could u do nat hcs next 🥺
natasha x reader headcanons.
RATING: G FOR GENERAL AUDIENCES.
natasha x reader ; aka natasha is soft but even when she isn’t she’d do anything for you.
warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption. mentions of murder??? she used to kill people professionally, we all know this.
i do take requests but please give this a read before doing so!
Natasha showers cold when she’s angry, warm when she’s happy, and scalding hot when she’s happy about being angry. When she showers with you she keeps it somewhere between just right and almost too hot because you’re not a fan of drastic temperatures, but as soon as you step out she cranks it one way or the other.
It doesn’t stop there — whatever it takes to keep you comfortable, she’ll do: if you set the AC she won’t touch it, same with the heat in the winter; she stops buying the laundry detergent she likes when you start buying the one you like because she doesn’t see the point in buying two different things that do the same thing just with different smells; when the microwave only she uses breaks she doesn’t let you buy her a new one because you never used the thing and besides, she says, “I can make ramen on the stove same as I could in the microwave,” and, “You could also just cook for me,” which you’ve been begging her to let you do since you moved in because she eats like a frat boy and you really do like feeding the people you love; when she runs out of shampoo she starts buying the brand you use so you can use it too because, like the laundry detergent, there’s no point in two different things that do the same thing just with a different scent, and she likes smelling like you, though her perfume overshadows the shampoo anyway; and when you get your dad’s hand-me-down electric car Natasha installs a car-charging dock in the parking space that comes with the condo and starts street-parking her BMW just to make things easier for you.
Eventually she explains that she does these things — things that impede on what she was already doing, for your benefit — because they aren’t important to her. Not because she doesn’t care (she does, very much, especially about you) but because she was trained to reject sentimentality, to avoid forming attachments, and to shed one skin for another the moment anything changes. It was drilled into her for years, she says, that adapting in a myriad of ways to any and every situation is the only way to survive. “Killing everyone who wants to kill me is the other thing I was taught,” she tells you, but she hung up her assassins’ tools years ago. “I don’t need to have every little thing that I like. I don’t care what I wash my clothes with, or how I cook my food, or where I park my car overnight. I just care that I have clean clothes, things to eat, and a car at all. It’s the function of the thing that matters.” You look at her with a curious sort of smile and ask, “So what’s my function?” “You don’t count,” she says. “You aren’t an object, and there’s only one of you. Your function is singular to who you were, who you are now, and who you intend to be in the future, which is subject to change by infinite variables and thus can’t fairly be called a function. Your purpose is just to live. To learn. And to love. And to let me take you to dinner on Friday.”
When she introduces you to her friends she does it like this: “He’s got an expensive metal suit, that one has a big hammer, she does magic, he gets big and green, the idiot over there got blown up and now her fists are canons, and the blondie in the corner is America’s grandpa.”
When she introduces you to her parents she says, “They aren’t my parents. They just — raised me until they let the Red Room take me. I’ll give you twenty bucks if you tell Alexei that Cap’s the strongest Avenger.”
When she introduces you to her sister you and Yelena end up piss drunk and asleep on top of each other in the back of Natasha’s car. At the condo she puts Yelena on the couch and tucks you into bed. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Natasha stroking your cheek and saying, “My two favorite people in the world are idiots.”
The first time she takes you to a fancy Avengers party she tries not to parade you around and show you off. Instead Tony steals you from her arm and does that for her, all while Natasha watches from the bar with a drink in her hand and a proud smirk on her face. When Tony brings you back she’s got a drink waiting for you. She doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night.
Natasha isn’t one for spooning — she can’t sleep on her side — but you don’t mind. When she sleeps on her back she gives you an arm to curl your hands around as you tuck into her side. When she sleeps on her belly she likes to fall asleep draped across your chest with her ear over your heart.
When you talk about important things Natasha likes to be face-to-face. And when you’re done talking about important things, if all ends well, she’ll duck forward, rest her forehead against yours, and let her eyes close for just a minute. It’s sweet, and it’s calming, and it is so very Natasha.
Sometimes when you’re cooking she likes to sneak up behind you and slip her arms around your waist and rest her chin on the back of your shoulder. And then she’ll just watch, silent and happy.
She tries to avoid you when she’s angry. Not because she worries about lashing out at you (she doesn’t because she won’t), but because she worries you won’t like what you see. “I don’t care about that,” you tell her, pleading with her not to go because it’s the middle of the night and she’s upset with Tony for something that happened at work that can’t be fixed until the next morning. “I see what I see,” you say, “and I just see you.” She looks at her hands, frowning, brows knitted, and shakes her head. “Negative emotion is what I used to use to kill people,” she says. “You didn’t know me when I did that, and I want to keep you safe from that part of my life.” “Unless you’re still killing people on the side and not telling me about it, you have nothing to worry about, Nat.” “But—” “No,” you tell her, firm. “Will leaving right now and driving aimlessly around until the sun comes up actually help?” She tells you it won’t. “Tell me what will. Be honest.” She thinks about it for a moment and then reaches for your hand, pulling you toward the living room. “Have you ever seen Moonraker?”
At some point she starts wearing your clothes to bed. You’re looking for one of your favorite old tees when Natasha strolls out of the bathroom wearing it. “That’s mine,” you say, smiling at the sight of her. “I wanted to wear it,” she tells you casually, climbing into bed. “Can I give you another one?” She grins, says, “No. I want this one.” “What happened to ‘it’s the function of the thing’?” You’re already slipping another tee over your head and heading towards her. She catches you at the edge of the bed, rising to her knees, and drapes her arms around your shoulders. “The function of this specific shirt is that it belongs to you and that makes me feel nice.” “Nice?” “And safe.” “Wow,” you say, “I make the big bad Black Widow feel safe?” “Shut up and kiss me.”
You say it first. You’re in the bath, she’s perched on the edge of the tub, working shampoo through your hair and humming softly. She’s dressed in a t-shirt that’s too big for her and a pair of boxer shorts. It’s the softest you’ve ever seen her. “Lean back,” she says. “Close your eyes.” You do, and she rinses the shampoo from your hair. Her thumb brushes your cheek, nice and slow so you know it’s intentional. You pop one of your eyes open and squint up at her, smiling. “What would you say if I told you that I love you?” She just chuckles. “I’d say you’re out of your mind.” “Then call me crazy.”
The first time she tells you she loves you is sweet. You’re almost asleep, dozing off with Natasha’s head on your chest and one of your hands tucked up under the back of her shirt. She’s listening to your heartbeat, you’re counting sheep. “I’m assuming you don’t have a problem with me being in love with you,” she says. You can hear the smile in her voice. “Are you?” you ask sleepily. “Do you have a problem with it?” “‘Course not.” “Then yes, I really am.”
