[norwayromanoff]

anna; late 20s; she/her writing for natasha romanoff... oneshots galore asks, messages, & requests welcome taken anons: 🐞, 🗡️, 🏍️, 🌃

no copying, reposting, & etc.

⧖ natasha romanoff masterlist ⧖ personal favorite: .ᐟ‎ angst: ꩜ contains smut: ᥫ᭡

drabbles

⧖ masterlist

norway!nat

⧖ masterlist

Alcohol's Effects on the Body

⧖ masterlist ⤷ Nerd!Nat x r

Apartment 224

⧖ masterlist ⤷ Nat x neighbor!r

Pay-Per-View (upcoming)

⧖ masterlist ⤷ OnlyFans!Nat x r

oneshots

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[tobesolxvely]

+18, nsfw, mdni. adult content creators!au has lived rent free in my head all weekend, i had to write this down. pt3 but works as a stand alone. cw: sexting, sexy pics wink wink (both r! and v! sending), masturbation (both r! and v!), use of y/n (just once tho).

It’s been a month since Vi —yes, Vi, the rising pornstar that made every lesbian’s head spin— had DMed you after you left that stupid flirty comment on one of her videos.

@/onlyangel commented: watching this for… educational purposes 👀

God, you’d cringed at yourself as soon as you sent it, and started considering deleting your whole platform. But two things made you decide otherwise: first, the growing stack of bills piled up at your kitchen table; and second, the fact that she liked it. And then, she had actually reached out to you privately.

@viafterdark: glad i could help with the research 😉

That stupid winky emoji had your brain short-circuiting.

It didn’t stop there. The DMs were sporadic and casual. A couple of hours after uploading a new video, you’d get notifications like these:

@viafterdark: ur new vid was hot af

@viafterdark: angles are insane 🔥

@viafterdark: holy shit ur onto something

@viafterdark: ooooh good one 😏

You’d reply trying not to sound like you’re losing your mind. But what can you say to your favorite pornstar reacting to your own porn videos? “Thank you”? “Your vids are so much cooler”? “Hey, how about we fuck?”

Vi would disappear for days— she’s busy filming, editing, just being a massive creator with an equally massive following. You’d convinced yourself the messages meant nothing, just a fellow professional acknowledging your work— could you really even call yourself a professional?

But then she’d message again, and your stomach would flip with anticipation as soon as you read her username in your notifications.

It has been three days since you last “spoke” to her. You’re in your bed, lying down on your stomach as you edit your newest video, when your phone buzzes.

@viafterdark: heyyy sorry again :(

@viafterdark: i don’t really do this dms thing

You’re about to type out your usual response: “don’t worry, what are you working on now?”, when a new message bubble comes up.

A phone number.

Vi’s phone number.

You’re taken aback by this, and it actually takes you a couple of hours to muster up the courage to actually text her.

Vi’s in the middle of editing when her phone buzzes. Of course, she ignores it. She’s in the zone, color grading a scene that took three takes to get right, and she absolutely hates being interrupted. But her phone buzzes again, and again.

“Fucking hell,” she groans, reaching over without looking away from her monitor.

unknown number: heyy

unknown number: it’s y/n

unknown number: oop, i mean onlyangel

Vi’s fingers pause over the keyboard. She had sent the number half on impulse, tired of the DM lag and feeling the conversation too performative on the porn page, but she hadn’t expected you to actually text her. She was hoping you did, but it still surprised her as she read the messages on her screen.

She leans back in her chair, a small smirk playing at her lips as she types back.

vi: hi hot stuff

vi: weird to finally know your real name

you: fair lol

A week and a half later, you’re just finishing up a take when your phone buzzes.

vi: heeeey

vi: what u doin??

You let yourself fall back against the bed, breathing heavily as you type back.

you: just wrapped actually

vi: fuck yeah what were u filming

you: just some solo stuff

vi: hot 🔥 what u wearing

You look down at yourself— an oversized band tee that keeps slipping off your shoulder and nothing else. Your hair’s a mess, you’ve got a light sheen of sweat on your skin, and you look absolutely wrecked.

You don’t let yourself overthink it. You open the camera app and angle your phone, catching yourself in the mirror right in front of your bed. You throw the blanket over your hips, perfectly aligned in a way that it covers your core but leaves little to the imagination. Your lips are parted, that fucked-out look still lingering from the filming.

The picture is snapped and sent before your brain catches up.

Your heart’s pounding as you see three dots appear and disappear endlessly for a whole minute. For a second, you think you’ve crossed a line, but—

vi: holy fuck

vi: okay i’m shutting down for the day

vi: can’t focus on anything else now

You bite your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach. You didn’t expect this reaction.

you: that bad?

vi: that good

vi: you’re killing me

There’s something by the way she’s replying— fast, unfiltered, her usual cool demeanor long forgotten. It’s like you’ve actually gotten under her skin. It send a wave of anticipation and excitement through your chest.

vi: what are you doing right now

you: laying in bed, why?

vi: because i need to know if you’re touching yourself

Your stomach drops as a photo loads in the chat.

It’s Vi in bed, lying on her back, one arm behind her head and the muscles stretching so deliciously you actually lick your own lips. Her other hand is tucked into the waistband of her grey shorts, the fabric pulled down just enough that you can see the definition of her hipbones and the start of that pink happy trail peeking out as if greeting you.

A message follows.

vi: cause i am

Your breath hitches, and your hand moves before you can even think about it, sliding down your own body to where you need it the most.

You’re embarrassingly wet, it’s too easy for you to push two fingers inside and start pumping in and out as you stare at the picture. Vi’s head is tilted back, eyes closed, and you can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking about you.

Of course she is, because after just a minute of you not replying back, more messages appear.

vi: don’t be shy now baby

vi: touch yourself for me

vi: show me

Vi’s heart rate picks up as soon as she gets a response, clicking on it immediately as she realizes it’s a video.

It’s the same angle of the first picture, but now the camera’s moving. You’re on your back, legs spread apart, and… fuck, you’re already two fingers deep inside yourself. They’re pumping slowly and deliberately, and she can’t help but wish it was her savoring this very moment.

You’re already making those soft, breathy sounds that go straight to Vi’s core.

“Oh fuck,” she whispers, shoving her shorts down.

On screen, you’re biting down onto your lower lip, eyes half-lidded as you watch the camera. It feels a lot more intimate than in your videos, because now it’s like you’re actually watching her. And you know she is watching you.

Your pace picks up slightly, breathing getting heavier and heavier, and Vi matches the rhythm, her fingers finding her clit and circling it with practiced pressure.

You’re moaning her name now, and Vi’s head tips back against the headboard, muscles tensing as she watches you fall apart for her. God, you make the prettiest sounds she’s ever heard, she can’t even imagine what you would sound like in person with her tongue inside you instead of your fingers.

“That’s it, baby, come on,” she praises even though you can’t hear her. Her fingers work faster, building that familiar heat low in her belly. She keeps her eyes locked on the screen, not wanting to miss a single moment.

She can tell you’re close by the way your body’s trembling, moans getting higher and more desperate, fingers moving erratically. And when you finally come with a loud gasp, she follows— moaning your name.

It’s been a couple of minutes since you sent the video, and you haven’t heard back from Vi. It’s giving you whiplash, how quickly she just disappears and—

vi videocalling

The night’s just getting started.

taglist: @izzy-sevika @chxrryvalxntine @kanadadryer @cucumbernimbus @kittykatkatreadz (it’s been a while but you asked to be tagged on this au’s parts on the og post, if you’re no longer interested please let me know and my apologies!)

[norwayromanoff]

Choose Me Too pt. 2

masterlist

Soft bottom!NR x top!r

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Now that you’ve kissed her and gotten a first taste, you can’t stop… you need to taste all of her.

18+

Author's note: More smut with feelings.

Probably read part 1 first

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha’s silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feeling okay?” you ask.

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

You smile up at her, an affectionate look on your face, still between her thighs, and you think that the sight of her, messy and disheveled, mussed up and undone—all because of you—is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever gotten to see.

[norwayromanoff]

it is so weird to be writing/editing my bottom!nat smut while on vacation with my family and thus with them in the room

[norwayromanoff]

i have isolated myself onto the balcony, but my dad keeps coming out to ask what i am doing, and i keep having to snap my laptop shut. like sir, this filth is not for your eyes

[norwayromanoff]

it is so weird to be writing/editing my bottom!nat smut while on vacation with my family and thus with them in the room

[norwayromanoff]

yuppp definitely a big fan of that kind of bottom!nat as well ;P

i love scrolling through a writer’s masterlist and choosing a random fic to read whenever i get the chance and your fics never disappoint!

also… 21 animals wowowow! my mom had like 10 parakeets, a pigeon, and a turtle at one point when i was a teenager and i already thought that was a zoo. 21 animals seems like a lot of work but so much fun!!

-🌃

you flatter me 😭

and yep! 21 lil babies. my life is basically just studying & then taking care of them. that’s crazy that your mom had so many birds! all i’ve heard is that they aren’t easy. i am definitely not a bird person. lizards are my thing 🦎

[norwayromanoff]

a pt. 2 to my soft bottom!nat fic is coming soon!! i hope you all like it 🫶

[norwayromanoff]

hi just stopping by to say how much i love What Made You Think That You’re in Charge? it’s so hot 👀

-🌃

i see you’re a fan of every type of bottom!nat 👀

but also ahhh you went back & read one of my first fics? this is so so sweet of you!! thank you!!

[norwayromanoff]

going on vacation is supposed to ease stress, but wow does the opposite happen when i have to get 21 animals prepared for my absence

[norwayromanoff]

don’t delete anything anna.. put the gun down….

-🐞

😂😭 listen some just do not meet the mark

[norwayromanoff]

sometimes i reread my writing and like it; sometimes i reread my writing and hate it. i've got a weird mix of both rn

[norwayromanoff]

which of your stories do you suggest for some hurt/comfort (smut or no smut is fine) where nat gets the love and comfort she deserves lol i plan to read them all but.. i kinda want to read any of those first :) your writing has come up on my dashboard a few times and i’ve always gotten excited and enjoyed it!

agh h/c is my all time favorite to read, but i can't confidently say i've written any true h/c fics. here are some options that'll hopefully suffice:

Safe i think

perhaps You Were Are Hers & pt. 2

I'll Hold it for You

Artificial is maybe a reach?

i'm unsure how h/c this is, but Notability is one of my all time favorites

you may have already seen this one since it's recent, but in case you missed it, Choose Me Too i think could fit?

sorry if these aren't what you were looking for, but thank you for your support!! it means the world to me 💕

[sylvienat]

beefy natasha romanoff 😵‍💫 happy pride!

[norwayromanoff]

https://www.tumblr.com/norwayromanoff/818335272744960000/the-people-need-you-to-unabandon-it-immediately?source=share

pretty pleaseee 🥹

i will do my absolute best to resume 😭😭💕

[norwayromanoff]

the people need you to unabandon it immediately… please. 💕

-🐞

i pulled the doc back up so that i have to stare at it every time i open my computer 🫡

[norwayromanoff]

that was beautiful and gorgeous anna..

OF nat?? and you’ve been holding out on this????

-🐞

it’s been sitting & gathering dust in my drafts for months. i abandoned it 😭

[norwayromanoff]

Table for One (For Now)

masterlist

NR x waitress!r

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Same day, same time, same order.

The request that I didn't follow too well 😅 (sorry)

When Natasha walks into your restaurant for the first time, you don’t think much of it. She’s just another customer for you to serve… albeit a beautiful one.

“Hi! Welcome in! How’s your night treating you?” you ask cheerily, giving her your best smile.

She offers you a huff through her nose and brushes off your question.

Okay, well, you can try and work with that. You persevere despite her lack of receptive response. “Here’s our menu. I’ll be back shortly to take your order,” you tell her, flashing her another smile.

Natasha grabs the menu from you without another word, so you take the hint and give her some space and time to peruse her options.

When you return to her table, she orders one of the simplest things on the menu—a burger, fries, and a water.

She doesn’t address or speak to you any further, ignoring your continued polite attempts at a small, pleasant conversation.

She leaves without a “thank you” or a “have a good night”, exiting the restaurant without a backward glance.

And she doesn’t tip.

Oh, so she’s not just another customer. She’s the fucking worst.

One week has passed since you last saw Natasha, and yet, you’re still ranting about the minimal interaction. You can’t stop; anger and irritation have been present every moment of your shifts since that day no matter what you do.

“She was just so rude,” you say hotly for what is probably the umpteenth time, “Literally, infuriating.”

“Uh huh,” your coworker responds, bored, having heard this basically on repeat.

“I just- I can’t fucking believe the nerve of her.”

“I hear you.”

“The absolute audacity to walk in here, barely say a word to me, and then not leave a tip.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I’m a great server, a fucking delight… and, not to mention, I’m downright adorable. No one doesn’t tip me.”

Your coworker has finally had enough of your tirades. “Dude, just let it go,” she sighs exasperatedly, “You’re, like, obsessed with her.”

“The fuck? I am not obsessed with her,” you deny immediately, spitting out the words as if just the thought disgusts you.

“You haven’t shut up about her since you saw her. Just admit you thought she had that super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on and you liked it.”

“I didn’t find her hot!” you argue, taking genuine offense at the fact that your coworker could think something like that about you.

“Sure, you didn’t.”

“No, seriously, I didn’t. I don’t,” you declare vehemently before muttering under your breath, “I swear, if she shows her face again, I’m going to-”

“Well, you’ve got your chance.”

“What?”

“She’s here.” Your coworker nods her head in the direction of where Natasha is, seated at the same table as the last time she was here. “She’s been here. Eavesdropping probably. You haven’t been quiet.”

Your gaze snaps over to Natasha, finding her already staring. One of her eyebrows quirks up as you make eye contact. “You didn’t think to warn me?” you hiss, alarmed, voice finally dropping to a lower volume as you look back at your coworker.

Your coworker just shrugs, unbothered, and then she walks away from you, heading to the back, leaving you alone behind the counter.

Natasha’s still watching you, eyes intense and unmeetable. You’re fleeing to the back after your coworker in just seconds.

You don’t emerge until you’re sure the redhead has left the restaurant, too sheepish and embarrassed to face her. You make your way over to her booth to clean up her dishes, and there, left on the table, is several crumpled bills. It’s the biggest tip you’ve ever received—the biggest tip you’ve ever seen—and, written on the merchant copy of the receipt in sloppy scrawl underneath her signature… ‘Fair enough’.

You don’t know how or why; the whole situation doesn’t make sense to you. You insulted Natasha, and yet she left that huge tip and agreeing note… and she continues to show up, over and over, arriving at the same time every week. She becomes a regular, always coming in during your shifts, always seating herself in your section, and always alone.

Your coworker teases you relentlessly. “She likes you,” she singsongs.

You have to frantically shush her every time, her loudness way too much for the small restaurant, the redhead surely able to overhear. “There’s no way she does,” you reject her statement, “I insulted her. A lot. Multiple times. And she made it clear that she heard me.”

“Yeah, and she also told you that you were right.”

“That doesn’t mean she likes me.”

“Don’t play dumb, and don’t pretend you don’t like her too.”

“How many times do we have to do this. I don’t like her.”

Despite the less-than-respectful-on-her-part first interaction, despite the less-than-respectful-on-your-part second interaction, you two do develop a sort of routine. Natasha sits in the same booth every visit; you memorize her order and put it in with the kitchen before she has to ask. She begins to smile and talk a bit more; you learn that her silences, when present, aren’t impolite.

You don’t want to admit it—because how could your heart possibly betray you like this by fluttering every time you see her stroll through the restaurant doors?—but you can’t keep lying to yourself about how you aren’tbeginning to like her. She’s not totally unpleasant anymore, you guess.

“Your usual,” you say as you deliver the burger, fries, and water glass to Natasha’s table.

She flashes you a small grin, and, like what’s typical for her now, thanks you, her voice soft when she talks. “You always know just what I need.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your own smile. “You ‘need’ the same thing every time. It’s not hard.”

Unconsciously, you find yourself happy that she’s always unaccompanied, with no one in tow, and although you don’t think you’ll ever stop ignoring your coworker’s claims—“Just accept that she has a crush on you”—you’re secretly pleased at being told that perhaps Natasha likes you. Your coworker was right. She really does have a super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on.

It’s a Thursday when Natasha next comes in, which is… weird. She’s a Wednesday patron, a 6:30pm Wednesday patron, to be exact. She’s always on time. So, when she arrives at the restaurant on a different day than normal, at a different time than normal—right before you’re off, actually—and sits at a different table than normal, it’s beyond unexpected.

Your coworker shoots you a confused look when she watches the redhead make her way into her section instead of yours, and although you’re puzzled and perhaps ever so slightly jealous, you technically are supposed to be clocking out in a few minutes, so it’s not like you could serve her anyway.

Maybe she just really wanted another burger earlier than normal, and maybe she just didn’t want to sit by the window tonight.

You can’t help but eavesdrop on Natasha’s order. Will she be switching that up too?

“Can I get you your usual?” your coworker asks her.

Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet,” she answers, “I’m actually waiting for someone this time.”

You falter, heart sinking in your chest in a funny way that you don’t want to acknowledge. She’s on a date. Your eyes flick to the front doors, wondering just when the person meeting with her will be walking through them. You don’t want to be here for that.

You remove your apron and fold it over your forearm with maybe a little too much force, you grab your bag from the back possibly somewhat too roughly, and you make your way out of the back room, heading toward the exit with purpose. You happen to have to pass Natasha’s booth on your way. You don’t make eye contact.

You’re stopped by a hand reaching out to grab your wrist, and you whip around, confused and surprised at being stopped by her.

“Where are you going?” she asks, voice gentle as she tries to soothe your clear agitation.

“I’m off,” you reply, and you can’t help but throw something a bit more bitter her way as well. “But you know that already.” It’s a definitive statement. She’s familiar with your schedule by now; she’s been here enough times to have learned it.

“I do know,” she confirms.

It makes you even angrier, and your annoyance, stemming from jealousy, flares. You open your mouth to shoot back some retort, but she beats you to it.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there? Aren’t you going to sit?”

You freeze, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Table for two today,” she informs you even though you’re well aware, grinning in amusement at how obvious it is that you’re trying to connect the dots.

And then it clicks… and you slowly slip your bag off your shoulder… and you slowly take a seat across from her… and you slowly find yourself smiling instead of frowning in hurt.

Your coworker returns to the table, smirking knowingly, an ‘I so told you so’ expression on her face as she gives you a pointed look. “Your date finallyshow? Ready to order now?” she addresses Natasha.

Natasha nods, turning to face your coworker. “Yeah, I’ll take my usual, and…” She then looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to relay what you want to eat. “Get whatever you’d like. It’s on me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I work here. I get all my meals for free.”

“I know,” she says playfully, “That’s why it’s on me.”