open up your heart (like the gates of hell)
or, tell me you love me in private: chapter 3 (finale)
(prev. chapter)
ship: natasha romanoff x reader
summary/request: new revelations about natasha change your life. (demon!nat au)
word count: 3.4k
warnings: references to christianity, the beginnings of smut (no actual smut), oral fixation shenanigans, horn play?, catcalling, minor violence and injury, domestic life with ur demonic gf
masterlist | ao3 link
“Angel, just…let me explain.”
Even though a decent amount of time had passed since those words fell from Natasha’s lips, they’re still ringing in your ear. Not because that plea was special in itself, but it was the last thing that she said that seemed real.
The still, damp air of the church basement does not make you feel any more comfortable with the strange turn the day has taken. You’re dumbfounded, pacing, trying to piece together the information that was just dropped on you like a bomb.
“So, are you going to say anything, or are you just going to keep walking around in circles?”
You dare to shoot a glare at Natasha.
Natasha, with her newly revealed horns curling in a way that frames her already piercing jawline. A thin whiplike tail flicks behind her with impatience. And you notice her sharpened fangs peeking from between her plump lips.
You don’t even hide your deep sigh as you cover your face with your hands, hoping to keep yourself from staring because that’s all you want to do. You want to take in every new detail that’s emerged.
Because of you.
That’s how Natasha explained the sudden change, anyway.
“I’m able to conceal parts of my true form so I can blend in. It’s not really something I usually have to think about. Involuntary,” Natasha demonstrated, and you watched with curiosity as her horns vanished in a small puff of black smoke, then slowly reformed again. Your dumbfounded expression made her smirk, but it fell as she furrowed her eyebrows in her own confusion. “But, I’ve never accidentally revealed myself like that before. At least not for a couple hundred years.”
It really is your luck that the first woman to ever show interest in you is, quite literally, a demon from Hell.
And yet, you’re still here. Staring at her in the face as if she didn’t just tell you that she wasn’t born, but rather emerged from the darkness, engulfed in flames, clawing at the vessel she’s found herself tied to.
“What do you expect me to say?” You ask, somehow still bold even after learning that Natasha could probably tear you limb from limb.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to still be here. I expected you to run the second you realized my horns were showing. Or pass out. ” Natasha remarks plainly. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’d you stay?”
You shrug, tucking your arms close to your chest. “Why haven’t you killed me? Or eaten my soul? Or whatever it is demons do.”
“Glad you think so highly of me,” Natasha scoffs.
“Sorry. I’ve never exactly talked with a demon before,” you maintain enough composure to roll your eyes, banking on the fact that Natasha seems to like your attitude enough to not take it upon herself to pluck your eyeballs from your skill and serve them up on toothpicks like the barbecue soaked meatballs the church ladies always serve.
Plus, you’re sure if she had intended to kill you, she would’ve done so the second your fingers accidentally danced along the ridges of her horns.
“I’m only half-offended, sweetheart,” Natasha dares to reach out and poke your side teasingly. You don’t jerk away, as she expected, but you still look at the place they touched as if waiting for it to burn you. “Trust me, that’s not the worst thing ever said about me. But don’t worry, I don’t do that. Not anymore at least.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I was less kind for the first hundred years of my existence,” she explains vaguely. “Boredom and anger got the better of me. It satisfied me for a while. But you can only torture souls so many times before it starts feeling like a 9-to-5.”
You stare at her blankly, unsure what to do with this new information. Natasha takes pity on you and changes the subject.
“You just love dodging questions to get me to talk, don’t you?”
Maybe pity was a strong word.
“I don’t know why I’m still here, okay?” You huff. “Other than the whole demon thing, it’s not like you’ve given me a reason to run. Plus, that explains some of your other…quirks.”
Natasha watches your body language carefully as you turn away from her to collect your thoughts. She stands up, a few inches taller than she seemed before, you notice, and holds out her hand to you.
“All this talking about my old day job has me starving. How about we get some lunch?”
---
When Natasha suggested lunch, you did not expect to find yourself being shoved against the wall of your apartment, the bag of McDonald’s that the two of you picked up long forgotten on the countertop.
Natasha’s lips worked feverishly against your neck, and you moaned at the sudden feeling of sharp fangs against your skin.
“F-fuck…Natasha.”
“Did I hurt you?” Natasha pulls away from your body, looking at you for any signs of distress. You shake your head.
“No. No, you didn’t,” you pant, running your fingers along her jaw. Her sharp teeth poke out from her parted lips, and a sudden wave of impulsiveness hits you as you glide your thumb over her bottom lip, pulling her mouth open wider.
Natasha, to your surprise, allows you to explore. She watches your face shift in fascination as your fingers graze over the apex of her fangs.
You gasp as you feel Natasha’s tongue lap against two of your fingers, breath getting heavy as you realize that fangs aren’t the only new addition to her demonic maw. She somehow still manages to look smug as she wraps her tongue around the length of your fingers. Once, twice, three times you watch it loop around your digits.
“Shit,” you groan, imagining what else her tongue could do as she pulls away, leaving your fingers damp with her spit. “Do you show that off to every girl you see?”
“Only the ones I like.”
“Oh, so you finally admit you like me, huh?”
“Fine, yes, whatever. Now shut up before I change my mind,” Natasha sighs as she presses her lips to yours once more. Her hands graze down your body, squeezing your thighs with affection before tucking her hands under them to lift you up. You’re startled by how effortlessly she’s holding you against the wall, but you suppose that maybe demons come with extra muscles too.
Just like before, you attempt to run your fingers through her hair. But this time, the sudden, hard keratin of her horns doesn’t surprise you. Instead, you curiously stroke along the ridges as Natasha returns to kissing your neck, no longer holding back from leaving bites and bruises along your skin.
Natasha shivers and groans against your skin as your hand strokes her right horn, and you giggle at how sensitive they appear to be.
“You like that?” You ask, stroking the other horn the same way. Natasha growls at you, a deep rumble in her chest - but her blown out pupils betray her.
“You’re so annoying.”
---
It’s kind of unnerving to you how easily you’re able to slip back into your casual routine the weeks following the revelation that Natasha wasn’t human.
The only real change to the normalcy of your quiet life is that now you can’t seem to shake Natasha even outside of when she’s bothering you at church.
(“Shouldn’t you, like, dissolve upon entering the sanctuary or something?”
“I can’t believe how weak you humans think we are.”)
She’s constantly at your apartment, lounging on the couch watching reality shows or almost breaking your microwave by leaving forks and spoons on her plate.
For a demon who’s supposedly lived among humans for couple hundred years, Natasha seems blissfully out of touch with the most mundane things.
“My job was killing humans, not learning about their appliances,” Natasha explains when you ask her why she seems hellbent on setting your kitchen on fire. “It’s not my fault your species makes shitty technology. This thing can heat up a whole meal but can’t handle a little aluminum? Bullshit.”
“Are you planning on killing me?” You ask casually from your spot on the kitchen island, legs swinging and almost kicking Natasha’s tail as it whips behind her.
Since you found out, you told Natasha you didn’t mind if she was in “demon mode” while you were in the safety of your home (“Though honestly, people might just think you’re cosplaying”).
“Don’t be stupid.”
“It’s a fair question.”
“Fine. No, I’m not planning on killing you,” Natasha rolls her eyes and leans on the counter to face you, picking at her claws - a nervous habit you’ve noticed. “But, I reserve the right to change my mind if you keep annoying me.”
---
“This place is so fancy, Natasha. Are you sure you want to pay for all of this?” Your wallet cowers at the prices etched into the menu you’re holding. “Do you even have a job?”
“I used to get paid in gold, angel. I’ve got enough savings to treat you to a nice dinner,” Natasha hums against her wine glass. It stains around her mouth with a deep, blood-red that you can’t help but want to kiss away.
“Dessert too?”
“I thought we could have dessert at home,” Natasha’s green eyes flash red with desire, a sight that startled you at first, but you’ve grown to love because it means that she’s feeling particularly primal tonight.
“That eye thing of yours takes some getting used to,” you admit.
“Does it scare you?”
“No, it makes me feel things though.”
“Do I scare you?”
“Loaded question,” you quirk your eyebrow at her, taking a sip of your drink. Natasha shrugs and places her face in her hand, waiting for your answer. “Admittedly, you kind of scared me even before the whole ‘being born in the pits of Hell’ thing. So, honestly, it wasn’t that much of a jump. But, no, not anymore. You make me feel things, though.”
“Hm.” Natasha is generally hard to read, but maybe it’s the atmosphere of the night that makes her put her guard down long enough to smile and say, “You make me feel things too, angel.”
The two of you chat for some time, as appetizers and entrees come and go, leaving the two of you full and content. Natasha takes a sip of her third glass of wine, metabolism from Hell having no need to worry about the alcohol clouding her senses enough to not be able to drive you home, regarding you as you recount a story from your last semester of college.
You, with your poor human body, are clearly feeling the effects of the fruity drinks you’ve had. Natasha keeps sending death looks to people who glance over at you when you get excited and start talking too loudly, completely unaware of your growing volume.
When you’ve finally finished up, Natasha sweeps the check away from you before you can even look at the damage done, laughing as you give her a pout. As she leads you outside, you feel a few raindrops hit your face, gliding down your cheek before Natasha’s finger catches them as she traces your face.
The streetlight makes the light rain shimmer as it falls, illuminating Natasha like a halo. The space on her head where her horns usually are looks so out of place to you now that you’re so used to seeing them, running your hands along them, tracing them gently as she sleeps in your arms.
“What are you thinking so hard about there, angel?” Natasha asks since you’ve stopped walking to admire her.
“Why’d you suddenly decide to do this? Fancy date and all.”
The whole night was wonderful, but it wasn’t planned out in the slightest. Natasha had decided suddenly when you two were debating what place to order delivery from that she wanted to mix it up. So, she told you to put on your nicest clothes, drove you in her convertible (she wouldn’t admit it, but she doesn’t want to put you in danger by riding her motorcycle with you) out to the city, and seemingly at random chose one of the most upscale restaurants she could find.
“What, just cuz I’m a demon means I can’t do something nice?” Natasha teases.
You shove her playfully and start walking again, scanning the packed street for wherever Natasha parked the car. “Well, you’re not exactly the romantic type. And considering your favorite food seems to be the lo mein from the little take-out place near my apartments, I doubt you were just really craving filet mignon.”
“Not romantic, huh?” Natasha snorts. “That’s an understatement. Consider it your compensation for spending so much time with me lately.”
“For someone so cocky, you talk a lot of shit about yourself,” you say bluntly.
“Most people tend to run the other direction when they see me, sweetheart. And that’s before seeing the horns.”
“Well, I think the horns are cute,” you hum. “Frame your face nicely.”
“I guess that makes one person. Where the hell did we park?” Natasha stops in her tracks and scratches her head, looking at the street lined with cars.
“Oh, I see it!” You point about half a block down.
The chatter from the bar next to you grows louder as the door swings open, a group of men exiting and getting far too close to you and Natasha for either of your likings.
They’re clearly drunk, laughing, and pushing each other around, completely disregarding the fact that there are other people on the sidewalk. Natasha shakes her head and takes your hand, leading you away from them and towards the car, but the noise follows you. You sense Natasha’s growing annoyance as her grip on your hand grows tighter, and she seems to pull you closer to her as well.
Steps away from the safety of Natasha’s car, you flinch as you hear one of the men shout, “Hey, ladies! Need a third?”
“Why, is your wife looking for some fun?” Natasha doesn’t even bother making eye contact, pulling her keys from her pocket, never letting go of your hand.
“What’d you say to me, bitch?” The man is suddenly in your and Natasha’s space, the rest of his friends seem to be distracted further down the block, either not noticing him harassing you or completely uncaring.
“Oh, sorry, I already asked your wife about it last week. I meant to ask if your mom was interested,” Natasha growls, stepping fully in front of you before you even get a good look at the guy.
“Fuck you,” he spits, alcohol on his breath hitting your senses. “Maybe your little girlfriend will be nicer to me. What d’ya say, baby?”
“Don’t even fucking look at them.” Natasha’s grip on your hand starts to hurt, and you tense when you feel her nails grow into sharp claws. She let’s go of you, but not before the talons scrape your skin, leaving hard red lines in their wake.
All of this is lost on her as she shoves the man backward, with an otherworldly force. His back hits the brick wall of the building behind him, and you can hear something crack. The smoke that signal’s Natasha’s changing forms starts to take over her entire body, not just where her horns and tail appear like you’re used to seeing, an eerie red light engulfing the street. Any passersby that were still nearby have run at the sight of it, almost as if they were forcibly repelled.
“What the hell?” The man groans, probably hoping the sight in front of him is due to the throbbing in his skull.
“Hell is about right.” You hear Natasha’s voice before you see her, coming out as a deep rasp that almost feels like it’s coming from inside your head rather than from the city sidewalk before you.
Or, rather, before you see the hulking beast that emerges from the smoke. You swallow hard, taking in the massive body, covered in a coat of deep red fur. Its massive hands jerk out swiftly, bashing in the wall above the man who looks like he’s about to pass out from fear, the bricks crumbling as if they were made of styrofoam.
“Nat?” Your voice is quiet, almost as if you’re afraid that your Natasha is no longer present in the monster in front of you.
However, the ears of the beast quirk up, brushing against its curled horns. It turns to face you, a wolf-ish face with fangs jutting out now in your full view. You see the man take this opportunity to high-tail it out of there, probably going to report what he saw to the police who will never believe him. Your focus lies on the monster slowly creeping toward you, though, a third eye in the center of its forehead giving you a peek at your frightened expression.
“Natasha?” You ask again, holding your hand out hesitantly. Its eyes close as it brushes its face against your hand slowly, as to not alarm you. You smile a bit, smoothing your hand over the surprisingly soft fur, causing a deep rumbling sound to erupt from the demon’s chest.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” Natasha’s voice rasps in your mind again - the fang-filled mouth of the beast however remains still. You shake your head, reaching out to run your hands along her horns like you’ve grown accustomed to. She nuzzles her face against the spot where her claws cut you. “And I’m sorry for hurting you. I never meant to--”
“You were protecting me.”
“Still,” Natasha snorts, a huff of warm air from her snout hitting you solidly, smelling oddly similar to the smoke that lingers when you blow out a candle. “Are you scared of me again?”
“Maybe a little. But, I kind of like it.”
---
The rain beats softly against your window, the sound being the only piece of the outside world that you’re even remotely aware of. You’re curled up against Natasha, still in her monstrous form, listening to the deep rumbling of her breathing.
You had asked her when you finally got back to your apartment to see it again. Natasha had been incredibly quiet the whole ride home, obviously trying to figure out whether you would change your mind and run screaming from her once you were back safely.
“You know you don’t have to do this for me,” she explained, avoiding eye contact as you both shed your nice clothes and changed into pajamas. “It’s not like you’re going to have to get used to that form. That was a special case. An accident.”
“You really have trouble controlling that around me, huh?” You give her a soft smile, and she scrunches her nose up in annoyance at you. “I want to, Natasha. I…your fur is very soft, you know.”
You stroke her side, feeling that soft fur that hides bulky muscles underneath. Natasha has always been very warm, but she’s practically a space heater in this form. She turns her attention from the television back to you.
“You okay?” Her head tilts curiously - rather cutely, actually.
“Yeah, just thinking.”
“A dangerous activity.”
“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m thinking about?”
“I figured you’d tell me either way,” if Natasha could properly smirk in this form, you’re sure she would.
“You’re so annoying,” you roll your eyes. “I was just thinking about how weird this all is.”
“I don’t see what’s weird about a ten-foot demon cuddling with you while you watch MasterChef,” Natasha says. You laugh and shove her legs from where they were folded up on the tough. She grunts a complaint, but you ignore it, shuffling so you’re sitting in her lap, her fur tickling your mostly bare thighs.
When she’s sitting upright, you’re barely able to reach her head unless she leans down. Her hands come to rest on your hips almost reflexively, but there’s hesitance there. They could easily wrap around the entirety of your thighs, and the thought sends heat through your body. Natasha blinks at you, obviously trying to figure out what you’re up to.
You guide her to lean down, running your fingers along the floppy part of her pointed ears and over her horns. She sighs at the contact, leaning further into your touch.
“Just as I thought,” you grin. “Still just as sensitive.”
“Bold words from someone I could crush into dust with one hand tied behind my back,” Natasha grumbles, but there’s no sting to her words.
“I know you could, Natasha,” you kiss her on the nose, which twitches in response. “But you won’t.”
“But I won’t.”
