She was dressed as a sexy vampire and she’d pretended to bite Natasha’s neck. Natasha didn’t pull away – she laughed and wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist.

You stood up and went over to her, grabbing her arm “Hey!”

Natasha had laughed “What?”

“Are you serious? Right in front of me?”

“Oh My God, are you jealous?” Natasha laughed even harder, her arms wrapping around your waist “We’re just being silly.”

“You were flirting with her.”

“Maybe a little. But what’s the big deal? You can flirt with other girls if you want.”

“I don’t want to flirt with other girls. We’re a couple; that’s supposed to mean that we’re exclusive.”

“Of course we’re exclusive! It’s not like I’m actually going to cheat on you, it was just a bit of harmless flirting. You’re such a baby.” You’d pouted and Natasha had laughed, kissing your cheek which admittedly did make you soften a little “It’s not cheating! I wouldn’t do that to you, idiot.”

So you’d let it go. But Natasha continued to be quite touchy with other girls wherever you went, even in circumstances that shouldn’t warrant it. You went out for coffee with her and a couple of her friends when Nat had suddenly grabbed her friend’s wrist and pulled her into her lap. The friend had giggled and blushed whilst you’d sat there, your stomach feeling like lead and stone.

That night you’d gone to Natasha’s room at her sorority. You were both lying in her bed, her arms around you and one hand stroking through your hair “I really don’t think I like how you are with other girls.” You’d said “I know you say it’s innocent but I don’t do it. And it makes me feel jealous and… I don’t know. Unimportant I guess.”

Natasha had sighed “Why would you think you’re unimportant? Yeah, okay, I flirt with a few people… But you’re my girlfriend. You’re special. I don’t know why you worry about it so much.”

“I just don’t like it. Can you just… Try to do it a bit less? For me?”

Natasha had rolled her eyes but pressed a kiss to your forehead and mumbled “Fine. I’ll try.”

For a while it had worked and you were pleased. Natasha put more of a distance between her friends and although she was still extremely friendly and still verbally quite flirty she stopped being so touchy with everyone. You were pleased.

Natasha’s sorority decides to have a girl’s games night so she invites you round. You like a games night, it’s more your scene than a party so you’re thrilled when Natasha invites you. The games mostly involve drinking but it’s still fun and you spend most of it sat by Natasha’s side. She runs a hand through your hair, down your arm, up and down your back every so often making you feel secure until she eventually kisses your cheek and quietly excuses herself.

You’ve had a few drinks so you’re feeling a bit looser and more confident as you chat to her friends in the sorority – they’re nice girls and you get on well with most of them even if you do feel a stab of jealousy every time one of them stares at Natasha for too long. You’re giggling away when you suddenly realise you haven’t seen Natasha for a while so you get up to go and search for her.

The first point of call is her room – from outside you can hear whispers and giggles, making your stomach churn. Part of you wants to run away, to bury your hand in the sand at what you’ll inevitably find when you open the door but you know that you can’t. You can’t avoid this. So you push open Natasha’s door without warning.

Finding Natasha alone with one of her friends would’ve been bad enough but it just had to be Maria, Natasha’s most recent ex-girlfriend. You knew Natasha still spoke to her – they lived in the same sorority after all. Maria and Natasha had only been a quick fling that had lasted a month or so but from the way Natasha had spoken about her you always got the impression she still liked her a little. Natasha always described their relationship as ‘fun’, and something about the way she said it made you think she didn’t find you ‘fun’.

Maria’s arms are around Natasha’s waist and Natasha’s hand is in her hair, both of them looking at each other and giggling. They don’t even jump apart when they see you. Maria glances over with a small smirk before eventually and reluctantly letting go of Natasha’s waist. Natasha laughs and leans forward to kiss Maria’s cheek and you suddenly see red.

She doesn’t care. She’ll never care.

You don’t even know what to say at this point so you decide to just leave. You storm down the stairs and straight out of the sorority, not even looking over your shoulder as you hear Natasha calling out for you. You can hear the laughter in her voice – she’s not taking this seriously. She never takes anything seriously.

“Y/N!” Natasha catches your arm, spinning you around to face her. You feel a hot stab of anger at the look on her face – the cocky grin, the sparkle of amusement in her eyes “Y/N, come on-”

“No. You knew how I felt about the flirting Nat. And this wasn’t just anyone, it was Maria, your goddamn ex.”

“Y/N-”

“You went too far this time Nat.”

Natasha laughs “You’re not seriously getting worked up about this?”

“What? That you constantly ignore a boundary that I’ve tried to set in this relationship? A completely reasonable and valid boundary at that? I don’t like you flirting with other people Nat. And that wasn’t even flirting, that was borderline cheating-”

“Cheating?” Natasha’s eye-brows raise “Oh come on, you’re so fucking dramatic-”

“Maybe it’s normal for you but I would consider cuddling and kissing your ex alone in your room cheating, yes.” You throw your hands up “I’ve told you how I feel about this, it makes me feel so shit-”

“So, what, I’m not supposed to have fun just because it makes you feel a little insecure?” Natasha folds her arms “You’re so goddamn needy. I mean, we’re only in college, we can have a little fun.”

“If you want to ‘have fun’ then you shouldn’t have asked me to be your girlfriend.” You say, your eyes watering “What does ‘have fun’ even mean to you? Because to me it means… Well… Don’t we have fun Nat? Why am I not enough for you?”

“I don’t know. Do we have fun? You’re the one who’s constantly slapping my hands away when I try and touch you more intimately.”

“That’s not fair.”

“How is that not fair?”

“Because… I want to Nat but you haven’t exactly done much to reassure me. I’m insecure, I’m so goddamn insecure and I thought dating you would give me a confidence boost but I actually feel worse. I doubt myself all the time. And you never say or do anything to help me with that.”

“Jesus.” Natasha runs a hand through her hair, pursing her lips and looking away for a moment before fixing her gaze back on you. All the amusement from her eyes has disappeared, replaced with hard anger “I’m not your goddamn therapist Y/N. If you have self-esteem issues than sign up for counselling, I don’t know-”

“I’m not asking you to be my therapist; I’m asking you to be a good girlfriend!” You snap “I’m asking you to stop constantly touching other girls, to stop flirting with them right in front of my face, to compliment me once in a while, to reassure me that I’m the only one for you-”

“Get a grip! You’re not my one and only! This is just a bit of fun, it was meant to be fun anyway but you’re such a frigid bitch sometimes.” Your tears spill over but Natasha makes no move to try and comfort you “Flirting is just… God, we’re still young Y/N. We’re meant to be experimenting.”

“Then why did you enter an exclusive relationship with me Nat?” You ask “If you want to be free and have fun then fine but you don’t get to ask me to be your girlfriend and then act like I agreed to an open relationship. We never discussed that. All that’s happened is that I’ve constantly told you how much I hate it when you do this shit and you still do it anyway.”

Natasha presses a hand to her forehead as if this conversation is giving her a headache “You’re overreacting. I’ve never said anything about you talking to other girls-”

“Because I don’t! I wouldn’t ask you to stop and then go and do it myself would I? I’m not asking for anything crazy here Natasha and I resent the suggestion that I am.”

“I didn’t- Jeez, you’re such hard work, do you know that? Always freaking out when I’m hanging out with my friends, always wanting to know where I am and what I’m doing and constantly looking for reassurance. You’re my girlfriend, isn’t that enough?”

You take a deep breath, hesitating. Because you know the answer. You don’t want to say it out loud but since she’s asked, you need to be honest “No, it’s not enough.” You say “I can’t do this anymore Nat. I’m done.”

Natasha snorts “You’re done?”

“Yes, I’m done. We clearly want different things and this… This isn’t working.”

You start walking away, your tears falling quicker now as you let out a small sob. Natasha watches you go and then rolls her eyes, calling out “Yeah right! I give it five minutes and then you’ll be back grovelling for my attention again. And you’ll be lucky if you get it!”

Three weeks later Natasha is seriously regretting those words.

She loves you. She’d been intrigued by you from the moment she first saw you – you were beautiful, in more ways than you’d ever known. Natasha had been drawn to you instantly. She’d see you walking round campus, always sporting that serious expression. One day you’d been reading as you walked, clearly cramming for an exam and you’d walked into a post. Natasha had grinned, amused. You were too cute.

One thing Natasha had never told anyone was just how insecure she was. How the attention of other girls fed her ego and kept those demons at bay, the ones who told her she wasn’t good enough. Being in a relationship wasn’t enough for her. She needed validation from everyone in the room – she needed everyone to love her.

Natasha had told herself she could make it work. She could have it all. Natasha hadn’t meant to sneak off with Maria at the party. She’d bumped into her in the hallway and the way Maria looked at her made Natasha’s skin heat up. She’d felt desirable and she loved it. So she’d indulged the fantasy for a while. You were safely downstairs, you didn’t need to know.

When you’d come into the bedroom Natasha hadn’t been embarrassed. In fact, if Natasha was being honest with herself, seeing you feel so jealous and insecure gave her a little boost. She was the one in control of the relationship, the one you were lucky to have, not the other way round – you were the one everyone was jealous of because they wanted Natasha and the thought was so addictive that she got off on the thrill of you practically begging her to stop flirting with other girls. You’d beg and beg but you’d never break up with her, no matter how far she went.

Except, you had.

At first Natasha hadn’t been too worried. You’d always been the first to apologise every time you’d had an argument, even if Natasha knew deep down that it was her fault. She rarely apologised back. ‘Sorry’ was a word that scarcely occurred in Natasha’s vocabulary. So when you’d walked away Natasha hadn’t been worried. She was even looking forward to you turning back up and telling her you didn’t mean it, that you didn’t want to break up. Natasha would pretend to think about it before ultimately caving and then she’d take you out for milkshakes.

Except you didn’t come round. You didn’t text. You didn’t call. Natasha didn’t hear from you at all. When she’d seen you around the campus you’d blanked her. It was suddenly as if she didn’t exist.

Natasha hated that.

It’s only a few nights later when Natasha suddenly realises how much she’s fucked up. She’s at a party, sitting in the living room surrounded by girls when she suddenly realises how bored she is. None of these girls really know her. They only know the version of herself that she projects, the personality that she paints on every morning.

You were the one who’d nearly gotten her to admit to her low self-esteem. It was you who’d looked at her one day on that picnic you were having and had asked “If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?”

Without thinking about it Natasha had replied “Everything.”

Your eye-brows had furrowed “What do you mean?”

Natasha looked at you, seeing the curiosity on your face “I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

You’d both been silent for a long moment before you’d reached out and taken her hand “Well, I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

“You don’t mean that.” Natasha said quietly “Nobody really means that.”

You’d squeezed her hand “Talk to me Nat.”

Natasha had hesitated, glancing at you before admitting quietly “I just… When I was a kid, I lost my parents quite young. You know that. And I felt like everyone was constantly looking at me and they had this expression on their faces, this like… They felt sorry for me. And I get it; my parents had just died but…” Natasha groaned, struggling to articulate her thoughts “People kept asking if I wanted to talk about it. And I did but not in the way they wanted. They were focussed on feelings and how their death had impacted me and I… I wanted to talk about the stories my Mom told me, the way my Dad had whistled whenever he did the dishes...”

You watched her, not interrupting, just letting her speak.

“I was sad. So sad. And people kept saying all the right things but as time went on I could see people looking at me and it was like ‘hurry up, get happy, life goes on, be grateful for what you have’. So I started plastering on fake smiles. Faking this bubbly personality.” Natasha swallowed “And I guess it just kind of stuck.”

Your expression softened and you squeezed her hand “Nat, baby-”

“Here, these strawberries are so fucking good.” Natasha had announced cheerfully, the moment of vulnerability gone before you’d even been able to fully grasp it.

You were the first person she’d attempted to open to. The only person who’d actually sat and listened to her. Who didn’t expect her to be on all the time – you were more than happy to just lie quietly with her, satisfied just to be in her presence.

And she’d taken it for granted.

Natasha suddenly jumps up from the couch. One of the girls grabs her arm “Hey Nat, where are-”

Natasha pushes her away and stalks out of the house, needing to get away from the party. She needs to find you. She needs to make things right with you.

The lights to your dormitory are switched off but it doesn’t stop Natasha from pounding on the door with her fist. She pounds for a solid five minutes until eventually you open the door, wearing your pyjamas, your hair sticking out at all angles. Natasha feels a rush of love at the sight, her eyes suddenly watering as she realises how much she’s missed you “Y/N.” She whispers.

“What the fuck are you doing here, it’s like 2AM?” You grumble, rubbing your eyes.

“I- I missed you.” Natasha says “I thought you’d have been round by now. We’re still a couple-”

“No, Nat, we’re not.” You say, your voice thick with sleep and irritation “I broke up with you.”

“Yeah but it wasn’t like… Serious. You didn’t really mean it.” Natasha’s voice has a hint of desperation to it now “You were mad and I guess I can see why, I wasn’t exactly innocent in the argument-”

“You weren’t innocent?” You act in disbelief “Nat, this wasn’t… This isn’t a case of a little falling out. It’s not like there was a misunderstanding or we can meet in the middle. You disrespected me. Over and over again. You called me a frigid bitch.”

Natasha cringes as she remembers that “I- Well, yeah, I say dumb things sometimes but I don’t-”

“God, I can’t do this. You said I’m hard work but fuck me Natasha, surely you can see you’re the one who’s bloody hard work.”

“Y/N-”

It’s too late. You shut the door in her face.

Natasha spirals after that – her desperation to get you back borders on obsessive. She turns up at your dormitory with flowers. You take them out of Natasha’s hands and throw them down the corridor before slamming the door in her face. She orders books for you to the post room that she knows are on your Goodreads list – only to receive refunds when the items are mailed ‘return to sender’. She writes you romantic letters only to find them unopened in the outside trash. Her desperate attempts at reconnecting with you fail at every turn.

One night you’re studying in the library – in the exact same spot where Natasha had first spoken to you. You feel someone sit down next to you and you sigh, knowing who it’s going to be. You’re not surprised to find Natasha but you are surprised by her appearance – there are dark circles beneath her eyes, she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. You’ve never seen her so downcast before.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” Natasha says, her eyes watering “I’m sorry, you’re right, I was a terrible girlfriend. I- I don’t know why I’m like this, I just… Please accept my apology. Please be my girl again Y/N, please.”

You stare at her for a moment, taking a deep breath. Somewhere in you… You know she’s sorry. You know this is genuine. She really does feel bad for how she treated you.

“I can’t Natasha.” You eventually say “I’m glad you apologised and I believe you but… I don’t believe you’ll change. And I’m not putting myself through that again.”

“Putting yo- Y/N, please, I’ve learnt my lesson.” Natasha grabs your arm, her voice pleading as her tears begin spilling down her cheeks “I know what I lost. You’re the greatest thing that ever happened to me, I’ll never take you for granted again-”

“You called me a-”

“Shit, I know what I called you. Okay? And I’m sorry! It’s totally fine if you don’t want to be intimate, I should’ve been more patient, should’ve told you how beautiful you are, should’ve-” Natasha sniffles “I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t want to explore, to experiment, I only want you. You’re all I want.”

“Nat-”

“Can’t we at least- Y/N, can’t we at least be friends? I can’t stand not being in your life anymore, I-”

“No!” Natasha is startled by the venom in your voice, the anger “It’s not like I didn’t give you ample opportunity Nat. It’s not like you didn’t know how much I hated it when you flirted with other girls. You made your choice, you don’t get to turn up and make this my problem.”

“Y/N-”

“I can’t be your friend Nat. I can’t be anything to you.” You turn back to your book.

Natasha’s hold on your arm tightens, her voice quiet “Y/N, please-”

You pull your arm out of her grip “Leave me alone Nat or I’ll have no choice but to report you. This is bordering on harassment now.”

Natasha watches helplessly as you turn your attention back to your book, her shoulders slumping as she lets out an almost inaudible whine. She knows there’s no point in trying. She’s done everything she can think of and you still won’t take her back. You never will. She knows how stubborn you are.

Slowly Natasha rises to her feet and stumbles away from the table, feeling like her knees are going to buckle beneath her any second. She lost you. She was selfish and disrespectful and it cost her the best thing that ever happened to her.

She’ll never forgive herself.