Lightly Blooming

Emma || 19 || Graysexual Lesbian 16+ blog || Requests: Open

[lightlyblooming]

This is my Masterlist of all Masterlists!!

(No, seriously, it is.) If you would like to request a fic, please check this post for more information.

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Rio Vidal Masterlist

[lightlyblooming]

What if it wasn't a joke?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: What if Natasha’s teasing wasn’t a joke? 

Words: 2.1k

I tapped my fingers on the glossy wooden table in front of me, following the tempo of the conversation around me. The cacophony of voices flitted through my mind, going in one ear and out the other. 

What was supposed to be a swift debriefing with the rest of the Avengers had stretched into its third hour. I’d lost my patience two and a half hours ago when Tony Stark started talking about possible technological improvements he could add to the Avenger’s headquarters. It had only gone down from there.

I stared down at my leather folder opened on the table, letting out a slightly too-loud sigh when I saw the two sentences of notes I’d managed to put down. Only two sentences of actually useful information. Three hours, two sentences. Three hours for two sentences. 

My fingers curled into a fist. I picked up my pen, if only so that my frustration wouldn’t show. I hovered the pen over the clean piece of paper, but that only caused my anger to grow because there wasn’t anything to write.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I dropped the pen, grateful for the distraction.

I leaned back in my chair and pulled out my phone, ignoring the sidelong glance I got from Steve Rogers. Phones technically weren’t allowed during meetings, but confidential information had stopped being shared hours ago. I doubted it’d matter if I leaked a conversation over what type of flavoured water they wanted in the lounge this month.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I read the notification that lit up the screen. 

Natasha: Busy daydreaming about me?

I raised my eyes to Natasha, my smile growing further when I noticed she had already been watching me. Her blue eyes twinkled with humour, but her features betrayed nothing. Her expression was just as blank, severe, and stoic as it had been for the last few hours.

Natasha only held my eyes for a handful of moments before she turned away, returning her steady attention to the conversation.

I texted back: I’m just thinking about how this meeting could’ve been an email.

Natasha picked up her phone a few moments later. Her expression didn’t change, and I was too far away to notice any other minor changes. I looked back to the nearly blank paper in front of me. 

Every second I spent waiting for her response felt like an eternity. I started to tap my fingers again.

After what felt like forever, my phone buzzed.

Natasha: I wouldn’t have seen you if it was an email.

A second later, she added: And I do enjoy watching you when you’re frustrated.

My eyes shot to her. She merely stared back at me, watching, waiting. I blinked at her, hoping she’d offer any kind of reaction for me to read. Instead, she picked her phone up, her fingers moving across the screen.

I lowered my eyes to the paper and put my phone on the empty sheet. I placed my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand. My leg, the traitorous thing, started to bounce. My body tensed with every moment that passed. My breaths grew shallow as I waited for that screen to light up.

What was taking her so long? She had to be writing an essay if it was taking her this long to finish. I couldn’t help but wonder if she liked leaving me waiting.

My heart skipped when the screen lit up, only for it to drop deep into my gut when I read the text.

Natasha: It’s even better when you get flustered and start blushing.

I shut off my phone and shoved it into my pocket.

My head thundered in my chest as heat prickled on my cheeks. I silently cursed myself for playing right into her hand. 

It wasn’t like it was a surprise. She’d joke far too often about how easy it was to throw me off and the enjoyment she got from it wasn’t a secret. She always pushed it and tested it, seeing what measure of responses she could get. One glance. One smile. One whispered word. One step too close. A touch that lingered too long. For fuck’s sake, one sentence that toed the line between friendly banter and flirtatious teasing would leave me dumbed down and unable to speak for hours.

I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair, hating the way I shook. I focused on my breaths, reread those two stupid sentences written on the paper. I willed the heat to fall from my face. I counted through my breathing. I picked up my pen and clicked it over and over again.

I was a fool for being affected by her. It was nothing. It meant nothing. It was a game to her, just a way to fill time and push away excruciating boredom.

I reminded myself of all those moments Natasha had toyed with me, only to pull away a moment later. 

I remembered the hours we had spent crouched in some dark hole, waiting out a mission, her faint touches oh-so-clear in the pitch black. I recalled the way she had looked at me days later when I had brought it up, her face flush with confusion and eyes so cold it was like looking at a stranger. 

I remembered the first time we’d exchanged personal numbers after becoming part of the Avengers. It had only been a handful of years since we’d worked together in the Red Room, yet she treated me like she’d never seen me before.

I remembered the hours of texting we’d do in those fluid hours of the night when time lost all meaning. Then the absence of contact in the morning, followed by stilted small talk that’d build a chasm between us. 

I glanced over at Natasha. My heart stung when I saw her stoic expression fixed on Wanda Maximoff.

I closed the folder and got to my feet. The rest of the Avengers at the table glared at me, but I ignored them. There was no reason for me to stay. The important parts of the meeting were done. I hadn’t needed to chime in for well over an hour. And I didn’t feel like torturing myself with Natasha’s cold distance for any longer.

⧗

I stirred my half-melted cocktail with the metal straw. The metal clicked against the glass. A chill wind brushed over my skin and rustled my hair, causing goosebumps to prickle along my arms. 

The Avengers compound had long since settled into its peaceful night operations. All the lights had been dimmed, the large mass of day staff had been sent home or to their rooms, the headache-inducing sound of jets coming and going had finally stopped. These small hours of the night were the only time I got any solitude. 

I watched the tarmac from the balcony, taking in the quinjets that had been left out and the skeleton crew that maintained them.

They always had to be ready, waiting, should the sky fall open and the Avengers had to be on the other side of the world in an hour. I always had to be ready to answer the call, be prepared for anything at any moment. I hadn’t even left the compound for a non-Avengers related reason for… months. It was too risky.

I looked down at the cocktail in my hand and braced my arm against the balcony railing. I sighed and pursed my lips at it.

Despite the small amount of alcohol I’d had, I could feel the warmth of drunkenness spreading through my limbs and a delightful buzz that clouded my mind. I was already too far gone to fly, or fight, or do any amount of strategic thinking. Drinking more would only multiply that and make my recovery take longer. If there was an emergency and I got called out--

The door to the balcony softly clicked open and I whipped my head around, muscles going taught. 

The moment I laid my eyes on Natasha, who stood silently in the doorway, I let out a breath and allowed my shoulders to slump. The warm glow of the Avenger’s lounge silhouetted her form and took the sharp edges out of her appearance. 

She almost seemed vulnerable there, in her sweatpants and loose t-shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid. The light caught the loose strands of her hair, making it look like strings of spun gold. My eyes couldn’t help but wander to the smooth plane of her neck. I couldn’t stop the prying thoughts that wondered how it would feel, how it would taste, if she’d just let me get close enough.

I pressed my lips closed and squeezed my eyes. I gave myself a moment to breathe and settle my system before I turned around and fixed my eyes on the cocktail cradled in my hands.

The stupid drink, wiping away every ounce of self-preservation I had.

The door clicked shut and Natasha walked up beside me, bracing her arms on the railing, mirroring my position. A beer bottle hung from her fingers, dangling precariously over the distant ground. Natasha took a swig and from the sound of it, she was quite far into her drink as well. At least I wasn’t the only intoxicated one.

I sipped at my now fully melted cocktail. I winced at the overwhelmingly sweet liquid. Without the ice to break up the taste, it had turned into a cloying mixture of syrup and rum.

“Too hard for you?” Natasha’s voice was low and heavy. 

Her voice tugged at something deep in the pit of my gut. My heart fluttered in my chest and my breaths shuddered. Heat prickled at my cheeks, and I prayed that Natasha thought it was because of the alcohol. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes and knew my prayers had fallen upon deaf ears when I saw the teasing tilt to her lips.

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the illusion of sanctity the darkness granted, but the truth came out before I could even consider filtering my words, “A bit.”

Natasha’s ghost of a smile grew into a full-on grin. Her voice dipped into a sultry drawl that raked along my bones, “You should let me buy you a drink some time. I can show you what hard feels like.”

My hand tightened around the glass. I opened my mouth, prepared to spit out one of the million scripted rejections I had tucked in the back of my mind, but stopped short.

I schooled my features and turned towards Natasha. I took in her stance: her relaxed shoulders, fingers that fidgeted with the rim of the beer bottle, her ram-rod straight back, her attentive eyes, her welcoming smile, the way her head tilted just-so. She was expectant, waiting, and… nervous? A furrow ghosted in the space between her brows. Tiny fragments of uncertainty flashed across her face.

I swallowed and stared into her eyes. I tapped my thigh with my free hand. Silence stretched between us. My muscles tensed with every second that crept by.

I was such an idiot. A fool. My hesitation revealed more than I ever wanted Natasha to know. My growing silence stripped me bare and made me more naked than I would’ve been if I had merely removed my clothes. 

“Or--” Natasha’s words were slow, hesitant, searching, “--you can buy me one of those cocktails you always get, we can get drunk, and I can stop calling you a lightweight.”

I pressed my lips together and searched Natasha’s expression. All I found was a gentle vulnerability. There was teasing, yes, but behind all that was an openness I’d never seen in her before. 

What if, this time, it was a genuine offer? What if I said yes? Would she take me to a bar, let me order her a drink, and end the night with more than a painfully professional handshake? Or would she laugh and back off, making me look like a fool for even considering the offer?

My mind was too clouded to make a clear choice. I couldn’t discern anything more from her expression. I couldn’t calculate all the possible responses. 

I let out a shuddering breath and, with the type of courage I could only get from the alcohol coursing through my system, said, “Only if you promise to show me the best places.”

Natasha let out a breath and straightened. All signs of tension smoothed from her face. A light seemed to spark in her eyes, bringing a glowing warmth to her features. 

“Promise,” Natasha said, her voice strung with the softness and truth in her oath. 

[lightlyblooming]

Rio Vidal / Death Masterlist

🗡Angst🗡

❤ Fluff ❤

❤🗡Hurt/Comfort🗡❤

Allowed to Live

Death decides to give the reader a second chance.

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Allowed to Live

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Death decides to give the reader a second chance.

Words: 893

A sickly feeling churned to life in my gut as I stared down at my own body laid out on the ground before me.

There was something uncanny to it. The person I’d seen in the mirror every day was stretched across the dirt-covered forest floor, looking like just another casualty of battle. Too many open wounds to count littered the body. The largest gashes still leaked blood, adding to the muddy pool of darkening blood around the body. The eyes were still recognizably mine, but held none of the shine I was used to. The chest I had known to fill and move with breaths stayed completely still. 

The pain of all those wounds still echoed in the back of my mind. I could almost feel the unnerving warmth of blood as it grew around me. The icy fear was still fresh, swimming around in my gut.

I followed the body’s gaze and turned my attention to the sky. 

The inky black night, framed by the silhouette of towering trees, caused a deep tranquility to wash over me. The scattering of stars seemed engrained in my soul. The quiet companions to my final moments as a living, breathing person. I wished I had taken more time to learn the constellations, if only so that I could thank each of them for being there with me.

I looked back down, but my eyes caught on a shadowy figure standing in the treeline before my attention could fully return to the cooling corpse.

There was something oddly familiar about it. More comforting than any blanket of night could be. More distant than the array of stars. More familiar than the rise and fall of my own chest. More foreign than the name of those constellations that hung over my head.

Leaves crunched as the cloaked figure walked out of the deepened shadows of the forest. With every step, they grew closer, and my familiarity grew deeper. They brushed back their hood, and it was only then when I could put a name to that familiarity.

“Rio,” I breathed.

“Death,” she corrected, her voice a balm to my soul.

Death.

It was only a matter of time before I met her. Truly met her. I’d sent more people than I could count into her embrace. I’d bargained and begged for her to leave me alone and, for the most part, she had.

Death wore the face of Rio, a woman I had grown to know--and love--throughout my life. That was a mercy, I supposed. Death, my silent companion. Death, the only certainty there was in life. Death, walking hand-in-hand with Rio, the woman who had shown me how to live. Rio, the woman who had shown me what it meant to love so fiercely that it ached. Rio, the woman that had entwined herself into my heart so thoroughly that I feared it’d shatter if she tried to untangle herself.

“It’s been a while,” Rio said, her slow walk coming to an end at the head of my corpse. A small smile fluttered at the corner of her lips, but it didn’t stay for long.

“Too long,” I said, my voice far softer than I’d intended. I had no desire to correct it. There was no use in pretending. Not in front of Rio. Not in front of Death. “I missed you.”

Rio laughed, the sound hollow. “There’s a less dramatic way to get my attention.”

“That wouldn’t be as fun.”

Rio’s expression darkened. “No.” 

She looked down at my corpse, going so still that I nearly thought she’d turned into one of the trees looming behind her. Her stillness washed over me, turning my mind quiet. In the silence, I noticed the aching silence in my chest. The emptiness of my lungs, the absence of my thudding heart. 

Slowly, Rio’s eyes lifted to mine. A sorrow swam in the depth of her expression. Her pain hurt more than any of those wounds had.

She held my eyes as shadows started to wind their way around my corpse. Wandering, searching, caressing. I searched her eyes, trying to decipher what she was thinking, what she was doing. My muscles grew tight. I wondered why it was taking so long, why I hadn’t moved on into the empty darkness of the afterlife.

“I’ll call you for drinks next time, yeah?” she teased.

I blinked, my eyebrows furrowing. I opened my mouth, but before any sound could come out she snapped her fingers and the world fell away from around me.

For a split second, I was in that nothingness. There was nothing and no one.

Then, there was searing pain.

My bones, my blood, my flesh. It burned stronger than anything else ever had. The pain turned into a white-hot knife that cut through me.

I gasped for air, but my lungs protested. They refused to move. They refused to draw in that life-giving air. 

I tried to scream, to beg for help, to beg for Death. 

Darkness pressed in around my consciousness, that inkiness once again washing over me. I braced myself to fall back into it, but my lungs gave in first. Air rushed in, expanding my lungs, causing my chest to rise and fall. My chest ached, likely from a combination of broken ribs and atrophying muscles, but I was breathing. 

I was alive. 

[lightlyblooming]

I have made the brave decision to return to my old Marvel fanfic tumblr. This choice was made entirely because of Rio Vidal and sapphic relationships becoming canon in the MCU.

[lightlyblooming]

Sheltered

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha bandages up the reader in after a long mission.

Words: 946

The pain that seared through your body did nothing to overcome the deep chill that had settled in your bones.

Harsh winds rattled the windows. Rain hammered against the worn wooden walls and streamed through the breaks in the corrugated steel roof. Water pooled in a muddy sea that stretched to every wall of the dilapidated shed. You sat on a wooden table—the only moderately dry spot you could find—doing your best to hold still while Natasha Romanoff stitched up a deep gash on your upper thigh.

Natasha pushed the needle through your skin and you groaned, resisting the urge to flinch. 

Even with the pain meds coursing through your blood, it still hurt like a motherfucker. You weren’t surprised. You hadn’t hoped for much when you had taken the single ibuprofen. There was only three pills between you and Natasha and her dislocated knee, burgeoning black eye, and possible concussion won out over the deep cut in your thigh.

Natasha pulled the thread through your flesh and you let out a faint whimper. You laid back, resting your mud-and-blood coated hair on the damp table. The table wobbled and groaned. You held your breath for fear of the table falling apart beneath you. That was the last thing you wanted to deal with.

“This can’t be any worse than Venice,” Natasha said as she begun to thread through your skin again.

You laughed, which turned into a stifled groan at the sharp pain that spread over your chest. Broken ribs. Probably multiple. Too bad there was no bandage or stitch that could lessen that pain.

You said, “Things can always be worse.”

“But not as bad as Venice.” She finished her stitch and grabbed onto a bandage, pressing it onto your skin. 

Holy fuck it hurt, but you couldn’t show that. Natasha had already had to step in to stitch the cut when she saw your hands shaking as you prepared to pierce your skin. You blamed the adrenaline. Your blood still pumped from the hours of creeping and fighting your way through a  Croatian intelligence base and the hours of running it took to find a place to crash for the night. What you didn’t want to say was that it also came from the fear that fluttered through your chest. The paranoia of wondering if someone would track you down and find you while you slept, the worry that you wouldn’t be able to get out of the country and back home to Russia, the fear that once you did you would be shipped out on another mission the moment your feet touched the ground. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t fulfilled by your life, because you were, but fear was the one thing that couldn’t be solved by truth. You loved working for your country. You fought for those back home who couldn’t fight for themselves. You held your country up, guarding it from outside threats. You made it safe and you made it possible for wealth and joy to prosper. There was nothing in life that could make you feel more complete, more purposeful, but no matter what you did, that fear continued to cloud your mind.

You were lucky that Natasha hadn’t pointed it out to your superiors. If she had, you wouldn’t be fit to fight for your country. You would be a pile of bones at the bottom of some middle-of-nowhere lake. For that, you owed her your life. She was too stupid to not know it, yet she had never used it against you. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Natasha eased herself off the table, her boots squelching in the mud. She walked to the driest corner of the shed and picked up the bag she had sat there, throwing it over her shoulder. 

“Get off the table,” Natasha said, her voice nearly drowned out by the torrential downpour.

You nodded and got off the table, doing your best to keep weight off of your leg. She took the table, flipped it over and pushed it up against the corner. She threw the bag onto the table then carefully sat down, taking care to not bend her knee. If it wasn’t hurting now, it sure s hell would in the morning. You made your way onto the table, slowly lowering yourself onto the floor beside her.

Water and mud rose through the cracks in the wooden slats, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You let out a breath and leaned against the damp wall. 

Natasha pulled a handgun out of the bag and rested it on her lap, her finger a breadth away from the trigger. She trained her eyes on the door that opened into pitch darkness. She inched herself closer to you until your shoulders were touching. It wasn’t much, but that small connection chased away some of the cold that had embedded itself into your bones.

“Sleep,” Natasha said. “I’ll wake you up for the next shift.”

“All right,” you said, then let out a slow breath. 

You allowed your body to calm, to give in to the sleep that nagged at the back of your mind. You needn’t stress now. There was nothing to be afraid of. That would come in the morning. Now, you just needed to rest. Your body needed a break. It had, after all, been on the move for the last 30 hours. And Natasha was there to guard you from whatever came until you were awake and once again ready to face the world.

[lightlyblooming]

Caving In

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha visits Reader's apartment and she gives in.

Words: 956

You wished that you had never opened the door.

Natasha stood on the other side of the threshold, highlighted by the yellow glow of the sparse lights that dotted the hallway. Her red hair rested on her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. Her green eyes were clear and bright.

“So?” Natasha prompted, holding up the plastic bag in her hand. The smell of delicious fried food filled the air. “Are you going to let me in?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to slam the door in her face. She was a page in your life that you wanted to rip out and throw away. Her hair, her eyes, her body, those lips. They were part of a life that you no longer lived, that you never wanted to revisit. 

And yet, you found yourself stepping aside.

She entered your apartment and went straight into the kitchen, her deep and rich perfume washing over you as she passed. You sucked on your teeth, reigned in a sigh, then closed the door. 

She knew exactly what she was doing. That scent, the warm presence of it, permeated the wall that you had spent the last few months trying to build. It elicited memories of humid evenings huddled in a rundown barn on the side of a rural road, long nights tangled in the silk sheets of a 5-star hotel, hours crouched on the top of a roof in the pouring rain, long evenings of sitting in the dark stitching up deep painful wounds.

You followed Natasha into the dimly-lit kitchen. She pulled two plates out of one of the cupboards then opened a drawer and rummaged through the cutlery you’d thrown into it. She gathered a knife and two forks.

You hadn’t bothered organizing your kitchen. It was the only part of the apartment you hadn’t renovated yet, though it definitely needed it. You doubted it had been touched since the 1960’s. It had pale blue paint that occasionally flaked into your food or drinks and the most horrendous red tile countertops that were so cracked you could hardly tell where one tile ended and another began. 

Natasha was wholly unbothered by it. You didn’t think she would be, considering the state of the places you and her had stayed in, but it still came as a slight shock. She suited a Central Park penthouse better than this.

“I heard you were in Paris,” Natasha said as she transferred the food from the containers onto plates. 

You crossed your arms and shrugged. “And?”

“You hate Paris.”

“It’s better than Manhattan.”

Natasha hummed and grabbed the plates. She made her way into the living room and sat on the couch, setting the plates onto the coffee table. “Why did you come back so soon?”

You didn’t bother answering; Natasha already knew the answer. The Avengers only let you drift so far and for so long. They wanted you close in case the sky split open again. At least, that’s what they said. You were certain that Natasha had meddled in that agreement more than she admitted. She was, after all, the one that had convinced Tony Stark that you weren’t a threat to America despite very much being one. She had even managed to have him to give you an apartment and a very healthy allowance on top of it.

“Why are you here?” you asked as Natasha started to eat the fries from her plate.

She had her eyes pinned to you as she ate. You steeled yourself and stared right back.

You knew you would give in. You always did. You always let her in, you always gave way to her desires. If she invited you to a hotel or out to drinks at a dive bar, it would only be a matter of time before you caved and agreed, no matter how hard you fought against it.

You didn’t even know why you tried to resist anymore. At first it was a way to separate your past life from this one, then it was punishment for all you had done. You had caused so much pain, so much suffering. You had dedicated your life to repenting for all you had done. You did whatever the Avengers asked of you, volunteered at soup kitchens, donated what extra money you had.

Now, you had settled into a life sequestered away in your apartment, renovating the same rooms over and over again. When you weren’t stuck painting or decorating or polishing your floors, you were in high-end boutiques and designer stores, spending that very generous allowance on fine clothes and handbags.

Yet not even a fifty-thousand-dollar Hermès bag could ease your pain. Not in the way Natasha did. 

Natasha finished her mouthful and patted the couch beside her. “Eat before your food gets cold.”

You opened your mouth, ready to find an excuse, and then she smiled. Her warm, radiant smile. The smile that washed away your worries again and again. The smile that reminded you that the world wasn’t all sharp edges and cold blades. The smile that filled your empty chest with passion.

You let out a breath and allowed your arms to fall to your side. You took in a deep breath, steadied yourself, then settled onto the couch.

“I thought you were supposed to be in Denver,” you said and picked up your plate. 

“I leave in the morning,” Natasha said. “I wanted to see you before I left.”

You couldn’t help the smile that sprouted on your lips. You hid it by taking a bite of food, but that did nothing to hide the blush that crept along your cheeks when Natasha placed her hand on your thigh.

[lightlyblooming]

hello! i know you’re not writing for Mor anymore, but do you have a master list of what you did write for her? i remember loving everything you wrote, but can’t seem to find most of them anymore!

The master list is here. The stories are all still there, they’re just buried under all my newer content.

And thank you so much for reading and enjoying them! I loved writing for her and adding to the sparse amount of fan content around her (at least I think there’s a sparse amount of content, I haven’t been near that fandom for a while).

[lightlyblooming]

Under the Night Sky

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Reader sits outside after a rough dat and Natasha is there to comfort them.

Words: 1.1k

The stars above you glowed, occasionally interrupted by a plane’s blinking lights as it drifted through the inky depths of the night sky. The moon’s hazy blue glow illuminated the small outdoor patio around you.

You pulled your thick knitted sweater tight around you as a breeze twisted through the forest, winding its way through the strands of your hair and the thin layers of your pajamas. Goosebumps raised along your arms and a shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t budge from your spot on the scratchy outdoor couch. You breathed in the chilly night air, your eyes pinned on the great expanse of the sky.

Looking up at the stars, everything felt so very small. You doubted you would be able to see all of the shining stars, even if you had an eternity out there on that little patio. Your chest and head felt light, almost as if the stars were trying to pull you up into their embrace.

The worries that clouded your mind seemed to dissipate, if only for the moment. The aches and pains in your body were nothing but an annoying itch in the back of your mind.

You allowed the world to disappear.

Nothing mattered, not while you were out there, not while the night was your only companion.

Time slipped from your grasp and you let it turn to mist. Time didn’t matter anymore. The turning of the earth, the slow creeping of the seasons, the graying of hair. It was nonsensical, the lot of it. All there was was you and the stars and the cold air.

That was until a light flicked on inside the cabin. Your attention snapped to a distant window. Golden light spilled out from behind the thin wispy curtains that did nothing to stop you from seeing the person that stood inside.

Natasha Romanoff, the love of your life.

She was too good for you. She was a genius and unbelievingly talented. She had the most gorgeous smile and the warmest heart. She was the most dedicated person you knew. When she set her mind to something, she did it, no matter the cost. She cared more than anyone else. She cared for you more than anyone else in your life ever had.

She told you as often as she could that she loved you and that you deserved every ounce of her affection. Most of the time, you believed her. You doubted she would be so kind and generous to you if she didn’t believe you deserved it. Yet moments of doubt crept into your mind, especially when it felt like the world was against you.

It was especially bad on nights like these when your failures flowed through your veins like poison. The memories of your actions earlier that day were burned into your mind. Every flash reminded you of just how many shortcomings you had. You were sick from the realization of just how seriously you had fucked up. The still night air had helped, but it had not erased the burning shame.

You tucked your knees up to your chest, making yourself as small as possible. You hoped that Natasha would turn the lights off and crawl back into bed and if she didn’t, that she wouldn’t notice you curled up outside.

But of course, who were you kidding. She was Natasha, and you were her girlfriend. There was no way she was going to go back to bed when the sheets beside her were cold from your absence. She was too good for that. She loved you too much. And for once, you wished she didn’t love you as much, if only so that you could have one night where you could be in misery alone. You didn’t want to drag her into it.

The light in the living room flicked on, allowing light to filter through the similarly thin curtains that covered the inside of the French doors.

You tensed as Natasha walked across the living room, disappearing into the kitchen. You waited with bated breath. Your mind filled with a mixture of hope and dread.

Part of you wanted Natasha to walk through that door, take you in her arms and make everything all right and the other part of you wanted her to ignore your presence so that she didn’t have to see your shame. Both parts were battling ferociously for dominance, and you weren’t quite sure which part would win out. You supposed you would get the answer once Natasha decided what she was doing.

A few moments later Natasha’s figure reappeared behind the curtains. She walked straight towards the door and pushed it open.

You went as still as a mountain as the golden light spilled out across the rocky concrete slab of the patio. Despite your stillness, Natasha saw you instantly. Of course she did. She was Natasha fucking Romanoff, and you weren’t putting much effort into avoiding her.

She wore simple gray sweatpants, a matching t-shirt, and a dark red cardigan. Her hair was done up in a bun that was messed from sleep, with the stray strands being pulled around by the breeze. She held two steaming mugs in her hand.

“It’s cold,” Natasha said, her voice gentle and casual. She closed the door with her foot and started walking towards you.

You nodded and turned your attention back towards the sky.

Natasha settled down on the couch beside you, the scratching material of the couch rubbing against her clothes in an uncomfortable scratch. She held one of the mugs out and, for a moment, you thought about ignoring it, but you gave in rather quickly.

She was there to help you. No matter how much you wanted to dwell in your own sadness and push her away, you couldn’t. Even with all the shame bubbling through you, you couldn’t help but feel better with Natasha near you. Just the action of her sitting beside you had the knot in your chest loosening.

Then there was the tea, made perfectly to your liking. An odd little reminder of all the effort and attention that Natasha put in your relationship.

A faint smile flickered across your lips as you sipped on the near unbearably hot tea. At least it tasted good. At least you had that. And the beautiful night sky. And your charming girlfriend, who sat beside you in companionable silence.

Natasha slid closer to you and wrapped her arm around your shoulder. She eased herself under the blanket draped over your legs. Natasha’s body heat melted into you, making the cold night that much more bearable. You leaned into her, welcoming the steady strength that she offered you. It didn’t do much to calm your worries, but it was something. It was safe.

“Everything will be all right,” Natasha whispered. The sweetness in her voice caused your heart to mend, if only a little.

Everything would be all right.

[lightlyblooming]

A Moment of Bliss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Reader wakes up after a night of bliss.

Words: 1.6k

A/N: wow. it's been a while since i've written anything. hopefully this is acceptable for a return.

Warnings: slight mention of hunger

The warmth of the morning sun caressed the bare skin of your back, rousing you from a deep, restful sleep. Your eyes remained closed as your mind groggily stretched out, coming back to life.

The silk sheets beneath you brushed against your bare chest with every breath. The pillow underneath your head felt like a cloud and smelt like some overly expensive perfumed laundry detergent. The blanket laid heavy over your legs, the only part of your naked body not exposed to the warming air.

Sounds of life trickled through the window that had been cracked open since late last night. The chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves in a slight breeze, voices melting into a cacophony of peaceful life, the occasional noise of an engine.

Steps sounded nearby, and a slow smile stretched across your lips. You turned your face into the unbelievably comfortable pillow as the footsteps grew closer. Then someone sat down on the bed beside you, their weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. A hand, light and soft, found its place on the small of your back.

You kept your eyes closed. You kept your body still. You allowed the woman next to you to run her fingers along your spine.

Her touch was magical. It was soft and tender, full of the love you knew she had for you. The calluses on her fingertips were rough, but that didn’t take away from the gentleness. Her touch sent sparks through your body, causing every hair to stand on edge. Your heart pounded and your stomach fluttered, just like it had the first time she touched you.

You melted into her touch. You let out a breath as her touch went further and further up your back. Your breaths deepened as her hand came to rest on your shoulder, the full weight of it a reassuring pressure.

She leaned down and her breath feathered across your shoulder. The sensation sent an electrifying shiver through your body. Then a light, sweet kiss pressed onto your shoulder. You let out a shaking breath, unable to hold it in. Her lips lingered for long enough that you took it as a little “I love you.” It wasn’t like she was going to say it out loud, anyway.

Her raspy voice broke the silence as she pulled away. “Good morning.”

Your smile widened as you finally opened your eyes. You turned onto your side, moving slowly enough that her hand remained on your back.

“Morning, Nat,” you said, your voice heavy and slow from sleep.

She looked absolutely breathtaking, as always. Yet there was something about her unkempt state that made her ethereal.

Her red hair rested on her shoulders, fizzy and untamed. The golden sunlight that streamed through the windows played through the auburn strands, making them look like they were glowing. A dusting of red was brushed across her face, evidence of her newly-awoken state. She wore nothing but a gray t-shirt. Your gray t-shirt.

Remnants of the night before laid littered around the room. Half-eaten plates of room service food, empty glasses that once held wine or water, clothes discarded and thrown around without a care of where they would land.

When the sky was dark and your mind clouded with alcohol, it had all seemed too good to be true. Now, with the sun up and nothing but a faint tickling of nausea and the pressure of a blooming headache, it felt impossible.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but you had never expected it to happen again.

The first time had been a mistake, for lack of a better word. The two of you had only met in passing and had only shared a handful of words. It had been sheer coincidence that the both of you had found yourself in Paris at the same time.

You had been in Paris for a few days, lying low after you had completed a mission in Sweden. Natasha had been there for, well, you never learned. All you knew was that you had stumbled across her in a bar, where she was deep in her drinks, mulling over something that troubled her. She hadn’t said a lot at the bar, but there wasn’t much she needed to say to get you into bed.

After that, you had stayed in contact.

Natasha would call you late at night to talk, and she would answer your every text, no matter how nonsensical it was. You would meet up when it was possible, but you never usually had longer than an hour or two and neither of you made a habit of taking up that time with sex.

Yet, last night, the both of you had found yourselves with three whole days in Paris. It hadn’t taken much convincing from Natasha for her to get you back into bed.

The night had went on, and on, and on. Every time you felt like things were coming to an end, Natasha would pour you a glass of wine, take you in her arms, look at you like you truly meant something to her, and you would fall back into bed.

You lost sense of time in those hours. Her every touch was full of a passion and affection you never thought she carried for you. Her words, soft and sweet and infinitely kind, had your heart fluttering and a grin on your lips that refused to dissipate, no matter how dirty her following words were.

Then, there had been those three words at the end of the night, when everything was calming down and Natasha pulled you in close.

“I love you.”

It all seemed impossible. Every word, every touch, every little action that had lead up to those words spilling from Natasha’s lips. Seeing her sitting there in front of you, as raw and as vulnerable you had ever seen her, you were half-sure that this was all a dream.

Natasha asked, “What do you want for breakfast?”

You sighed as her hand slowly moved its way down your back, closer and closer to that place you were desperate for her to touch. You couldn’t help the words as they fell from your lips, “You.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, her hand stopped. She smiled faintly. “I need to eat,” she said and stood up. As soon as her hand left your skin, the cold air that rushed in felt like a burn. You wanted her hand on your skin. You wanted to feel her skin against yours. The absence was nearly painful.

You sat up in bed and pulled the twisted mass of sheets and blankets up to your chest. The sun may be warm, but it did nothing to protect against the breeze that wedged its way into the hotel room.

Natasha walked across the room and started to pick up pieces of clothes and searching underneath the couch cushions. Her movements gave you a very clear view of her body. After a few seconds of searching, she found her phone wedged under one of the cushions. She sat on the arm of the green velvet couch as she scrolled through her phone.

“If you don’t tell me what you want, you’ll have to accept whatever I give you.”

You sighed. Despite the hunger that gnawed in the back of your mind, eating was one of the last priorities on your list. You wanted Natasha. You wanted to be with the most precious woman in your life. You didn’t want to waste this chance.

“Come to bed, Natasha.”

Natasha pressed her lips into a thin line and let out a slow breath. She straightened out and picked her underwear up from the floor before she slipped them on. She started wandering around the room, eyes glued to the floor, her movements rushed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, a sinking feeling settling into your stomach.

“I have to go to work,” she said, her voice emotionless and stilted. The sinking feeling turned into an all-out cavern. You shifted onto your knees as you tracked her quick movements throughout the room.

“You have two more days off,” you said, a desperate note filling your voice.

Natasha found her pants and pulled them on, her fingers swiftly and deftly doing the zipper and button. A memory of last night flashed in your mind of those very same fingers making quick work of undressing you. The desire that flashed through you was quickly squashed when you saw how stilted and uninterested Natasha was.

“Well, something came up,” she snapped, her eyes darting to yours. The intensity that laid behind those breathtaking green eyes caused you to freeze. “I’ll call you or text you later but now… Now I have work to do.”

She turned and began to make her way out of the room. You crawled across the bed, trying to get to her. You allowed the blankets to drop and pool at your knees. They didn’t matter, not when Natasha was making a beeline towards the door.

You started to speak, “Natasha, please—” but the door closed before the words could finish sounding through the room. “Fuck.”

You settled back onto your knees, resting your hands on your thighs. You sighed, replaying everything you had said, everything you had did, wondering if there was anything you could’ve done to keep her there.

But Natasha was gone and she had taken one of your favorite shirts along with her. At least you had her perfume-scented shirt to prove that the night had really happened and wasn’t a figment of your imagination. It wasn’t like she would ever acknowledge it.

[lightlyblooming]

Always There

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: The reader shows up at Natasha's apartment and is welcomed in.

Words: 463

You stood in front of an apartment door, the numbers beside it illuminating the number 721. The floor was quiet, though it was not uncomfortable. The smooth gray walls and marble floors created a comfortable familiarity. They laid around you like a close friend, welcoming you back. You’d been there enough times to remember every vein of mottled gray in the floor and every pattern in the black wooden door in front of you.

You knew that she was home. She had texted you three hours ago to let you know. You hadn’t told her that you would be coming over, but you were sure she wouldn’t mind. She never had before. Yet that didn’t stop anxiety from rising in your chest.

A chime sounded in the distance and you turned your head to see someone rounding the corner from where the complex’s elevators were. 

You took in a deep breath and knocked on the door, if only to not look like a fool to the person that was making their way down the hallway. They stopped at their apartment door and pulled out their jingling keys just as the door in front of you opened. 

A faint smile spread across Natasha’s lips and she stepped aside, letting you in without a word.

You caught a glimpse of the gun in her hand as she closed the door with her free hand, but she placed it away in a drawer before you could acknowledge it.

It wasn’t much of a surprise. Even though the apartment building was closely guarded by both the complex’s security and the Avenger’s own spies, there was always a slim chance that someone could’ve gotten through.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming over,” Natasha said, walking further into the apartment. 

You followed her, taking notice of the television that was paused on some type of movie, the blankets piled onto the couch, and the plate of snacks on the table.

“Sorry,” you said. “I should have called you or something.”

Natasha shook her head. “You can always come over,” she said, and sat down on the couch. She moved aside the blankets to make room for you.

You sat down next to her and she placed her arm around your shoulder, the touch light and careful. You melted into her warmth, pressing your body into hers and laying your head on her shoulder. She pulled the blankets over the both of you and played the movie, restarting it from the beginning so that you could watch it with her.

Her gentle touch made sure that you knew you could pull away at any moment if you wanted to. She had always been careful with you, letting you make your own boundaries and decide what you were ready for. 

[lightlyblooming]

I've been writing for about 4 years now, but I still have no idea how to actually plot anything out. That's why I have resorted to writing short fanfics that don't involve much, if any, pre-planning and no follow-up story.

Now I'm trying to evolve my writing abilities and that involves figuring out how to plot and structure a story. I'm doing that by writing out a multi-part fic. A series. I'm watching youtube videos and reading articles and dredging up my old memories from school.

Still, I have no idea what I'm doing. This story is going to be a beautiful mess of a dumpster fire.

[lightlyblooming]

Do you think this would be considered a fluff or angst ending, or just a blissfully at terms one???

Btw I like your stories, even the ones that make my heart break :,)

Hope you’re having a good day/evening/nighttt !

I had intended it to be fluff. I wanted to give the idea that they may revisit their relationship. However, I did leave the ending very open, so there can be many interpretations.

It can be seen as very fluffy, where the reader and Natasha mend their relationship and get back together. It can be seen as them coming to terms of where there relationship is now and comfort in understanding that it won't be anything more and that they can still be friends and support each other. Or it can be angst, a sadness about the beautiful relationship they had missed out on and knowledge that it'll never work (I don't exactly see how the ending could be angst, but I'm sure there's a way to see it like that).

Really, it's just up to the reader and what they take away from it. I'm a sucker for happy endings, so that's how I saw it.

[lightlyblooming]

Saved

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: The reader gets injured and Natasha is there to help.

Words: 405

A/N: This is just something short I wrote in an hour. The last four days have been quite busy for me. I went to my first pride parade today and I'm pretty darn exhausted, but I wanted to get something out.

The stench of smoke and gunpowder filled the air, accented with a cacophony of screams and the crushing sound of buildings falling apart.

Pieces of crumbled brick and rock dug into your knees as you got onto the ground, your hands braced on your knees. You moaned, rocking, as you tried to control the pain that burned through your body. It was unlike anything you had experienced. The pain went beyond any broken bone or wound. 

Cuts and scrapes peppered your body, accompanying the occasional bullet wound or deep slash. You did what you could to stop the bleeding, but your mind was blinded by the searing pain. Your mind was too faraway to pay attention to the battlefield around you, let alone gather enough attention to mend your wounds so that you didn’t bleed out. Making it out alive would be a miracle. You just had to keep breathing.

And that’s what you did for what felt like forever.

People ran past you, trying to get away from the otherworldly beings that chased them. Those aliens sped past you, but they never took notice. Nobody did. Everyone left you alone, treating you like you were one of the dozens of already-dead people that littered the streets. 

You might as well have been. 

You had lost so much blood that you were put in a state of perpetual confusion. You were so lightheaded and dizzy that you could hardly tell up from down. Your muscles were so weak and fatigued that you were sure you’d crumble if you so much as moved a finger. 

Then someone knelt before you, putting pressure and hasty bandages on your freely bleeding wounds. 

It took you a few moments to recognize the person in front of you: Natasha. Your dear friend. The one person you had always been able to rely on. Her hands were fast and efficient as she got you patched up. She was saying something, but your mind was too clouded to make sense of the hum of her voice. 

You tried to stay present, but it became harder as the seconds passed. Besides, you were fine now. Natasha was there. She would help you and keep you safe. You didn’t have to fight so hard to keep awake.

Natasha lifted you into her arms, and you stopped fighting. You let your mind go blank and your eyes fall closed. 

She would take care of you.

[lightlyblooming]

Rest

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha helps the reader go to sleep after their anxiety overwhelms them.

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: Severe anxiety, stress

Ever since you became an Avenger, you’d suffered from nightmares. You weren’t sure of the exact cause, but it probably had something to due with the constant stress of being thrown into danger.

You would stay up late into the night, your thoughts occupied by every possible bad outcome. It was a struggle to fall asleep with the worry clouding your mind. At any moment, you could get a call saying that they needed you. At any moment, you could have to get out of bed, get dressed, and head into battle.

It was a constant cycle of worry and fear and stress that completely consumed you. You couldn’t fall asleep from the frightening anticipation and when you did, you slept for an hour at most only to be woken up by a too-real nightmare that had you convinced someone was in your room attacking you. It had you waking up, gasping for air, and reaching towards your light night after night.

No matter how many breathing exercises, no matter how many thought exercises, you couldn’t calm the panic and you couldn’t have one restful night.

The draining cycle made you a walking zombie, in a continuous state of exhaustion and stress. You couldn’t think straight. You could hardly function. The only thing that kept you going was routine and, even then, you were always on the edge of tears.

It didn’t take long for Natasha to take notice.

At first, she kept her distance, probably giving you the privacy and space to work through it yourself, but you didn’t get better. You were too tired to work on the new skills your therapist recommended and too caught up in your near-obsessive thoughts to get even a resemblance of rest.

It took you sitting on the gym floor, knees curled to your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks, for Natasha to approach you.

She knelt before you, her figure barely visible through your tears. You wanted to push her away. You wanted to hide from her attention. You didn’t want her to see you falling apart. You didn’t want her to see how much of a mess you truly were. You didn’t want her to discover that the person in front of her wasn’t as great as she thought they were.

Yet all Natasha did was say, “We all have rough days.”

You didn’t say anything in response. You lowered your head and tried to stifle your tears to no avail. 

“When was the last time you slept?” she asked, her voice heartbreakingly soft.

You shrugged. “Ten hours ago, maybe.”

“How long did you sleep?”

You hesitantly said, shame rising in your chest, “An hour, at most.”

Natasha sighed and you shook, your tears falling faster. You wanted to crumble and disappear. You couldn’t handle this anymore.

Natasha’s next words only made it worse, “You need to take a break.”

Your eyes snapped up to her. “No, Natasha,” you said, pushing through your tears, forcing them to stop. “I’m fine. I’m just having a rough day. As you said, we all have them. I just need some time.”

“And that’s what you’re getting,” Natasha said, her voice even, an opposite to the panic that consumed you. “It’s not a punishment. You can’t help others if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

You shook your head. “Avengers don’t take breaks. They can’t afford that.”

“The world isn’t going to fall apart if you take a few days off,” Natasha said.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

You shook your head and sniffed, wiping away the tears that stained your cheeks. “You never need a break. You’re always ready, always prepared.”

“I’m always prepared because I know when to step away and look after myself,” she said. “Besides, I’ve been trained from birth to be the strongest person in the room. Being able to push past my emotions and function at a normal level has been so drilled into me that it’s basically survival instinct at this point. There’s nothing wrong with needing to step away from your responsibilities when things get too hard. There’s nothing wrong with knowing when you need help.”

“I’ve been getting help,” you said, your arms tightening around your legs. Emotions built in your chest. Your throat became raw as you gasped out the words. “But I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can barely even think. I’m so scared and so stressed I can’t even breathe. No amount of deep breaths or thought exercises will fix this.”

Tears poured out of you, making your eyes and lungs ache. You trembled with the force of your emotions and the weight of your exhaustion. 

Natasha took a moment to breathe and then said, “You need you sleep. It’ll give you the energy you need to face everything.”

“No,” you said, voice soft and weak. “I’ve tried over and over again. I’ve done everything, but nothing ever works. I can’t fall asleep. If I do, I’ll have nightmares and I’ll wake up before I get any kind of rest.”

Natasha nodded. “If you can’t sleep, then you should at least get some rest.”

“How?” you asked, your voice on the edge of begging. You wanted to rest more than anything. 

“I’ll order your favorite food and we’ll put on your favorite show. We can lay in your bed and I’ll stay at your side until you feel rested enough to be alone.”

“That won’t do anything.” 

“What other options do you have?” Natasha asked, and you couldn’t help but nod and give in. After all, she was right. You didn’t have any other option. You were tired and in pain and you had exhausted every other path. Doing something was better than just allowing yourself to waste away.

After you said that you’d give it a shot, Natasha sent you to your room to have a shower and put a show on with the promise that she’d show up in a half hour with food.

Just as she had promised, Natasha showed up in your room half an hour later, a bag of food in her hand. She settled down onto the bed beside you and placed the food in front of you. You took out the food to find that it was, in fact, all of your favorites. Yet, even with the comfort that filled you at the gesture, you didn’t say anything. You were too weighed down with exhaustion to properly vocalize how you felt.

You and Natasha ate and watched the show in silence. You kept falling further and further down into the bed, getting wrapped up more and more in the pile of warm blankets. Your eyes got heavy and your body went lax.

Still, you were afraid. Still, you couldn’t push away the nagging worry that you wouldn’t get a full rest.

You forced yourself to speak, “If something happens and the Avengers are called, I won’t have to go, right?”

“No,” Natasha said, her eyes momentarily drifting away from the show to land on you. “You’re not in the proper state to fight.”

“And if something does happen, I can help after I sleep?”

“Of course,” Natasha said. “So long as you’re well-rested and in the proper state of mind, I can’t see why not.”

You nodded and let out a breath. When Natasha realized you wouldn’t be asking any more questions, she turned her attention back to the show. She continued to snack on her food, eyes glued to the screen.

You did your best to take deep breaths and keep your mind focused on the show, anything but sit in the worries and fears that threatened to swallow you whole. Before you knew what was happening, your mind slipped from consciousness and you fell asleep.

⧗

When you woke up, you were uneasy and disoriented. You looked at the closed curtain that blocked out the light and the clock on the wall that had been dead for the last few months.

You reached for your phone, only to find that it was dead. You plugged it in and pushed yourself to your feet. You walked across the room and opened the curtains.

The sun, bright and burning, stung your eyes. You squeezed your eyes closed and took a deep breath as your eyes adjusted to the brightness. After that passed, you looked outside at the sun-bathed city.

It had been around two in the afternoon when you went to sleep, and it sure as hell didn’t look like it was night.

Panic and dread filled your chest once again, though it was far more calming and less all-consuming than it had been before. Had you only slept for an hour again? Had all the effort and time Natasha put it in not helped? 

You took in a deep breath. When your phone finished charging, you could check the time, and it would be all right.

A voice came from behind you, “You’re awake.” 

You turned around at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She stood in the doorway, in a whole new outfit, a large smile spreading across her lips. “You’ve been asleep for so long I thought you were dead.”

“How long was I out for?” you asked, not moving away from the window. Natasha closed the door and walked across the room to stand beside you.

“About eighteen hours.”

“That long?” you asked, a whole new worry filling your chest.

“You needed it,” Natasha said, her eyes turning the city outside. “There was a time I slept for over twenty-four hours after staying up for three days straight.” She looked back to you. “The body does what it needs to do in order to keep healthy.”

You nodded, a true sense of relaxation setting into you. You were calm and you were able to breathe freely without feeling like your chest was going to be crushed.

“Thank you,” you said, “for helping me.”

Natasha smiled and said, “Anytime.”

[lightlyblooming]

Brought Back

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha brings the reader back to their body after assisting the Avengers in a fight.

Words: 1.2k

Your mind was still. A sea of calmness surrounded you like a blanket over your senses, bringing you to a place of complete silence and peace. 

You let yourself be swept away by the sensation. You let every thought leave your mind. You didn’t fight against it. Why would you? Why would you want such an overwhelming sense of peace to end?

You floated in the dark, welcoming abyss. It was comfortable and safe and somewhere that you’d happily spend the rest of your life. There was no reason for you to leave. There was nothing beyond this perfect relaxation.

You were calm and happy and held in lovely comfort.

Then there was a voice, faraway and piercing. 

The voice slammed against the comfort that surrounded you. It dug at the bubble that held you, threatening to pierce it. A deep sense of discomfort flooded you, bringing along with it rage and sadness.

That voice was an incomprehensible danger to your life, to your peace. It had no right to take that bliss away from you. It couldn’t be allowed to pull you from this cocoon of joy. You didn’t know how you would do it, but you fought against the invading force. You pushed and pushed and pushed until the voice faded away and you were once again left in absolute calmness.

The silence, cool and embracing, was short-lived. The voice came back, and it came back with such a force that it took the breath from your lungs.

You fought, just like you had moments earlier. You pushed that voice, that discomfort, as far away as you could. Yet it kept coming back, stronger and more invasive than before. It slammed against you over and over again. It ripped your bubble of peace apart. You tried to keep a grip on the shreds, pull them back, put yourself back into that state of calmness, but nothing worked.

You struggled against the voice, though it was a fruitless effort. It kept eating at you, tearing apart your peace, until there was nothing left. The comfort fell away, dissipating into an ocean of pain and fear and discomfort. You did your best to stay strong, yet you could do nothing as the discomfort overtook you.

Pain and fear pulsed through you, followed by the faint sensation of air against your skin. It sent a chill through your body.

Below that chill, that frigid air, you could feel something cold and itchy poking into your back. Grass, hard and rough, covered in crisp snow. A warmth traced your skin, a harsh juxtaposition to the cold air that surrounded you. While it was nothing compared to the capsule of peace you’d been in moments before, it gave you something to grab onto. It gave you enough of a reason not to go digging for the calmness that you were sure rested just beyond reach.

The snow crunched near you. It took you a few moments to realize that the sound was footsteps gently approaching you. 

The steps stopped right as they neared your body, followed by a soft thud and more crunching of snow. 

Then came that voice, though it wasn’t the same penetrating force that it had been moments before. It was calm, reassuring, soothing.

“Welcome back,” the voice said—a woman’s voice. Rough yet sweet. 

You took in a deep breath, feeling the way your chest pressed against your clothes. It was a strange, unusual sensation. Being forced into a world of feeling and touch and noise was excruciating. It was all a bit too much.

“Open your eyes,” the woman instructed. 

You followed her command, peeling your eyes open despite the pain that the bright sun caused. It took a good minute for you eyes to adjust but when they did, you saw the woman kneeling next to you.

Her black clothes were stained with blood, with splashes of it all over her face and hands. Yet she didn’t seem bothered by it. She merely kept her green eyes on you.

You looked around yourself at the bodies that littered the icy ground around you. Their steaming blood colored the snow red. Some of them had objects poking out of them, others simply laid still as if they had just fallen asleep.

“How are you?” the woman asked, pulling your attention back to her.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You weren’t even sure that you knew how to speak, let alone pull together something cohesive. 

She didn’t seem too bothered by your lack of response. She just reached into her pocket, pulled out a slender needle, and stabbed it into your arm, quickly injecting the clear liquid. The pain of the needle was short-lived, though it was quickly followed by a burning sensation that ravaged through your body. For a split moment, it felt like you had been set ablaze, though the sensation faded soon enough that you didn’t have time to react.

A pulse of time passed and the woman said again, “How are you?”

This time, your mind flooded with information. The bloodied bodies that surrounded you made sense. You had done that, you had killed them. Easy, fast, efficient. You had done it to keep your team, the Avengers, safe. 

When Natasha reached for another needle, you put your hand out and forced the words out from your chest, “Don’t.”

Her hand stopped instantly, her eyes focusing in on yours, a faint surprise lighting them up. “That was fast. It usually takes a few.”

“Maybe I’m getting better,” you whispered, your voice weak. You were still unused to having to speak. It was always difficult getting back to normal after you allowed yourself to drop into that place.

“That would certainly help,” Natasha said, getting to her feet. “Carrying around all these serums is hard work.”

You smiled, unable to do anything else. A roar sounded in the distance, drawing Natasha’s attention for a split moment.

“Can you handle things from here?” she asked. “I have to go deal with the Hulk.”

“Yeah,” you forced out. 

Natasha nodded and, having complete faith in your words, turned and walked towards the roars and sounds of crushing wood. 

You allowed yourself to lay there, your eyes focused on the sky, warmth of a different type filling your chest.

In the beginning, Natasha had been terrified of you. She saw how easy it was for you to give into the chemically engineered part of you. The part that threw your consciousness into a pocket of pure bliss, allowing a raw, brutal version of you to come to the surface. The part of you that had been drilled into being a brutally excellent trained killer. The part of you that you had refused to accept so devoutly that the only option your trainers had was to isolate it from your logic and consciousness. 

When you allowed yourself to drop, you became a completely different person. You were a being of pure rage, unrestrained by reason. No matter how hurt you got, you wouldn’t stop. You would keep going until every every one of your enemies was dead, which was never going to happen. Too many people had hurt you. Too many things had happened for you to ever find peace.

The only thing that momently brushed aside that desperation for peace was Natasha. She was the only person that could push through the impenetrable shield you would build around yourself.

[lightlyblooming]

Mending Through Music

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha gets too involved with work and the reader breaks up with Natasha. After the breakup, the reader writes music to help get through the breakup, and ends up getting famous off of it. Natasha comes to watch the reader perform, and they mend their old wounds.

Words: 2.7k

Request: Hii can i please request where YN Stark and Natasha Romanoff's dating but then it's either Natasha cheats on YN or she doesn't give YN time, when YN asks Nat to say for once, Nat still chose mission so they broke up. YOU CHOOSE 😃 YN Stark's a singer btw. So then months later we made an album about Nat and we sang a song about her at the Stark's party and she wants us back. You choose the ending wether it's angst or fluff hehe

You first met Natasha when you were visiting your cousin, Tony Stark, at his office. Then, she was Natalie Rushman, your cousin’s assistant. 

You didn’t think too much of her. She was a beautiful woman, but she was a working professional and you had to respect and treat her as such. She was very competent at her job and always excelled in every task Tony gave her.

Tony always boasted about her abilities and told you that you should get an assistant like her. In return, you reminded him that you didn’t need an assistant, because you weren’t a CEO or business executive, despite all the urgings from your late Uncle Howard to become one. You had stayed far away from Stark Industries. Not for lack of ability, but for lack of interest. You would rather spend your life exploring music than innovation. After all, you had inherited enough money from your father to live comfortably for the rest of your life, so you had enough of a cushion to focus on your music.

You kept distant from Tony, only visiting every couple of months when you felt like it wouldn’t be appropriate to stay away for any longer. You brought him gifts, most of which he threw out as soon as you left, and he gave you pizza and soda as a thanks for you dropping by.

However, these visits became more frequent after the attack of New York and the reveal of the Avengers. After Natalie Rushman turned into Natasha Romanoff.

You visited more often in hopes that you would run into her and somehow convince her to be your friend. It took months to get the right timing, but when you did, you were able to sit down with Natasha and share a bottle of wine with her. You talked with her for hours and with every passing minute, you liked her more and more.

She seemed to be such a kind and genuine person. You were lucky to be around her, to be able to talk to her. Your stomach was full of butterflies. Butterflies that came alight when Natasha placed her hand on your thigh.

You didn’t do anything to slow her when she leaned in to kiss you. You didn’t question it when she started touching you. You were elated when she invited you to her room.

In the beginning, you thought that it would be a one-night thing, and you would have been fine with that. You didn’t expect anything more from her. But she kept coming back. She continued to invite you to her room and out on dates. She spent more and more time with you as the days and weeks went by. Before you knew it, Natasha was asking you to be her girlfriend and you were happily saying yes.

Between all of her missions, she devoted her free time to you. She would sit there, smiling, as you performed your most recent songs to her. She would give you constructive criticism and boast about how beautiful your voice was. Then she would pull you into bed and hold you there for the night, unloading her worries and passions onto you.

Being with her gave you some of the best moments in your life. Seeing her always managed to make you feel better, even though you only got to be with her once every few weeks. She was worth the wait.

For a while, you believed that Natasha felt the same. Yet her missions kept getting longer. She went from being gone for a week or two to being absent for months. 

Of course, you understood that her work was very, very important. Her skills and abilities were highly valued and she could be the difference between life and death. Any team that she was put on was sure to succeed. It made sense that she would be put on more and more missions. People needed her. But you needed her too.

You asked her—begged her—to stay home, even for just one night a month. Yet she brushed you off, made excuses about how she had important work to do. In time, you gave up on trying and, as time wore on, you didn’t think it was even worth it.

Yes, you loved Natasha. She was the most important person in your life. You would spend the rest of your life with her if she gave you the chance, but you couldn’t be in a one-sided relationship.

The next time Natasha came home, you told her gently that you wanted to end things. She barely even reacted. She merely nodded, thanked you for the good times, packed up her things, and left.

When she left, and you saw that her things were no longer in your home, reality came crashing down on you.

Natasha was gone. She wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t hers. The only contact you had with her was when she came to see Tony for something and even then, she paid you little to no mind. She barely even looked at you, let alone said anything.

The emotions slowly wore away at you until you avoided the Avengers Tower at all costs, lest you run into her.

Even with the distance, your emotions flooded your senses. It became overwhelming to the point where you couldn’t cope with it anymore. So you turned to writing music, the only outlet you had. You spent your nights in bed, tears running down your cheeks, writing a whole album about the feelings you had for her.

You wrote about the emotions you’d had throughout the relationship: the first hint of attraction, the first night together, the bliss of the nights after that, the pure happiness of being asked to be her girlfriend, the deep comfort of being with her, the slow estrangement, the heartbreakingly easy breakup, the mourning. 

At first, it had just been a piece for venting, something for your eyes and your eyes only. Then you had shown it to your friend, and she had urged you to bring it to a producer. Reluctantly, you did.

It took you a few weeks, but you found a producer that was more than willing to turn your rudimentary album into something spectacular. You were in the studio until the small hours of the morning, singing and altering the lyrics as needed. A few months later, you signed with a publisher, and the album was released. 

The single was the first thing to be put out, and it absolutely blew up. It played on a dozen different radio stations and everyone and their mother was listening to it.

You weren’t sure if the popularity came from the music itself or the Stark name that was attached it, but you didn’t care either way. You knew that everything you put out was the best you had. 

When the full album was released, you were signed with one of the biggest record labels in the United States. They pushed your music out further, ensuring that was heard throughout the entirety of the Unites States. They even got you a few performances on talk shows and large-scale music events, further cementing your newfound fame.

Getting used to the fame was a challenge in itself. 

When your cousin became an Avenger, you had been pushed into the public eye because you shared his last name, but being a musician was a completely different experience. You couldn’t just step away and turn the attention onto Tony when it became too much. It was you that they wanted to see, not him. It was you that they wanted the autograph from, the picture with, the attention from. And unlike Tony, you weren’t built for fame. You didn’t eat it up in the same way he did. 

Yet with some guidance and counseling from Tony himself, you slowly adjusted to your new way of life. You were better able to segment your life. You had your chaotic and glamorous life in the limelight and your calm and peaceful life at home. 

Soon enough, not even a month after your debut, you put out your second single. It didn’t get the same kind of attention that your first album got, but it was still far more than you had expected to get. You still saw videos of your fans dancing to the songs. You still heard it on the radio. You even heard it when you went to a quiet bar that hardly anyone visited.

It got enough attention that Tony formally invited you to perform at one of his Avenger parties, though he promised to portray it as a celebration of the most recent single you had released.

You had agreed. Of course you did. Not only because Tony was your cousin and the Avengers were your friends, but because your record label pushed you to do it. Apparently, being seen performing for the Avengers was a huge PR move. It didn’t make much sense to you because you thought being related to Tony Stark would be worth more PR than just performing for him, but it wasn’t, according to your label.

You enjoyed the night, chatting with your fans and hanging out with the Avengers. You were having the time of your life, drinking and dancing. Then came the moment when you had to perform.

You had a half hour set prepared, which was one of the longest times you had performed in front of a crowd. Despite that, you were confident that you would be able to do it. You had, after all, sung for hours in the studio and at home. The only difference was that you were in front of a crowd and, as you have been told, having an audience filled you up with energy. That proved true until you saw her.

Natasha stood at the back of the room in a breathtaking skin-tight black dress. She held a glass of wine to her lips, her eyes pinned on you.

You did your best to keep your voice steady, but it was difficult with how pressing Natasha’s gaze was. It was especially hard when you got to the songs you had written about her. You messed up a few notes, skipped a few words, overall just messed up the whole thing. 

When you stepped of the stage, you were surrounded by the party guests. They boasted about how good the performance was, how beautiful your voice was, how wonderful the lyrics were.

You did your best to give them attention, but you ended up having to excuse yourself.

You slipped out of the party and made your way to a part of the Avenger’s Tower that was off-limits to the guests. You made your way to a balcony and stepped outside, breathing in the cool, calming air. It filled your lungs and comforted the panic and overwhelming emotions that had filled you at the sight of Natasha.

Tony had told you that Natasha wouldn’t be at the party. She was on a mission, he’d said. She was overseas, distracted by an ultra-important task for the Avengers. There was no reason for her to come back. 

Yet, there she was. Here, at the party, listening to you singing about the relationship you’d had, watching you.

You were sick with the shock of it but, thankfully, the cool air helped you relax.

The door behind you opened and you closed your eyes, hoping that it wasn’t her but knowing that it was as you heard her step closer to you.

“That was a beautiful performance,” Natasha said from behind you.

You forced in a deep breath and looked over your shoulder at her. She seemed to take this as an invitation to walk forward to stand beside you. “Thank you,” you said quietly, turning to look at the cityscape before you.

The air between you was so fraught with tension that you could almost feel it as a tangible thing rubbing up against your skin. 

Natasha was the first one to break the tension, “I’m glad I could make you famous.”

Despite the pain of the memories that her voice brought up, you smiled. “Do you think anyone knows?”

The only people that knew about you and Natasha dating were the Avengers, so the public wasn’t aware that the breakup you wrote about had been between you and Natasha. For all they knew, there hadn’t even been a breakup. You had purposely been ambiguous in all the interviews.

“Maybe,” Natasha said. “There are some theories. But some people also think that it’s about you and Tony.”

“Gross.” 

The corner of Natasha’s lips lifted and you couldn’t help but think about how beautiful she was in the lights of the city. Seeing her this close reminded you of why, exactly, you had dated her in the first place.

She was bright and warm and beautiful. She was the kindest, most selfless person you knew, and that never changed. She was still the same person. Still the Nat you had fallen for.

“Why are you here, anyway?” you asked, and Natasha’s eyes shifted over to you. You swallowed and continued, “Tony said you were on a mission.”

Natasha nodded. “I was. I still am. But I’ve seen and heard the recordings of your songs enough times. I just wanted to see it in person.” Her smile grew wider. “A two hour flight is worth it to see you.”

“You should have realized that back when we were together,” you said, and Natasha’s smile fell. 

“Yeah,” she said, solemn. “I made a mistake.”

“You’re not going to ask for me to forgive you?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

“No. I don’t expect your forgiveness,” she said and took in a deep breath. Her eyes drifted to the city beyond. You could almost see her fighting the urge to cross her arms. “I made a mistake. I failed to see your value and give you what you deserved. And for that, I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to come back to me or even want to be around me. I’m the one at fault, not you.”

You let out a breath, relieved at how reasonable she sounded. You supposed that was a stupid thing to be surprised over, especially with how reasonable and considerate you knew Natasha was, but you’ve been through one too many rough breakups to believe that things could be done so easily and logically.

“I don’t hate you,” you said, and Natasha looked back to you. “I still love you. The way our relationship was just didn’t work for me.”

“That’s fair.” That radiant smile of hers returned. “At least you got famous off of it.”

You smiled faintly. “Yes. At least there’s that.”

“You finally made it.”

“I did,” you said gently, and Natasha’s smile turned gentle in return. “All those late nights practicing was worth it.”

“It was always worth it, no matter if you got any attention. It makes you so happy.”

It did. Really, in the beginning, you never expected to get your music published in any capacity, let alone blow up in the way it did. You did it for the art of it, the joy of creative expression that it brought to you. The fact that you enjoyed it and the fact that you were good was simply a bonus. You would’ve continued with your music regardless.

Silence settled over the both of you though it was not, in any way, uncomfortable. It was actually quite relaxing. It felt nice to be around Natasha again. It felt safe.

Natasha turned around and carefully placed her hand on your arm. Her touch was light enough that you could easily pull away. But you didn’t. You merely stood there with her hand on your arm and gave you a warm smile.

That smile made your heart come alive. You felt full and cared for, just like you had when you first got together. 

“I have to go,” she said quietly and you nodded. “You can talk to me whenever you want. I’ll always be here for you.”

The sweetness in her voice made you want to melt. Instead, you gave her a smile that she returned twofold. She gave your arm a slight squeeze and stepped away towards the door of the balcony. 

Just as she was about to walk through the door, you said, “Thank you, Nat, for coming.”

She paused to look back at you, a slight startled expression on her face. She mastered herself quickly and said, “Of course,” then left, closing the door behind her.

You smiled quietly at yourself and turned your face to the city.