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beforeoursecrets · 6 days ago

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In the Beginning, There Was Love.

Summary: Hidden among mortals for centuries, the goddess Aphrodite is finally found. Not by the gods, but by Natasha Romanoff, a woman bound to her by something far older than fate. As cosmic forces rise to tear the world apart, their souls remember what history has long forgotten: they have always been connected across lifetimes, through the stars, and into the heart of war.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Aphrodite!reader

Author's Note: I've had this written for some time now, and though maybe I could post it here. Hope you like it! Planning to revise it later.

Divisors by @miau-meow-miau

The Nine Realms were no longer in harmony.

It started as a silence. Subtle. Hollow. Treaties that once stood for millennia unraveled with a single word. Ambassadors from Alfheim never returned. The sky over Vanaheim no longer answered the sun. In Muspelheim, flames burned out of rhythm. A chaos no blade could fix.

The threads were loosening. And Yggdrasil, the great tree that held the cosmos together, trembled.

In the halls of Asgard, thunder cracked low and restless. Thor stood at the edge of the Observatory, watching the stars drift ever so slightly… wrong. Portals flickered, constellations stuttered.

He gripped Mjolnir harder.

“You feel it too,” came a voice behind him. Odin. Pale, older now. Tired.

Thor nodded. “Something’s tearing the Realms apart. But it’s not war. Not yet.”

“It’s older than war. And deeper. It’s the unraveling of connection. The beginning of forgetting.” Odin’s eyes were far away.

Thor turned sharply. “Then we fight. We defend the bridges—”

“You misunderstand,” Odin interrupted. “You cannot strike at this with a hammer.”

He moved to the ancient crystal table at the heart of the Observatory.

A shimmer formed above it, not a map, but something more fragile. The Ley of the Realms, glowing threads that linked one world to another.

Or they had. Now, one by one, they faded into gray.

“Only one power in existence was ever strong enough to bind the Realms through feeling, through trust, through love.”

Thor narrowed his eyes. “…You're not saying—”

“Aphrodite.”

The name fell like thunder across silence.

Thor flinched. “She hasn't been seen in centuries. She vanished. Some say she abandoned us.”

Odin looked at him with something almost like grief. “No. She stayed where the connection still burns brightest. Where love, in all its forms, is chaos and beauty.”

He raised his hand, pointing toward the center of the stars. Toward Midgard.

Thor’s jaw clenched. “If she’s there… I’ll find her.”

Odin shook his head. “You won’t. She won't come for Gods. She hides from us. But she might come for someone who doesn't worship her. Someone who sees beyond the myth.”

Thor hesitated. Maybe he already knows who he'd ask for help.

Somewhere in New York, Natasha Romanoff sat at a rooftop bar.

Her glass sat untouched. Her fingers traced a coaster, not from boredom, but instinct. She was listening.

Something in the air had changed.

No explosions. No reports. Just… static. On every channel. As if the world had lost signal with something it didn’t know it needed.

When Thor appeared — cloak damp with rain, face grim — she didn’t flinch.

“That bad?” she asked.

He didn’t sit. “I need your help.”

“Always a good sign,” she muttered.

Then he said the name.

She blinked. “Aphrodite? The goddess?”

Thor nodded. “She's the only one who can restore what's breaking. But no one knows where she is.”

Natasha leaned back, folding her arms.

“And what makes you think I’ll find her?”

Thor stepped closer.

“Because you’re not looking for power. You’re looking for something real. You don’t chase gods, Romanoff. You chase ghosts. And Aphrodite… is both.”

That night, Natasha started walking.

She didn’t ask SHIELD. Didn’t consult a file.

Instead, she followed instinct. Old whispers. Symbols buried beneath cities, songs played in subway tunnels, fragments of myths wrapped in pop songs and perfume ads.

Something was pulling her. Older than magic.

Natasha Romanoff had always chased ghosts. But this was different.

She didn’t leave New York like a soldier on assignment. She left like someone being pulled by something that whispered just beyond hearing, something that felt like memory and dream intertwined.

Her first stop wasn’t a temple or tomb.

It was a record store in Rome, one with no digital footprint. She sat for hours, listening to dusty vinyls of old love songs translated into twenty languages. Each version had a different lyric. A different name whispered into the chorus. One of them — just once — sang of a woman with golden light in her hands and eyes that changed color with the sky.

She copied the lyric onto a page and kept moving.

In Athens, she visited the ruins no one guarded — a collapsed courtyard said to have once bloomed with roses in winter. The stonework had faint carvings, worn down by centuries, but when she traced her fingers over one spiral, her chest ached. Not pain. Something else. Like recognition.

She started noticing patterns.

Pigeons swirled faster in cities where street musicians played songs about longing. Couples met eyes longer in cafés where a certain perfume lingered. Neon signs flickered like constellations in alleyways where no one had hung lights.

In Istanbul, she met a woman who read fortunes in tea leaves.

"You’re looking for the goddess," the woman said without prompting.

"But you already carry part of her inside you."

In Tokyo, she followed the scent of roses down to an underground club that only played ballads from the 1970s. The bartender said he had never heard of Aphrodite. Yet when Natasha asked, he quietly slid a napkin across the counter. On it was a sketch of a woman smiling like she knew all your secrets and loved you anyway.

The napkin was decades old.

She slept on trains. Ate little. Talked less.

But each place she went, she found evidence of something slipping just beyond the edges of reality. Someone moving like emotion, leaving no footprints but awakening something ancient in everyone who crossed her path.

In London, she cracked it.

She fed keywords through SHIELD’s forgotten archives. Cross-referenced them with poetry, intercepted text messages, and emotional spikes in public areas. She used AI to filter out everything logical, and what remained was a path made of feelings.

Not dates.

Moments.

Whispers of miracles. Lovers reunited without explanation. Strangers moved to tears on subway cars. People who described seeing a woman in the crowd just before falling in love, or remembering something they thought lost forever.

Each witness described her differently.

But all of them remembered her eyes.

Some said blue. Some green. Some said they were like galaxies collapsing inward.

And so Natasha followed the thread across continents.

Until it led her to Paris.

It was always going to be Paris.

The city hummed with every kind of love — soft, broken, desperate, new. And tonight, it pulsed like a heartbeat under lights and laughter.

Natasha moved through the crowd outside the stadium like she belonged, but her senses were razor sharp. Something was here. She could feel it under her skin.

A Taylor Swift concert.

The singer’s voice echoed through the city like a spell — every lyric about loss, about redemption, about surrender. Each note feeding something in the air.

And then…

At the far end of the stage pit. Surrounded by strangers and strobe lights.

She saw her.

Not glowing. Not crowned.

Just standing still, in the middle of movement.

Smiling at nothing.

But when Natasha’s eyes met hers, the woman turned.

Tilted her head, and smiled like she’d been waiting.

The concert pulsed around her like a living heart. Natasha moved through the bodies swaying in rhythm, ignoring the brush of hands, the bursts of flashlights, the wave of sound. She wasn’t looking for a threat. Not this time. She was following a presence. A warmth. A gravity unlike anything she'd ever felt.

She caught sight of gold disappearing beneath a velvet curtain at the far end of the venue, just beyond the stage.

Without hesitation, Natasha slipped backstage.

It was quiet there. Dim. The muffled roar of the crowd beyond the walls seemed distant now, like thunder far away. The air was heavy with anticipation, or maybe it was just her.

She turned a corner and stopped.

Aphrodite stood near the open arch of a balcony, her silhouette glowing softly in the moonlight, as if the stars themselves bent toward her. The golden fabric of her dress rippled gently, though there was no wind. The scent of roses hung in the air.

Natasha didn’t speak. She waited.

Aphrodite smiled without turning. "You came."

Her voice was music, not in the way of poets, but in the truest sense. It resonated inside Natasha’s chest like the echo of something she’d forgotten she needed.

"You left the moment I saw you," Natasha said, her voice rougher than she intended. "But you wanted me to follow."

Aphrodite turned then. Fully. Slowly. Her eyes were galaxies, not metaphorically, but truly. Endless depths of color, light, and memory.

She looked at Natasha like she knew her.

"I didn't leave," she said gently. "You just had to decide if you wanted to see me."

Natasha took a step forward. Her instincts screamed for logic, for distance, but her body moved like it belonged somewhere else now. Somewhere closer.

"Who are you, really?" she asked. Not like a demand. More like a confession.

Aphrodite tilted her head. "You already know."

Natasha hesitated. Her mind searched for protocol. There was none.

"You're not just a goddess, are you? Not like Thor. Not like the others."

Aprodite’s smile deepened. Not prideful, but aching. "I’m the memory in every soul that ever longed to be understood. I’m the silence between the first look and the first touch. I am love before it’s named."

Natasha blinked, throat tight. "And you’ve been on Earth all this time? Why?"

Aphrodite walked closer. She moved like water, like light, like every answer Natasha had never let herself ask.

"Because Midgard needed me. And because I needed it." She looked out at the city beyond the balcony. "This world is the last place where love still tries. Even when it’s broken. Even when it hurts. That effort… it feeds me."

Natasha followed her gaze. Paris glowed. Bridges lit like veins, streets alive with laughter, pain, and connection. She didn’t answer right away. But she did understand. She felt it. The hum in her chest, the way her pulse synced with something far older than blood. Older than logic. Older than fear.

Aphrodite watched her, eyes soft and full of knowing.

"You're quieter now," she said with a smile, voice playful, velvet-smooth. "I expected more fire from the woman who tracked me through the world like a shadow."

Natasha let out a quiet breath, crossing her arms more for control than defense. "I was on a mission."

Her voice was cool, but her cheeks betrayed her. A faint warmth she couldn’t quite hide.

Aphrodite stepped closer, the golden light clinging to her like breath.

"Are you still?"

The question hung in the air. Not accusing, not teasing. Just open.

Natasha didn’t answer. Instead, she straightened, shifting her stance like a soldier trying to remember her orders.

"The world needs you," she said finally. "Thor… your brother. He asked me to find you. He says the Realms are collapsing. That only you can fix what's coming."

Aphrodite tilted her head slightly, a strand of hair catching the moonlight. "And you came all this way for him?"

Natasha hesitated. Her heart gave the answer before her mouth did.

"I came because something told me you were real." She swallowed hard. "And because when I saw you, I couldn’t… walk away."

Aprodite’s smile deepened, not victorious, but moved.

"Oh, Natasha. " Her voice dripped with affection now, her gaze sweeping slowly upward. "That name… feels too sharp for someone like you."

Natasha raised a brow. "Someone like me?"

Aphrodite circled her slowly, enchanted. She stopped behind Natasha, fingertips grazing the ends of her hair. "You wear danger like silk," she whispered. "But you carry so much softness under it. Your heart, your grief, your fire…"

Her fingers brushed a lock of red hair gently forward over Natasha’s shoulder. "And these? Flames on silk. No wonder the stars leaned closer the night you were born."

Natasha's breath hitched. She stepped forward — half from instinct, half from nerves.

"You're really good at that," she muttered, trying to shake off the effect. "Flattering people. Making them forget what they’re doing."

Aphrodite laughed softly. "I don’t flatter, Natasha. I only speak the truth, especially when it’s wrapped in a red braid and smirking like a storm."

Natasha turned then, facing her. "So you'll come with me?"

Afrodite was quiet for a moment.

"I will. But not because of Thor." Her voice dropped lower. "Because you asked."

That stopped Natasha. Completely.

"Why does that matter?" she asked, the words almost caught in her throat.

Aphrodite stepped closer, until their hands nearly touched. "Because I’ve hidden from kings. Escaped gods. Turned away armies...But I’ve never looked into someone’s eyes and thought…" She leaned in, gaze searching. "‘This one sees me.’"

Natasha didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And for once in her life, she didn’t have a plan.

Aphrodite smiled softly, her voice a whisper now. "Take me to him, fiery heart. Let the worlds wait a little longer. Tonight, I want to walk beside the one who found me."

The night wrapped Paris in velvet as the quinjet lifted from the rooftop of an old museum near the Seine. The engines hummed low and steady, cutting through the stars like a whisper. Below, the City of Love faded into lights and shadows.

But in the cabin, it was just the two of them.

Natasha sat in the pilot seat, eyes scanning the dashboard, pretending to be more focused than she was. She felt the shift behind her, the way the air moved when Afrodite walked like the atmosphere itself remembered how to feel.

The goddess stood near the window now, fingers resting lightly on the frame, watching the clouds rush past beneath them.

"The sky never looks the same twice," Aphrodite murmured. "Even the stars change when you're falling in love."

Natasha glanced at her reflection in the control panel, then back to the flight path.

"Are we calling this love already?" she asked. Voice dry, but there was no real sarcasm in it. Only breathlessness.

Aphrodite turned, her expression playful but sincere. "No. But I can feel its shape forming between us." She tilted her head. "Can’t you?"

Natasha said nothing. She only stared forward, jaw clenched in defense. Of something cracking. Something she wasn't ready to name.

"You’re used to danger," Aphrodite continued, moving closer. Her feet made no sound on the metal floor. "You dance with it. Sleep beside it. Wear it like perfume." She stopped beside Natasha's chair, lowering her voice. "But you’ve never really let softness in. Have you?"

Natasha’s fingers tightened on the steering column.

"Softness gets people killed," she said.

Aphrodite’s smile didn’t fade, but it grew… sadder. "Only if they forget what it’s for."

A long silence fell between them. The quinjet flew steady, silent, an island between stars.

Finally, Natasha spoke.

"You’ve seen so much," she said. "More than anyone. You’ve been loved and worshipped. Forgotten and feared. Why stay hidden for so long?"

Aphrodite looked out the window again, her profile bathed in moonlight. "Because sometimes even love has to rest." She turned her gaze back to Natasha. "And because the world stopped listening. They wanted power, not connection. I needed to wait… for someone who still remembered what it felt like."

Her eyes softened. "And then you came. A woman who walks like silence and burns like dawn."

Natasha exhaled slowly, her walls cracking under the weight of something she didn’t recognize, or maybe didn’t want to.

She looked up at Aphrodite. "You’re not what I expected."

Aphrodite smiled. "Neither are you."

The console beeped softly, autopilot engaged. Natasha stood from her seat, taking a step toward the back of the quinjet, needing space. Needing distance.

Aphrodite followed, but didn’t press. She simply watched her with calm, open warmth.

Natasha leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "Thor will want to see you the second we land."

"Then let him." Afrodite sat gracefully on one of the passenger benches, legs folded beneath her like the goddess she was, casual and radiant.

"And you?" she asked gently. "What do you want, Natasha?"

The question landed like lightning in a silent field.

Natasha looked at her. Really looked. At the way Aphrodite's presence made the quinjet feel less like a weapon and more like a vessel of something alive. The way her voice carved its way through the quiet, not like an echo, but like a beginning.

She didn’t answer.

But Afrodite smiled anyway, as if she already knew.

The cabin was quiet again.

Aphrodite had settled into stillness, eyes half-closed, as if she were listening to something only she could hear, a melody woven into the stars. Natasha stayed by the back wall of the quinjet, arms crossed, back straight. Watching her.

Trying not to feel.

Her heart was racing again. Not in the way it used to before a mission or a kill, but in that unfamiliar, maddening way that made her aware of her hands, her breath, the space between her skin and someone else’s.

She hated it.

She turned away, walked toward the back of the ship where a narrow service corridor offered some illusion of privacy. There, she leaned against the cool metal and closed her eyes.

"Get it together." She muttered it under her breath, jaw tense. But the words felt hollow. Something was happening to her, And it wasn’t part of the plan.

Natasha ran a hand through her hair and exhaled sharply.

Aphrodite. The goddess of love. Desire. Emotion incarnate.

Of course she felt something. That’s what Aphrodite did, right? That’s who she was. Her presence created longing. Her voice slid into your bloodstream like honey and poison. Her gaze wasn’t just beautiful, it was designed to unravel you.

Any rational person would fall under her spell. So what made Natasha think she was any different?

She clenched her fists. Her thoughts spiraled.

"This isn’t you," she told herself. "You don’t fall for smiles and poetry. You don’t melt just because someone touches your hair."

But the words didn’t calm her. They only dug the hole deeper.

Was any of this real? The stolen looks. The breathless moments. The warmth in her chest when Afrodite said her name like it was sacred.

Was Natasha actually feeling something… Or was she just failing to resist?

She'd spent a lifetime guarding her emotions, keeping everyone at arm’s length. Now, in the span of a single night, one goddess had cracked her open like glass in warm water.

And she hated how much she wanted it to be real.

Because if it wasn't — if this was just magic, manipulation, the natural consequence of being near the source of divine desire — then it meant she was a fool.

It meant anyone in her place would feel the same. That none of this was hers.

That Aphrodite’s gaze — her voice, her smile — didn’t belong to Natasha. They were just echoes of what the goddess always gave.

She swallowed hard.

A small part of her wanted to run. To finish the mission, deliver Aphrodite to Thor, and then vanish before her own walls gave in completely. Before she said or did something she couldn't take back.

But another part — quieter, older, almost buried — whispered:

What if it's not magic?

What if it's just… you?

She shook the thought away and pushed off the wall, jaw clenched, spine straight again. She had to be ready. They were almost there.

Whatever this was, whatever it meant, she couldn’t afford to fall apart.

Not yet.

The quinjet landed softly on the Avengers Compound’s main platform, the engines purring to silence beneath the glow of dusk.

Natasha stayed in the cockpit a moment longer than she had to, her fingers resting on the controls, knuckles pale. The mission was complete. She'd found the goddess. Brought her here. Fulfilled her duty.

So why did it feel like something in her was unraveling?

Behind her, Aphrodite moved gracefully down the ramp, the wind playing with the golden fabric of her dress. She looked at the compound with quiet disinterest — not disdain, but fatigue. As though she were walking into a memory she’d already mourned.

Thor was waiting at the edge of the landing pad, his presence broad and unmoving, the storm restrained just beneath his skin.

He took a step forward the moment he saw her. "Sister."

Afrodite didn’t stop walking, but her expression shifted, not warmly. Not with excitement. Just… resignation.

"You finally found me," she said.

"We need you," Thor said. "The Realms are tearing apart. The Fates themselves have no thread strong enough to hold them. Only you—"

"No." Afrodite’s voice was soft, but it sliced through the air like a blade wrapped in silk. She stopped a few feet away from him, eyes steady. "I’m not going back."

Thor looked stunned — and then confused, frustrated.

"You have to. Odin's sent visions from beyond the veil. The rupture is growing. Vanaheim has fallen silent. Even Loki fears—"

Aphrodite shook her head. "You always think it’s about fear. Or duty. Or prophecy."

Her eyes shimmered with something deeper now. "But I didn’t hide, Thor. I left. I walked away from that world because love stopped meaning anything up there. It became a transaction. A crown on a broken head."

She glanced toward the building — the cold steel, the sharp corners, the endless war rooms.

"Here, it’s messy. Loud. Human. But it’s real."

Thor stepped closer, trying to keep his tone steady.

"And what happens when the Realms collapse? Midgard won’t be spared. You know this."

Aphrodite turned from him, looking out over the treetops that framed the compound. The wind lifted her hair gently.

"Then let it end with truth," she whispered.

Thor opened his mouth to speak again — but Natasha stepped forward.

Quiet. Careful.

Aphrodite’s eyes found her instantly. And stayed.

Natasha held her gaze, jaw tense. "That’s it? You’re just going to walk away? Leave everything to fall apart because you got tired?"

Aphrodite didn’t bristle. She didn’t strike back.

"No," she said. "I’m going to protect what I still believe in. And if that means staying far away from the games the gods play, then yes — I’ll walk away. Again."

But there was something else in her voice now. A flicker of doubt. The first fracture.

Natasha stepped closer.

"You told me Midgard still tries. That we remember love, even when it’s broken." Her voice wavered, but her feet stayed planted.

"But what if we can’t do it without you? What if we lose that thread too?"

Aphrodite didn’t answer. Her lips parted slightly, her chest rising like she’d stopped breathing for a moment too long.

She looked at Natasha like she’d forgotten the sky above them. The world. The war.

"You still think this is just magic, don’t you?" she asked softly.

"That what you’re feeling… what I’m feeling… is just the ripple of my name?"

Natasha didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Aphrodite stepped back, visibly shaken for the first time.

"You see, Thor…" she murmured, without looking at him.

"That’s why I can't go back. Because the Realms never gave me anything like this."

She turned away from them both, eyes closed, like she needed to press herself into the night air just to stay whole.

Thor looked to Natasha with a kind of unspoken ache. "You got through to her in ways I never could."

Natasha didn’t look at him. She only watched Afrodite’s back.

Her pulse thundered like she was still falling.

For a long time, Aphrodite was seen by Odin as an ornamental presence in the pantheon. Beautiful, yes, enchanting, without a doubt, but useless in the face of the demands of war and the brutal strategies that shaped the realms. To him, love was a luxury, not a force. That is why, when the goddess chose to descend to Earth, distancing herself from the celestial field, Odin did not oppose her. He may have even seen her departure as one less distraction.

But he was mistaken.

On Earth, Aphrodite did more than walk among mortals; she understood them. She lived their fleeting and profound loves, felt their pain and rebirths, witnessed how love could move mountains, make kings yield, and unite peoples. She discovered that love, far from being fragile, was the force that sustained hope even in the darkest times. She fed on passion, longing, tenderness, and the courage of those who love despite fear. And she grew.

Far from the halls of Asgard, she transformed. She learned to channel the emotional energy of people and convert it into pure cosmic force. She learned that a sincere promise could hold more power than a sword, and that love — true, unwavering — could be more destructive than any war hammer. Aphrodite became a goddess not only of love, but of emotional transcendence. She came to command constellations, manipulate psychic realities, and heal traumas with the same ease with which other gods wield weapons.

Now, Odin sees.

He sees that while many warriors destroyed themselves in battles of blood, Aphrodite survived and thrived in an invisible war — the war within hearts. He watches her summon auroras with a gesture, transform pain into healing, and realizes that she is not merely useful… she is essential. The love he once scorned is the only force capable of uniting a shattered kingdom, of restoring faith in a world devastated by coldness, ego, and fear.

And so, he calls her back.

Not as an ornament. Not as an empty symbol. But as a primordial force. A reborn goddess.

Odin, the All-Father, finally understands: Aphrodite is not weak for feeling. She is powerful because she makes others feel. And in the new chapter of the war that looms ahead — a war that will not be won by steel alone — the universe will need her.

Aphrodite stormed out of the room and headed straight for the compound’s garden. Natasha and Thor followed in the same direction but kept their distance. Through the window, they could see her standing quietly, gazing up at the night sky. A soft pink glow surrounded her, and Natasha glanced at Thor, surprise and unspoken questions written all over her face.

"She's kind of… recharging," He tries to explain what's happening.

"So…" Natasha started, her voice low and curious as she glanced at the stars above them, the cool night breeze brushing her hair. "Tell me… about your sister. Aphrodite. Is she really all that? Or is she just another pretty goddess with a flashy title?" She tilted her head slightly, trying to hide the genuine intrigue behind her words.

Thor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving the axe resting on his lap. "You’ve faced monsters with hearts of stone, Nat. Now imagine someone who can melt those hearts with just a glance." He looked up at her, his expression softening. "Aphrodite is not just beauty. She is the very power of love, made divine. And love… well, it’s far more dangerous than most realize."

Natasha arched a brow, leaning a bit closer, the flicker of the constellations reflecting in her eyes. "Okay, but what does that actually mean? She shoots heart-shaped beams that explode? That doesn’t sound like a real threat."

Thor’s smile faded, replaced by a knowing seriousness. "Oh, but it is." He raised a hand, fingers spreading like roots reaching deep. "She channels cosmic energy born from human emotions—especially love. Whenever people around her connect, fall in love, or open their hearts, she grows stronger. Every genuine feeling is like a ray of sunlight feeding her power."

He paused, eyes intense. "With that, she doesn’t just fire golden pink blasts of emotional energy. She creates shields made of affection. The deeper the emotional bond, the more impenetrable those shields become."

Natasha’s eyes widened, a slow smile teasing her lips. "Wait. You’re telling me feelings become armor?" Her voice softened, curiosity sharpening. "That’s… actually kind of beautiful."

Thor nodded, voice reverent. "That’s just the beginning. She summons constructs of pure cosmic light, floating bonds that can trap enemies, hearts ablaze with pure desire, luminous wings that make her untouchable." He leaned back, gaze drifting upward. "And there’s more, she’s deeply connected to the constellations."

Natasha’s gaze followed his, interest blossoming as the stars twinkled like secrets waiting to be told. "Wait, constellations? She fights with the sky?"

Thor smiled, a hint of awe coloring his words. "She calls on the myths etched among the stars. Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Orion… Each constellation holds a power born from an ancient love story." He paused, his voice dropping. "Take the Flame of Andromeda, for example. It’s a force that frees anyone imprisoned by the fear of love."

His eyes locked with hers. "She uses these stellar powers to heal, to free… or to destroy when she must."

Natasha crossed her arms, a thoughtful expression overtaking her playful smirk. "Alright… now this is sounding a lot more dangerous than cute." Her voice softened as a question slipped out. "But what about in a real fight? Does she actually know how to fight, or just throw love in the air and hope for the best?"

Thor’s tone grew solemn. "She doesn’t fight with anger." He glanced at her, eyes steady. "She fights with her heart."

His voice lowered, almost a whisper. "And sometimes that’s more deadly than any axe or hammer."

He turned fully to face her, the stars reflected in his eyes. "Aphrodite can weave a Cosmic Veil—an illusion made of love and pain. Anyone trapped inside has to confront their deepest wounds, the heartbreaks they hide. It’s not a battle of fists, but of souls."

Natasha’s breath caught, captivated. "You mean… she can win wars without lifting a sword?" Her voice barely audible.

Thor’s nod was slow, deliberate. "Yes. But when she does strike…" He sat up straighter, voice ringing with quiet power. "She unleashes a Cosmic Explosion of Love. She gathers every spark of love around her, friends, lovers, families, even self-love, and turns it into a wave of cosmic energy that heals wounds, shatters curses, and erases hatred. Machines shut down. Evil dissolves. It’s as if the universe itself remembers how to feel again."

Natasha looked away for a moment, her lips parting as she tried to process the weight of it all. Then, slowly, she looked back at Thor, eyes shining with something new—admiration, fascination… maybe something more. "And she… seems so calm, so serene."

Thor’s smile was tender. "That’s what makes her so terrifying. Her energy is light, beautiful. But it hits with the force of thunder. She can disarm armies with a gesture, make the sky weep, or dance with stars. Every power she calls out makes the cosmos respond. Stars flicker, auroras glow." He sighed, "She is a fundamental force. Like gravity. Like fate."

Natasha exhaled, a slow smile curving her lips as she looked back at the night sky. "Alright then." She looks at the golden hair surrounded by a pink energy, making it flow graciously. Feeling some butterflies in her stomach, Natasha thinks she's just overwhelmed by such a beautiful concept. "Next time someone tells me love isn’t a weapon…" She glanced at Thor with a teasing spark. "I’ll remind them of your sister. And maybe… stay out of her way when she’s in a bad mood."

Thor laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Smart choice."

"Because when Aphrodite’s heart breaks…" He shook his head with a smile. "Even galaxies feel it."

They sat on the old stone bench near the edge of the Avengers compound garden, the night soft and still around them. The stars above blinked quietly, as if listening. Just a few meters ahead, Aphrodite sat cross-legged on the grass, her back to them, a soft golden glow around her shoulders like a sigh from the universe itself. She was running her fingers through the clover and watching the fireflies dance in silence.

Natasha couldn’t stop looking at her.

"She’s been here all this time," she said quietly, almost to herself.

"Living among humans. Not hiding, just… being." Her voice held a mix of awe and confusion, the kind that came from someone trained to see through illusions, and yet, completely disarmed by this one.

Thor nodded beside her, his gaze fixed on the woman in the grass. "She always knew how to disappear when she wanted. I looked for centuries." He sighed, his voice touched with something rare, reverence. "And yet, it was you who found her."

Natasha’s lips parted, then closed again.

She didn’t want to say it out loud.

That from the moment she saw Aphrodite, it was like something in her… woke up. Something warm, ancient, and terrifyingly tender.

"She didn’t seem surprised," Natasha said after a pause. "When I found her. Like she already knew I’d come."

Thor turned to her then, his expression quiet and knowing.

"Because she did."

The words settled over her like gravity.

"But what I still don’t get," Natasha said, tearing her eyes away from the goddess, "is why she’s so important to Asgard. To everything. You’ve got gods, armies, and sorcerers. Why her? She clearly doesn't want to go back. She was pretty happy singing with Taylor, you know…" Natasha said with a little smirk.

Thor leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Because the realms are falling apart. And no blade, no thunder, no spell can fix it." He looked over his sister and smiled, "And she always said that Taylor was her best modern creation."

"Wait. She's her mother? Like these semi-god shit?" Natasha was a little surprised.

Thor laughed a little too loudly. "Oh, no. Not like mother. It's something more like… energy. Inspiration. She gives part of her energy to her creations."

He looked back at Aphrodite. She hadn’t moved. But it felt like the air around her pulsed softly, like a heartbeat too big to fit inside one body.

"There’s a rupture between the Nine Realms. Something unnatural. A cosmic fracture that's severing everything that holds us together — treaties, alliances, even blood ties. The energy that used to flow between us… is dying."

Natasha frowned. "What’s causing it?"

"Eris." The name came out like frost. "An ancient goddess. Banished ages ago from Vanaheim. She’s returned, stronger, crueler. She calls herself the Goddess of Dissolution now." He clenched his jaw. "She believes love makes the cosmos weak. That loyalty, honor, emotion are flaws. She wants to burn down the old universe and build a new one. Cold. Controlled. Disconnected."

Natasha looked down at her hands. Quiet.

"And she’s winning?"

"She already is. Treaties are crumbling. Families turning on each other. Realms pulling away into silence and distrust. Even the gods feel it. I can barely talk to Loki without feeling… like something is missing." Thor straightened slowly. "And that’s why we need her." He nodded toward Afrodite. "She’s the only one whose power comes from what Erisdall is trying to destroy."

Natasha looked back at the goddess. She wasn’t glowing with rage, or preparing spells. She was just there. Quiet. Soft. Present.

"She doesn’t look like a savior," Natasha whispered.

Thor’s lips curved faintly.

"That’s the trick. She doesn’t save the world by fighting it. She saves it by reminding it what it feels like to be whole."

Natasha blinked slowly.

"She can repair ancient bonds. Rekindle alliances buried in myth. She can walk into the heart of that rupture — that void where nothing is supposed to survive — and resist it. Because her power doesn’t shatter things. It holds them together."

His voice grew lower, steadier.

"She can mend the connection between gods who've grown distant. Between peoples who no longer trust. Between families, hearts, worlds."

A pause.

"Maybe even between you and yourself."

Natasha swallowed. The words hit too close.

She looked back at Aphrodite, who now tilted her head slightly, as if she could feel them watching. A breeze lifted her hair. The stars above flickered — faint constellations Natasha had never noticed before blooming into soft patterns.

And in that moment, Natasha realized something terrifying and true.

She didn’t just want to protect Aphrodite. She wanted to stand beside her.

Later that night, the Compound was quiet.

The sky outside the large glass corridor bled indigo and silver, the stars suspended like breath held too long. Most of the team had retired, and Thor, reluctantly, had given Afrodite space. He said he would wait until morning for her answer.

But Natasha couldn’t sleep.

She found Aphrodite in the garden behind the compound, where wild lavender and dark ivy twisted around marble statues left by Stark's occasional whims. The goddess sat barefoot on the stone edge of a fountain, her reflection flickering in the water like a memory that couldn’t settle.

Natasha didn’t announce herself. She just walked forward until the night wrapped around them both, and then she sat on the edge across from her.

Silence lingered.

Finally, Aphrodite spoke, barely a whisper.

"I used to believe love was enough."

Natasha’s brows pulled together gently. "You don’t anymore?"

Aphrodite looked up, her eyes softer than Natasha had ever seen them, not glowing, not burning, just human.

"I’ve watched worlds crumble under the weight of devotion," she said.

"I’ve seen kingdoms betray their own gods in the name of loyalty. I've held hearts in my hands that shattered anyway."

She dipped her fingers into the fountain, rippling her own reflection.

"And for a long time… I thought maybe it was my fault. That I was worshipped for something I could never fully give."

Natasha watched her, quiet, letting her speak without interruption — something inside her cracking open a little more with every word.

Aphrodite exhaled, shoulders tense. "But here…" she looked at her. "With you…"

A pause. Something raw rose to the surface.

"You didn’t kneel. You didn’t ask for blessings. You saw me, not the goddess, not the legend. Just me."

Her voice dropped, rough with emotion.

"And that scares me more than the war."

Natasha felt her throat tighten. Her voice, when it came, was low and careful. "I don’t know what this is, either. And I keep trying to tell myself I’m just… reacting to you. That it’s magic. Psychology. Proximity."

She glanced down. "But I’ve never reacted like this to anyone. Not even close."

Aphrodite stood then, slowly, and stepped toward her. The sound of water whispered behind her, but her presence was stronger than any wind.

She stopped right in front of Natasha, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the scent of roses and lightning.

"What if the Realms don’t need me to win this war?" she asked softly.

"What if they need us?"

Natasha looked up, startled. "Us?"

Aphrodite nodded.

"You’re not just the one who found me. You’re the one who reminded me I was worth being found."

A long pause.

"If I fight this war… I want to fight it with someone who still believes love is worth saving. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s terrifying."

Her hand lifted, barely touching Natasha’s cheek. Not a claim. Just… presence.

"Do you?" she asked. "Still believe?"

Natasha closed her eyes just for a second.

Then, she leaned her face gently into the touch.

"I think I want to."

Aphrodite’s smile was slow and radiant. "Then I’ll stay."

The night wrapped around them like an oath. And for the first time, the goddess of love didn’t feel like she was running.

She felt like she was home.

The next morning, the sky over the Avengers Compound broke in gold.

Pale sunlight spilled across the training fields, warming the steel and glass of the war rooms. Birds flew low, circling the treetops like they sensed the shift in the air — like the Realms themselves were holding their breath.

Inside the strategy hall, Thor paced.

He’d been waiting since before dawn, arms folded tightly over his chest. The projections from Odin flickered across the table — constellations shaking out of place, ley lines unraveling, names of Realms blinking red one by one.

Time was running out.

When the door finally opened, he turned fast.

Afrodite entered first.

But this time, she wasn’t drifting like a myth, she walked with purpose. Still radiant, still golden, but anchored. Present. There was a new steadiness in the way she moved, a quiet strength that came not from power, but from decision.

And beside her, Natasha walked too.

Calm. Eyes forward. A silent message in every step.

Thor looked between them and immediately knew: something had changed.

Afrodite gave him a small nod. "I’ll help."

Thor’s shoulders dropped just slightly, like the storm inside him finally caught a breath. "You’re sure?"

"I am," she said. Then she glanced at Natasha, and something soft flashed in her expression. "Not because I was summoned. Because I chose to."

Thor looked to Natasha with raised brows, his voice low and gruff. "You convinced her."

Natasha didn’t flinch. "She convinced herself," she replied. "I just stayed."

There was a pause. Then Thor smiled.

"Then maybe the gods aren’t the only ones who can hold the realms together."

He gestured to the glowing table. "Come. We have much to show you. The rupture is spreading faster than we expected. If we don’t act soon—"

Aphrodite raised a hand, interrupting gently. "We will act. But not only with force."

She stepped toward the map, eyes scanning the fault lines of connection breaking across the Nine Realms. Her fingers hovered over a fading constellation, one that once symbolized unity between Alfheim and Midgard.

"You’re trying to solve a wound by cutting deeper." She turned back toward them. "Let me try to heal instead."

Natasha moved to stand beside her, arms crossed but not closed off.

"She’s not just a symbol," she said quietly. "She’s a weapon you forgot you had."

Aphrodite smirked. "Elegant, but still a weapon. I think I’ll take that as a compliment."

Thor nodded, gesturing them closer. "Then let’s begin. If you truly want to restore what’s been lost, you’ll need to start where the threads first snapped."

Natasha tilted her head. "Where?"

Thor’s eyes darkened. "Vanaheim."

Aphrodite’s smile faded slightly in recognition.

She looked at Natasha. "You’ll come with me?"

There was no pause.

"Always," Natasha said.

And in that room, under the weight of galaxies breaking and gods falling, something unshakable formed between them — not just an alliance.

A beginning.

The sky above Vanaheim was fractured.

They emerged from the bifrost gateway into a land that once shimmered with spring light and endless gardens. Now, the color seemed drained, like someone had turned down the saturation of an entire world.

Trees stood twisted. Rivers ran in silence. The very air trembled with something that felt like… forgetting.

Aphrodite stood at the edge of the stone path, her gold-wrapped sandals sinking slightly into the soft ground. She closed her eyes.

"It’s worse than I thought," she whispered.

Natasha scanned the terrain, her fingers near the holster at her side.

"Where are the people?"

"Gone," Aphrodite said. "Or hiding. The rupture doesn’t just tear realms apart, it erodes what holds them together. Memory. Loyalty. Love."

She opened her eyes, and they were brighter now, not glowing with vanity or glamour, but fire. Something ancient.

"Eris’ influence is here."

Natasha looked at her sharply. "You’ve faced her before?"

Aphrodite nodded slowly. "Once. Long ago. Before she became what she is now. Back then, she was merely bitter. Now… she’s purpose with no heart."

A cold wind swept through the empty field. Natasha felt it in her bones.

They walked in silence through the ruined path of what once was a palace garden. Stone arches crumbled above vines that no longer bloomed. The colors seemed to flicker, like reality itself was… thinning.

Then they heard it.

A low hum. A resonance that tugged at their chests.

Aphrodite stopped, brow furrowed. She reached out, touching a cracked pillar etched with an old sigil of unity. The symbol flickered weakly beneath her hand, like it recognized her.

She turned to Natasha.

"Help me."

Natasha blinked. "With what?"

"Stay close. Focus on me. Not with your mind, with your heart."

Aphrodite’s voice trembled with something Natasha hadn’t heard in her before: need.

Natasha hesitated, then stepped forward, placing her hand over Afrodite’s where it touched the stone.

The effect was immediate.

The symbol under their hands pulsed, slow and golden. The air shifted.

Afrodite gasped, her hair lifting slightly, as if weightless. Light rippled from her chest outward in concentric waves, soft but strong.

"What’s happening?" Natasha asked, her voice low.

"You’re anchoring me," Aphrodite said, voice barely above a whisper. "I can feel the threads again. I can feel them."

Natasha’s fingers curled slightly, holding on tighter. "Then let’s pull."

The pillar shone brighter now, vines blooming again in reverse, stone stitching itself back together. The ground beneath them hummed with resonance. The sky began to glow with a faint color, and somewhere in the distance, birds cried out. Remembering.

Aphrodite turned to Natasha, her face lit by both power and disbelief.

"You’re more than a tether," she whispered. "You’re a key."

Natasha didn’t move. "To what?"

Aphrodite stepped closer, the energy between them still pulsing.

"To making this real."

And then, the hum cut off. Like a rope snapped mid-pull.

A shockwave burst from the tree line, and both women were thrown backward. A wall of emptiness rippled toward them, cold and gray and hungry.

From the shadows beyond the trees, a voice slithered into the air.

"You always needed someone else to matter, didn’t you, sister?"

A tall figure stepped forward. Robed in deep slate, crowned with a broken circlet of silver thorns. Her eyes were empty sockets of mist. Her skin cracked like marble under pressure.

Eris.

Aphrodite straightened, breath ragged, fury and grief written across her face. "You have no place here."

Eris smirked. "Neither do you. You walk into the wound like you can fix it with sentiment." She looked at Natasha now, head tilting.

"And what is this? Another fragile flame you think will save you?"

Natasha stepped forward before she could stop herself, chin raised.

Aphrodite's hand brushed Natasha’s again for strength. And suddenly, despite the ruin around them, they stood brighter than the dusk.

Together.

"You should’ve stayed hidden in your temples, sister," Eris said, voice cold as fractured glass. "This world doesn’t need love. It needs clarity."

Aphrodite stepped forward, her glow dimming slightly — not from weakness, but from resolve. "Clarity without connection is just ice."

"Exactly." Eris lifted her hand.

The air shifted. Like all color was being drained again. Like the idea of warmth was being erased.

Natasha staggered slightly. Her memories — soft ones, human ones — flickered in and out. Childhood. Laughter. A hand on hers during a dark night. Faces. Names. Gone. Back. Gone again.

"She’s pulling at you," Afrodite warned, catching Natasha’s arm. "She feeds on fear. On isolation."

Natasha tried to respond, but her throat burned. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t remember what to say.

She didn’t know what she believed anymore.

What if this wasn’t real?

What if everything she felt was just…

"A trick," Eris whispered, now behind her. "You think she loves you? That fast? You think your souls are connected? You're only a trained assassin. She shines for everyone. You’re just another heartbeat in the crowd."

Natasha gasped. The words struck deep, deeper than any weapon.

She pulled away instinctively from Aphrodite’s hand and took a step back.

Aphrodite's face broke. "No. Don’t let her in."

But it was too late.

Eris was inside now, whispering into every fracture of Natasha’s heart, every scar she had buried beneath layers of discipline and control.

"You’ve always been alone, haven’t you? Even when they fought beside you. Even when they smiled. You’re not built for connection. You’re built to survive."

Natasha’s hands trembled.

Her knees hit the ground.

But just before the darkness swallowed her, a warmth returned.

Familiar. Constant.

A hand, again, finding hers.

Aphrodite.

She was kneeling too, refusing to leave her side.

Not radiant. Not perfect.

Just there.

"She’s lying," Aphrodite said, her voice raw now — human.

"I do love everyone. That’s true. But not like I love you. We're connected. You were made to be my queen."

The words broke something open.

Light surged from their joined hands — a deep, ancient gold, tinged with scarlet. Not beautiful like a painting. Beautiful like a wound healing.

Eris recoiled.

"No—!"

Aphrodite held tighter.

"You dissolve what you can’t understand, Eris. You destroy what you envy. But love isn’t something you can erase."

Natasha, breath shaking, looked up, eyes meeting Aphrodite’s.

And finally, finally, she saw something she could hold onto.

Not magic.

Not myth.

Her.

She nodded, once.

"I'm still here."

Aphrodite smiled tearfully, fiercely.

And with a final surge of radiant energy, the wave of dissolution shattered, breaking like glass against the bond they had built.

The skies above Vanaheim brightened for the first time in weeks.

Flowers bloomed again along the path behind them.

And Eris vanished into the mist, forced to retreat.

Aphrodite collapsed into Natasha's arms, both of them shaking from the weight of having held each other through it.

"You held on," Aphrodite whispered, burying her face in her shoulder.

"So did you," Natasha replied. And then added, softly: "I think I’m done running from this."

Aphrodite leaned back, eyes shining.

"Then we’re just getting started."

The Bifrost opened like dawn through glass.

Light spilled across the golden bridge as Natasha stepped out beside Aphrodite. Her boots clicking softly against the smooth crystal, her shoulders squared, but her heart still bruised from what they had survived in Vanaheim.

Ahead, the towers of Asgard gleamed with quiet tension. The Realm of Gods had heard what happened.

And they were waiting.

At the palace gates, warriors lined both sides — silent, reverent in recognition.

Aphrodite walked like flame contained, eyes forward, no longer shimmering with illusion. This time, she carried herself not as a leader.

Natasha, though mortal, matched her stride.

When they entered the Hall of the High Council, murmurs rippled like wind across marble. Odin stood in the center, regal and still. At his side: Balder, Heimdall, Sif — and even Loki, half in shadow.

Thor waited behind them, arms folded. But when he saw Natasha beside his sister, his stern gaze cracked just slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Odin raised her hand.

Silence fell.

"Aphrodite of the Old Flame," Odin said, her voice echoing like memory. "You left this Realm centuries ago. We feared you had vanished. And yet here you stand."

Aphrodite nodded. "I did not vanish. I simply chose… to feel again."

Loki scoffed under his breath, but said nothing.

Odin stepped forward. "Vanaheim speaks your name with reverence. You pushed back the darkness not with blades or thunder, but with bond. With truth."

She turned her eyes to Natasha now. The entire hall followed.

"And you." A mortal. A shadow-walker of Midgard. "You stood in front of Eris. Not because you had power. But because you had heart. Why?"

Natasha looked around, hundreds of eyes, some glowing, some ancient, all waiting for her to falter.

She didn't.

"Because she never asked me to kneel," she said simply. "She just held my hand."

A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd.

Thor smiled fully now.

Odin stepped back. "Aphrodite, do you accept your mantle as Protector of the Sacred Ties — Keeper of Connection, Voice of the Heart, Defender of the Ties That Bind the Realms?"

Aphrodite took Natasha's hand. "Yes," she said. "But not alone."

She turned toward the circle of gods.

"I ask that Natasha Romanoff stand beside me as my Queen of the Ties."

Gasps.

Even Loki blinked.

Odin's brows lifted, then softened.

"You would name a mortal as co-ruler of the oldest force in the cosmos?"

"Yes," Aphrodite said. "Because the gods have forgotten what it means to hold on. She hasn’t."

The room fell silent again.

Then, after a breathless pause, Odin stepped forward.

He reached into her cloak and drew out a small silver circlet — delicate, woven like threads of fate. He walked to Natasha… and placed it gently upon her head.

"Then let it be known," Odin declared. "That the Queen of the Ties walks among us. And the Realm of Love has returned."

Applause didn’t come like thunder. It came like dawn: slow, warm, undeniable.

Aphrodite turned to Natasha and whispered, low enough that only she could hear:

"You’re not just the one who found me, Natasha. You’re the one I’ll hold on to."

Natasha, still dazed by the weight of the crown, smiled.

"Then let’s teach the gods how to feel again."

And so began the era of restoration.

Not of kingdoms.

But of connection.

The night over Asgard was impossibly clear.

Above the palace towers, the stars bloomed in soft spirals of gold and violet, each one humming quietly like the remnants of forgotten love stories. The Realms were healing — slowly, but surely. The war was not over… but the tide had changed.

On the terrace that wrapped around the highest point of the palace, two figures stood alone in the wind.

Natasha leaned against the edge of the carved marble rail, the breeze lifting strands of her hair, loose from any braid or mission. She wore no armor now — just a soft crimson robe that caught the starlight like flame.

Behind her, Aphrodite stepped barefoot across the polished stone, her silhouette bathed in lunar silver. No crown adorned her head. No symbols floated around her. Just her, golden, real, and breathtaking.

"You’ve been quiet," Aphrodite said gently.

Natasha looked up at the sky. "I'm not used to peace." A small smile curved her lips. "I keep expecting another war to fall from the stars."

Aphrodite moved closer, until their shoulders nearly touched.

"I’m not used to staying," she whispered. "But something keeps me here."

Natasha turned, eyes meeting hers. "Something?" she echoed, teasing softly.

Aphrodite’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes.

"You."

Silence stretched between them, warm and slow like honey in the throat.

Then Natasha’s voice dropped, quiet as a confession.

"When I found you… I thought I was bringing you back to the world."

She stepped forward, her hand brushing lightly against Afrodite’s.

"But maybe you were bringing me back to something I forgot how to want."

Aphrodite let out a soft breath. Her fingers threaded through Natasha’s, delicate but certain.

"You know what’s strange?" she said. "I’ve been loved by kings and poets. Wished for by empires. Worshipped by mortals who never knew my face. And yet…" She leaned in, her lips brushing just above Natasha’s cheekbone. "None of them made me feel like you do when you look at me, like I’m more than myth. Like I’m real."

Natasha’s breath caught. Her hands slid to Aphrodite’s waist, slow, reverent.

"You are real."

Afrodite tilted her head, her nose brushing softly against Natasha’s.

"Then kiss me like I am."

Natasha didn’t hesitate.

She closed the space between them with a kiss that was everything. Slow and desperate, tender and claiming, full of the ache of battles fought and the hunger of promises yet to come.

Aphrodite melted into her, arms wrapping around her neck, mouth parting with a quiet sound that sent a shiver down Natasha’s spine.

The kiss deepened. No rush, no fear, just the undeniable pull of soul meeting soul. When they finally parted, foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing heavily and tangled in each other’s warmth, Natasha whispered: "You stayed."

Aphrodite smiled, her thumb brushing along Natasha’s jaw.

"Because you’re the only home I’ve ever wanted."

And above them, the stars danced just for them.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x female

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