seen from United States
seen from Denmark
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Maldives
seen from South Africa
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
angst / Fluff where Nata notices something that triggers reader or something that upset her . Reader would mask it but Natasha has seen that look in the red room . Maybe a mission gone bad or the target managed to hurt reader somehow
hands off
| natasha x reader | only pretty faces masterlist
summary: see above
warnings: violence, gore
a/n: heyyyyy ahah
You didn't mean it. You're sure you didn't. Because there wasn't supposed to be a body count, here of all places. But when you slip and the world tilts and all of a sudden he has you facedown in the carpet, you forget. He grabs your hair and pulls. You forget everything. Your mind blanks in terror, in wolfish rage. You twist under him like an eel and rocket upwards, body torquing. You slam your forehead into his nose. He howls and releases you and slumps sideways and though there are black spots dancing in your splintering vision, you have just enough presence of mind left to flounder a hand on the coffee table, to grab a paperweight and bring down in a perfect, practised arc. You split his skull with it, one hit. His temple artery sprays you with blood. He's dead before he hits the floor.
You're still crouching there, breathing heavily, when Nat finds you. She doesn't even spare the body a glance. She strides straight up to you and pulls you to your feet. You await the order to run, the tug on the wrist - but instead, she wraps her arms around you. You freeze in her hold, wide-eyed, elbows crammed against her chest.
"It's alright," she says.
"I killed him." Your voice is hoarse with exertion, a different part of you lingering on the surface like flotsam.
"It's alright."
"No. It isn't." There's a dead body on the floor. A realisation dawns. You care that you've killed him - even though it might have been you dead if you hadn't acted. A person is dead, and it's your fault, and this time it matters. Emotion catches up in an overwhelming wave. An unsteady, horrifying sob catches you unawares. You convulse in Natasha's arms.
She strokes your hair, a gentle soothing touch where the scalp stings. She smells awful, an identifiable sweat that you've known for years, that's comforting now.
"No," she agrees quietly. "It isn't." Her hand rubs circles on your spine.
"Let's get out of here," you say, numbly.
Natasha presses an absentminded kiss to your head. You know she's staring at the body, at the brains leaking out over the carpet. "Yeah," she says. She takes your hand and leads you out, rubbing away the blood with one gloved thumb.
requests closed | masterlist
If your requests are open ....needy Nat? Maybe in "only pretty faces" . Something about Natasha being only weak/needing for r
only girl in the world
| natasha x reader | only pretty faces |
warnings: none :) CUDDLES
Now that you don't need to watch her every move, it's suddenly become extraordinarily easy to observe her. Ironically.
She's all straight spine and eyes constantly on the move. If she'd let anyone catch sight of her in a crowd, even a child would notice the danger on her. Like the smell of gasoline. The aura of an ethanol fire in the dark.
Her hands are strong just like the rest of her. You've traced sinew and scar tissue blindly with your thumb so many times you could map her skin in your sleep. And sure, she's attentive and prowling when you're out, but when you're alone...
Right now, in the dimly-lit sitting room with the shutters closed at the windows, Natalia's face is tucked into the curve of your shoulder. She's loose. The slackened muscles of a leopard observing the ground from a high perch, perhaps, but loose all the same. Her eyes are closed, the light of the TV flickers on her cheeks. With a gentle snuffle, she falls deeper asleep.
It's almost a miracle. But if you think about it hard enough, you're sure you can recall the heavy weight of her head on your shoulder just like this, twenty five years ago. And you know you remember waking up with your cheek crushed against her t-shirt when you'd convinced yourself you hated her. Maybe the two of you were always meant to crawl back to each other like this, bone-tired. Maybe she was made to fit against your side like this.
But you know the truth. You were shaped by men who'd killed gods, with their syringes and their blank white stares. You'd morphed yourself to lie here with Natalia. You'd each carved pieces out of yourselves, in the privacy of dark rooms and the solitude of those arrow-sharp minds of yours, to fit the other into the cavity.
There's no fate. You choose to love her. She's chosen to shut her eyes, one hand fisted in the thigh of your sweatpants, and fall into the place you made for her, be it jagged and imperfect. Just for you.
requests | masterlist
taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @waitingroom-pb @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @natsaffection @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @aan-myouim @smalls-words @lainjupi @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @idkjustliving2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @silentwolfsstuff @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout
I ABSOLUTELY ADORE OPF. AMAZING SERIES, CAN'T WAIT FOR MORE.
Ps. Any chance of a slightly jealous Natasha?
It's always reader who is the jealous one.
mine
| natasha x reader | only pretty faces |
warnings: jealousy? societal assimilation? misuse of a prompt for a pillow fight? sorry anon. (But if you want better jealous!natasha, go see fuck around and find out)
a/n: platonic!kate bishop x reader. natasha being dumb
"No, no, you cross your hands over for the first one," Kate says, pushing your wrists this way and that. "Look." She positions your hands palm up and pats them back and forth with her own.
"Okay," you say. Your legs are beginning to cramp. "Start again."
"Okay, sure," Kate says. She claps and you copy. She reaches out a palm, you flatten yours against hers and then you slip your fingers in between hers and grab hold before she can slip away again. The looks of shock, confusion, disappointment and careful amusement crossing her face in quick succession crack your serious expression and you can't help it: you burst out laughing.
Kate yanks her hand away, half-giggling. "Stop messing with me!" she protests.
"But it's funny," you say, your laughs giving in to little hiccups. "Let's play Super Mario again-"
"No, you beat me every time-"
"Please, Kate, please this is soooo boring," you groan.
"I'm giving you your preschool education!" Kate protests.
"I have two Master's degrees," you say, fixing her with a stare.
"Yeah, but you don't know how to play pattycake."
"You're a pattycake. Turn the TV on."
"You are so rude," Kate says, grabbing a pillow and swatting you gently with it. You raise your eyebrows at her.
"You are going to start a war you can't win, Bishop," you warn. Kate just giggles and swats you again. "Alright, that's it." You shove at her, toppling her to the carpet, grab the couch seat cushion, and begin to bludgeon her over the head with it. Shaking with laughter, Kate can do nothing but take it.
"Hey." You pause, the couch cushion poised to deliver a last blow. Kate pants on the floor. Natalia is standing over you, looking sharply curious. "What's going on?"
"She refused to play Mario with me," you grumble. Natalia's shoulders shift somewhat.
"Oh," she says. Like you've relieved her. "Right. Well, you brough it on yourself, Bishop."
"Eirgh," Kate groans.
Natalia touches your cheek, almost absentmindedly, then moves your hair behind your ear. "Don't have too much fun," she says, too lightly. Then she moves away, slow.
"That was weird," you say when she's gone. Then you shrug and bring the cushion down on Kate's shoulders, to squeals and weak protests.
requests | masterlist
taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @waitingroom-pb @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @natsaffection @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @aan-myouim @smallestavenger @lainjupi @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @idkjustliving2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @silentwolfsstuff @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout
Hiii so am the anon who asked about opf. So firstly am greek and I absolutely adore you for putting Greece in this masterpiece of yours. I was wondering if you could do more of their time in Greece like doing simple things like going to a park and Natasha teaching r how to live cause I adore some cold hearted widows being soft for each other
those hands pulled me from the earth
| natasha x reader | only pretty faces
warnings: none
a/n: Γεια σας, anon! I have never been to Greece (never left my country lol) but I will do my best! I've heard that it's beautiful, so it's the perfect place for r to find her soul again <3 (again, Duolingo level Greek, please forgive haha)
"I love you," Natalia says into your hair. Then again, in Russian. The breeze moves the rushes of the date palms like dancer's fingers against the sky. Her arm, where it is slung around your shoulder, hasn't shifted since you pulled it around you.
Σ’ αγαπώ. You mouth it at the slow wind, let the breath leave your lips and tumble off in the river of the world around you. Your eyes track a woman walking the path with her baby slung to her chest. She is singing, only quietly, but you can hear her. You can hear everything.
The thud of Natalia's heart in her carotid artery is the loudest. Slow, unreasonably steady, just like yours. You'd be able to find it from the end of the world. You already have - it mirrors yours. Imitates you. Your hand goes to your shoulder where her hand hangs free, and you trace the lines of her fingers. You imagine you can see the bones, where each knuckle is bound and wrapped with muscle and cartilage. Gun callus on the inside of her thumb.
Each touch you keep as light as air.
Eventually she pulls away - only to tug you to your feet - and insists you walk.
"This is what people do at parks," she says, hands in both of yours, that infuriatingly familiar teasing light in her eyes. The sun catches her face, throwing her attention from you.
"I'm not an idiot," you grunt, and you loop her arm around your shoulder once more. "I know what parks are for." You glance at her. "I've studied urban form," you add, for good measure. Her slight smile fades somewhat.
"Sure," she says. "Haven't we all."
"You should. It will allow you to recognise the-"
"I know what parks are for, too, you know."
You raise your eyebrows. "Ambulation, exercise and socialisation?"
The odd look she throws you is practically amusement. "You're messing with me."
"You started it," you say.
"Oh, good. We've reverted to our twelve-year old selves."
"I'll snap your neck if you snap mine." It's almost in poor taste, so it surprises you when she laughs, mouth-open-head-back kind of laugh. The hair she's pushed behind her ear falls forward over her face and you have a sudden, incomprehensible and almost irresistible urge to take it in your fingers. You already know how soft it is.
Disappointingly, she tucks it away.
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
"We're going to dinner," she says. You pause with a piece of honey-dripping toast halfway to your mouth. You place the toast down.
"What if I say no?"
Natalia blinks once, slowly. The smallest of smiles curls at the edge of her mouth. "I'll persuade you," she says. She seats herself in the chair across from you. "It doesn't have to be a restaurant. It can be street food, souvlaki, anything." She tilts her head at you. "Pretty please? I promise it's a normal person thing to do."
"As if you would know," you say, eyes still fixed on her mouth. She touches your shin with the tip of her foot beneath the table.
"That's mean. I'm perfectly well-adjusted."
"In this room, maybe." You drag your gaze up to hers and shrug lightly. "Go on, then." You practically see her swell with delight, even though she doesn't move a muscle. You can't help but smile. "Persuade me."
Natalia slumps and sighs, exaggerated. "Devil," she says. The afternoon sun on her face gleams on the tiny little scar above her eyebrow, one that you've kissed a hundred thousand times before.
"Of the worst kind," you agree. You reach across and touch her lightly on the nose. "Okay. I give in." She laughs. Your chest clenches and you know, without a doubt, you'd commit atrocities to hear it again. Murders.
But you don't need to.
Dizzying thing, desire.
Tell her, you urge yourself. Tell her you want to make her laugh. Tell her what she means to you. You'd never be able to put it into words.
So instead, you let her take you out to dinner. She buys you a mountain of food and watches with delight as you devour it all. In an afterglow of satisfaction and evening-cooled streets, you play poker on the balcony and lose to her drastically, on purpose.
You can't help but notice that her bluff face is real. It's one you've seen through the scope of a long-range rifle, or across the green expanse of a casino table with your heart in your throat.
It's almost easy to forget how fucked up she is, too.
"I lose," you say, and her face makes the shift. Practically imperceptible. Smallest of smiles. You spread your hands. "Come and take your prize."
Now her face splits in a grin, and she leans across the card table to kiss you. "Loser," she mumbles against your lips. "You know what happens to losers?"
You open your eyes to see her filling the whole world. Beautiful, impossibly so. "I think I'm going to find out," you say. Fuck me against the railing, you don't say.
Somewhere in the city, a dog howls, so lonely in its grief. But you don't hear it. Her hand is up beyond the hem of your dress and she is against you, all warmth and that glorious wave of red hair.
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
"We're going to the library. Expanding horizons and all that."
"Are we going to learn about urban forms?"
"We're going to learn about whether or not you can keep quiet when I tell you to." Her gaze rakes you like a laser, suggestive.
You think it's a joke. It forces you to flush anyway. She laughs.
"Heart on your sleeve, huh?"
You slap at her shoulder. "You're incorrigible."
"Do you love me, though?"
It takes you by surprise. She's been doing that a lot lately, alongside all the things you anticipate.
"Yes," you say, with barely a moment's hesitation. You tip your head to the ceiling and let loose a crazed little laugh. "You dug me out, Nata. What a stupid question." I have loved you so long I don't remember not loving you.
Say it. Say it.
You fix your eyes on hers and force yourself not to move. "I have loved you," you say, everything in you trembling, "so long that I don't remember not loving you."
What a thing to say on the couch, on a Saturday morning.
"Good," Natalia says. "I-I thought so." It can't be the first time you've ever heard her stumble over a word, but it feels like it must be. You're so new. Everything is the first time. It's glorious.
requests | masterlist
taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @waitingroom-pb @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @natsaffection @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @aan-myouim @smalls-words @lainjupi @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @idkjustliving2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @silentwolfsstuff @olicity-boo @iliketozoneouteout
notes: (I had Like Real People Do on in the background repeatedly as I was writing this)
omgomg can i request number 86 on the kiss prompt for either tptf and opf?? i love both so much and the prompt is so cute
p.s. i love your writing so much it’s so detailed and amazing
86. “ you kissed me first. “ “ i definitely didn't. “ “ you were literally all over me. “
| natasha x reader | prompt list | only pretty faces
warnings: fluff so sweet and dumb you'll throw up
a/n: YES
"So who asked out who?" Clint asks, settling further into his seat. He shoves a pizza crust into his mouth and dusts off his hands. Across the room, Kate Bishop is licking her fingers clean, eyes glued to you. She hasn't looked away since she first stepped in the door: whether with wariness or curiosity, you don't know.
"She pinned me to the floor when we were fourteen," Natalia replies. "Does that count?"
Clint nods. "Oh yeah, the good ol' sexual tension sparring."
"Fourteen, you creep," Natalia says. She chucks a piece of pepperoni at him and he catches it in his mouth, grinning.
The TV is on with subtitles, muted in the corner. It's darkening outside, the sweet humid nine o'clock of a summer evening.
You miss Greece. You miss the quiet of your apartment, hung so far above the street that the cars and shouts and trains were distant to the ear. You miss the heat. The solitude with Natalia, knowing she's only ever a few metres away.
But New York is fine. New York is pizza and Clint's playstation (that you're really damn good at) and Clint's humour and Clint's dog, who is currently lain half across your lap, blinking up at you morosely as you chew.
You pet the dog's head and Kate shifts in her seat. She's nervous.
Fair enough.
"Okay but like actually," Clint says after a pause. Natalia cuts him off with a groan, her head tipping back against the cushions of the couch. You allow yourself to trace the column of her throat with your eyes, the bob of muscle as she swallows. A little more overt than you should be, perhaps.
"Shut up," Natalia says.
"I wanna know," Clint protests.
"Fuck off."
"Nata asked me out first," you say. Natalia blinks at you.
"Right," Clint says, a grin growing. "Was this before or after you recovered from the brainwashing?"
"After," you say. You open your mouth to continue.
"I was nice to you before," Natalia cuts in. "Don't you dare say I wasn't."
"I wasn't going to," you say. She narrows her eyes at you and you smile, sweetly.
"Aw, Nat, you romantic," Clint says. Natalia launches a cushion at him and he allows it to hit him square in the face as he laughs.
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
"You're squashing me," you say, shoving Natalia half-heartedly. "My leg."
"It's not my fault this bed is two feet wide," Natalia grumbles. She shifts, and her elbow sinks into your stomach.
"My stomach," you complain.
"It'll be your lungs next if you don't shut up," she says.
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you," Natalia counters. She pokes your cheek. "I love you. Even when both your knees are halfway up my ass."
"I know where my knees are. I've found the stick you've got lodged up there, too," you say. You press your face against hers and try to kiss her, but she rears back, almost falling off the bed.
"Someone's found her attitude," she says. "Couldn't you tell me you love me once in a while?"
"I hate you."
She laughs.
You fall silent again. The curtains are rustling in the light breeze. A car honks below the window and you jump at the sound, your muscles tightening for a second.
Natalia's hand flattens over your stomach. "Hey," she says. "It's okay."
You shove your head against her shoulder, your heartbeat slowing. How stupid. You're like a spooked horse.
"Fuck," you say. "I don't like it here." You're voice is muffled against her shoulder. She winds an arm around you and strokes the length of your spine, slowly.
"I know," she says. She waits a beat. Then, "I didn't really come on to you first." You frown against her skin at the change of subject.
"Yes, you did," you say.
"Discounting everything before," she says, and her voice is matter of fact. She's been thinking about this. "I didn't."
"You can't just discount fifteen years," you say.
"Come on. You kissed me first."
You think about it. It hadn't really been a kiss. You'd probably intended for it to be a punch. "I definitely didn't," you decide.
"You were literally all over me," Natalia replies. She's teasing you.
"Shut up."
"You love me."
"That is a lie," you protest, and you reach around her and pinch her leg. She kicks at you, her foot tangling in the blanket. "I barely even like you."
"So if I kissed you right now..."
"I'd drop you out that window," you say. She tugs on your hair, none too gently, coaxing your face up to hers. You pretend to try and squirm away, but she's fast and she kisses you before you've made it an inch across the mattress. You make a gagging sound, and she giggles and kisses you again. Again. Again. "Stop," you complain, as she presses kisses to your cheeks, your chin, the tip of your nose. "Let me sleep."
Natalia tucks her face into your neck and blows a raspberry. You squeal, laughing, and push her away.
requests | masterlist
notes: emotionally stunted IDIOTS
taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @rysnwilder
@ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @picnicmic @smallestavenger @lainjupi @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @natblackwidow2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @thorya22
your stuff is so well written, with the word choices and the descriptions, i love the way you write so much it’s so..IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT BUT LIKE ITS SUPER GOOD!!
i was wondering if you’d write any little drabbles about opf about either reader or natasha being sick and the other taking care of them but like the sick one is trying to hide the fact they’re sick and trying to deal with it alone bc they’re so used to it 😞🫶
how d'you like your eggs?
| natasha x reader | only pretty faces
warnings: none
a/n: I. LOVE. SICK FICS.
The bed is empty when you wake, and you register this with your sleep-sluggish brain.
Then you hear her sneeze, in the bathroom through the door. Twice. Three times. Four.
"Nata," you say hoarsely.
"Yeah?" she replies. You see a glimpse of red hair. Her voice is thick.
"You are disturbing me."
She laughs, and you hear the rustle of tissue. "You're such a jackass."
You pull the sheets more securely over your head, blotting out the sound of her sniffs and the light from the window. "Come back to bed," you say, your arm falling over the side of the mattress to brush the floor.
"Coming." That thick sound again, like there's something stuck in her throat. You stick your head out of the covers and frown at her as she enters, ignoring the fond smile on her face.
"What's wrong with you?" you ask. She grabs your nose and you squirm out of her grasp.
"Rude."
"Why is your face like that?"
"Rude," Natalia repeats. Her nose is red. In fast, her whole face is flushed. She sits gingerly down on the edge of the bed. "You want breakfast?" she asks.
You study her. Her fingers gripping the covers, her wrists trembling. The way her chest is moving shallowly, her breaths in tight little gasps. "I'll make breakfast," you say. She raises an eyebrow at you.
"Oh, you will?"
"Yes, I will." You wave a hand vaguely in the direction of the ceiling. "That thing James said about assimilating back into the world."
She studies you critically for a second, but she doesn't appear to have the energy to protest, and you scramble out of bed, touch her shoulder and make for the kitchen.
Behind you, you hear a whoof as she collapses back onto the mattress.
Natalia only emerges when you begin to burn the food. She leans against the kitchen doorframe, barefoot. Her face is pallid now, her shoulders slumped.
"You're burning that," she says thickly.
"You really are the most observational-"
"Idiot."
You turn back to the oven with a sigh. "Sit." She pauses, then obeys, her feet making no sound against the floor. The chair scrapes and she drops heavily into it.
You serve her a watery fried egg on a piece of toast with the burnt edges cut off, and she beams at you like you've set the world on her plate, her bloodshot eyes turning up at the corners.
"Sit," Natalia says, and when you've sat down, she forks a bit of egg white up and pushes it into your mouth. She's only eaten a small square of toast when she pushes her plate away.
You touch her forehead under the guise of affection. Her skin is hot like sunwarmed stones, alarmingly so.
"You're ill," you say.
Natalia pulls away from your hand, her constant smile fading. "No," she says. "I'm not."
"Okay, so eat," you prompt. She eyes her plate reluctantly.
"I have work to do today," she says eventually, and she pushes herself up to stand. You grab her shoulders and shove her down again: it's frighteningly easy. She stares up at you.
"You're going back to bed."
"I'm not sick."
"Nata," you say, fixing her with a look. Her nose is still red, her lips cracked, her eyes half closed. You wonder if she has a headache.
Finally, she gives in. She leans forward slowly and presses her face to your stomach with a sigh. "Okay," she says, muffled. "Only if you come with me."
You scratch at her scalp, thumbs in circles just behind her ears and she melts into you with a groan. "Of course."
"My head hurts." She shivers, hard like she's been holding it back all this time. "I'm cold."
"I'll get you an Ibuprofen."
Still, she doesn't move away from you. In the end, you have to lift her up with arms around her waist, and walk her into the bedroom yourself. You lay her down amongst the tornado of sheets, draw them over her shoulders, and make for the bathroom to get the medicine. When you return, she's curled into a ball, shuddering under the covers. You switch the light off.
You set the glass of water you'd poured down on the bedside table and climb in next to her. Immediately, she loops her arms around your waist and pulls you in, shoving her face into your shoulder.
"I have pills," you say. Her knee is in your stomach, but you don't move. Natalia's hand worms into yours and finds the tablets. She swallows them dry, her face screwed up in the dark. Then she sighs against your neck and relaxes.
You draw your hands over the curve of her back, gently.
"You should tell me, next time," you say softly. "Don't hide things from me."
"We don't really talk about things, though, do we?" Natalia says. Her voice is muffled and slurred. You paint patterns against the cloth of her t shirt. "Besides, I'm used to dealing with it."
"We could." She stays silent. "We could talk about it," you say. "And you don't have to deal with it. You never made me deal with it."
No reply. Then: "I want to go to sleep."
"Okay." You hesitate. "I love you."
You feel her smile. "Love you too," she says. The shutters thump gently against the window sill. Natalia tightens her arms around your waist. "Thank you for looking after me."
You can't communicate the emotions those words surface in you. How could you? When she's cared for you so much more? When she's saved you from the brink of hell, when she's tolerated and loved you, even as cracked and abrasive as you are, all this time. You will look after her always, in any way, at any time. If this is what you can do to love her and comfort her, you will do it.
You say nothing. You let her sleep, her wet breath warming your skin and think over and over again I love you I love you I love you.
Such a shame you can't say it any other way. You'll run out of I love you some time or other.
requests | masterlist
taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @picnicmic @smallestavenger @lainjupi @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @natblackwidow2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @thorya22 @olicity-boo
Hey! I’m not sure if your requests are open or not and if they aren’t, (or if you just don’t want to write it), feel free to ignore this. Can I get 7, 8, 37, and 58 for OPF?
~Btw, you are such a talented writer and I am in love with this series <3
ivory tower
| natasha x fem!reader | prompts from this list | only pretty faces
warnings: child assassins
a/n: NICE
Scotland is engulfed in snow when you next look out of the plane window. The runway, almost invisible against the grey of the ground and the sky and the sweep of Edinburgh, looms ominously. You tuck your book away and touch the back of your head against the headrest.
Natalia will be there. It's a fact you haven't allowed yourself to dwell on the whole flight: hell, you haven't thought about it since you were choosing which suitcase to bring. Even just that single thought of her invades your mind like a storm. It has ever since you met her: but that's how everyone reacts. That's just the effect she has on people.
It's calculated and purposeful. She knows exactly what she's doing and she executes her effect with grace and ease. She's a paradox in and of herself.
And it's nothing to do with you. So you might as well stop thinking about her.
The flight attendant offers to help you with your suitcase as you approach the door, and you briefly entertain dropping it wheels down onto her foot.
"No, thank you," you say sweetly. A light Serbian accent, easy as breathing. She smiles back at you.
The air is cruelly cold the second you step out of the safety of the cabin. You've endured far worse weather. No sleet, but wind ruffles the furs around your shoulders and you pull your scarf up before it can get to your hair. You descend the plane's steps with grace, as a lady of standing would.
You're supposed to be twenty three, and rich. You're pretty sure you stand somewhere between sixteen and nineteen in actuality, but it doesn't matter, and it never has.
They've sent you a limousine to the airport and it glides up to the taxi rank like a panther under the threatening grey sky. Instantly, the chauffeur leaps from his seat and takes your suitcase from you, ushering you into the back of the car with his other hand.
The interior is luxurious. One of the more enjoyable missions: perhaps your handler was having fun spending her money. You slide the partition up and settle yourself into the seat, listening to the growl of the engine.
Not listening to the slightly too-quick thump of your heart. Not thinking about Natalia Romanov.
The hotel is expensive, too: five storeys of white stone and tall glass windows, and the interior carpeted in deep lush red. You think, briefly, about the colour of Natalia's hair. Of course she would choose this place, self-obsessed as she is. Her sense of humour. She's everywhere you look.
The handrail in the elevator is gilded wood. You tip the porter a hundred Scottish pounds when you take your case from him and he doesn't even blink as he folds it away into his pocket.
You knock on the white wood of room 45C with your gloves still on. Natalia leaves you standing there for a full minute before she opens the door, a wide smile on her face. She's in slacks and a blouse, her blazer discarded carelessly on the expansive bed behind her.
"Katya, darling," she says, in perfect, clipped West London English, and she seizes you by the elbows and kisses you on both cheeks. Then she drags you inside, endowing you with an onslaught of chatter and you barely have time to snag the handle of your case and drag it in with you before she shuts the door.
She lets you go and turns, arms out, still grinning but sleeker this time, not excited but pleased with herself. Persona dripping away.
"You're enjoying this," you tell her, switching to Russian. You begin to tug your gloves off.
"Aren't you?" She reaches out and brushes at the fur on your coat. "You look like you own half the oil in Russia."
"For this week," you reply haughtily, "I do."
"You're too good," Natalia says, still with that insufferable smile on her face. "Oh, come on." You raise an eyebrow at her. "Have some fun. For once."
"I'm here for business — not pleasure." You turn away to sit at the vanity and begin to rearrange your hair. Natalia slinks up beside you and bends to rest her chin on your shoulder. She surveys you in the mirror. Tilts her head this way and that. She seems, beneath her makeup, as young and brilliant as she really is, innocent and excited to be playing a glamorous older woman.
She's projecting what she wants to project.
Or maybe you can see right through her like no one else can.
"Your lipstick is smudged," she observes. You meet her eyes in the reflection, her contact lenses dark brown and solemn.
You bristle. "No it isn't."
"Let me fix it for you." Without waiting for an answer, she circles the chair and settles herself in your lap, like a cat on a pillow. You stiffen and look past her, refusing to meet her eye.
She can play games, but that doesn't mean you have to join in.
With an intense look of concentration on her face, Natalia leans forward and wipes her thumb gently under your bottom lip. You fixate on the twists of her braid in the mirror.
"All done," she says, looping her arms around your neck, elbows balancing on your shoulders. You finally look at her.
"Good," you say. "Get off."
A cool eyebrow is raised, undermined by the sly little smile on her face. "So you don't want me to kiss you?" She's so close you can feel her warm breaths on your nose, one after the other.
You'd be lying if you denied. Not that lying has ever, ever bothered you. But you just hold her gaze, and hold it, and hold it, like you're down seven feet of water and fighting the ocean to see who'll live the longest without air. And you break. "No," you say. "I don't." You must have leant closer without realising, because a coil of red hair is brushing your forehead and her skin is centimetres from yours. Her arms slide further forwards.
"I think you do," she teases. "We've kissed before, sweetheart. Didn't you like it?"
For missions. You've kissed for covers. And neither of you ever pressed it further.
What makes Edinburgh so different?
You narrow your eyes at her, determined to last longer. The weight of her arms and the curve of her lips in your peripheral is making this game hard. But she wouldn't have started it if she didn't find it fun in some way: and you know exactly which way that is.
You tilt your head. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" The words slide past with a bite in them.
Natalia looks at you, eyelids lowered, face blank. "I beg your pardon?" she says, in English, in that impeccable accent. You touch the side of her nose with hers, and neither of you pull back.
"Why don't you just tell me what you want, instead of tricking me into it?" you ask.
"But it's so much more fun this way," Natalia replies. Her voice is quiet now, dampened by the thrumming tension.
"So you do want to kiss me," you say, triumphant in your effort to turn the game around. Like swallowing a bubble and feeling it reappear in your lungs.
Natalia doesn't answer for a long time. The board is hers now. She can talk with all the bravado in the world, or she can kiss you. She can skip backwards out of the way, or she can kiss you.
She moves forward - she doesn't have to move far - and she does kiss you. A gentle, slow press, insistent. Her arms tighten at your neck.
It's like every time before. Your heart swallows itself with a skip. Your hands are on her thighs before you can stop yourself. And when she pulls away you try to follow her.
"Beat you at your own game," you whisper. And then you realise - this was her endgame. You walked into it like a dog at heel. She wanted to kiss you, and not only did she get what she wanted, she got you to want it, too.
"But you didn't win," she says. She's smiling. Your lips are burning. This is what you've been not thinking about: Natalia in your face, on your lap, touching you almost all over. This is what you wanted all along, too.
Maybe you should let her think she's won.
"Kiss me again," you say. You brush your nose against hers, content to let her lean in to you. "But don't stop this time."
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taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @picnicmic @smalls-words @lainjupi @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @idkjustliving2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @thorya22 @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout
Will there be any more OPF flashbacks? Maybe their mission days or where R is badass? The series could've been a black widow prequel!
| natasha x reader | only pretty faces |
warnings: violence, blood, yuck, mentions of sex
a/n: im doing this because I love you anon. crawling back into the light on my stomach because of u. sorry it's bad
"Ten seconds," says the handler, snug in your ear. The wall presses to your spine, obstinate and immovable and cold. The elevator doors scrape open at the end of the hall around the corner, and three sets of footfalls whisper against the deep carpet.
The first shadow falls around the corner and the man steps within inches of your pistol muzzle. He takes the bullet in the temple and his brains fling themselves at your hands and face. You break the second man's larynx with your elbow and he staggers backwards, wheezing, as you shoot the third in the heart. Blood on the back of your hand.
The second man tries to speak, a hand up in your face as a silent plea. You break his wrist, wrench his arm sideways and shoot him in the eye.
Three men in five seconds. It's almost a personal record.
You're smearing blood on the second man's white shirt as you rifle through his suit pocket, but it doesn't matter. No one will find them for days. You extract his wallet, stand and make for the window.
It's a long drop down. You hook your wire to your belt and the sill and lever yourself backwards. You step off the edge.
The wind chills the blood on your face as you fall, feet to the wall, face to the sky. The wire rappels out with a high keen.
"Completion approved. Out," says the handler, and the line cuts off with a crack in your ear. Your heels hit the concrete half a second later: they really do trust your competence, to cut your feed before the extraction is complete. You detract the wire and it comes soaring down towards you like a snake flung through the air. You tuck the wallet away and turn towards the street.
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
She's waiting for you at the writing desk, one foot up on the chair and her chin on her knee. She tilts her head at you when you walk in and shut the door behind you.
"Bed," she says instantly.
You point to your face. "Blood," you reply. Natalia raises her eyebrows at you.
"Get on the bed before I fuck you against the door."
"Wouldn't be averse," you say. A flicker of amusement: so small, minuscule on her indecipherable face. You bask in your knowledge. She breaks only for you.
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
There's blood on the sheets when you're done: yours, this time. Natalia's nails are mean.
Now she's tracing her name on your stomach with the tips of her fingers, not a sharp edge in sight. "Can you feel that?" she asks. "What am I writing?"
"You're branding me," you say, looking down at her. She's smiling, lips red and parted like an open wound. You kiss her, one hand in her hair. You're entangled in her, always will be. "I'm yours," you say into her teeth.
"I know."
● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
She's so fast. So graceful. So brutally, cruelly efficient. You track her through the scope of the rifle, your finger a hair away from tripping the trigger. She knows you're watching, excited by the track of a bullet as she slaughters her way across the concrete prison yard. It's making her show off.
"Do you need me?" you ask, as the prisoners flank her.
"No," she replies, breathlessness turning the feed into a crackle. She snaps the neck of a man twice her size and shoves his body into the gathering mass.
"You do need me," you tease. "Come on, Nata. Say the word."
"I need you to shut up," she says. She flings a knife that rips through two throats and impales a third in the chest.
"That was hot," you say.
You see a prisoner rise from the ground right by her foot and grab at her leg: on instinct, furious instinct, you whip the rifle to the left and fire. He slumps back, dead. The thrill of it wires you, and with a small adjustment, you aim and fire again. Again.
The prisoners drop around her like ripe pears from a tree, your invisible presence infuriating them. Eventually, Natalia stands alone, breathing hard, bloody from head to toe. She raises her face in your direction, pale like the surface of the moon.
"Love you," you say.
"You're gonna pay for that."
"For stealing your thunder?"
"My thunder is fine. You grazed me." She grabs her arm illustratively.
"Liar." You both know you can't miss. But your grinning against the cold stock of your rifle, still.
Natalia starts for the heavy door across the courtyard, her walk silent and purposeful. "When have I ever lied to you?" she asks
You laugh. "You lie in your sleep. You'd lie to me in death."
"Untrue," she replies. You hear the sound of her fingers against the keypad, imagine the blood smeared across her gloves and over her mean fingernails. "Where you go, I go. When you die, I die. You're mine, remember?"
"My romantic," you say, and you shoot the guard on the other side as the door springs open. This time, you graze her on purpose.
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notes: I still have 10 requests from about July time onwards, so if you requested something and it's not been done, I haven't deleted it - if that gives you any hope at all
taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @picnicmic @smalls-words @lainjupi @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115 @natblackwidow2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @thorya22 @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout
