Listen I love Yelena Belova but every time I hear she's a better black widow than Natasha I want to fucking scream like a huge part of her character is that she can't reach her level. Yelena idolised her to unhealthy level and tries to beat her but she can't. Because it's Natasha fucking Romanov we're talking about
Guys do you remember/know what the two part collab fic on Natasha romanoff where it’s like a sex pollen trope??? And like Nat and reader when they get back end up fucking in the medbay for 15(?) hours???? Im trying to find it and I literally can’t💔
– synopsis | at one of stark’s crowded parties, you run into the woman who broke your heart — natasha romanoff. she still looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, but you’ve changed since she left. you’re stronger now, softer in different ways, and maybe, just maybe, ready to let someone else touch the pieces she shattered.
– warnings | heartbreak, emotional tension, jealousy, implied past relationship (natasha x reader), developing intimacy (wanda x reader), mild alcohol use, angst with comfort, longing, fluff. listen to "save your tears" by the weeknd for a better experience.
– word count | 993
The party is everything you’ve grown to hate about Stark’s idea of “team bonding.” Bright lights. Loud music. Too many smiles that don’t reach anyone’s eyes.
And then there’s her.
Natasha Romanoff.
You don’t even have to look to know she’s somewhere nearby — you can feel it, like static before lightning. That invisible pull, the kind that never really fades even after love turns into memory.
You promised yourself you wouldn’t care anymore, but the second you spot her across the room — standing at the bar with that quiet, haunted posture you know too well — your chest tightens. Her hair catches the light like copper flame, her shoulders broad and still, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. She looks the same, but different. Like someone who forgot how to breathe after losing something that once kept her alive.
And for a split second, she looks up. Your eyes meet.
Everything else stops.
It’s like the air is pulled out of the room. The sound of clinking glasses, the chatter, the beat of the music — it all fades until it’s just the two of you, staring across the crowd, both pretending not to drown.
You’re the first to look away.
Because if you don’t, you’ll remember too much — the warmth of her hand in yours, her breath against your neck, the way she used to whisper things only the dark could keep safe.
You take a step back, pulling your focus toward something that feels safer. That something is Wanda.
She catches your gaze immediately, a grin curving her lips — soft, knowing. She looks like she belongs to another world, one where things hurt less. You can’t help but smile back. She holds out her hand, playful, inviting.
“Come on,” she says over the music, voice low, teasing. “Dance with me before Stark drags us all into karaoke again.”
You laugh, because you know he will, and let her pull you towards the dance floor.
Her hand fits perfectly in yours, warm and steady. You can feel her pulse — quick, alive — and it matches yours beat for beat.
The song shifts, something slower now. The bass hums in your stomach, and the lights around you melt into gold and soft pink. The crowd becomes a blur of movement and color. Wanda steps closer, her perfume familiar — faint vanilla and smoke, mixed with something electric, something uniquely hers.
You sway together, not perfectly, not rehearsed — just two people moving the way their bodies want to. Her hands find your waist almost naturally, fingertips brushing the fabric of your dress. The touch makes your skin hum.
For a moment, you forget about everyone else.
You lean into her, your forehead resting against hers. Her breath hits your cheek — steady, gentle. You close your eyes, and the world feels small again, like you’ve both stepped into a secret space where everything is soft and slow.
“Wildest Dreams” begins to play. The crowd cheers, and you can’t help but smile. It’s your favorite song, and she knows it.
Wanda’s smile mirrors yours. “You always said this song feels like falling in love,” she murmurs, almost shyly.
“Maybe I did,” you whisper.
Her thumb strokes your waist in small, lazy circles. “Then maybe you should fall again.”
You open your eyes, and she’s looking at you like she means it. Like she sees the parts of you that are still stitched together with Natasha’s name — and loves you anyway.
You don’t think. You just move closer.
Her nose brushes yours. Her lips hover inches away, waiting. The tension is unbearable — that fragile, golden thread between almost and too late.
When you finally close the distance, the kiss is soft. Barely there. But it’s enough to make your chest ache. She tastes like red wine and hope. You melt into it, into her, into the gentle pressure of her hands sliding higher up your sides.
The world spins a little, but it’s not the alcohol — it’s her.
You pull back, just enough to see her smile — and it’s the kind of smile that feels like sunlight after years of winter. You brush a strand of hair from her face, your thumb grazing her cheek. She leans into the touch, eyes half-lidded, heart on display.
“I didn’t think I’d feel like this again,” you admit, voice barely audible.
Her fingers lace through yours. “Maybe you were just waiting for someone to remind you.”
You laugh softly, your heart pounding. “You think you can handle that?”
Wanda’s grin deepens, a flash of playful confidence. “Try me.”
You rest your head on her shoulder, her arm wrapping around you as the song continues. You can feel her heartbeat through her dress — steady, reassuring. The kind that tells you you’re safe now.
And across the room, Natasha watches.
She doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath until Steve nudges her. She forces herself to look away, but her eyes find you again and again — drawn like a moth to a flame she burned out herself.
You have no idea that she’s still there, still watching with a heart half full of regret and half full of longing. You just keep dancing, smiling, laughing into Wanda’s ear. You deserve this. You deserve someone who stays.
By the time the song ends, you and Wanda are still standing close, your fingers tracing the inside of her wrist, her lips brushing the top of your head. She whispers something in Sokovian, words you don’t understand but feel anyway — like warmth, like promise, like something new.
The night blurs into laughter and stolen glances. You dance until your feet ache and your cheeks hurt from smiling. For the first time in a long time, you’re not haunted. You’re alive.
And somewhere behind you, Natasha finally looks down, blinking back the tears she swore she’d never cry again.
Because for her, it’s too late.
But for you — it’s the beginning of something that feels almost like peace.
quick question! im hesitant about continuing my series Eyes Without a Face… should i continue or just ditch it??? im in a writers block ugh. summer is in a few days, i should have free time then. but yeah if any of yall have suggestions for the fic feel free to send an ask.
