midastouch013

[midastouch013]

Turn Back Time

Summary: Based on Turn Back Time by Daniel Schulz

Warnings: Mentions of death, Dead!Nat, Minor violence, Post Endgame, No happy ending.

P.S: This hurt me to write

P.S.S : Also, how would you feel about doing a version of this, but it was just a breakup, not dead her.

---

The rumble of the Harley-Davidson Live Wire reverberated through the quiet street, the electric hum blending with the steady rhythm of your heart. It was her bike—the one you'd gifted her on your second anniversary. A sleek machine, made for freedom and adrenaline, but also for quiet moments like these.

You sat at the red light, staring blankly at the world around you. The evening chill nipped at your skin through your jacket, and the city lights blurred in your peripheral vision. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a memory stirred.

--

It was your second anniversary. She had been scheduled for an emergency mission that day, something she'd cursed under her breath when she realized it clashed with your plans. Still, Natasha being Natasha, you knew she'd feel bad if she didn't go, and so you didn't stop her, but sending her off with a "Come to the garage when you're done". And she did.

You’d waited for hours in the garage, the compound eerily quiet as everyone else had gone to bed. The Live Wire gleamed under the dim lights, freshly polished, your gift to her—a machine that matched her speed, her elegance, her fire. But as the clock ticked past dinner and well into the evening, your excitement had waned, replaced by worry.

When you heard those familiar steps you stood, your heart pounding as you saw her walking toward you, her steps slower than usual, her face shadowed with exhaustion. Her black suit was stained with dirt and faint traces of blood, but when her eyes met yours, a small smile tugged at her lips.

"You waited," she said softly, her voice tinged with disbelief.

You smirked, tossing her the helmet you’d been holding. "Of course. You think I'm going to let our anniversary slide just because you're fashionably late?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head as she walked toward you. Her hand rested briefly on your cheek before she pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

"I owe you big time," she murmured.

"You can start by getting on." You gestured to the bike, and her eyes widened.

"This is..." She trailed off, running her fingers along the handlebars.

"For you," you said simply, watching her reaction.

Her lips parted, eyes glimmering under the dim garage lights. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious. But first, you’re going to sit behind me. I want to take you somewhere."

The memory blurred as you remembered her leaning into your back, her arms securely around your waist as you sped through the night. The streets were nearly empty, the wind whipping through your hair as laughter bubbled up from behind you.

When you’d reached the first red light, you didn’t even slow down. She’d leaned closer, her voice teasing in your ear. "That’s illegal, you know."

You’d grinned, your heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through you. "So is falling in love with a spy."

The night had stretched on, the two of you riding nowhere in particular, just basking in the freedom and each other’s presence. By the time you returned to the compound, the sun had begun to rise. You’d been late, reckless even, but you wouldn’t have changed a second of it.

--

The cemetery was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful but suffocating. You pulled up on the Harley, its hum cutting through the stillness. Killing the engine, you swung your leg over and stepped off, clutching the bouquet of red irises tightly in your hand. They were her favorite—soft, delicate flowers that somehow seemed so unlike her, yet made perfect sense.

Her grave was just a few steps away, but it felt like a mile. Each step was heavier than the last, grief curling around your chest like a vice. When you finally stopped in front of the headstone, the sight of her name carved into the stone stole the breath from your lungs. Natasha Romanoff.

You crouched, setting the flowers down carefully, brushing away a stray leaf that had fallen onto the base of the stone. Your fingers lingered there for a moment before you straightened, your throat tightening as the words left your lips.

“We used to run red lights and never look back,” you whispered, the weight of the memory pressing down on you. “We used to chase long nights. Nothing wrong with that.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you didn’t bother wiping it away. Your voice cracked as you continued. “'Cause I loved you, and I lost my mind. And now, I try to leave it, oh, I try. But you still haunt me, no matter where I go.”

Your heart clenched as yesterday’s encounter replayed in your mind.

--

Yesterday, you’d walked into her favorite coffee shop, the one she always dragged you to despite your insistence that their tea was subpar. The smell of freshly ground beans filled the air as you stepped up to the counter, hands shoved deep into your pockets. And then you saw her—or at least, you thought you did.

Red hair, cut just like hers, swayed as the woman in front of you ordered. Your heart stopped, and for one excruciating second, you were certain it was her. You didn’t breathe, didn’t think, and u tapped her shoulder—

“Natasha?”

The woman turned and the illusion shattered. A stranger’s face looked back at you, startled by you. Your cheeks burned as you stammered an apology, backing away and leaving the shop without ordering.

You’d walked down the street aimlessly, hands buried in your jacket pockets, head bowed, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. The rest of the day passed in a fog, and now here you were, standing in front of her grave with her favorite flowers and an ache in your chest you couldn’t shake.

--

You let out a soft, bitter laugh as you glanced at the small container of lasagna you’d brought with you. “Yeah. I though you'd like a date."

“You hated my lasagna,” you murmured, the corner of your lips twitching upward in a faint, humorless smile. “But you came back for more.”

The memory of her teasing you played vividly in your mind.

--

It was the first time she stayed over. She’d stood in your tiny kitchen, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at her lips as she watched you served her the rather lovely looking piece of lasagna.

“This is terrible,” she’d said to damage the ego of yours when you had claimed to make a mean lasagna earlier. She’d wrinkled her nose dramatically, setting her fork down with a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

You’d rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

"This is horrible," she’d declared once more, her voice laced with mock seriousness. “Truly, the worst lasagna I’ve ever had.”

"Oh, screw you,” you’d shot back, rolling your eyes. “Go back to your fancy spy food then.”

She’d shrugged, trying to suppress a laugh. “It’s edible, at least.”

You’d mock-glared at her, muttering something under your breath about ungrateful assassins, but she’d just grinned and pulled you into a kiss, the taste of lasagna still on her lips.

But the very next day, she’d shown up at your apartment with an empty Tupperware container. “So, uh, I was thinking… maybe I could take some of that ‘terrible’ lasagna to go?”

“You mean the one you hated?”

“Exactly. Got any left?”

It had become a tradition after that, every other week. She never admitted it was her favorite, but you caught the way her face lit up every time you mentioned making it.

--

You closed your eyes, the laughter from that memory fading into the echo of another. “And then there was that night when I didn’t even have lasagna or anything to cook, but you wanted to, so you dragged me to your favorite grocery store.”

--

Her favorite grocery store. You still found that absurd. She’d grabbed a cart and immediately started tossing the most random assortment of items inside—marshmallows, soy sauce, canned peaches. You’d followed her with a bewildered look, questioning every choice she made.

“Trust me,” she’d said, her lips twitching with amusement. “I have a plan.”

She didn’t have a plan. By the time you reached the checkout, you were certain half the things in the cart weren’t even going to be used. She’d sent you on wild goose chases, making you circle the store in search of things that didn’t exist, claiming it was “good cardio.”.

The store clerk had given you a look that screamed off your rocker, when you'd asked him for canned brussel sprouts, and you’d playfully glared at her while she doubled over in laughter., when the man walked away muttering something about kids nowdays, when you were probably just a few year younger than him

“You’re impossible,” you’d muttered.

“And you love it,” she’d shot back, leaning in to kiss you softly. She made up for the chaos by still eating the lasagna, no matter how strange the ingredients were that night.

--

“You got me running circles in your favorite store,” you murmured now, your fingers brushing the irises. “And I lost you, and I lost my mind.”

--

You actually had lost it.

The day Clint came back without her.

You hadn’t believed it at first. You’d waited for her to walk in after him, your heart pounding in anticipation. But when he looked at you with tear-filled eyes, the truth hit you like a freight train.

You’d snapped.

“You left her?!” you’d screamed, shoving him back. He hadn’t fought back, guilt etched into every line of his face.

Steve had stepped in, trying to calm you down, but his words only made it worse. “You need to stop—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to stop!” you’d yelled, your voice raw with anguish.

And then you’d turned on Clint, your fist connecting with his jaw. You were ready to hit him again, to make him pay for leaving her, to take out all your pain and anger on him, but Tony had stepped in, pulling you away. He’d wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you broke down.

You’d sobbed against him, your grief spilling out in heaving, uncontrollable waves.

--

Now, you stared at her name, your voice a broken whisper. “And now, I try to leave it all behind. But I still see you, no matter where I go.”

--

Just this morning, you’d seen a blonde walking down the street, her face inexplicably morphing into Natasha’s for a fleeting second. You’d blinked, and her face was gone, leaving you shaken and hollow.

--

The picture was worn, its edges frayed from the number of times you’d taken it out, clinging to it like a lifeline. Wanda had taken it during one of those rare, blissful moments at the compound. You and Nat had been baking—well, trying to bake. The kitchen had ended up more like a battleground of flour and dough than anything resembling culinary success.

The memory unfolded vividly in your mind.

“You call this a cookie?” she’d teased, holding up your misshapen attempt.

“You’re one to talk, Miss Burnt-to-a-Crisp,” you’d fired back, smirking as you threw a handful of flour at her.

She’d retaliated instantly, laughing as she chased you around the kitchen with her own handful of flour, her laughter so pure and carefree it still echoed in your mind. And then, just as you’d both caught your breath, you’d pulled her under the mistletoe.

“Oh, real subtle,” she’d said, a playful glint in her eye.

“Can’t waste an opportunity,” you’d replied, leaning in to kiss her, the taste of laughter still fresh on your lips.

Wanda had snapped the photo just moments after the kiss. Both your faces had been smeared with flour, and your grins had been so wide they’d hurt. You hadn’t cared. You’d never felt more in love, more alive, than you had in that moment.

Now, standing in front of her grave, you gently rubbed your thumb over her part of the photo, your eyes misting over. She looked so happy, so effortlessly beautiful.

“If I could turn back time and make it all alright,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Only a piece of you and me will keep me warm all night. If I could turn back time and rewrite every line… If only I could, but baby, I can’t.”

Your legs gave out as the weight of it all crushed you, and you fell to your knees. The photo slipped from your fingers, landing softly on the grass as you wrapped your arms around the cold stone, holding it as though it were her.

The sobs tore from your chest, raw and guttural, as you screamed into the silence, your voice breaking with the force of your anguish.

“Why did you leave me?” you choked out, your forehead pressing against the stone. “Why did you have to go?”

You shouted her name, again and again, your cries reverberating through the stillness of the cemetery. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. She was supposed to be here. You were supposed to grow old together, to share more laughs, more kisses, more everything.

But she was gone.

And all you had left were memories and a photo, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost.

You stayed there, clutching her grave like it was the only thing tethering you to this world, as the pain poured out of you in waves. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself feel it all—the love, the loss, the unbearable ache of missing her.

So I'ma scream, shout, let it all out And scream and shout and let it all out for you, for you So I'ma scream, shout, let it all out And scream and shout and let it all out for you, for you

--

The cold of the stone seeped into your skin as you stayed on your knees, still clutching her headstone as though holding on tighter might somehow bring her back. You’d been sitting in silence for a while now, your sobs reduced to quiet sniffles. But the memories kept coming, relentless and vivid, dragging you back into the moments you couldn’t escape.

Your voice was hoarse as you began again, barely above a whisper. “A few days after we lost you... and Tony…” you paused, swallowing hard as the grief twisted in your chest. “After we beat Thanos, after we saved the world, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt hollow without you.”

You pulled back slightly, sitting back on your heels as your gaze fell to the flowers you’d brought. “I couldn’t face anyone. Not Steve, not Bruce, not Clint…” You clenched your fists, the memory cutting through the fog of your grief. “So I went to a bar. Alone. It was the middle of the night, and I just wanted to forget, even if it was just for a little while.”

The scene played out in your mind like it had happened yesterday.

The bar had been dimly lit and nearly empty. You’d taken a seat in the corner, ordering drink after drink, trying to drown the ache in your chest. But it hadn’t worked. No amount of alcohol could fill the gaping hole she’d left behind.

By the time you were drunk, you’d pulled out your phone. Your fingers had hovered over her name in your contacts, and before you could think better of it, you’d hit call.

It had gone straight to voicemail.

Your voice cracked as you recited the words you’d said that night, the pain still fresh. “I hit you up like, ‘Hey, girl, can we talk right now?’ I know you’re far away, but… ‘Can we hang right now?’”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head at your own desperation. “I tried again. And again. But every time, it was the same. Straight to voicemail.”

You remembered slurring into your phone, your voice thick with tears and alcohol. “It’s me. I just… I just need to hear your voice. Please, Nat. I don’t know what to do without you.”

You’d hung up after the fifth attempt, throwing your phone onto the sticky bar counter in frustration. The bartender had looked at you with pity, but you didn’t care.

“I loved you, and I lost my mind,” you whispered again, your thumb absentmindedly brushing over the photo on the ground beside you. “And now I try to leave it all behind. But you still haunt me, no matter where I go.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling shakily. “That night… I kept talking to you like you were still there. Like maybe, somehow, you’d hear me.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper as you repeated your drunken plea. “I know it’s getting late, girl, I don’t care right now. I tried to call you on the phone, but you don’t pick up.”

The weight of it all came crashing down again, and you looked up at the stone, tears streaming down your face. “I lost you, Nat. And I lost my mind. And now I’m trying to leave it… I’m trying so damn hard. But you… you still haunt me. No matter where I go.”

Your hands trembled as you reached for the photo again, holding it tightly to your chest. The image of her flour-covered, grinning face was a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost.

-

As you finally rose to your feet, feeling the weight of the moment, you took a deep breath. The grief, the pain, the endless ache in your chest—it was a part of you now, something you couldn’t outrun. As you stepped away from her grave, your mind replayed one final memory, a memory that cut deeper than all the rest.

Your last argument.

--

It had been after one of the most dangerous missions you’d ever been on. You’d almost died saving her, and despite everything, the first thing she’d done when you’d woken up in the medbay wasn’t to hold you or to tell you how grateful she was. It was to push you away.

“Tasha, what’s wrong?” you had asked, your voice weak but desperate to understand.

She had avoided your gaze, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes scanning the floor as if she couldn’t bear to meet yours.

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” she had muttered, barely above a whisper. “Maybe it’s a mistake if we let the clock break.”

You had frowned, completely confused. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Her lips had tightened, and she had taken a deep breath before meeting your eyes. There was a coldness in her stare that hadn’t been there before, a defensive barrier she hadn’t needed with you. “We’ve been through so much, and I�� I’m scared, okay?”

You had shaken your head, trying to wrap your mind around the words. “Scared? Scared of what? Us?”

She had nodded slightly, the hesitation in her voice more painful than you ever thought it would be. “I’ve been thinking about it. Everything in my mind… everything in my mind is telling me that it’s a mistake.”

The words had hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What the hell? No! You’re wrong, Nat. This—us—this isn’t a mistake. We’re solid. We’re gonna be okay.”

But she had shaken her head, her eyes welling with tears. “You don’t get it,” she had whispered. “I’m trying to protect you. I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt. If we keep going like this…” She couldn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to.

You had pushed forward, your frustration and confusion bleeding into anger. “So you’re just gonna shut me out? After everything? After I almost died to save you?” Your voice had risen, your chest tightening with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You don’t get to pull away from me, Natasha. I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together. Always.”

Her face had faltered then, the tightness in her features melting just enough for you to see the raw fear she was hiding.

“I know you think that. I know you believe that. But everything in my mind, everything in my mind is telling me…” Her voice had cracked as she choked out the last words, her tears spilling over as she struggled to admit what was hurting her most. “That it’s a mistake… and it ends in heartbreak.”

The silence between you had been suffocating. It hadn't been the first time she had ever admitted something so vulnerable, something so painfully real, yet this time it was different. You had stood there, frozen, trying to process her words. You had wanted to reach out, to hold her, to make her understand that none of that mattered, that you were stronger than fear.

You had taken a deep breath, your hands shaking as you had gotten off the bed and stepped closer to her, trying to close the gap that had formed between you both. “No. No, Nat. You’re not listening to me. You’re not the one who gets to decide what happens between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not. We’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna fight this together. You and me. Always.”

Her face had softened then, her breath shaky as she met your gaze, her shoulders sagging, finally giving in. “I don’t want to lose you.”

You had wrapped your arms around her, pulling her in close as you whispered, “You won’t. I’m here, Nat. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She had clung to you, tears soaking your shirt, her face buried in your neck. You had held her tight, reassuring her over and over, “We’re gonna be okay. I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together. Forever, you hear me?”

And in that moment, the tension that had been hanging between you two slowly started to fade, replaced with the warmth of your embrace and the quiet certainty that, no matter what, you would find your way back to each other.

“Together.” She had whispered, her voice thick with emotion, and you had nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

You had pulled back slightly to look her in the eye. “Always.”

And with that, you both had finally breathed, both of you knowing that no matter what came next, you would face it together—united, strong, and ready for whatever the world threw at you.

--

And now, standing at her grave, you could only wish you had more time to make it all right. You could still feel her arms around you, the weight of her presence in your soul.

But she was gone, and you were left to pick up the pieces.

“Guess who got the heartbreak, Nat.” you whispered bitterly, the words more for yourself than for her.

And with a last look at the stone, at least for this week, you turned around, pocketing the picture of you too.

If you could turn back time and make it alright, you would, but you couldn't

---

.

[midastouch013]

How would you guys feel about a Natasha Romanoff x Fallen Angel Reader series?

Like, a Lucifer crossover with the MCU, where you're Lucifer's twin sister?

[midastouch013]

Hey, i had the request about "it's the little things". Just popping in to say i adored it, thank you so much!

Also happy new year!

I'm glad you enjoyed it, and Happy New Year to you too!!

[midastouch013]

It's the little things- a drabble

Summary: A year and a half into your relationship, you still notice the little things

--

A year and a half into dating Natasha Romanoff, you’d long since moved past the cold indifference she used to show you. Now, she was your girlfriend, your partner, and the person you’d quietly fallen deeper in love with every day.

Living together had only amplified that love. She wasn’t the easiest person to read—her walls didn’t come down easily, even for you—but you’d learned to navigate them. It was in the little things, after all.

Like how she still used that chipped mug, no matter how many new ones you bought. Or the way she pretended not to notice when you tucked her favorite snacks into the corner of the pantry, right where she liked them. And on the nights when she’d wake from a nightmare, her breaths short and sharp, you knew not to hover. You’d simply leave a glass of water on her bedside table and slide your hand into hers under the blanket. She never said thank you, not in words, but the way she squeezed your hand said it all.

The boys, of course, loved to tease you.

“You’re so whipped,” Clint would say, smirking over his coffee.

“Hopeless,” Tony would add with a dramatic sigh. “Absolutely hopeless.”

Your reply was always the same—a roll of your eyes and a deadpan, “Jealous much?”

“Not really,” Sam once quipped. “I don’t see Nat sharpening my knives like that.”

But no amount of teasing ever bothered you. “Yeah, I’m whipped,” you’d say, shrugging. “And you know what? She’s worth it.”

Natasha wasn’t one for grand displays of affection, but when she did something for you, it carried weight. Like the time she spent an entire Saturday trying to bake cookies with you, despite her complete lack of kitchen skills. Or the way she’d tug you closer during movie nights, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm while she pretended to focus on the screen.

Even now, as she sat across the living room, flipping through a book, you couldn’t help but notice the way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration. She caught you staring and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” she asked, her tone teasing but soft.

“Nothing,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

She rolled her eyes, but the faint blush on her cheeks gave her away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love,” you shot back with a grin.

Her lips twitched upward, and she shook her head, knowing about the key phrase Wanda had given you at the very beginning. “It’s the little things, huh?”

“Always,” you said.

And it was true. From the first moment you’d noticed those little things about her, to now—watching her, loving her—it had always been the little things that mattered most.

[midastouch013]

Hey, i have a request (or the loose structure of one).

I'm thinking gn!r and Natasha (could have Wanda be present too, in platonic or romantic manner, your choice) that are not well acquainted yet, as R is new to the team, in a safehouse for a few days that just warm up to eachother and notice little things the other does. R is maybe a little shy (as in introverted) but is trying their best to befriend them.

Idk if that's enough to amount to anything but if you end up working on it feel free to make whatever changes you see fit. Thanks in advance!

It's out! You can find the fic here

I hope you like it !!

[midastouch013]

It's the little things

Summary: You're new to the avengers, and kind of shy, and the redheaded assassin doesn't seem to quite like you, but you're knack of observing things might just turn things in your favour.

Warnings: None. Just fluff

P.S: If I reuse the same gifs, I'm sorry I have the memory of a goldfish

---

The rain pounded relentlessly against the roof of the safe house, a stark contrast to the tense silence inside. You sat on the worn couch, legs crossed and arms wrapped around yourself. Wanda stirred a pot of soup in the tiny kitchen, humming softly. She'd warmed up to you quickly after the mission’s chaos had forced you three into this situation. Her occasional giggles and light-hearted teasing made you feel less like the outsider you’d feared you'd be.

“You really thought hiding behind that vending machine was a solid plan?” Wanda quipped, her eyes sparkling as she turned to you.

“Hey, it worked for a solid three minutes,” you shot back, smirking. “And if it weren’t for your dramatic hand-flinging, maybe it would’ve lasted longer.”

She snorted. “Dramatic? That saved your butt!”

You two dissolved into laughter, the sound filling the small room. Across from you, Natasha sat in a chair near the window, her posture rigid as she scanned the perimeter. Her face was unreadable, cold as ever. The sharp angles of her cheekbones caught the dim light, and you couldn’t help but admire her profile, even if she barely spared you a glance.

The truth was, you had a crush on Natasha Romanoff long before joining the team. It wasn’t just her skill or her looks—though those were enough to make anyone swoon. It was the quiet strength she carried, the sharpness in her eyes that hinted at stories untold.

Wanda caught your gaze and whispered, “She’s not as scary as she looks.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, watching Natasha clean her weapons in the corner, her focus laser-sharp.

Wanda smiled. “It’s the little things with her. You’ll figure it out.”

That phrase stuck with you.

--

Over the next few days, you began to notice the small things about her. Natasha preferred her tea plain, no sugar or milk. She read mission files with the same focus most people reserved for life-or-death situations. And she had this subtle way of scanning the room, always aware of every detail.

You started adjusting, not to impress her, but because it felt natural. When Wanda offered to make tea, you quietly took over and brewed it the way Natasha liked. When she frowned at the creaky floorboards by the window, you shifted your usual spot to stand there instead.

She noticed.

At first, it was subtle—her eyes lingering on you a little longer, her voice softening when she spoke your name. You didn’t push; you let her set the pace. And while Wanda got to see your sarcastic, funny side, you approached Natasha with quiet humor and calmness.

“You’re not like the others,” Natasha said one evening, breaking the silence as you sat across from her cleaning your gear.

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, glancing up with a grin.

Her lips twitched. “It’s an observation. You don’t try too hard. That’s…refreshing.”

“High praise from the great Natasha Romanoff,” you teased lightly, earning a genuine smirk.

---

Over the next few days, you started noticing those little things. How Natasha always reached for the mug with the chipped handle, the one that everyone else ignored. How she’d subtly adjust her position so she was always facing the door, even when she sat down to eat. How she hated noisy chatter but didn’t seem to mind your sarcastic quips or quiet observations.

You started doing the little things for her without thinking—grabbing that chipped mug for her in the morning, leaving a knife sharpened just the way she liked it, or quietly placing her favorite pack of gummies that somehow was stocked plenty in a safe house instead of food like pasta, next to her seat when she’d been brooding for too long.

At first, Natasha didn’t say anything. But the first time she found that gummies, she looked at you, her expression softer than you’d ever seen. “Thanks,” she said, and it wasn’t just polite—it was genuine.

-

By the third day, the tension in the safe house had lessened. Wanda was her usual cheery self, but now Natasha didn’t seem so icy. She even joined in on some of the banter, albeit briefly.

One evening, as the three of you sat around the small table eating dinner, Natasha surprised you by asking, “Why don’t you talk as much as the others?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to be more like Tony?”

She smirked. “God, no.”

“Didn’t think so.”

That earned you a quiet laugh—just a breath, really, but it was the most you’d ever gotten from her. Wanda shot you a knowing grin.

“It’s the little things,” she mouthed.

----

Back at the compound, the small things continued. You made a habit of noticing Natasha’s preferences. If you were grabbing snacks from the kitchen, you’d snag her favorite protein bar without being asked. When she trained late at night, you’d show up to spar—not to prove yourself, but because you knew she liked a challenge.

She, in turn, surprised you with her own gestures. She’d sit next to you during team movie nights, her silent presence enough to make your heart race. She laughed at your sarcastic remarks, those rare chuckles making the room feel brighter. And when you trained together, she corrected your form with a patience you hadn’t expected, her hands firm but gentle.

Six months passed in a blur of missions, training, and quiet moments. You’d become close—closer than you ever thought possible with someone like Natasha.

--

Six months later, after a particularly grueling training session, you found her sitting outside on the balcony. The compound was quiet, the sky painted with stars. Nerves twisting your stomach into knots. Natasha was leaning against the railings, her attention focused on the rare seight of stars on New York's skyline.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, stepping out with your usual blend of sarcasm and slight awkwardness.

She glanced at you and nodded. “Suit yourself.”

You sat down beside her, the silence stretching comfortably between you.

“You know,” you started, fidgeting slightly, “I never thought I’d actually get to know you. You seemed…untouchable.”

Her lips twitched in that familiar almost-smile. “And now?”

“Now I know you’re just as human as the rest of us,” you teased, your grin softening when she looked at you. “But better at hiding it.”

Her gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in her expression.

“What about you?” she asked. “What did I miss about you?”

You snorted. “Oh, not much. Just your run-of-the-mill awkward, sarcastic mess.”

Her laugh was quiet, but it warmed you.

After a moment, you took a deep breath, heart pounding. “Natasha, can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head, curious. “Go ahead.”

“Would you want to go out sometime?” The words tumbled out faster and messier than you intended. “Like, us. Not us as in the team, just us. I mean, just…you and me?”

For a moment, her face was unreadable. Then, to your surprise, she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and leaned in. Her lips met yours in a kiss that was soft and sure, stealing the breath right out of you.

When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours. “I’d like that,” she murmured, her voice quiet but sincere.

“You notice the little things,” she murmured. “I like that about you.”

And just like that, the phrase took on a whole new meaning.

[midastouch013]

hi, I hope you're well, I was thinking about Natasha x gp!reader x wanda which is a plot that takes place in a forest/hybrid AU, in which wanda and Natasha (who are wolf hybrids and are in heat) end up getting into in the unknown territory desperately trying to find an alpha wolf that will take care of the two and will give them a large pack with strong puppies, after some time of searching the two decide to hunt for some food but end up spotting reader (wolf hybrid) hunting and managing to kill a large elk, that's when the two were sure they were in the right place and that they found the possible father of their cubs. Honestly I found this request from another person (so.. Credit to the other person) but I don't think they write this, I was hoping if you would write this, it's fine if you don't want to... Hope you have a wonderfull day.

-💩

Heyy,

I'm sorry but I'm currently not doing any smut fics

But feel free to give me any other requests

[midastouch013]

Seus pedidos estão abertos para Yelena? 🥹😃🙏🏻

Yes, they are !!!

But no Portuguese please, i had to use google translate for this.

But feel free to drop any Yelena requests

[midastouch013]

So for the request it would be Pregnant!Natasha x Avenger Reader (gn or fem you pick) ((Also sorry in advance for the long and detailed request 😭 I got carried away))

And it’s about Natasha feeling neglected because reader has been working long hours. It’s not because reader is doing it purposefully but nevertheless she accidentally goes weeks neglecting the redhead. Natasha would suggest lunches together, reader has only 5 minutes to spare before needing to do a debriefing with Steve. Watch a movie? Reader can’t cause she is helping Tony with the team’s weapons. Cuddling? Reader needs to go through files and would tell the poor woman not to wait up on her and head to sleep. Basically Natasha just goes on with her days alone unless someone from the team comes to visit her and spend the day with her, but even then, they got things to do, so she’s alone most of the time. Eventually Natasha starts believing she’s not desirable anymore due to her body changing because of the baby. It gets to the point that Natasha then starts thinking reader will leave her, which doubles her worries. Until one night when Reader finished her mission early, and comes home, she overhears Natasha in their room crying and talking to their unborn child. The redhead confronts reader about feeling alone and neglected and scared of being left and reader realizes she messed up in trying to be there for everyone and not her own wife who is with child. Reader begs for forgiveness and decides to put all her avenger responsibilities on hold until the baby arrives to be there 100% for Natasha. They make up and ends with cuddling! Lots of hurt and comfort please!!

I'm sorry I've been forever, but here it is, finally

The fic

I hope you like it

[midastouch013]

"So f**king stupid"

Based on this request

Summary: You've been neglecting your pregnant wife for a while now, and so when you come home early from a mission, what do you realize?

Warnings: Pregnant Nat, Angst, Hurt, Insecurity, Stupid reader. hurt/comfort. Minor swearing

малютка - Little one

--

It had been weeks since Natasha had felt the warmth of your embrace for more than a fleeting moment. Your once bustling mornings, where you’d share quiet cups of coffee and stolen glances, had become a distant memory. Instead, Natasha watched the clock tick as she waited for you to finish whatever mission or task had consumed your attention for the day.

When you finally appeared, it was never long enough. Five minutes for a rushed lunch, barely enough time to talk, before you’d sprint off for another meeting, debriefing with Steve, or diving into Tony’s chaos. Natasha tried not to take it personally, but as the days passed, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being left behind.

She had suggested lunch together, but you were too caught up. "I have five minutes, and then I need to brief Steve on the mission,” you had said, eyes scanning the files in your hands as you quickly stuffed the sandwich into your mouth.

"Five minutes," Natasha echoed, the sting of disappointment lacing her words. She didn't want to argue or demand more of you, but the gap between the two of you felt insurmountable now. The movie night you had planned, a quiet, cozy evening for the two of you, never came to fruition. “I can’t, babe. I’m helping Tony with the team’s weapons. I’ll make it up to you,” you had promised, but the days turned into weeks, and Natasha was left curled up on the couch, movie tickets long forgotten.

Then came the nights—quiet nights. Natasha would curl up in bed, waiting for you, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. You’d pass through the door just as she was about to fall asleep, your face flushed from running through the day’s tasks. She’d offer a smile, but you would always say the same thing.

“Don’t wait up. I have a ton of files to go through.”

And Natasha would nod, pretending everything was fine, even as she lay in the dark, alone.

Sometimes, other members of the team would come by, but they were too busy to stay long, and Natasha wasn’t about to burden them with her own loneliness. She didn’t want to be the needy partner who demanded attention. So, she tried to fill the silence by keeping busy, like working on her own training or catching up with Clint, but even that didn’t erase the quiet emptiness she felt in your absence.

You hadn’t realized. Or maybe, you hadn’t noticed how much you’d drifted away. Your focus was on the mission, on keeping the team safe, on the work that needed to be done, and Natasha understood that. She wasn’t angry with you. But somewhere between the late nights and early mornings, she had slipped through the cracks.

And with the passing weeks, Natasha's growing discomfort seemed to only intensify. She had always been strong, capable, but the changes happening in her body, combined with your increasing absence, were slowly eating away at her. She tried to brush it off, to remain the confident, fierce Black Widow, but deep down, doubts gnawed at her.

Her body had changed as the baby grew, and she could feel her insecurities creeping in. The soft curves, the slight roundness in her belly, the changes she couldn’t ignore. She knew, intellectually, that it was natural, that this was a process she was supposed to embrace. But all she could see was the woman she once was slipping further and further from view, replaced by someone unfamiliar.

And you, the person she needed most, were always busy. You were still there, but you weren’t really there. You’d rush in and out, offering half-hearted apologies when you saw the sadness in her eyes, but it never seemed enough. She didn’t want to burden you more, didn’t want to add to your already overflowing plate, so she remained silent, trying to make do with the little moments she could grab in between your tasks.

But then, as the days stretched into weeks, something shifted. The way you looked at her, or maybe the way you didn’t look at her. It was subtle at first, but Natasha started to feel invisible. Was it the baby? Was she no longer desirable to you? The fear of you losing interest in her started to fester deep inside. She knew you loved her, but that didn’t make the pain of being neglected any less real.

She tried to convince herself that it was just the stress, the weight of being an Avenger, but the fear of you leaving her, especially with the baby on the way, made her chest tighten. And it all festered until that fateful night.

--

It wasn't that late but the house was dark and quiet, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as you slipped inside. The mission had wrapped up early, for once, and instead of your usual routine of staying to finish reports or help Tony tweak weapons, you’d decided to come home. Natasha had been on your mind all day, you missed her and wanted to see your favourite person and soon-to-be other favourite person (your baby) again.

As you walked down the hallway toward your bedroom, you noticed the faint light seeping through the slightly ajar door. You slowed, intending to surprise her, but the soft sound of her voice made you pause.

Natasha was talking. No, she was… whispering.

You peeked through the crack in the door, and your heart clenched at the sight. She was sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her swollen belly, her head bowed as though in deep conversation. Her voice was thick with emotion, barely above a whisper, but every word carried the weight of her pain.

“Hey, малютка,” she began, her tone soft and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard in months. “It’s just us again tonight. I guess that’s nothing new, huh?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. She thought she was alone, pouring her heart out to the child growing inside her.

“I know she’s busy. She’s saving the world, like always. And I’m so proud of her. I really am,” Natasha said, her hand rubbing gentle circles over her belly. “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I’m the only one here. Like she’s forgotten about us.”

Your chest tightened, the guilt clawing at your insides as you stayed rooted in place, unable to interrupt her.

“Maybe it’s me,” Natasha continued, her voice cracking. “Maybe she’s just... not attracted to me anymore. I mean, look at me.” She let out a hollow laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. “I’m not the same woman she married. I’m bigger, slower, more emotional. I cry at stupid things like movies now. I wouldn’t blame her if she looked at me and thought, ‘This isn’t who I fell in love with.’”

“No, Nat,” you whispered under your breath, tears stinging your eyes.

“She probably thinks I’m too clingy,” Natasha said after a long pause. “But it’s just... I miss her. I miss the way she used to hold me, talk to me, look at me like I was her entire world. And now... now I feel like I’m just another thing on her to-do list.”

You wanted to burst in, to tell her how wrong she was, but you couldn’t move. Her words pinned you in place, each one hitting you like a punch to the gut.

Natasha’s voice softened again, almost a whisper. “I’m scared, малютка . What if she leaves? What if she realizes she doesn’t want this life, doesn’t want me... or you?”

Your knees nearly buckled as she continued, her words slicing through you like shards of glass.

“I’m trying to be strong for us. But some days, I feel like I’m falling apart.” Natasha sniffled, her voice trembling. “I just hope... I hope you’ll know how much I love you. Even if she doesn’t stay, you’ll always have me. I promise, okay?”

That was it. You couldn’t take another second of her pain. Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, and Natasha’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face a mixture of shock and mortification.

“Y/N?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “How long have you been standing there?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too thick, and the shame was too heavy. Instead, you crossed the room in a few quick strides, sinking to your knees in front of her.

“Tasha,” you choked out, your voice breaking, unable to conjure any words.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly, reaching for your hands. “No, Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to downplay it. I’ve been so blind, so caught up in everything else, that I didn’t even see how much I’ve hurt you.”

Your eyes glistened as you looked up at her, your heart breaking at the sight of her swollen belly and the raw pain in her eyes. “I’ve been such a selfish idiot, Nat. You’re my wife. You’re carrying our child, and I’ve been neglecting you. I let you feel alone, and I let you doubt yourself. God, I’m so fucking stupid.”

Natasha tried to squeeze your hands, to reassure you, but it only made you feel worse. “I know you’re busy,” she began, her voice soft and hesitant. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, don’t,” you pleaded, cutting her off. “Please don’t make excuses for me. I don’t deserve it. I’ve been putting everything else first when it should have been you. I’ve been taking you for granted, and I hate myself for it.”

She hesitated, her lips trembling, and you could see the walls she’d tried to build around her pain start to crumble. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden,” she admitted quietly.

“You could never be a burden,” you said firmly, cupping her face in your hands. “You and our baby are the most important things in my life. And I’ve been so stupid, Nat. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I didn’t realize what I was doing to you, to us.”

“I’m so sorry, I—please forgive me, Nat. I promise, I promise, I’ll be here. I’ll be here for you, for the baby. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with tears of her own, and for a moment, she was silent. But then she nodded, slowly, her face softening with the first real sense of relief you’d seen from her in weeks.

“You mean it?” Her voice was small, fragile, but hopeful.

“I mean it,” you whispered, pulling her into your arms, holding her tightly. “I’ll be here, Nat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. You’ll never feel alone again.”

She melted into your embrace, her arms wrapping around you as her tears fell silently against your skin.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’ve missed you so much.”

"I missed you too", you whispered back with a kiss to her forehead.

And you held her tighter, never wanting to let go. The weight of the past weeks hung between you, but in that moment, as you both finally allowed the distance between you to close, it felt like there was hope. Hope that, despite everything, you could fix this. You could be the partner she deserved. The mother of your child. The one she needed.

And you’d never make her feel alone again.

[midastouch013]

Hi love your fics. I maybe have a request if it’s ok. About Natasha and femreader flying away from danger but the airplane crush lands in an island but readers hurt and can’t really help much. But Natasha and reader are never nice to each other but not enemies either. Now they have to work together to survive. Something like that. Hopefully you get what am trying to say. If you can thanks if not it’s ok don’t worry I still like your work.

Yup, I think I got it. Anyways, it out. I'm not sure if this is my best work, but I hope it meets your expectations, and feel free to request a part 2 if you want

Here's the fic

[midastouch013]

Deserted Island

Based on this request

Summary: You and Natasha have never been exactly 'friends', but will it take a change when a mission gone wrong ends up with you both on a deserted island ?

Warnings: None

P.S : In all honesty, I will admit this isn't one of my best works, but I promise I'll try to make the next ones better.

--

The mission had gone south faster than a lead balloon. As you stumbled towards the Quinjet with Natasha by your side, every step felt like a monumental effort. Pain seared through your arm with each movement, but you gritted your teeth, refusing to slow down.

Natasha glanced at you, her expression unreadable as always. "You okay?"

You forced a smirk, despite the pain. "Just peachy. Though, I've had better days."

She rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Clearly."

Natasha wasted no time in getting the jet off the ground, her hands flying over the controls with practiced ease. As the Quinjet soared through the sky, the tension inside matched the turbulence outside. You winced, clutching your injured arm, feeling Natasha's icy gaze upon you. "Well, that was fun," you muttered.

Natasha's response was her signature deadpan stare. "Define 'fun'," she retorted, her tone as frosty as ever.

"Oh, you know, the thrill of dodging bullets, the rush of adrenaline," you quipped, flashing her a crooked grin despite the pain pulsing through your arm.

She rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. "Remind me to skip your idea of a good time next time."

You sighed, leaning back in the chair, having finally wrapped your injured arm in the time you had shared this small conversation with the redhead, closing your eyes to rest. But when you thought you were in the clear, ready to catch up on some sleep, alarms blared throughout the cockpit, lights flashing red.

"What now?" you groaned, opening your eyes to see Natasha cursing under her breath, her fingers flying over the controls in a frantic dance.

“ Engine Failure, So much for Tony’s tech skills”

As the Quinjet soared over the ocean, tension hung heavy in the air. And then, it happened. The engine stuttered, and warning lights flooded the cockpit.

Natasha's hands continued to fly over the controls, her movements precise despite the urgency of the situation. "Brace yourself. We're going down."

You clenched your jaw, your heart pounding in your chest as the Quinjet descended towards the deserted island below. The impact sent a jolt of pain through your arm, and you bit back a curse as the aircraft came to a halt.

When the dust settled, you exchanged a glance with Natasha. "Well, that was one way to make an entrance."

She didn't respond, her attention focused on assessing the damage to the Quinjet. But you couldn't resist needling her, even in the face of danger.

"You know, if you wanted a vacation, all you had to do was ask. No need for the dramatics."

Natasha shot you a glare, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "You're unbelievable."

You grinned, despite the circumstances. "You love it."

—

Natasha had wasted no time slipping into survival mode, rattling off a list of tasks with her usual efficiency. "We need to build a shelter, gather food, and start a signal fire. And considering how you're usually useless, and with your arm like that, you're going to be even more useless."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offence. "Hey, I resent that remark!"

“And I resent you”

You opened your mouth to retort but decide against it, and close your mouth as the redhead begins her litany of survival tasks, her tone growing more exasperated with each item she mentioned. 

"Build a shelter, gather food," she repeated, ticking off each task with a stern look. "And don't think I'm going to do all the work here.", her statement contradicting the one about you few minutes prior

You met her gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Relax, Romanoff. Shelter's already taken care of—The Quinjet, in case you were wondering. And I'm pretty sure we packed enough MREs to last us a week. All you need to do is chill, and let's figure out how to get an SOS out there without throttling each other."

Her expression darkened slightly at your casual dismissal of her plans. "This isn't a joke, Y/n. We need to be prepared."

You shrugged, unfazed by her disapproval, and started walking towards the Quinjet. But true to her competitive nature, Natasha swiftly picked up her pace, walking ahead with purpose.

Rolling your eyes at her stubbornness, you followed after her. 

As Natasha and you scrambled through the Quinjet, searching for a way to signal for help, she discovered a compartment marked with Stark Industries logos. 

"Found it," she declared, flipping open the panel to reveal an array of switches and buttons. With practiced efficiency, she activated the emergency call beacon. 

Within moments, Tony Stark's face appeared on the small screen. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Romanoff and Y/l/n. What's the emergency, ladies?"

Natasha smirked, her usual reserved demeanor easing into a more relaxed banter. "Quinjet down on an island. Need a pickup."

Tony leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye. "You know, I thought I told you not to break my toys, Natasha."

You couldn't resist chiming in. "Don't worry, Stark. It's in one piece—mostly."

Tony chuckled, his charisma palpable even through the screen. "Alright, alright. Rescue's on the way. ETA tomorrow morning. Just hold tight."

Natasha nodded, her tone more businesslike now. "We'll be ready."

The call ended, and you shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that's that. Rescue's coming. Might as well enjoy the beach while we can."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You never fail to find the silver lining, do you?"

You grinned, heading towards the exit of the Quinjet. "Hey, might as well make the most of it, right?"

–

As night settled over the deserted island, you stepped out of the Quinjet after a quick trip to the restroom. The cool evening breeze swept over the beach, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. To your surprise, in the most random occurrence, Natasha emerged from the sea, drenched and shivering, her usual composed facade slipping for a moment.

You sighed softly, shaking your head at one of her occasional lapses of common sense. Grabbing a towel from the supplies Tony insisted on keeping in the jet for emergencies, you approached Natasha, who protested half-heartedly as you draped the towel around her shoulders.

"Come on, Romanoff," you said gently, guiding her towards the Quinjet. "Let's get you warmed up."

She hesitated for a moment but relented, allowing you to lead her back inside. Once there, you headed to the spare room where you kept a change of clothes—something you always packed, just in case.

Natasha watched you with a mixture of reluctance and gratitude as you handed her the clothes. "I appreciate the gesture, but I'm fine."

You chuckled softly. "Sure you are." With a playful smirk, you added, "Besides, I think you'll look better in dry clothes."

She raised an eyebrow, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes as she took the clothes from you. "Fine. But don't get used to this."

Moments later, she emerged from the room wearing your hoodie and sweats, her hair still damp and her face scrubbed free of makeup. Despite her disheveled appearance, there was an undeniable allure to her, and you couldn't help but notice how stunning she looked in your clothes.

"You wear my clothes nice, Romanoff," you teased, a genuine smile tugging at your lips.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Don't make a habit of complimenting me."

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the tropical climate. 

“ Duly noted” you say with a smile on your face “ I’m gonna watch the night from the top, you’re welcome to join”

The redhead gave you a look which screamed ‘ I don’t know what you minted to do, and its probably not good, but I’m still tagging along’

The night air was cool and soothing as you and Natasha sat atop the Quinjet, both lost in contemplation under the soft glow of the moon. Your injured arm was snug in a makeshift sling and bandage, a constant reminder of the day's events. The silence between you felt heavy with unspoken words and unexplored feelings.

Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, you turned to Natasha with a sarcastic quirk of your eyebrow. "So, Romanoff, remind me again why you hate me so much?"

She glanced at you, her expression guarded but tinged with something softer beneath the surface, seemingly caught by the unexpected question. "I don't hate you, Y/n. I just... find you infuriating."

You chuckled softly, the tension in your shoulders easing at her honest response. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment coming from you."

Her lips twitched, almost a smile, before her gaze returned to the moonlit horizon. "You don't make it easy, you know."

You sighed softly,. "I know. I have a knack for pushing people's buttons."

There was a pause, the sound of the ocean waves filling the space between you. Then, tentatively, you reached out, placing a hand gently on Natasha's shoulder. "But I also know there's more to you than meets the eye, Nat."

She stiffened slightly at your touch, but didn't pull away. Her voice was quieter now, vulnerable. "You don't know me."

You met her gaze steadily, your tone sincere. "Maybe not. But I'd like to."

As Natasha's dry chuckle echoed in the still night air, her words carried a weight you couldn't ignore. "You really wouldn't," she insisted, her voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "And if you did, you'd regret it."

You rolled your eyes in response, a silent retort forming on your lips. Instead of arguing further, you reached for your phone and pulled up your Spotify downloads. Scrolling through the list, you found the slow, melodic tune you knew was her favorite.

With a smirk, you hit play, letting the music fill the quiet space between you. Natasha's surprise was evident, though she tried to mask it with a casual glance away. The song's gentle melody wrapped around you both, weaving a tender thread of connection in the cool night.

Taking a deep breath, you held out your hand to her with a goofy grin. "Come on, Romanoff. Dance with me."

Her initial instinct seemed to be to refuse, but something in your demeanor or the unexpected gentleness of the moment made her hesitate. Finally, she relented, placing her hand in yours with a faint sigh.

As you both swayed slowly to the music, the silence between you spoke volumes. You took the opportunity to explain yourself, your voice gentle and sincere amidst the playful banter that usually defined your interactions.

"I do see you, Nat," you admitted softly. "I see the tough exterior, the walls you've built. But I also see the strength, the loyalty, the way you always have our backs, even when you push us away."

She listened quietly, her gaze softening as she met your eyes. There was a vulnerability in her expression, a rare glimpse behind the mask she wore so well.

"You're not easy to read," you continued, a small smile quirking your lips. "But I think that's part of why we clash. It's also why... why I can't help but want to understand you better."

Natasha's expression softened further, a mixture of surprise and something deeper flickering in her eyes. She didn't respond immediately, but the fact that she hadn't pulled away spoke volumes.

"And hey," you added, injecting a hint of your usual sarcasm to lighten the mood, "even if you decide to kill me later for this moment of vulnerability, at least we'll always have this dance."

She huffed a quiet laugh, the tension between you easing as you both swayed together in the dim light of the Quinjet. The song played on, a gentle backdrop to the unspoken understanding that had bloomed between you.

In that moment, surrounded by the quiet of the night and the warmth of the music, you realized that perhaps there was more to your relationship with Natasha than just witty comebacks and some frigidness.

[midastouch013]

I miss your fics! 🧡

Don't worry!, I'll have some out for you guys soon

[midastouch013]

You’re a top!reader/dom!reader writer??! I mean not in the smut way, but you know what I mean, like, Reader is more top! YES!! THANK YOU!! It’s been so damn dry of top!reader fics! It’s hard to read some fics when it’s always sub!reader, and as someone who’s not really the submissive type when it comes to relationships, this is great to have your writing to read on!! 👍🧡🧡

YESS. I do know what you mean. I was so sick of seeing fics where the reader needs to be comforted by whichever marvel woman it is all the time. Sure, one or two where we need their support is fine, but have you seen them? They're the ones who deserve the comfort, they're the ones who went through trauma, they're the ones who need someone to just hold them and tell them they'll be okay.

And, I'm not trashing sub!readers, you do you, but these woman just need to be cared for the most.

I just personally don't prefer having the woman who need to be taken care of, taking care of 'reader' in the sense of basic things. But, that's my opinion, and I apologise if I have offended everyone, but I stand by my statement.

And Thank youu

[midastouch013]

Hello! If you've got any ideas for Nat x gn!r (maybe as a new recruit, maybe not), it'd be greatly appreciated. Have a great day/night!

I actually have none, but if you do have one, I'd be more than willing to write one.

[midastouch013]

Are you comfortable writing about pregnancy? I have a request for it but don’t wanna send it until I know for sure you are comfortable with it

Yeah, I'd write pregnancy fics, but not with the reader pregnant though.

[midastouch013]

I’ve been so interested in your writing! It’s very good 💕💕

Thank you so very much. This just made my day 😁😁😁