summary: natasha romanoff is a cheerleader and you’re a loser. you’re two ends of a social pyramid that are never meant to touch. when you’re paired up for a chemistry project, you find that your experiment goes wrong when you misread a label and create a concoction that only amplifies your horny feelings for each other.
prompt: “you’re such a nerd.” 🍒 and love potion 🌶️
pairing: loser!fem!reader x cheerleader!natasha
word count: 3.3k i think
content contains: +18 content — smut. enemies to lovers kind of, basically sex pollen but with a potion, chemistry major reader, reader is wearing a skirt, pet names (princess, sweetheart), i guess a little dubcon, mean!nat, tribbing, no aftercare booo
authors note: day 12 of galentines!!! this was a wip i already had and i thought it fit the prompts perfectly :P i will revisit cheerleader!nat and loser!reader TRUSTTTTTTTTT i need her. also i know this is late. im slacking and i need to be shot
erin's galentines collab masterlist
you and natasha romanoff are not friends.
a cheerleader like her and a loser like you don't exist in the same orbit. you exist on opposite ends of the food chain, separated by bleachers and academics. you have no reason to interact unless the cheerleader is asking the loser for the homework answers or when the cheerleader is busy tossing paper balls at the back of the losers head. in college, that means you and natasha should never have to interact at all. different majors, different friends, different lives.
to put it simply, the two of you don't get along.
so why on earth had your professor decided to pair you up with her for this chemistry project, and why had natasha accept the decision so easily?
you'd stared at the email from your professor for at least ten minutes as if waiting for a glitch to occur and assign you someone else instead. anyone else— a friend, a stranger, or even by yourself wouldve been better— but no, natasha's name sits next to your on that email like a stain you wish you could rub off.
even now, a day later after that email, that same coil of dread and annoyance curls low in your stomach as you stand in the chemistry lab alone, natasha sitting on the opposite side of the bench like a fly on the wall.
the room is quiet in the same way all academic buildings get after dark— too still, the fluorescent lights humming overhead, the windows reflecting the inside rather than the outside. you're hunched over the bench, gloved hands steady as you measure reagents, eyes flicking between your notes and the beaker in front of you.
and across the bench and sitting on a stool, natasha isn't helping. she's leaning forwards on the bench with her arms crossed loosely in the lab coat you'd forced her to put on, eyes peering down at your working hands like she's watching some kind of foreign concept occur right in front of her eyes.
its unsettling how quiet she is. you'd expected complaints or sarcasm, maybe a few insults if she was feeling up to it, but instead, she just watches. you can feel her gaze on you like heat on the back of your neck. every time you reach for a pipette or lean over to write something down, her eyes follow every small movement you make.
you blink before huffing out a small sigh. the stirring rod clinks against the rim of the beaker as you drop it, reaching up to push your goggles further up your nose.
"did you wanna do something?" you ask, your tone a little mean. your hands are planted onto the bench, eyes heavy under the harsh LED lights.
natasha sucks her teeth like she's thinking, but you already know her answer before she's even opened her mouth. "no, not really."
you look at her with a flat look. "you can't just sit there and watch me do all of the work, natasha. if we're going to be lab partners, then we're going to be lab partners."
she doesn't look offended by your words at all. if anything, she looks a little amused at your annoyance.
"i'm here for moral support." she says easily, and then she adds— as if it'll get her in your good books— "i actually skipped out on a party to be here."
you barely roll your eyes as you go back to your work, "i'm really glad you did that."
your words drop of sarcasm, and natasha picks it up almost instantly. you reach over the bench for the beaker full of what should be ethanol but you find that it's unlabelled. you pour it in anyways, because your professor had laid them out for you earlier, and you never knew your professor to be wrong.
"relax, princess." natasha says in response to your sarcasm, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. "i'm impressed."
you glance up at her, "impressed by what?"
if it was possible, she leans even closer, so close that you can practically feel her breathing down your neck. "the fact that you actually know what you're doing. i took this class for extra credit and i dont understand a single lick of it."
"it helps that i'm a chemistry major." you say flatly.
"you're such a nerd." natasha says, but the way it rolls off of her tongue sounds more like an observation than an insult.
you blink. "thanks."
"y'know," she says after a long while, her voice splitting through the silence and the clinking of the glass equipment, "you don't always have to look so tense all the time. don't you enjoy this type of stuff?"
you dont look at her. "i do. it's hard not to look tense when i'm doing all of the work."
but you pause when you notice that the mix of chemicals in the beaker isn't reaction how it's meant to. it bubbles awkwardly and thick, the solution shifting almost imperceptibly in colour, and you know something is wrong.
natasha notices the change of expression on your face and mistakes your confusion for anger towards her. she straightens, confidence flaring like a defence mechanism. "fine, i'll help—"
she leans over the desk, reaching for a beaker like she knows what she's doing, but her sleeves clips the edge instead.
"no, natasha, don't—"
the beaker tips over, the mysterious liquid spilling all over the bench in a thick glossy layer. there's a pop and a curl of smoke rises into the air, a thin mist catching in the fluorescent lights. the smell hits instantly— sweet and tangy and wrong.
the two of you jump back on instinct as droplets fly towards you, speckling the sleeves of your coat and the front of natasha's uniform. the two of you shrug off your coats, natasha using hers as a rag to scrape off the liquid.
"shit," she mutters as she looks down at her uniform, "coach is gonna kill me."
you look down at the mess, afraid that the mist will set off the fire alarms. you look around and find no paper towels to wipe up the mess. "you're worried about your uniform? professor's gonna eat me alive for fucking up the experiment."
natasha looks up at you with narrowed eyes, "we can both have our own problems, okay? its not a competition."
you roll your eyes as you drop your coat onto the spill, hoping that the fabric will soak up the liquid. it clings stubbornly, warm through the material, and the scent grows the closer you get.
the air feels thick. heavy. the smell curls around you, sweet and unfamiliar, and for a moment, you think natasha might've sprayed a little too much perfume this morning. you look up at her and sniff, finding that this scent is nothing like the scent of ethanol that you should be smelling.
then natasha frowns, her brows knitted. "god, how strong is your perfume?"
you freeze. if you're smelling natasha's perfume, and she's smelling yours, then something had gone exponentially wrong.
"something went wrong." you murmur, shaking your head like it'll rid you of natasha's scent. "something went wrong. i think this might've— i might've accidentally created some kind of aphrodisiac or something. but i don't—"
"like a love potion?" she interruots, her voice a mix of confusion and surprise. she's a little breathless as she presses a hand to her stomach. "i feel a little tingly. is that normal?"
"i don't know, but it's not a love potion, natasha. this isn't a magic class." you say flatly. "it only amplifies feelings that are already there. so if you're feeling love, then that means—"
a rush of heat in your lower stomach interrupts you. you feel a little lightheaded, you mind slipping just slightly. your throat feels a little tighter, and every muscle in your body feels like it needs something to satiate it. and as natasha's eyes meet yours, bright and wide, you can't help but notice that your pulse is ringing in your ears.
there's only one thought that sits in your mind, loud and impossible to suppress: natasha has never looked so beautiful.
you swallow hard, pushing the thought down as you toss your coat onto the bench and turn away, desperately willing yourself to calm down. "i think we should sit on opposite sides of the room."
natasha frowns, "what are you talking about—"
"now."
and that's how the two of you end up sitting on opposite sides of the lab for the next hour, sitting as far from each other as the room allows, attempting to ignore the lingering scent of each other in the air. the clock ticks agonisingly slow above the door, each second dragging on longer than the last, but neither of you dare to even acknowledge the other. you'd even opened all of the windows and shut off the lights in effort to help, but to no avail.
you know you messed up with the formula. you'd created some kind of aphrodisiac— or as natasha put it, a love potion— and now everything in your body feels like it's on fire. it spilled into the air. into you. into her. and you're not sure how to get rid of it.
natasha sits on the floor across the room. her muscles are simultaneously tight and loose, her hand flapping in the air as a poor attempt of fanning herself.
you dont look at her. you cant look at her. if you did, you're not sure what you'll end up doing. every small movement she makes— the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she huffs out a tense breath through her parted lips, the way her legs spread further and further apart— feels amplified and impossible to look away from.
you dont dare mention how the pressure in your clit has been building up during the hour of silence, or how you've been pressing your thighs together to try and ease the pain, but it doesn't work.
it's torture.
"... so." natasha say eventually, voice echoing through the too quiet lab.
you flinch, her voice an unwelcome sound. it only makes you weigh in your spot, and you're sure you've made a mess of your panties.
"so what?" you reply, head tilted away from her like it'll help the throbbing in between your legs. "i dont know what you want me to say, natasha."
natasha glares at you like you've just told her to get lost. her jaw ticks, and for a moment, she really does consider leaving; but she doesn't, because she knows you're feeling what she's feeling.
"okay, we can't ignore the fact that you've basically just drugged us, and i know for a fact that i'm not the only one about to fuck my fingers right now."
the flatness of her tone is what catches you off guard. both the accusation and the confession stick to the forefront of your mind, but the image of natasha pumping herself full of her fingers burns itself into the space behind your eyelids.
you grimace. "what are you—"
natasha rolls her eyes, a bored smile playing on her lips. "you made viagra in liquid form, sweetheart, and i dont think it's going away until we do something about it. we should just... get it over and done with— together."
"what are you saying?" you ask, but you know that you both already know what she means.
she huffs out an irritated sigh. "i'm saying come here before i start humping my hand."
you hesitate for a while. even though you'd love nothing more than to get off right now, this is still natasha romanoff that's offering you a release. a cheerleader, a hierarchy leader, someone who should not want and does not want anything to do with you; but then you think back to the mysterious liquid, and you can't think of any other explanation for her smelling you other than he wanting you just as much as you want her.
so you push yourself up, your fingers curling into the ground as you will yourself to cross the room. your body feels hot even in the cold air, and your knees buckle with every pathetic step you take towards her.
it should feel like you're wading through something thick and invisible, but the pull you feel from natasha is unlike anything you've ever felt before. it's almost addicting, her scent pulling you closer and closer until you're kneeling down beside her.
before long, natasha's on her knees as well. her eyes are glassy and her hair is a little frazzled, but all you can really focus on are her lips— all red and bitten like they'd been caught between her teeth for a while.
you almost pant when she scoots closer, her knees pressing into yours like distance won't help anymore. "natasha—"
"call me nat." she says, low and certain, her eyes set on your mouth. her head tilts the slightest bit like she's taking watching ever movement you make. "have you had your first kiss yet?"
the question catches you off guard. "yes. yeah, i— i have."
something flashes across her face. "good."
you barely have any time to process her words before she closes the distance.
her mouth is on yours, nothing gentle or patient about it. she kisses you like this is a stepping stone to get what she wants, and you give into her. the force of her kiss is enough to push you down, your back flat against the ground. nat wastes no time in straddling you, her thighs locking around your waist and her hands settling on your neck.
her kisses are anything but clean, too rushed and too hungry. her tongue laps over yours with reckless confidence and her lipgloss smears all over your mouth and chin like she's afraid she'll lose her nerve if she slows down. you gasp softly into her, your hands curling into the fabric of her uniform around her waist.
then nat pulls away. she stands up, and you hold yourself up as you watch her reach under her skirt and slide down her panties, the white cotton landing to the ground beside you. you glance over and find yourself breathless at the sight— her panties are soaked through completely.
she straddles you again, her hands slipping into the waistband of your skirt and tugging it down until she's able to slip it off of you entirely. you feel a little exposed now at the fact that she's staring at your panties, no doubt drenched in your arousal. but then she tugs down your underwear, and the sight makes her smirk.
"god, you're soaked." she laughs, the drawl in her voice making you feel small under her gaze.
"you are too." you try to bite back, but heat that crawls up your neck makes it hard for you to sound anything other than pathetic. "the liquid amplifies feelings. if you're feeling like this, then that means you felt the same way."
she scoffs like you've stated the obvious. "yeah, you're a fucking loser. who wouldn't want to fuck you?"
her lips are back on yours before you can retaliate, her tongue sliding against your bottom lip, less out of need and more out of dominance, like she knows how exactly to shut you up. her knee is slotted between your legs, shifting higher and higher until her skin comes in contact with the wet mess in between your thighs.
a pathetic moan falls from your mouth, and natasha swallows it with ease. her knee presses against you, and you shamelessly grind down on her trying to find friction. but just as you'd started feeling anything, she moves her knee. you furrow your brows as she nips as your lip, pulling away with a huff.
she pats the side of your thigh, "lift your leg, princess."
and you do. you let her guide you, her body sliding into position until your cunts are flush together. the noise that comes from it is almost embarrassing, your arousal evident.
you look down, "is this really the easiest way to—"
"just shut up and take it." she says.
nat moves just to test the waters, and the feeling that shoots through you rips a moan from both of your throats. nat grins, her eyes glassy as she stares down at you.
then she starts rocking back and forth, and the sound the echoes through the room is wet and shameless. your cunts rub together, your leg in nat's arms as she shifts, finding an angle that
"fuck—" she moans, "look at you. who would've thought a loser like you would get this wet for cheerleader pussy."
you bite down on your hand to suppress the noises that spill from your mouth, but nat reaches down and pulls your hand away you you, guiding it to her hips instead.
"get your hand out of your mouth, sweetheart. i wanna hear how good i fuck you."
you palm at her ass, fingers digging into her skirt as you pull her back and forth, her full weight pressing down on you as she grinds her leaking pussy onto yours. your legs almost go numb with how hard she's rutting into you, your hamstring burning.
nat presses an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your calf, her jaw slack as she fucks herself against you. the sounds that fall from her mouth are low and sparing, but what you do manage to catch is sent straight to your clit.
that ball of heat in your stomach is so close to snapping, and almost like she can sense it, nat speeds up, her arms tightening around your leg as she humps the living daylights out of you.
"are you close?" she cocks her head, amused at how much you're dragging her along your own cunt. "you want it faster?"
"please—" you nod as best you can, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth, and that's exactly what nat gives you.
with a few final grinds of her hips, you can feel nat come undone, her jaw slack as she looks down at where you're connected.
the sound is almost pornographic now— hell, it's beyond pornographic— the squelching of your cunts echoing throughout the lab and your mewls and nat's moan mixing into a chorus that neither of you will forget for god knows who long.
you cum soon after as nat rides out her orgasm, lips pressed to the skin of your leg like it's an anchor. the only sound in the room is breathing and shaky pants as the two of you catch your breaths.
nat pulls away first, her breath uneven and her hands briefly lingering at your waist before she straightens. she stands up, a thin line of your combined slick connected the two of you before it snaps. she leans down and grabs her underwear, stepping through it and pulling it back up with a dramatic snap of the waist band.
she glances down at you, still where she left you in the floor, as she smooths down her uniform. she wipes at her mouth with her thumb, fixing her lipgloss back into place, and then weakly smiles at you.
"you feeling better?" she asks.
"mm-hm." you nod, feeling less horny than you did only moments before and a little fucked out of your mind.
she nod like that makes sense, like she feels it too. then she steps back, her thumb pointed towards the door.
"then i'm gonna head out... see if the party's still going. you have fun in here, okay?" she says casually on her way out. then she turns and salutes you, "get us those marks, nerd."
the door clicks shut behind her, and then she's gone.
you lay there for a moment staring at the door, but thinking of nothing in particular. the air still smells faintly sweet, and you're drenched in slick and sweat. your brain feels like it still hasn't fully caught up to your body, and now you've just been left on the floor to clean up after yourself.
you dont know what happened or what this means for you and natasha, but you know for a fact that whatever line had existed between the two of you before tonight is gone.
you also just hope your professor doesn't have cameras installed in the lab. that'd be awkward.
i apologise for the rushed smut, i just was over it
summary: years into loving you, Natasha still looks at you like it’s the first time.
still obsessed. still deliberate. still choosing you…every day.
tags/warnings: established relationship, still obsessed Natasha, domestic softness, british reader.
author's note: hi 🤍 i’m very fond of the idea that some loves don’t calm down with time, they become intentional.
this is years in, still obsessed, still choosing each other.
natasha loving like this felt inevitable.
thank you for reading, i’d love to read your thoughts in the comments.
english isn’t my first language, so please be kind.
They’ve been together for years.
Long enough that it’s not a secret. Long enough that no one questions it anymore. Long enough that you think you’re used to the way Natasha looks at you.
You’re not.
Because Natasha Romanoff loves like she’s discovering it for the first time, every single day.
You’ll be talking about something completely inconsequential, like how you never quite got used to American bread, and she’ll be watching you like this is the most important conversation she’s ever been part of.
“Nat,” you say, amused. “You okay?”
She blinks. “Yeah.”
She’s lying. But not in a dangerous way. In a soft one.
Years ago, she learned the rhythm of you. The way your accent thickens when you’re tired. The way you get quieter when you miss London, even though you insist you don’t. The way your hands always find her without thinking.
None of it ever stopped being new.
Sam once made a comment, something about how it’s been years, how she could stand to chill.
Natasha didn’t even look up from where you were curled into her side.
“No.” she said simply.
And that was that.
She still memorizes you like you’re temporary. Still kisses you like she’s proving a point. Still reaches for you in her sleep, as if afraid you’ll disappear between one breath and the next.
“You know you don’t have to look at me like that...” you tease one evening, catching her again.
“Like what?” she asks.
“Like you’re in love with me.”
She smiles. Soft. Dangerous.
“But i am.”
There are days when she listens to you talk about London—again, for the hundredth time—and she doesn’t tune out a single detail. Still imagines you there. Still wants to learn every version of you that exists, and every one that almost did.
You catch her one night, tracing circles on your wrist, thoughtful.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” you ask.
She hesitates. Then, honestly:
“I still can’t believe I get to love you.”
That’s the thing.
Natasha doesn’t love you like it’s safe.
She loves you like it’s deliberate.
Like a choice she keeps making, over and over, long after the novelty should’ve worn off.
And if anyone ever asks who Natasha Romanoff is, the answer has never been clearer.
She is the woman who survived everything
and still chose love.
Still chose you.
Which is how she ends up here.
Standing in the kitchen, years into this, watching the universe briefly misalign.
It happens by accident.
You’re tired, half-distracted, holding a mug in your hand when you say it.
“Did you put the trash out?”
The word barely leaves your mouth before Natasha freezes.
Actually—freezes.
She turns slowly, narrowing her eyes like she’s assessing a threat.
“The what?”
You blink. “The trash.”
She stares at you, genuinely offended.
“No,” she says calmly. Too calmly. “Try again.”
You frown, confused. “Nat, I’m literally asking if you—”
“The bin,” she interrupts. “You mean the bin.”
You laugh. “I’ve lived here for years. I’m allowed to say trash.”
Natasha steps closer, lowering her voice like this is serious.
“No, you’re not.”
You snort. “Why not?”
“Because,” she says, like this should be obvious, “that’s not how you say it.”
She reaches out, cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing your cheek like she’s grounding herself.
“You say bin,” she continues. “And flat. And petrol. And you complain about the loo being too small.”
You grin. “Wow. You’ve been keeping track.”
“I keep track of everything,” Natasha replies without hesitation.
This isn’t new.
Years together and she still corrects you gently, reverently, like your Britishness is something precious she’s responsible for preserving.
Once, you said sidewalk instead of pavement and she physically stopped walking.
Once, you ordered fries instead of chips and she stared at the menu like it had personally betrayed her.
“You’re becoming American,” she’d said quietly. Horrified.
You tease her about it now.
“What, scared I’ll lose my accent next?”
Her expression shifts instantly. Serious. Soft. Intense.
“Don’t,” she says. “I love it.”
Not in a playful way. In a this is part of how I love you way.
You lean into her touch, amused. “You’d still love me if I said trash.”
She exhales, forehead resting against yours.
“I would,” she admits. “But I’d be upset about it.”
You laugh, kissing her. Natasha kisses you back like it’s instinct—like time hasn’t dulled a single thing.
Later, when someone overhears her gently correcting you again, they roll their eyes.
“It’s been years,” they say. “You still act like it’s the first time.”
Natasha doesn’t deny it.
Because every time you speak—accent intact, British words slipping out like muscle memory—it still feels like a gift.
And Natasha Romanoff has never learned how to love anything halfway.
Summary: after deciding to try out a new TikTok trend, Natasha quickly reminds you you're hers.
Word count: ≈1600
Warnings: possessive Natasha
Reading time: ≈12 mins
Type: oneshot
a/n - decided to try something different and have contemplated posting it for days. i think this is proper rubbish tbh but whatever
promo - join the scarlett johansson fan discord server
You'd seen the recent trends on TikTok, while you sat scrolling between various house jobs that needed completing personally. Trends never really interest you, but this one did.
The next video comes onto your screen. “My heel collection as someone who hates heels,” “My heels as someone who works in business.”
What harm could come from giving it a go yourself? You push yourself up from the sofa, moving to your walk-in closet in yours and Natasha's room. She was still at work, doing whatever mafia boss' do all day.
Perfect time to do a silly TikTok. You pull out a few of your favourite heels. A pair of black Loubuttins, with the red sole beneath the heel. A pair of simple black heels, Manolo Blahnik, if you remember it right. Then, Jimmy Choo heels, black, with a silver-stoned ankle strap. A simple tall, red heel. Long, above-the-knee black boots. Finally, another black pair, with straps that wrapped around.
You prop your phone up against the closet door, ready to record on Tiktok.
You step into the frame in just your old “stay at home” socks, then out just as the recording pauses. First, you remove your socks, then slip your feet into the Loubuttin heels with the red underneath. They were the first pair of heels Natasha had bought, so they were fairly special to you.
You reset the film, then step into the frame again, holding one foot up slightly to show the heels off properly before stepping out of the camera.
Next , the Manolo heels, simple, casual, with a relatively small heels. You step back into the frame once again, hold one foot up briefly, then step out. Two heels down, and still a good half an hour before Natasha should be getting home. You know she doesn't really like you messing around with TikTok trends, but she isn't here now.
You fasten the silver-stoned strap around your ankle, walking casually back into the frame. You'd seen other people's versions of this, watching them slip or trip or just look all-around uncomfortable in heels, but not you. If there was a professional heel-wearer, you were it.
Next, the pair of tall red heels. They were probably your least favourite of what Natasha had bought for you, but the way she'd looked as she handed them over with a bouquet of flowers was too romantic to say no to.
You have to work hard, as usual, to pull the knee-high boots onto your legs, your arm workout, really, but you loved the boots. You stand up from the little stool in the corner, rotating your ankles a little in the boots as you lean down to zip the sides up. They weren't exactly tall heels, so maybe it was something to do with them being knee-highs that made you feel so much taller in them.
You smile slightly, even though noone can see it, as you step back into the frame, slightly further away this time to capture the full length of the boots.
Finally, you slip on probably your favourite pair of heels: the black, stiletto-like heels with the wrap-around ankle strap.
You wrap it around once, twice, then finally buckle it together at the back of your calf, resetting the camera for a final time. Your perfectly manicured toenails, paid for by Natasha, of course, are visible now for everyone to see how much money she spends on your nails.
You curl one leg upwards slightly a final time, when you feel a silent presence behind you. Two strong arms snake around your waist, Natasha’s chin settles against your shoulder. “What’s this?” she asks softly.
You jump slightly before relaxing back into her warmth. “A trend.”
“Mm.” Her eyes drag over the phone screen, over the heels lined neatly across the floor. “And you were planning to post this?”
“Maybe.”
One manicured hand slides down your waist slowly before stopping at your hip. “Detka,” Natasha murmurs, almost amused, “do you have any idea what those shoes do to people?”
You snort softly. “They’re just heels.”
Natasha’s laugh is quiet against your ear. Dangerous. “No,” she says. “They’re my wife in heels. They make people stare.”
“People stare because you walk around like you own Manhatten,” you snort, letting her press her lips to your cheek.
“I own parts of it,” she replies against you, casual as talking about the weather.
You nod, “that's why people stare. 'cause you own the place.”
She shakes her head now, her hands gliding over your dress down to your waist to spin you around to face her. “People stare, because my wife is gorgeous.”
Natasha’s eyes flick down slowly, taking in the thin black straps winding around your ankle, the sharp heel lifting your leg just enough to make the slit of your dress fall open a little more. “…Those are new,” she says quietly.
You smile innocently. “You bought them.”
“I buy you a lot of things, detka.” Her hands settle on your waist again, thumbs pressing lightly against the fabric of your dress. “Doesn’t mean I expect the internet to see them.”
“It’s just a TikTok trend.”
“Mhm.” Natasha glances toward the phone still recording against the closet door. The little red light blinks steadily. “And how many people exactly were you planning on showing my wife’s legs to?”
You laugh softly. “You sound jealous.”
“I am jealous.”
The honesty catches you off guard enough that your smile falters slightly. Natasha steps closer until the pointed toe of her heel nudges between your heels. “You know what these say to people?” she asks, fingers sliding down the straps around your calf.
“What?”
“That you’re expensive.” Her voice lowers. “Untouchable. Mine.”
Heat creeps into your cheeks instantly. Natasha notices, of course she notices. She always notices. Her gaze drifts toward the lineup of shoes on the floor. The Louboutins. The boots. The Jimmy Choos sparkling beneath the closet lights. Little pieces of a life you never thought you’d have.
“You know what I like most?” she murmurs. You shake your head slightly. “That none of them look uncomfortable on you.” A faint smirk tugs at her mouth. “Everyone else wears heels like they’re suffering through them.” Her hand squeezes your hip lightly. “You wear them like weapons.”
You snort softly. “That sounds dramatic.”
“I’m Russian. Everything sounds dramatic.”
That earns a real laugh from you, warm and bright, and Natasha’s expression softens instantly at the sound. Then her eyes drift back to the phone again. “You’re still not posting it.”
“Oh, come on—”
“No.” She leans down just enough for her nose to brush yours. “Because then strangers start thinking they can look at you the way I do.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Very.”
You grin despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”
Natasha hums softly. “Maybe.” Her fingers trace lightly down your front. “Keep the heels on though.”
Your eyebrows lift. “Natasha.”
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m appreciating my wife.”
You hum, “I kno—” cut off by her lips pressing against yours. Natasha’s hand tightens slightly at your waist when you smile against the kiss, like she can feel you trying not to laugh at how possessive she’s being. When she pulls back, her lipstick is faintly smudged now. “You think this is funny.”
“A little bit.”
“Mhm.” Her gaze drops again to the heels wrapped around your ankles. “You know these are dangerous.”
“They’re shoes.”
“They’re six-inch black stilettos on my wife,” Natasha corrects calmly. “That is a weapon.”
You roll your eyes affectionately. “You sound insane.”
“And yet,” she murmurs, fingertips brushing your stomach, “you married me anyway.”
Your phone is still recording from across the closet. The tiny red light blinks steadily while Natasha looks you over like she’s cataloguing every detail; the slit of your dress, the straps winding around your legs, the polished black heel against the hardwood floor. “You know,” you tease lightly, “normal people just say their wife looks pretty.”
Natasha’s mouth twitches. “I did say you look pretty.”
“No, you said I looked expensive.”
“You are expensive.”
“That’s not romantic.”
“It is to me.”
You laugh again, quieter this time, and Natasha’s expression softens immediately at the sound. It always does. Beneath the sharp suits and cold reputation and the way people lower their voices when she enters a room, there’s still this version of her with you; hands warm on your waist, eyes softer than anyone else ever gets to see. Her thumb brushes the inside of your wrist absentmindedly. “Which pair is your favorite?”
You glance toward the line of shoes scattered across the floor. “These,” you admit, lifting one foot slightly. The black wraparound stilettos catch the closet light subtly. “Definitely these.”
Natasha hums approvingly. “Good choice.”
“Why? Because they’re your favorite too?”
“No.” A slow smirk appears. “Because they make your legs look incredible.”
“Natasha.”
“What?” she asks innocently again, though her hands slide lower to your hips. “I’m being honest.”
You shake your head, trying to hide your smile. “You’re impossible.”
“And you were about to post this online for free.” She tsks softly, dramatic. “Terrible business strategy.”
You snort. “Maybe I’ll post it anyway.”
Natasha’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Detka.”
“You can’t stop me.” A pause.Then Natasha reaches past you calmly and taps the screen, ending the recording instantly. You stare at her. “Did you just—”
“Yes.”
“That took me like half an hour!”
“And now,” she says smoothly, slipping the phone onto the shelf behind her, “you can spend that half hour paying attention to your wife instead.”
Your mouth falls open slightly in disbelief before you laugh again. Natasha smiles faintly at the sound, then leans in close enough for her forehead to rest against yours.
“Besides,” she murmurs softly, eyes flicking down to the heels one last time, “those were never meant for strangers.”
Hey how are you! I live your fics and I saw that you were open for asks so I am taking my chance.
I was thinking of a Natasha Romanoff x child reader story. The reader is about 6 and comes from an abusive home but she runs away with her backpack (that only has candy, teddy bear and her fav crayons - so not useful stuff but cute) and she finds an abandoned house and managed to pick the lock. She stays there for a while find food and a bed.
The safe house belongs to Nat and Nat and maybe some other avanegers goes to this safe house after a mission and they find reader. Nat interview this child a if the child a dangerous villain and the child gets scared (even cries). The child lies about her age (maybe saying she is 10) and obviously Nat does not believe her.
So Nat is not very motherly and nice but eventually she becomes very fond of the reader. Maybe nats threatens the child to call social services or smth to get reader to talk.
Anyway o was thinking that Nat ends up really caring and loving the child and wants to adopt her or smth. (The reader never had a mother. She was living with her father)
I don’t know if it is a good story idea but I thaight it was a cute one. A one shot and a series is fine either way.
Little Runaway
Natasha Romanoff & Fem!Child!Reader
[A/N] This request is literally so cute! Little worried I haven't done it justice 😭 Hopefully you enjoy my lovely, thank you so much for the request 😘
By the time Natasha reaches the house she’s exhausted – the mission had been tiring enough but her nearest safe house (of which Natasha had plenty) was a good walk away. Too risky to take any kind of transport and Natasha had taken back roads, making her journey as confusing and disorienting as possible for anyone trying to follow her – doubling back on herself multiple times and looping around blocks. Her boots are starting to rub and all she wants to do is sit down and have a drink. Usually she keeps a bottle stowed away in one of the cupboards, she’s sure to have something.
From the outside it doesn’t look like much – a small, rundown house. The perfect place to lay low for a few days until the Avengers can come and collect her. Natasha had hoped Clint would be with her but they got put on separate assignments. Never mind. Natasha didn’t mind the quiet too much. There was a small TV and besides, she was looking forward to catching up some much needed sleep.
Natasha’s just locked the door behind her when she hears a noise coming from the kitchen. Her hand immediately goes to the gun in her belt, pulling it out and walking slowly into the house, making sure to check every corner of the room and any hiding points. During her sweep her eyes land on a backpack that definitely doesn’t belong to her – it’s purple with a butterfly pattern, and small. A backpack designed for a child. Her eye-brows raise as she looks to the saggy couch, noticing a teddy bear and several newspapers that Natasha definitely hadn’t left there.
When Natasha makes it to the kitchen her eyes land on a little girl, sitting on top of the countertop, trying her best to open the window leading into the back garden. It’s not going to happen though – Natasha made sure all the windows and doors were securely locked, the way they were for all her safe houses. How you got in is a mystery but you’re definitely not getting out of that window “Who the Hell are you?”
You practically jump out of your skin as you whip around to face her, your eyes wide and fearful as you hold your hands up “Don’t shoot! I’m sorry!”
Before you can move Natasha crosses the room, grabbing you by your arm and yanking you off the countertop. You yelp, caught off guard and crash to the floor. Natasha roughly pulls you back up to your feet, patting you down to check for weapons. You squirm in her hold but Natasha just holds you tighter – you don’t look very old but Natasha remembers how cunning she’d been at that age, the things she’d done. People trust children. If Natasha had used that to her advantage then you could too.
No weapons on you but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have any stashed away somewhere inside the house. Natasha pulls out one of the dining room chairs, pushing you towards it “Sit.” You look up at her, your eyes wide and teary “I said sit.”
Once you’re sat in the chair Natasha folds her arms, keeping a tight hold of her gun but not pointing it directly at you anymore “What are you doing here?” You hesitate, fidgeting with the hem of your dress – it’s dirty and torn, as is the threadbare cardigan you’re wearing. It’s cold outside and Natasha notices your bare feet, the way you’re shivering. She frowns, taking you in “Start talking kid or I’m going to get angry.”
You start to cry, startled by her rough treatment and the harsh snap of her voice. You’re not sure what to say so eventually you just whisper tearfully “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that, just… Tell me your name. Can you tell me that at least?”
“Y/N.” You sniffle.
“Y/N. Okay. What are you doing in my house Y/N?”
You look at the gun in her hand nervously before whispering “I was just… Staying here. A little while.”
Natasha tilts her head to the side “And you’re how old?”
“Ten.”
Natasha rolls her eyes “Give me a break kid; you’re like what, five at most?”
You hesitate before reluctantly mumbling “Six.”
“Six years old. Okay. Where are your parents?”
“They- Well- I don’t have any.”
Natasha has to suppress a groan. Okay, it’s pretty unlikely you’re a Widow in training – they’d have taught you to lie better than that. Still, she’s not willing to let you off the hook just yet “What was with all the newspapers on the couch?”
“We couldn’t find a blanket, it gets cold at night. They were in the trash-”
“’We’? Who is ‘we’?”
“Me and Bruno.”
Natasha looks around the house, her eyes narrowing “Who’s Bruno? Where is he?”
“In the living room, on the couch. I was looking for a snack for us.”
Natasha’s eye-brows furrow. There hadn’t been anyone on the couch when she walked in. Had they snuck off? Were they hiding somewhere, waiting to ambush her? What was your involvement, were you being held here against your will, were-
Oh. You’re talking about the bear. For fucks sake.
Natasha looks you up and down for a moment before holstering her gun and pulling out her burner phone “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to call your parents.”
Your eyes widen in horror and sob harder “Wait! No, don’t!”
Natasha grins – now she’s got you. Of course she doesn’t know who your parents are, let alone have their number but you don’t know that. She pretends to dial a number “Better start talking kiddo or I’ll have to ask your Mom-”
“I don’t have a Mommy, I really don’t, but I don’t wanna go back to my Daddy, please.”
Something about your tearful pleading makes Natasha stop, slipping her phone back into her pocket. For a moment there’s silence in the kitchen, only broken by the sound of your pitiful sobs until Natasha asks “What’s going on kid? Did you run away from home?”
You nod, sniffling “Me and Bruno ran away together and we don’t want to go back.”
Natasha sighs, closing her eyes for a long moment before looking at you again “Right, come on.”
She heads into the living room, gesturing for you to come with her. You follow hesitantly, wiping at the tears on your face. Natasha picks up the bear from the couch and shoves him into your arms “Here, sit down for a minute kid.”
You sit on the edge of the couch, watching as Natasha picks up your backpack, looking inside. All she finds are crayons, a colouring book and some empty candy wrappers. She looks over at you incredulously “Where’s all your stuff?”
“I brought my favourite crayons and my book. And me and Bruno stole the candy from Daddy, he’ll be really cross but we won’t be there so now he has no candy. It was tasty, me and Bruno shared.”
Natasha puts a hand to her forehead and takes a deep breath “Okay, what about your tooth brush? Or spare clothes or a blanket or actual, proper food?” You just blink at her and Natasha groans “What have you been eating?”
“There was food in the kitchen, lots.”
So you’d found her emergency stash of food. Natasha sighs though she’s sure you barely made a dent in it. There were plenty of cans, not many of them very interesting for a young girl but needs must “How did you even get in here?”
“Me and Bruno picked the lock on the backdoor. It took forever.”
Natasha narrows her eyes suspiciously. This safe house was supposed to be impenetrable but somehow a six year old girl had found her way inside. Not exactly good. Natasha puts down your backpack “There are blankets here you know. Upstairs.”
“We don’t go upstairs, it’s too scary.”
She rolls her eyes. Definitely not a Widow. She’d had far scarier things to deal with when she was younger. Still, there’s something about the nervous way you clutch your teddy bear to the chest, your wide, teary eyes watching her every move that makes her think there’s more to your story than you’re letting on. Kids don’t runaway for no reason. Maybe you’ve had your own fair share of problems.
Right now though Natasha is exhausted. The sensible thing to do would be to hand you over to the authorities – let them hear your sorry tale and decide what to do with you. Unfortunately Natasha’s stuck. She can’t go take you anywhere, not while she needs to lay low. You’re only a kid; you would almost definitely draw attention to yourself if she tried to move you out of the house. And she’s too tired to go and find one of her other houses, it would take her days of walking…
So now she’s stuck. She’ll have to wait here with you until the Avengers arrive.
“Are you hungry?” She asks, her tone still no less harsh than it was before.
It’s not that Natasha isn’t fond of kids. Clint’s are okay. Natasha always feels proud whenever a little girl calls out to her in the street; in fact she always makes a point of stopping and saying hello. Kids are cute. Natasha’s never really felt that maternal instinct though. Perhaps the Red Room had taken that from her too the day of her graduation. What was the point in having motherly feelings if you knew it was impossible to ever be a mother?
You nod and Natasha heads into the kitchen, glancing back when she hears the little pitter patter of your feet as you follow her, still clutching that moth eaten teddy bear in your arms. Natasha turns back, telling herself to focus on the task at hand. As suspected some of the tins in her cupboard are gone “How did you heat these up?” Natasha asks, pulling down a couple of cans of soup.
You roll your eyes “I know how to use the stove.”
Of course you do. You’d packed nothing but crayons and candy, and were too scared to go upstairs by yourself, but you knew how to use the stove. Natasha looks you up and down again, asking casually “Who taught you how to do that then?”
“I taught myself.”
Natasha nods, turning her attention back to the soup cooking on the stove whilst she mulls this information over “Why did you run away from home?”
“Why are you letting me stay?”
Natasha hesitates, glancing at you as she tries to think of an answer “I- I never said I was. I’m still figuring out what I’m gonna do.”
“I’m not going home.”
Natasha looks at you, having to suppress a smile at the little look of determination on your face as you try and sound tough. But behind that stubborn pout on your face is still the little waver of anxiety and worry, always present in your eyes “Give me time to figure this out. Okay? I’m not kicking you out imminently but… Don’t get too comfortable.”
That night goes about as well as Natasha expected. You both eat your soup in silence, giving each other suspicious, weary glances every so often. When it gets late Natasha manages to convince you to come upstairs with her, fetching blankets and leading you through to the bedroom. There’s only one bed but Natasha doesn’t mind toughing it out on the floor – she’s used to sleeping in uncomfortable circumstances. You looked so happy to be sleeping in a proper bed, Bruno tucked right beneath your chin that Natasha couldn’t even be angry. You were pretty cute.
Over the next week or so you both get into a bit of a routine. Natasha cooks and accepts your offer to help clean but she doesn’t let you do it all by yourself though she’s surprised to see how self-sufficient you are for such a young girl. At first conversation is stilted and awkward but eventually it begins to flow naturally. You’re a fan of telling corny jokes and Natasha can’t help but find herself smiling whenever you tell another one. She tells you stories about when she lived with her little sister Yelena as a kid, steering clear of any Red Room talk. You don’t need to know about that.
After you’ve been together for a week Natasha finally decides to ask about your past again “Are you ready to tell me why you ran away or do I need to call child services?”
“Don’t call them!” You whine “You promised you wouldn’t!”
On Natasha’s first morning in the house you’d practically begged her on hands and knees not to call child services. Natasha hadn’t intended to but had hoped to keep it as a looming threat in case she needed anything from you. You’d been so distraught she hadn’t had the heart to though and had promised not to make the call.
“I know, I’m only teasing.” Natasha admits “But I do want to know what made someone as little as you run away.”
You hesitate before sighing “I don’t like my Daddy.”
“I figured as much. Why not?”
“He’s not very nice. He made me and Bruno cry and if we cried too loud he’d-”
You cut yourself off and Natasha is almost glad – she has enough horror stories to keep her awake at night, she doesn’t need any more. Natasha’s assessment of you hadn’t been entirely wrong – you certainly had your own blend of problems to deal with for someone so young. This was something she’d noticed over the past week. There was something about your mannerisms, a strange blend of a naïve little girl who only packed crayons and candy when running away, mixed with a girl who’d had to carry far too much responsibility for her age.
“Did he ever do anything nice for you?” Natasha wonders aloud “Make you dinner, tuck you in, read you a bedtime story?”
You shake your head and Natasha sighs – that explains your self-sufficiency.
“What’s your plan then?” Natasha asks “Since you’re so adamant I mustn’t call child services, and you don’t wanna go home.”
“Me and Bruno will stay here.”
“’Fraid not kid. This is my house and we both know I can’t leave you here alone.” Natasha looks over at you, sitting on your end of the couch. The TV has been on for the past hour but neither of you has been watching “What about family? You got like… A Grandma or something?”
“No. Nobody wants me.”
There’s something about the way you say that that makes Natasha’s heart twist – it’s not said with pity or sadness, just matter of fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, nobody wants you “There’s got to be someone who misses you. A friend from school?”
“I didn’t go to school, Daddy wouldn’t let me. He said he’d teach me at home but we didn’t really do anything.”
Natasha nods, her assessment of this man going even further down. She might not know the gory details but it doesn’t take a genius to realise he was isolating you lest anyone found out what he was up to “What about the kids in your neighbourhood?”
“They didn’t play with me, they thought I was weird.”
Natasha nods again. At first she’d assumed your clothes were ragged and dirty from months of living on the street but it turned out you’d only ran away a couple of weeks previously – that was just the state of your clothes. Dirty and old before you’d even ran away. She’d caught you scratching your head a few times so assumed you probably had a bad case of lice, something that had made her skin crawl at first but had then made her feel desperately sorry for you. It must be causing you so much discomfort. She can imagine you outside of your house, looking for someone to play with, but the other children being put off by your bedraggled appearance. Besides that, you were a little strange. Always whispering to your teddy bear and laughing with him.
Because Bruno’s the only friend you’ve ever known.
Her heart squeezes again and after a moment’s hesitation she reaches out, putting her hand on your shoulder “Hey… Come here kid.”
You look over wearily but don’t resist when Natasha wraps her arms around you, pulling you into her lap. She leans her head against yours, not caring if you do have head lice or not. You’ve looked in desperate need of a cuddle ever since she arrived.
Over the last week Natasha’s grown fond of you. She’s tried to deny it, tried to push it down but being stuck indoors with someone all hours of the day makes it impossible not to bond with them. And you were such a cute, if not very nervous, kid. Natasha can’t deny that she’s began to feel weirdly protective over you. You may not have told her everything that had happened at home with your Dad but Natasha has been able to piece enough together.
Hearing you sniffle, Natasha looks down, her expression softening “Hey…”
“I don’t know what to do Nat.” You whisper tearfully “I don’t have a home to go to.”
“I- Kid, it’s gonna be okay. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” Natasha rubs her hand up and down your back; letting you cry into her chest “I know you don’t wanna go back to Dad. Okay? I won’t let that happen.”
“I don’t wanna go live with strangers in a strange house; they might not be very nice either.” You whimper “I wish I had a Mommy who loved me.”
That breaks Natasha’s heart and she has to blink away her own tears as her arms tighten around you. Natasha had Melina as a kid, a temporary Mom to fill in the short-lived happy time of her life. As an adult she’d tried to find her biological Mom but had come up short every time. And now here you are, crying for a Mom – just like she had when all the other girls in her dorm had fallen asleep and there was no one awake to hear her.
That’s when Natasha feels it for the first time. That maternal instinct – the Red Room hadn’t got rid of it after all. She feels a wave of emotion – not love; she hasn’t known you long enough yet, but affection. Natasha leans her forehead against yours “Hey… You know something? You’re the bravest kid I know. You ran away from home without much but you found food and shelter. For you and Bruno. I don’t know what’s going to happen next but I do know that you’re going to be okay.”
You look up at her, your wide teary eyes finally losing some of their weariness as you let her comfort you “Really?”
“Really.” She pokes the bears nose “You better look after her Mister; I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” Despite everything you can’t help but giggle, hugging Bruno to your chest again “Everything’s gonna work out. I promise.”
A further week goes by before Natasha hears the secret knock on the door – the code she’d figured out with the other Avengers. You practically jump out of your skin at the sound, scrambling up from where you’d been colouring on the floor to hide behind her legs “Don’t let them in! It might be my Daddy!”
“It’s not; it’s one of my friends.” Natasha reassures you, patting your head and going to unlock the door.
It’s Clint and Natasha can’t help but give him a relieved hug, glad that he’s okay “Everything’s sorted.” Clint tells her “Quinjet’s waiting. Job done, time to go home.”
Natasha gives him a small smile “Job not done unfortunately. There’s one small complication.”
You appear in the doorway, grabbing Natasha’s hand and Clint has to do a double take “You kidnapped a kid?”
“No, idiot, she was squatting here when I arrived.”
“Where are her parents? We should take her home-”
“No!” You shout.
“Not an option unfortunately.” Natasha says.
You hadn’t opened up anymore after your initial conversation but after that night Natasha had begun to share the bed with you. That was the first time she’d noticed the bruises – fading now almost to nothing but Natasha had seen them and there were lots of them. Your back, your stomach, your neck, your wrists. One day Natasha’s going to find out who your Father is and pay him a little visit – but not today. Today there are more pressing issues.
“She can’t go home.” Natasha says “She’s a runaway.”
“Okay, child services then? I’m sure they’ll be able to-”
“I’m taking her home Clint.” Natasha says, her voice softening “To the compound.”
“The compound? Nat-”
“It’s not up for debate. She’s coming with me.”
Natasha goes back into the living room to grab your backpack and you follow after her, practically tripping over your own feet to keep up with her “I’m coming to live with you?”
“Sure are.”
“But why?”
Natasha slings your little backpack over her shoulder and turns to face you, her whole expression softening as she sees the mixture of hope and doubt on your face. Like you daren’t believe what she’s saying “Because you need a Mommy who loves you. And I think… I think maybe that could be me.” She taps your nose “Only if you want to though. I know we haven’t known each other long but I thought-”
In response you simply throw your arms around her neck, holding onto her like you might never let go. Natasha lifts you up into her arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Once she’s sure she’s got everything and she’s checked you definitely have Bruno, she carries you to the front door “Nat, are you sure?” Clint asks quietly “If she’s a runaway her Dad might be looking for her, he-”
“I know it’s complicated.” Natasha says “But I don’t care. Her Dad’s not having her. Over my dead body.”
The Quinjet is waiting and Natasha takes you on board, laughing as you cling to her when she tries to put you down. She takes a seat, letting you sit in her lap as she strokes your hair – first thing she’s doing when she gets you home is getting you a long bath and finding some nit lotion for your hair. Best do her own while she’s at it because no doubt she’s caught yours. Then she’s going to make you a proper home-cooked meal – no more of that crap from the tins. Something made with love.
Her arms tighten around you as she presses another kiss to your forehead “We’ll be home soon. I’ll find somewhere comfy for you to sleep tonight.”
“And Bruno?”
“And Bruno. Mustn’t forget Bruno.”
For the first time in your entire life you let yourself relax. You may have only known Natasha two weeks but you’d seen her on the news – you knew she was a superhero. Superheroes could be trusted to help, to protect. That’s why you’d chosen that house. You’d been on the run for a few days, scared and confused, not sure where to go but knowing you couldn’t find any adult to help you. Something had drawn you towards her house.
At first Natasha had scared you – she’d had a gun after all and you were only little. But it hadn’t taken you long to start trusting her. Your guard still isn’t completely down. It won’t be for a long time. But for now, you know you’re safe. That Natasha won’t let anything happen to you. Maybe she really will be your Mommy one day.
