keervah

[keervah]

THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD MYA

ITS MY FAV MINA FIC NOW 🥹

Thank u so much 🫂🫂

✦ - tied in silk and silence

twice

pairing — myoui mina x fem!reader

dedicated to: @keervah

genre — gxg, non-idol x non-idol, heavy angst, arranged marriage au, fluff

— in which, myoui mina and lee y/n, are forced into an arranged marriage in order to combine both their families and family companies 

The conference room was too quiet for comfort—its silence polished like the marble table stretching between them. Myoui Mina sat at one end, posture perfect, eyes blank behind a pair of rimless glasses. She looked every inch the CEO her reputation promised: cold, elegant, and untouchable. 

At the other end sat Lee Y/n, in a stiff navy blazer that didn’t quite hide the tremble in her hands. She wasn’t meek by any means—top of her MBA class and sharp-tongued when necessary, but this? This was a different kind of battlefield, one where silence was sharper than words. 

Between them lay a single document. 

A marriage contract. 

“I assume you've read through everything.” Mina said, voice quiet but firm, like the steady ticking of a luxury watch. “There’s a clause regarding public appearances, monthly charity events, and press releases.” she flipped a page like it was nothing, like it wasn’t her life being stitched to a stranger’s with legal thread. 

Y/N exhaled slowly, “And in exchange, the Lees and Myouis merge shares. Our parents shake hands. Investors celebrate. Everybody wins.”

Mina finally looked at her—really looked at her and it stung, her eyes were glassy but sharp, like they saw right through Y/N. “Not everybody.”

It was the first thing she’d said that wasn’t dipped in business casual coldness.

Y/N blinked. “So we agree. This is a formality.”

Mina leaned back in her chair, lips pressed into a line. “You’re not here for romance, are you?”

“Do I look like I’m here to be swept off my feet?”

That almost got a reaction—a twitch of the eyebrow, maybe but Mina was already closing the folder. “Then let’s sign. Our parents are waiting.”

Later that evening, in the backseat of a luxury black car, Y/N glanced at the woman beside her. Mina sat with her hands folded in her lap, wedding band catching the streetlights. Like it meant anything.

“You’re quiet,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than anything.

“So are you,” Mina replied, voice laced in velvet, not warmth. “I suppose that’s the point.”

And just like that, the rest of the ride was silent. Tied in silk and impossible to escape.

The penthouse was immaculate. Not warm. Not homey. Just...pristine.

Like no one lived in it.

Y/N stood in the foyer, designer heels echoing off the imported Italian tile. The walls were white, the furniture was minimalist and the only sign of personality was a single orchid on the windowsill—white, of course.

"Guest rooms down the hall to the left," Mina said, already slipping out of her blazer, voice barely above ambient noise. "Bathroom’s stocked."

Y/N blinked. “No tour?”

Mina didn’t look back. “You’re not a guest.”

The jab landed soft but bruised hard. Y/N didn’t reply, just set her bag down with a sigh and trailed her fingers over the cool glass of a display shelf. No photos. No dust. No trace of the woman she was legally bound to now.

They weren’t strangers. Not entirely. Their families had crossed paths at every formal gala since they were kids—both daughters in pearls and tailored dresses, fake smiling for cameras. Mina had always been the poised one—silent and distant. A ghost in Givenchy.

But this…this was something else.

They had married in a courthouse that morning. Signed their names on the line like it meant nothing, exchanged rings under fluorescent lights. Their parents clapped, champagne popped, stocks soared.

And now, they were home.

Married.

Y/N found the guest room. Everything was high-end—draped in creams and greys, all the warmth of a luxury coffin. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. Was this how the rest of her twenties would look? Gilded, loveless, and quiet.

A knock on the open door startled her.

Mina.

Hair pulled up, silk robe on and glass of water in hand.

“I signed us up for a press shoot next week,” Mina said, leaning on the doorframe like it didn’t cost her anything. “You’ll need to get fitted. The studio’s in Gangnam.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Planning our outfits already? Should I swoon?”

Something flickered across Mina’s face—a crack, barely.

She stepped inside, set the glass down on the nightstand.

“I’m not asking for love, Y/N,” she said softly. “But I expect discretion. Cooperation.”

“And you’ll get it,” Y/N shot back, standing now—close…too close. “But don’t expect silence. I may be here in name, but I’m not going to play house just because you need a trophy wife.”

That made Mina pause, her gaze locked onto Y/N’s like it was a challenge.

“I don’t need a trophy,” she murmured. “Just someone who knows how to stay out of my way.”

Ouch.

Y/N smiled, tight. “Then this should be a perfect match.”

She didn’t sleep much that night and neither did Mina—different rooms but same silence.

—

The ballroom shimmered with gold and flattery, crystal chandeliers dripped above them like icicles, soft jazz floated through the air like it belonged in a dream. The cameras were already flashing before Y/n could blink, the photographers practically frothing over Korea’s newest power couple. 

Mina stood beside her, hand resting against the small of her back like it belonged there, like she wasn’t ice in human form. 

Y/n smiled for the cameras, she’d been trained for this—smile at the right angle, tilt your head just enough, let them believe you’re in love. Let them eat it up. 

And god, did they. 

A reposter leaned in, all polite shark teeth. “Ms. Myoui, you two look stunning together. How has married life been so far?” 

Mina didn’t flinch. “Productive.” 

Y/n bit her lip, “Romantic,” she added sweetly. “We’ve really learned a lot about each other.” 

Mina turned slightly to her, and Y/n could feel the chill in her gaze but she didn’t stop smiling, not even when Mina’s fingers subtly tensed against her back. 

They worked the room like they were scripted—laughs that never touched their eyes, touches that looked intimate but felt like paper cuts. 

Until Y/n excused herself, she had found refuge on the balcony, the cold night air hitting her harder than expected. The city sparkled below—glass towers, rivers of headlights, and so much noise. 

She didn’t realize she was gripping the railing so hard until she felt her knuckles ache. 

“You’re doing that thing,” came Mina’s voice from behind her, soft and unreadable. “The trembling.” 

Y/n didn’t turn to look at her. “Maybe I’m just cold.” 

“You wore a backless dress to a winter gala.” 

“You picked it.” 

A pause…the silence between them stretching. 

Then—

“You’re not made for this world.” Mina said, voice lower now—honest, maybe. “You smile too easily and flinch when people lie.” 

Y/n turned to face her then, and the ache in her chest cracked something open. “And you don’t flinch at all. Not even when your wife walks away from you in front of every shareholder we just impressed.” 

Mina blinked, slightly taken aback by Y/n’s words. “It’s not personal.” 

“That’s the problem.” 

And with that, she walked away. 

Mina didn’t follow, not that night. 

—

Y/n wasn’t trying to open old wounds, but the ribbon drawer did it anyway. 

She’d been hunting through one of the penthouse closets for a charger when she found it—tucked in the back drawer, nearly hidden. A small bow and inside were satin ribbons, perfectly folded: lavender, rose, and pale blue. 

Y/n picked one up, lips parting slightly as she stared at it. 

It wasn’t just a ribbon…it was the ribbon. 

The summer gala. Years ago, she was fourteen and Mina was fifteen, their parents had forced them into a charity photoshoot—matching pastel dresses, soft lighting, and too much perfume. Y/n’s hair had come loose, and she’d cried in the dressing room, embarrassed, tugging at the frizz with shaking fingers. 

And then Mina walked in, silent and careful. She’d pulled the lavender ribbon from her own braid and tied it into Y/n’s hair, no words, just the softest touch and the memory of Mina’s fingertips brushing her ear still burned Y/n’s memory like candle wax. 

She stared at the box now, breath caught in her throat. 

“You kept them?” she whispered to herself, running her thumb over the satin ribbon. 

“I don’t throw things away.” Mina said from the doorway. 

Y/n spun around, she hadn’t heard her. 

Mina walked in slowly, robe tied, and hair down, looking more like a person and less like a statue. 

“You were so proud of that ribbon,” Mina added, eyes unreadable. “You wore it for weeks, even when your mom said it clashed with your uniform.” 

Y/n swallowed. “I didn’t think you remembered.” 

“I remember everything,” Mina said quietly. “Especially the things I regret.” 

That silenced the room—thick, heavy, and strange. 

Y/n didn’t move or breathe. 

Mina reached into the drawer and picked up the ribbon again, her fingers ran over the silk like it meant something…like it still did. 

“I don’t want to fight.” she said finally.

Y/n blinked, a bit shocked from the Japanese woman’s words. “Then what do you want?” 

Mina’s lips parted, then closed again like she didn’t have the words or maybe she did, but saying them would shatter the last piece of armor she had left. 

So instead, she held out the ribbon. It hung between them, soft and shaking slightly in the air. 

“Let me braid your hair again.” she said, barely above a whisper. 

And somehow, that was the beginning of something new. 

—

The morning was usually quiet, no clipped heels against marble, no rattling of Mina’s papers or the buzz of early emails, just soft light pouring through gauzy curtains, brushing gold across their bedroom floor. 

Y/n didn’t expect Mina to be home this late in the morning, she didn’t expect to find her in the living room either, barefoot, in a loose knit sweater and reading glasses, looking far too domestic for someone whose usual expressions could slice boardrooms in half. 

“Your hair’s a mess.” Mina said calmly, not even looking up from her tablet. 

Y/n blinked from the hallway. “I just woke up.” 

“Come here.” 

It wasn’t a command, not really, just a gently offered sentence that Y/n could have ignored but didn’t. 

She walked over slowly, still in one of Mina’s oversized button-downs, barely buttoned. The couch dipped as she sat on the floor in front of her wife, cross-legged and heartbeat uncertain. 

“Turn around.” 

Y/n hesitated, but obeyed. 

She hadn’t sat like this—at someone’s knees, between their legs, and vulnerable in the quiet, in years. Not since childhood and not since she braided her younger cousin’s hair to calm herself down during panic attacks. 

She flinched slightly when Mina’s fingers touched her scalp. 

“You don’t have to have to do this.” Y/n said, unsure why her voice sounded so small. 

“I want to.” Mina replied softly. 

And that was new. 

Mina’s fingers were surprisingly gentle, she separated strands slowly, threading them with a quiet kind of care that didn’t match her usual clipped tone—every loop and fold felt like a whisper. It was domestic and terrifying. 

Y/n found herself staring at the ring on her hand. 

“You used to wear lavender in your hair.” Mina said suddenly. 

Y/n stiffened, slightly surprised “When?” 

“In middle school. First day of your internship shadowing your mom, you were nervous and wore lavender and lip gloss, then you wanted to be taken seriously.” 

Y/n swallowed, surprised that Mina even remembered that.

Mina braided slower now, “I wanted to pull your pigtails so badly, cause you looked like trouble.” 

“You hated me.” 

“No,” Mina said, knotting the braid with one of the old silk ribbons from the box. “I hated how much I liked you.” 

Y/n turned around then, her breath caught. Mina didn’t smile, but her eyes had lost some of their frost. 

“I still remember how you cried when I beat you in that mock merger,” Mina added, lips twitching slightly. “You hated losing to me.” 

“I still do.” Y/n says softly. 

“Then don’t make it a competition.” Mina murmured, voice barely audible. 

Later that afternoon, Y/n walked down the west hall to grab a book from the library and paused at the door when she heard Mina’s voice.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop…okay, maybe she did.

Inside, laughter bubbled through the room, Mina’s friends, voices familiar from gossip pages and luxury retreats—Park Jihyo, Im Nayeon, Hirai Momo, and even Son Chaeyoung’s husky sarcasm echoed. 

“You braided her, what?” Nayeon gasped, shocked by the words that Mina just said. 

“She did her hair,” Yoo Jeongyeon muttered. “Mina braided a girl’s hair.” 

“She’s my wife.” Mina replied flatly. 

“Since when does that mean anything to you?” Minatozaki Sana, teased. “You don’t even let me hug you for more than five seconds.” 

“She’s not like you.” Mina snapped. 

Silence filled the room after the Japanese woman had snapped. 

Chou Tzuyu’s voice was soft, “You like her.”  

Mina didn’t deny it which made Y/n’s heart lodge itself somewhere near her ribs. 

“I think I’m falling for her again,” Mina said eventually. “Or…maybe I never stopped. Maybe I just hated how I felt and buried it but now…she makes coffee how I like it, she leaves her charger in every room just in case I need one, she rolls her eyes when I’m late, but never complains, and she keeps showing up.” 

“She’s making it easy for you.” Kim Dahyun said kindly. 

“She’s making it impossible not to want her.” Mina said, leaning back onto the couch she was on. 

Y/n backed away before they noticed, she felt her throat tighten and lungs squeezing from too many emotions crashing in at once. 

It wasn’t love yet…not completely, but it wasn’t silence anymore either and as Y/n walked away, braid bouncing down her back like a ribboned promise, she didn’t feel quite so alone. 

—

Rain hammered against the penthouse windows like a warning, Y/n sat curled up on the far side of the couch, knees to chest, and eyes glued to her laptop but the words on the screen hadn’t changed in over an hour. Mina was late…again and dinner sat cold on the counter…again. 

“Don’t take it personally,” her therapist had said once. “She’s not emotionally avoidant, she was just emotionally trained to survive.” 

Y/n hadn’t known there was a difference until Mina became colder towards her. 

The front door finally clicked open at 10:14 p.m. 

Y/n didn’t look up, keeping her focus onto the document she was working on. “Did you eat?” 

Mina’s heels paused mid-step. “No, I had a client dinner.” 

Y/n closed her laptop slowly. “You could’ve said something, I cooked dinner.” 

“I didn’t ask you to.” Mina replied, voice cold and blunt. 

Ouch. 

Y/n stood, heart slamming against her ribs. “Right…you didn’t ask me to make dinner, wait up for you, or braid my own hair this morning so I wouldn’t cry in the mirror after you left without saying goodbye.” 

Mina froze halfway out of her coat at Y/n’s words, not expecting them at all. 

“I didn’t think it mattered.” she said, too quietly. 

“That’s the problem,” Y/N snapped, voice cracking. “I do matter. I’ve mattered this whole time, and you just keep pretending I’m part of some merger checklist you forgot to untick.”

Mina’s eyes finally met hers, and they weren’t cold this time. Just... tired. Worn down like cliffs over time.

“I never asked for any of this,” she whispered.

“And I did?” Y/N said, voice rising. “You think I wanted to marry someone who treats emotions like landmines? Who only touches me when it’s convenient or performative or—”

“I braided your hair because I wanted to!” Mina shouted suddenly, shocking them both.

The silence that followed was ugly. Raw.

“I wanted to,” Mina repeated, quieter now. “I wake up and I listen for your footsteps. I sit through meetings and I catch myself thinking about how you hum when you water the plants. I try not to look at your mouth when you laugh. I try, Y/N. And it’s exhausting.”

Y/N’s throat burned. “Why does loving me have to feel like survival?”

Mina opened her mouth, closed it again and then she sat down, like her legs couldn’t hold her weight anymore.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said. “My parents…this marriage…everything I’ve been taught is about control, image, winning and you’re the only thing I can’t...manage.”

Y/N walked over slowly, unsure if she was going to scream or cry or fall apart.

“You’re not supposed to manage me,” she said, sitting beside her. “You’re supposed to show up, to try, and to fail sometimes. I don’t want perfect, Mina. I want real.”

Mina’s hands trembled.

So Y/N reached out, slowly and gently, and held them.

No performance and no cameras, just hands—shaking and holding.

And for the first time since their vows, Mina didn’t pull away.

She got sick two days later.

Y/N found her slumped on the bathroom floor, hair matted, face pale, soaked in sweat and too exhausted to lift her head.

“Mina, oh my god,” Y/N breathed, dropping to her knees.

Mina cracked one eye open. “I think I died.”

“No, but you look like shit,” Y/N muttered, checking her forehead…burning hot. “Jesus, you’re running a fever.”

“I have a merger call at nine.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re about to merge with the tile floor. Shut up.”

She got her into bed, finally, stripped her out of her damp clothes, wrapped her in blankets, and sat by her side like something ancient and loyal.

Mina drifted in and out for hours, she mumbled half-apologies and called her sweetheart once in her sleep.

Y/N didn’t cry.

Not until she whispered, “Don’t leave.”

It was barely audible, but it broke something open in Y/N’s chest.

“I won’t,” she whispered back, brushing hair from Mina’s flushed cheek. “I’m here. Always.”

And for the first time, Mina believed her.

Not because of a contract and not because of family expectations.

Because of lavender ribbons, burnt dinners, and one person who kept showing up—quietly, stubbornly, again and again.

The fever broke by morning, but something else had broken too. Not shattered, just shifted, like fault lines beneath the surface-level ice and Y/n saw it everytime Mina looked at her and didn’t immediately look away. 

She wasn’t warm, not yet, but she was trying…and trying from Mina, was like love in another language. 

Later that week, they were invited–no, expected—to attend a charity gala hosted by Mr and Mrs. Myoui, their first official public appearance as a couple since the wedding. 

Hair curled and jewelry on, Mina was in a black suit and Y/n was wearing a black dress. 

Y/n’s heart thudded as they stepped out of the car, arms linked more for the cameras than for comfort but as the flashes started and the crowd leaned in, Mina didn’t let go. 

If anything, her grip tightened. 

“Smile a little.” Mina whispered under her breath, lips not moving. 

“I am,” Y/n muttered, “You’re just blind.” 

Mina’s shoulder twitched like a laugh might’ve almost escaped—almost. 

Inside, everything smelled like money and champagne, Y/n tried not to look out of place, even as the whispers started—soft and sharp, woven through clinks of crystal and polished performances. 

“That’s the Lee girl?” 

“She’s not exactly refined.” 

“Poor, Mina. Such a waste of potential…” 

Y/n felt her smile freeze mid-sip, she took a step back from the crowd, trying to breathe through it, until Mina’s hand slid across the small of her back, possessive and certain. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked cooly. 

Y/n just shook her head in response, “Your family hates me.” 

Mina looked down at her. “They hate everyone who makes me human.” 

Before Y/n could process that, Mina turned to a nearby table, where her parents were holding court with shareholders and board members like royalty. 

Her mother’s gaze flickered towards them, sharp and assessing. 

Mina didn’t wait, she walked Y/n straight up to them, ignoring every unwelcome glance. 

“Mother…father,” Mina said, “I assume you’ve met my wife.” 

Her father smiled thinly. “We’ve met. I trust things are going... smoothly?”

Mina’s jaw clenched. “Define smooth. Do you mean: Are we legally married? Yes. Do you mean: Is she bending to fit into your idea of worthiness? No.”

“Mina,” her mother warned quietly.

But Mina was done playing. “Y/N is intelligent, grounded, and more emotionally mature than anyone in this room. You should be thanking her for putting up with me.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and her stomach twisted.

Mina continued, voice clear and cold. “If your concern is reputation, let me be clear: she is my reputation now. So speak carefully. Especially around me.”

The silence that followed could’ve broken glass.

Y/N reached for Mina’s hand under the tablecloth, tentative and Mina didn’t pull away.

Back at home, the silence wasn’t icy, just thick with things unsaid. 

They stood in the entryway, shoes half-off, tension unraveling from their shoulders like coats they didn’t want to carry anymore. 

“You didn’t have to defend me.” Y/n said quietly. 

Mina looked at her, tired but honest. “I did, because you didn’t deserve that.” 

Y/n hesitated, “And do I deserve…you?” 

That cracked something wide open. 

Mina stepped forward, slow and deliberate, stopping just close enough for her perfume to wrap around them both. 

“I don’t know if I deserve you,” Mina said. “But I know I want to try.” 

She reached up hesitantly and brushed a strand of hair from Y/n’s face, the touch was light and careful, but her eyes? Her eyes were burning with emotion. 

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, “Are you gonna kiss me?” 

Mina’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Don’t tempt me,” she whispered. “Not if you don’t mean it.” 

Y/n leaned in half an inch and then stopped because the air was too thick, her heart was too loud, and the space between them had never felt this loaded. 

Mina didn’t close the gap either, she just stepped back, gently. 

“We’re not ready,” she said, voice thin. “Not yet.” 

And for once, Y/n didn’t feel rejected—she felt respected and seen, because wanting could be soft and healing didn’t need to come with a kiss, sometimes it started with standing in the hallway breathless and staring at someone who finally chose to stay. 

—

Mina hated birthdays.

She didn’t say it aloud, but Y/N could tell from the way she barely acknowledged the date, the way she brushed past the well-wishes from staff like they were just another meeting, and the way her shoulders stiffened when Y/N casually mentioned a dinner plan.

“It’s just my friends,” Y/N had said, voice breezy. “They wanted to cook. You don’t have to pretend to like it.”

Mina didn’t argue. That in itself was the answer.

The apartment was warm by seven.

Soft jazz filtered through the speakers. The dining table had mismatched plates and too many wine bottles. Momo was already tipsy and trying to teach Tzuyu how to fold napkins into swans. Sana kept sneaking strawberries from the kitchen, and Nayeon was busy lighting candles like they were summoning romance.

Y/N was in the kitchen, slicing cake with Jeongyeon, when she felt it—the shift.

The silence behind her wasn’t casual.

She turned.

Mina had walked in quietly, in a fitted navy suit with her hair slightly mussed from wind and not quite enough sleep. She looked like the contradiction she always was—sharp lines and soft eyes—tired and wary. 

Out of place and trying.

Mina blinked at the chaotic warmth in the room. “This is...a lot.”

Y/N walked over slowly. “You okay?”

Mina’s gaze flicked across the room, then back to her. “You did all this?”

“With the chaos brigade? Of course.”

A pause.

“You hate birthdays,” Y/N said softly.

“I don’t hate them,” Mina replied. “I just didn’t have many that felt like this.”

Y/N’s chest squeezed. “Like what?”

“Like someone wanted me to enjoy it.”

The sentence was said so quietly, so naked, that it stunned Y/N into stillness. Mina had been unraveling thread by thread since the fever, since the fight, but this was the first time she offered her truth so openly. Without defense.

Y/N reached out and brushed a crumb off her lapel.

“Well,” she whispered, “you better start getting used to being wanted.”

Dinner was loud, Momo spilled wine, Chaeyoung brought out shots, Tzuyu laughed at every joke like she hadn’t heard human humor before and Mina—Mina just watched.

Not coldly and not critically.

She just observed the way Y/N lit up in a room, how she leaned in when Jeongyeon teased her, how she scolded Sana for eating frosting straight off the knife. Mina watched her like a secret she had the privilege of knowing first.

At some point, Y/N sat beside her, wine in hand, cheeks flushed.

“You’re staring.”

“I am,” Mina admitted. “Do you mind?”

Y/N smiled. “Only if you stop.”

Mina blinked, and then—barely there—a smile—honest and small, but real.

It was later, long after the others had trickled out and the apartment had fallen into candlelit quiet, when it happened.

Y/N stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the city glittering like spilled glass.

Mina walked up behind her, hesitant.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For showing me that birthdays can feel like...this.”

Y/N turned slightly. “Messy?”

“Warm.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, just tilted her head, watching her.

Mina stepped closer. “You’re always this soft with people you care about?”

“No,” Y/N said, voice low. “Only the ones I fall for.”

Mina exhaled shakily. “You’re falling for me?”

Y/N smiled sadly. “I think I already did.”

Mina didn’t respond. She just stared—at Y/N’s mouth, at her eyes, at the curve of her neck where vulnerability clung like perfume.

And then she kissed her.

Not like a CEO. Not like a woman with walls built sky-high.

Like someone finally letting herself fall.

It wasn’t perfect, a little hesitant, a little too long coming but it was honest and when Y/N kissed her back, softly cupping her cheek like she was something worth holding onto, Mina let out the smallest sound—a breath, a gasp, a surrender.

When they pulled away, Mina rested her forehead against Y/N’s.

“I’m terrified.”

Y/N smiled. “So am I.”

They didn’t fix everything with one kiss but they started something real.

And this time, neither of them walked away.

[keervah]

Innocence. pt 1 | N.R

Older!Sargent!Natasha x Younger!Soldier! Reader

Warnings: None for now.

Word count: 5,1k

A/N: First of three parts is here! This one covers the very beginning, what we mostly go through during the first few days after leaving the comfort. The pacing might feel a bit slow while reading, but in person, it’s like you’ve already been there for weeks… and your body definitely isn’t thanking you.

The aircraft swayed just slightly with turbulence, but you barely noticed. You were sitting straight-backed in a seat along the right wall, harnessed in, hands resting atop your gear bag like you were afraid to let go of it. Your fingers itched with nerves, not the kind that made you panic, but the kind that made you wait. Watch. Think too much. You weren’t afraid. Not really. You were just…aware. Of everything.

The soldier across from you had his eyes closed, music bleeding faintly from one side of his headset, something with guitar, low and steady. Two others sat a few rows down, murmuring to each other over a bag of sunflower seeds, occasionally laughing too loud before catching themselves. One guy was bouncing his leg fast, his helmet tipped forward like a makeshift blindfold.

Everyone had a way to sit with their nerves. You just stayed still.

You watched the red glow of the overhead light paint everything in harsh shadow, hard edges on uniforms, tight lines across tense mouths. You could smell oil and canvas, gunmetal and worn leather. The air was dry, and warm. Somewhere far ahead, you knew the pilot was calling out distance markers. They were close.

And out there, already on the ground, already waiting..was her. Staff Sergeant Natasha Romanoff. Your new commanding officer. And the one woman you weren’t sure you knew how to impress…but desperately wanted to try.

Four Weeks Earlier

You stood stiffly at the desk, file in hand. The officer on the other side, some square-jawed sergeant you barely knew, was looking at you like he’d just broken bad news and didn’t want to say it twice.

“I’m sorry.” he said, “Aplha-One didn’t select you. High marks, yes. But they’ve got their own standards.”

You stared at the floor. Your mouth was dry. It wasn’t fair to cry, this was part of the game, you knew that..but still. You’d killed yourself for this unit. Two years of discipline, sweat, tests, sacrifices. Aloha-One was the goal.

“However…” he continued, sliding a second file toward you. “You scored extremely high in tactical reasoning and zero-error protocol under stress. Another team saw your data.”

You looked up slowly. “They want you in Echo 9. SSGT Romanoff’s division.”

Your fingers twitched on the edge of your folder. “Echo 9?”

“They don’t recruit often. But when they do, it’s for a reason. You caught someone’s attention.”

You hesitated. You’d heard the stories, Romanoff’s unit was covert, fast-moving, low profile. Their ops were real, and rarely spoken about.

Alpha-one had been the dream. But Echo 9? That was…something else. You blinked back the sting in your eyes and nodded. “I’ll take it.”

Back to Present

You rolled your shoulders gently. You kept looking at the door, the one that would open and spill you into dust, hot wind, and the start of whatever came next. You’d land near an isolated base camp in a desert region, you knew that much. Some recon op tied to sensitive cargo and possible extraction. High alert. Your first true deployment outside the wire.

Your chance to see her.

You’d only met twice, once during evaluation, and once during the fastest, coldest briefing you’d ever been through. Romanoff had scanned you like she already knew everything, your past, your stats, your tells. Like you’d already said enough by standing in front of her.

Two Weeks Ago

You were sitting cross-legged in the middle of your paper mess, balancing your tablet on one knee and typing with your thumb. A to-do list bloomed across the screen:

• Cancel lease

• Storage unit rental

• Forward mail to Mom

• Emergency contact

• Get tactical gloves (broken stitching)

• Sell old field jacket

Your fingers paused. You looked around the space, still half-lived in. Walls still had photos. Fridge still had magnets. The place didn’t feel like it was missing you yet. But you were already halfway gone.

A few hours later, your best friend Harlow came over to help you pack. You stuffed gear into crates and duffels, argued over which mugs to leave behind, and finally just collapsed onto the couch, still sweaty from lifting boxes.

“I can’t believe they picked you..” Harlow teased, nudging you.

You threw a pillow. “Screw off.”

“No, really. Romanoff? Echo 9? That’s wild. You’re gonna have stories.”

You smiled faintly. “If I come back with stories, it means I didn’t mess it up.”

Harlow looked at you. “You won’t mess it up. You’re meant for this.”

Back to Present

You let out a slow breath, fogging the air just slightly. Someone nearby tightened a strap; someone else cracked their knuckles.

Almost there. And somehow, in the middle of all this..the adrenaline, the altitude, the silence between heartbeats, you felt something else rise in your chest.

Pride.

With a sharp hiss, the hydraulic doors cracked open, and in the same instant, it hit you- The heat. It slammed into your face like a physical wall, dry, thick, pulsing with sun-baked intensity. Your breath caught for a moment, involuntarily. Not from shock, but from the weight of it. It wasn’t just hot, it was the kind of heat that crawled down the back of your neck, sat in your boots, and stole the moisture from your lungs.

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the brutal midday glare. The light was white. So bright the sand looked like it was glowing. A wasteland of tan and beige, mountains ghosting in the distance, like mirages wavering in the heat lines. Your boots clunked against the ramp as you followed the line of soldiers off the aircraft, dust already collecting around your ankles.

“Welcome to hell.” someone muttered behind you. You didn’t reply. You just kept walking, adrenaline mixing with sweat.

The group gathered in formation just beyond the landing zone, sweat already beginning to pool beneath gear not meant for this kind of sun. The tarmac shimmered. A breeze kicked up, hot and sharp with the scent of sand, diesel, and sweat. A tall man in a scorched tan uniform approached, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“Listen up!” he barked. The chatter died instantly. “Today’s the twelfth. It’s 122 degrees out. That’s forty-nine Celsius for you metric-lovers. Hydrate, don’t pass out. You’re not heroes if you collapse on Day One.”

Someone coughed behind you. A few nods. The air was too hot for anything more. The man paused, then added with a dry smirk, “Romanoff’s waiting at Command. You’ll meet her shortly.”

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted, not from the sun this time, but from the name. Romanoff.

You felt a twinge in your chest. Sharp, curious, alert. “She really as hot as they say?” someone to your left whispered under his breath. His voice was low, but not low enough.

“Oh, she’s more than hot..” another guy replied, cracking a grin. “They say she can kill a man and give him a boner at the same time.”

Several soldiers chuckled, their laughter quick, dirty, laced with the kind of bravado that only came when they thought they were out of earshot. Your jaw tensed. You didn’t know Natasha well, yet..but something about the casual, sexual tone made your stomach twist. This wasn’t the kind of place you joked like that. Not about your people.

Then, a silence. It didn’t come slowly. It snapped into place like a rope pulled tight. You turned just slightly. There she was.

Natasha was walking toward you, slow and composed, each step measured, boots kicking up puffs of dust in her wake. Her uniform fit like it was cut for her alone, sleeves rolled up, tags tucked in, not a wrinkle on her. She carried no visible weapon, but no one needed proof.

She was the weapon.

Every soldier in the group straightened, even those who didn’t realize they were doing it. And her eyes, flat, cold, and controlled, landed directly on the man who’d made the joke.

“Name?” she asked, voice like ice under fire.

The guy swallowed. “Uh…Private Miles, ma’am.”

She walked up to him. Close. Too close. Their boots were almost touching. You couldn’t see her eyes anymore, but you saw his. They widened a fraction. His shoulders stiffened. The grin was gone.

“Private Miles..” Natasha said softly, voice barely above a whisper, “if I ever hear you speak about another soldier that way again, especially one in my command, I will personally make sure your transfer home includes a medical dishonorable discharge, and a broken jaw to explain it.”

The air around you didn’t move. Even the breeze seemed to stop. Miles stood like a statue. No response. No breath.

“And if you’re wondering whether I’m ‘as hot as they say,’” she added, stepping just slightly closer, her tone a thread away from venom, “I suggest you test your theory in a combat scenario. I’d love to see how long you last.”

Then she stepped back. “Eyes front.”

The entire group snapped to attention. You felt your pulse in your throat. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. It was like watching lightning strike just beside you. Romanoff turned to face everyone now, still calm, still unreadable.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Romanoff.” she said, tone level, eyes scanning the line. “You’re now part of Echo 9. That means your record matters less than your performance. You are responsible for each other. If you want to act like civilians, I suggest you turn back now.”

No one moved.

“Training begins tomorrow at 0500 (5:00am). Briefing starts at 0430 (4:30 am) sharp. You’ll receive bunks and assignments from base command in the next ten minutes. Hydrate. Unpack. Do not be late.” She paused. “Dismissed.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the base structure, heat swirling behind her in shimmering waves.

No one spoke for a long time. You swallowed, throat dry as bone. You couldn’t tell if your heartbeat was from the sun, or from her.

The base wasn’t much to look at, a sprawl of beige and metal, containers turned into housing, makeshift fences, worn banners catching the wind like tired flags. The ground was cracked and sun-bleached, the heat radiating off the concrete like an invisible second sun.

You followed the thin trail of other soldiers toward the housing row. A clipboard had been shoved into your hands moments after Romanoff’s departure, listing your bunk number and clearance ID. A container near the outer edge. Far enough from command to feel temporary. Close enough to hear the weight in every bootstep.

When you reached it, you paused. The container was basic, standard military housing. Matte green. Bolted shut with a manual handle. But it was yours. At least for now. You lifted the latch and stepped inside. Cooler air hit your face immediately, not cold, but not scalding either. A cheap mercy.

Inside, there were two narrow bunks, one metal locker each, a shared footlocker in the center, and a cracked mirror bolted above a dented sink. Sparse, lived-in, but clean. And someone was already unpacking on the left side.

She was bent over her duffel, sorting through rolls of gauze, small vials, medical wraps, her dark hair pulled into a messy low bun. She looked up when you entered and grinned.

“You must be Y/l/n.”

You blinked. “Yeah. That’s me.”

The girl stood, wiping a smudge off her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m Rae. Rae Bishop. You snore, you die.”

You laughed, tension bleeding out of your shoulders almost instantly. “Fair enough.”

You shook hands, firm, quick. That unspoken military rhythm already forming. You tossed your bag onto the right bunk and began peeling off your outer vest, already feeling a small pool of sweat at the base of your spine.

Rae slid a canteen across the small desk toward you. “You look cooked. Drink.”

You did. It was warm, but water was water. “You infantry?” Rae asked, hopping up to sit on her bunk, boots still on.

“Combat operations.” you replied, settling on your own bunk and unlacing one boot. “Support and recon for Exho 9. You?”

“Medic.” Rae said, tapping the red cross patch on her shoulder. “Second rotation. Got here three weeks ago.”

You raised a brow. “So you’ve already survived Romanoff?”

Rae grinned. “Barely. She’s not as scary when she’s not slicing you open with her eyes. But yeah..she’s the real deal.”

You nodded. You knew that already. The image of Natasha walking through the dust, silencing that joke with only a look and a sentence, it was burned into you.

“What made you volunteer?” Rae asked.

You hesitated for a second. “Wasn’t my first choice. But this unit…feels like it might be the right one after all.”

Rae smiled knowingly. “Same.”

A knock at the metal door broke the moment. Three short raps. You exchanged a quick glance.

Rae swung the door open. Three guys stood outside, dusty, still geared-up, grinning. You recognized two of them from the aircraft. The third held a dented pack of cards in one hand and a pack of instant ramen in the other.

“Y/l/n..” the tallest one said, “we’re playing cards in the rec tent. You in?”

Rae raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Wow, no invite for me?”

“You don’t lose gracefully.” one of them shot back.

You hesitated. The memory of that crude joke on the tarmac flashed in your head. Your mouth tightened slightly, and you crossed your arms, thoughtful.

“I don’t usually hang out with people who make sex jokes about our CO.”

The smiles wavered, just for a second. One of the guys, younger than the rest, rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. That was Miles. He’s…well. He’s eating dinner alone tonight.”

The third guy nodded. “Look, no pressure. But you seemed chill. No one’s looking to mess around or anything. We’re just…unwinding.”

There was a beat of silence. The hot wind pushed dust across the open door. Inside, the cool air hummed. Then you sighed. “Alright. But if you deal me crap cards, I’m walking.”

Laughter broke out immediately, easy and welcome. Rae grinned and flopped back onto her bed. “Tell ‘em I taught you everything.”

The rec tent was barely lit, strings of mismatched bulbs hung along the corners, buzzing softly. Folding chairs surrounded a center table, already cluttered with cards, crumpled wrappers, and one old speaker playing lo-fi beats someone swore helped with morale.

You took a seat, your body still adjusting to the tempo of the place, the slight vibration of generators, the scent of old coffee, the shift in your nerves from edge to ease. You played three rounds. Lost one. Won two. Someone made fun of your poker face, or lack thereof, and you shot back with a sarcastic quip that made Rae snort water through her nose.

They didn’t talk about Romanoff again. They didn’t talk about war, or blood, or fear. Just music. Home. The taste of actual food. The way sand got everywhere. Laughter felt strange at first — awkward and too loud in the open air, but then it settled in like warmth.

Before you knew it, the sky outside the rec tent had turned from gold to steel blue. Then to black.

0500 Hours

The alarm pierced the air like a bullet. You flinched upright in your bunk, adrenaline kicking before your brain caught up. Your heart was hammering. For a second, you had no idea where you were.

The room was still dark, bathed in faint blue light from the small LED clock bolted to the wall. Your eyes tracked across the plain metal ceiling. The thin sheets twisted around your legs. The sound of Rae breathing across the room. Dust floating through a stream of early light filtering between the blinds.

Then, heat. That dry, ever-present warmth, already crawling in through the container’s thin insulation. The heavy scent of sand and sweat. The sound of footsteps, boots outside the wall. A voice barking out a name. A door slamming.

Camp.

Deployment.

It came back all at once. You exhaled and scrubbed a hand over your face. The ache in your spine was from the unforgiving bunk. The itch on your skin? Dust. Always dust.

You dressed quickly, muscle memory already forming after a single day. Tactical undershirt. Lightweight fatigues. Boots laced to regulation tightness. Canteen clipped, ID tags tucked, comm unit ready.

Rae stirred behind you. “Tell Romanoff I’m alive..” she muttered, voice rough with sleep.

You smirked. “No promises.”

You stepped out into the early dawn air. The sky was a hazy pink, sun just starting to rise over the distant ridges. Heat was already forming, like a warning curled around the horizon.

The training yard was a square of cracked earth and sandbags. Half the unit was already assembled, some stretching, others checking weapons or reviewing briefing notes on slim tablets. Conversations were low, sparse, and cautious.

You spotted Martinez, Johnson, a few others. Miles stood off to the side, arms crossed, avoiding everyone’s eyes. A knot of anticipation hung in the air.

Then.. “She’s here.”

Every head turned. Natasha walked across the yard with zero wasted movement. Black tactical vest over sun-bleached fatigues, combat boots spitting dust behind her. Hair tied back. Calm, controlled. Not out of breath. Not rushed. She stopped dead center.

“Morning.” she said. One word. It hit harder than any shout. Everyone straightened.

“You’ll be split between physical combat, strategy, survival theory, and behavior conditioning. Yes, it’s hot. Yes, it’s early. No, I don’t care. This unit doesn’t carry excuses.”

She turned toward a group of soldiers. “First pair-up. Hand-to-hand.” She scanned them once, then landed on her target.

“Miles.”

He stepped forward stiffly. She waited.

“…Ma’am?”

“I said combat sparring. Step up.”

He did. Hesitant. You felt the buzz ripple through the unit. Everyone knew exactly what this was about. Then Natasha looked at you.

“Y/l/n. You’re with him.”

Your stomach flipped, but not in fear. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Excitement, fire, something warm rising in your chest. You stepped forward, facing Miles.

He frowned. “We’re doing this for real?”

Natasha tilted her head, expression unreadable. “Unless you’d prefer to sit this out.”

He flinched, barely, but got into a ready stance. Defensive. Hesitant. His center of gravity too high. You didn’t wait. You stepped in, low and fast. A feint to the right, testing him. He flinched. His hands came up late.

Then he swept under, pivoted his foot..And stopped. He didn’t finish the strike.

But Natasha did. In a blink, she stepped in from the side, grabbed Miles by the collar with one hand, and drove her knee hard between his legs. The sound he made wasn’t even a word. He crumpled, knees buckling, face contorting in shocked pain as he hit the dirt.

A beat of silence. Natasha turned, looking directly at the rest of the men. Voice like ice melting on steel. “Women are underestimated in combat more often than I can count. Happens in the field. Happens in training. But do it in my unit, and you’ll learn the difference between cocky and unconscious.”

She didn’t smile. Not exactly. Just a slow, razor-edged smirk as she turned to you. “Well done. Switch partners.”

Training settled into a brutal rhythm. Mornings began with sparring and PT, climbing walls, crawling through obstacle courses, sprinting under the punishing heat. By midday, it was tactical theory. Sand-tables, holographic maps, mission simulations. Natasha drilled you on terrain advantage, split-second decisions, blind recon.

“Enemies don’t come at you clean.” she said once, pointer hovering over a digital battlefield. “They come when your boots are stuck in mud and your comms are down. Think beyond perfect conditions.”

Afternoons were dedicated to behavior conditioning. How to read a room. Spot a liar. Break a pattern. It wasn’t just about physical training, it was mental warfare.

One session was held in a metal container rigged with sound loops and flashing lights. Designed to simulate chaos. You had to complete logic tests under pressure.

You nearly failed the first time, until Natasha stood behind you and said, calmly, “Breathe slower. Find the rhythm. You control your mind, or the mission controls you.”

By the third day, you were keeping pace. Faster. Sharper. And more confident. The soldiers around you began to notice. Some nodded as they passed. Rae snuck you protein bars and coffee tablets. Even Martinez, cocky and sarcastic, offered to swap gear tips.

Miles? Still avoiding eye contact. You didn’t mind. Not when every sunrise started with that burst of nerves, and every night ended with sore muscles, heavy lungs, and the knowledge that you belonged here more than you ever did anywhere else.

DAY 6

The room was built to look like an alleyway. Cracked walls. Sandbags. Smoke machines filling the air with grit and haze. Speakers embedded in the ceiling blared distant gunfire and shouting, sirens wailing in timed bursts. The simulation chamber was used for high-stress ops training, strategy under pressure, team maneuvering, and live tactical decisions. Everything tracked. Every shot. Every step. Every second.

You crouched low, rifle to your shoulder, sweat soaking your collar. Your breath was fast, lungs burning. You moved with your unit through the mock-up street, Rae trailing you with med gear, Martinez and Johnson flanking either side.

Target: secure a civilian in the “hot zone” evacuate to the south extraction point. Simple, on paper. But nothing ever was.

You breached the second corner, cleared the breach, and..You froze.

Two silhouettes appeared behind a scrim of smoke. Civilian or hostile? You hesitated. Your fingers tensed on the trigger. Your brain tried to assess. The figures move-

And then everything went to hell. A simulated blast went off. Too close. Too loud. Martinez dropped, “wounded.” Rae got separated. A red strobe light flashed across the chamber, symbolic of a “critical failure” in evac timing.

It was over. Simulation terminated. The smoke cleared slowly, the lights steadying. Soldiers blinked in the false dawn of debrief lighting as the system powered down. You ripped your goggles off, chest heaving. Your hands were shaking. Not from fear.

From frustration. Natasha walked in, tablet in hand. Her expression unreadable. She let the silence linger. Then she looked up, eyes slicing through the group like scalpels.

“Everyone out.” she said flatly, not looking at anyone but you. “Except Y/l/n.”

The others filed out silently. Rae gave you a small glance. Not pity. Just understanding. When the door closed, Natasha walked closer. Not looming. Just…present. You stood straighter, trying to lock your jaw. Waiting.

“I want you to explain what happened.” Natasha said.

You hesitated. “I hesitated at the corner. I.. I didn’t want to misfire. The shapes weren’t clear-”

“They weren’t clear?” Natasha repeated, voice cold. “You’ve run that drill four times. You know the shape of that alley. You know what cover looks like from thirty meters. And you froze.”

You swallowed. “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“Why?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “I.. didn’t trust myself.” you admitted. Quiet.

Natasha nodded once. A slow, deliberate motion. Then she stepped forward until you were almost eye to eye.

“If this had been real..” she said softly, “Martinez would have bled out before Rae could get to him. You would’ve lost your right leg to that blast. And your hesitation would’ve put your entire team in body bags.”

Every word was a scalpel. No yelling. No rage. Just cold truth. You didn’t speak.

“You don’t get to be unsure out there.” Natasha said. “Not when people are counting on you. Not when seconds mean survival. If you doubt yourself again, do it on your own time. Not mine.”

She turned away. Walked two steps. Then stopped. “But…”

You blinked.

“…you still identified the pattern before the system ended the sim. You saw the angle of the shooter. You started moving to block Rae’s exit. That means your instincts are right. You just didn’t trust them.”

Another long pause. “I want you in my class this afternoon. Behavioral split-second response training. Two hours.”

You nodded. “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“And Y/l/n?”

“…Yes?”

“If you ever freeze like that again, I’ll personally send you back home with a thank-you card and a slap for wasting my time.”

Your mouth twitched. The sharpest edge of a grin. “Understood.”

DAY 11

The room buzzed with quiet suffering. The overhead lights flickered in that sickly yellow way that only military bulbs seemed to manage. Dust drifted lazily through the stale air. Everyone was slouched somewhere, against the walls, over the table, heads resting in hands, boots half unlaced beneath chairs. Not a single soul was upright by choice.

You sat near the end of the long table, chin propped in one hand, trying to pretend you weren’t blinking longer than you should.

Your thighs still burned from morning PT. Your knuckles were bruised from combat drills. Your brain was a fog of unfinished sleep and half-digested ration bars. Even your boots felt heavy. Like they’d been dipped in cement.

Rae, sitting next to you, looked dead-eyed at her half-full notebook. Johnson was using his own notepad as a pillow. Martinez had a cold pack wedged under his shirt, muttering something about “inhumane training laws” under his breath.

You were wrecked. And no one dared to say it out loud.

The door opened. And just like that, the room snapped into shape. Natasha walked in with a slow, unreadable expression. She didn’t bark a command. Didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Her presence alone was a straight line drawn through chaos. Her expression unreadable, calm, but not soft. Alert. A storm in waiting. She walked past all of you without a word and hoisted herself up to sit on the table directly in front of the class , boots planted wide, elbows on knees.

The silence grew dense. Then, slowly, she looked at you. One by one. Not judging. Measuring. You sat straighter. Your heart, despite exhaustion, thudded once. Hard.

She reached for the remote and pressed a button. The screen behind her flickered to life. A drone shot filled the screen, a wide, aerial view of an arid landscape. Cracked land. A village reduced to fragments of stone and splinters. Roofs caved in. A single road, broken with impact craters, carved through what used to be homes.

Everything changed in the room. The fog of exhaustion evaporated. Spines straightened. Eyes locked forward. No one moved. Not even to breathe.

“This..” Natasha said, her voice low, “is the village of Qasira. Forty-seven clicks east of this base. Population, formerly nine hundred. Current? Unknown.”

She let that sit for a second before continuing. “Three days ago, an insurgent convoy passed through the area. They were hit mid-transit. Likely an airstrike from a local faction. Civilians were caught in the crossfire. Local med teams are moving in now. You’re going with them.”

The screen shifted to a satellite map. Pinpoints. Movement indicators. Roads. “This isn’t a combat op. It’s a secure-and-monitor. Your job is to escort, establish perimeter, and provide overwatch while the medics assist the injured and collect survivors.”

Her voice was firm, but there was something in her eyes , a warning, subtle but sharp. “You will be met with three types of people.” she continued. “Those who are glad to see you. Those who resent you. And those who hate you outright. All of them will be scared. Some will be armed. Some won’t.”

Rae swallowed softly next to you.

“You do not fire unless fired upon.” Natasha said. “You do not engage unless absolutely necessary. If someone spits at you, you walk. If someone screams at you, you listen. You are not here to escalate. You are here to protect the people doing their jobs.”

Another click. A street-level image filled the screen, caved-in houses, burnt-out windows, children standing in the rubble, watching the drone.

Your throat tightened.

“This is what real missions look like.” Natasha said, quieter now. “It’s not always bullets and body armor. Sometimes it’s holding a perimeter while someone bleeds out two feet away from you. Sometimes it’s walking past a woman crying over what used to be her kitchen.”

She looked at all of you. And this time, there was no cold edge. Just steel. Steady and unwavering.

“You need to be better than your instincts. You need to be professional, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

A pause. “We leave at 0700 (7am).”

With that, she stood, clicked off the screen, and stepped down. Then, she turned back.

“Gear up. No mistakes.”

The silence lingered after she left. It wasn’t fear. It was something sharper. Something real. You exhaled, slow, as if the weight of the next phase had finally landed on your chest.

-

-

-

-

[keervah]

Cruelty Is An Art Form

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count- 1,920

Summary- Your the daughter of one of New York’s most known Mob leaders. Unfortunately, you’ve caught the attention of New York’s most feared Mob leader, Natasha Romanoff.

Warnings- Minors this fic isn’t for you, Allusion to murder, Dark Mob Natasha, Thigh riding, marking, allusion to non con.

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

There is no evil known to mankind worse than Natasha Romanoff. Of this, you are almost certain. 

Sure there are other terrible things that plague the world like famine, natural disasters and horrific diseases, but the difference between Natasha and all of those things is that, when it comes to how they affect people, it isn’t their fault. All of those things are more or less out of our control, and the way they impact people, out of their control. 

Natasha however, is practiced with her cruelty. Each and every ounce of pain and suffering she inflicts is calculated and purposefully. She takes a pride in it that could only be measured to that of a parent towards their child or an artist towards their art.

Usually when a person contains this type of passion for cruelty it would be contained to the unfortunate few people who find themselves in the presence of the evil being who cultivates it. For example serial killers or people with an affinity for torture and their victims.

Sadly this isn’t the case with Natasha Romanoff, who has enough power and influence that her cruelty spans over hundreds if not thousands of people, even if they do not realize it. As the leader of one of the most powerful and dangerous gangs in New York City, Natasha’s control spans just over triple the city's population. 

She is known throughout the underworld of gang leaders as the “black widow”, the name being given to her in recognition of the countless bodies she has left up and down the coast of many cities across the globe. 

No one would dare mess with her, in any way, unless they had a death wish. Even then, unless that person wanted to die in the most slow and torturous ways even the darkest minds could not conceive, they would stay far, far away from her. 

Which is something you’ve, thankfully, managed to do for all twenty years of your life, despite your fathers standing as a rival gang leader in New York. One that, for the past few months, Natasha has been taking territory from.

To Natasha anyone other than herself and the few people of her inner circle are merely ants ready to be squashed under her boot at a moments notice, even purely for her own twisted entertainment. So she did not know, nor did she care, who’s territory she was taking over, nor did she fear any backlash from the unknown ant.

Your father let her behavior slide, for the sake of peace and to avoid the possibility of innocent civilians getting harmed in the crossfire if he were to start a war between his own gang and the widows. 

He has warned you to stay far away from her, away from any territory she deemed her own, in fear that she may recognise you and harm you for the sake of sending a message to not only him but the other leaders in the city. 

So you did as he asked and stayed away, not wanting to cause any problems for your father or anyone else. But how were you to know that while you were on a night out with your friends that the redhead would choose the exact bar you occupied and claim it as her own, killing the previous owner where he sat in his office before strolling her way up to the bar to order herself a glass of vodka.

Natasha sits at the bar, glass in hand as she lazily surveys the room, looking for someone to sate her need for the night, getting her use out of the unwitting victim before killing them.

As she moves her gaze around the room her eyes land on you, a pretty girl on the dance floor moving her hips along to the music in a way that catches Natasha’s attention and stops her mid way raising her glass to her mouth. 

She watches you for a few moments, her darkening eyes drinking in every sway and move of your body as you lose yourself to the music and atmosphere around you, dangerously unaware of the predator approaching. 

Natasha is unaware of who you are and in all honesty, she doesn’t care, her plan for you remains the same. Act like the sweet gentle woman she never will be, convince you to accompany her back to her mansion, use you like a toy until the sun comes up and then discard you like the broken used thing you will be once she's finished with you. 

Natasha approaches you, reaching a hand out to your waist, moving her body against yours to the beat of the music. She treads lightly, not wanting to scare you off before she can get you at least into her car. The idea of making a public scene tonight just seems like an annoying headache for the redhead.

Feeling a feminine body slid in behind you mould to your own does not bother you, even as her hands slid sensually around your waist, pulling you flush against her. You relish in the attention from the unknown woman. 

Natasha drags her lips against the pulse point of your neck causing you to tilt your head back, needing to give her more room. She suctions her lips to your neck, intent on leaving a mark and branding you as hers. Her toy for the night, her slut made to proudly wear her marks. 

You can’t help the moan that quietly spills from your lips at the action, leaning your head back against her shoulder and moving your left hand up to grip the hair on the back of her neck, holding her in place while she leaves her marks on your skin. 

Natasha slides her arms fully around your waist, tightening her hold on you and locking you in place as she slots her thigh between your legs. Your breath catches in your throat at the action and a whimper follows soon after when the mystery woman whispers “Move your hips, baby” in your ear hotly. 

You do as she says, moving your hips slowly up and down her suit clad thigh. Her warm mouth continues its attack on the delicate skin of your neck, nipping and biting every so often to ensure her marks are clear. 

The whole interaction makes you want to melt against her, melt into her, succumb to the pleasure the woman is bringing you. That is, until she tenses the muscles in her leg, the hard muscle hitting your clit just right in a way that has you moaning out “fuck” and tightening your hold on the redheads hair to the point that you cause her pain. 

Natasha bites down hard on your neck in retaliation, the force of her teeth strong enough to nearly draw blood. 

You gasp and quickly jerk your body away from her. Natasha loosens her hold, allowing you to turn and face her but still keeps you in her grasp. You spin around quickly, determined to tell her off for such a violent act. 

Your breath is stolen from your lungs the second your eyes land on the woman your father spent countless day’s warning you away from. 

Your eyes fill with fear, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead, and you try to take a step back. 

Natasha only tightens her grip on your waist, a smirk falling against her lips while confusion flickers behind her eyes. She can see from the look on your face that you know who she is, what she is capable of, yet she doesn’t know how. Word of the infamous black widow isn’t exactly common knowledge with the civilians in the city. 

“You know me.” Natasha muses, tilting her head to the side slightly, her eyes lighting up when she feels you try to step away from her again. “And you're afraid.” She says, the smirk on her face nearly doubling in size, as she takes a step toward you. 

Your eyes move frantically around the room, desperately looking for the men your father sent with you everywhere. Your body guards, as you call them, or your “protection detail” as they like to call themselves. 

Natasha’s hold on your waist tightens again, pulling you flush with her front and ignoring your attempts to squirm away. Your attention turns back to her and you have to gulp down your fear at the sight of the look in her eyes. It truly feels to you as though she is a starved, deranged predator and you are her prey. 

Natasha takes a moment to look you over, appraising you, while you squirm under her heavy stare, your eyes move away from her, unable to continue looking at her with the intensity of the moment.

“You're a pretty little thing aren’t you.” Natasha muses, gripping your jaw in her rough, calloused fingers and forcing you to look at her. Using her hold on your face she pulls you closer to her, until you are just a breath away. 

Your mind tells you to slap her, to spit in her face, kick her between the legs and run as fast as your feet can carry you. Your survival instincts tell you otherwise, screaming at you that if you want to survive then you have to keep her as calm as possible until your fathers men realize where you are.

So you stand as still as you can, your hands making fists at your sides in an attempt to keep them from shaking. Natasha’s eyes glance down to your clenched fists, a smile sliding its way onto her face before her eyes move back to your face.

She moves her mouth next to your ear, her warm breath hitting your skin while she whispers to you. “Let me tell you a secret little dove.” You feel her lips smile against your skin, trailing a short path up and down the skin of your cheek before she speaks again. “I like it when pretty girls like you are afraid. The look you all get in your eyes when your afraid for your life…” 

Natasha moves her hands to rest on the small of your back, moving your body in one swift jerk so that your thigh rests between her legs. She doesn’t waste a second before grinding down on the plush skin of your thigh, a grown falling from her lips at sensation. “... it gets me so, so wet, angel.” 

Natasha feels more than hears the gasp that leaves your mouth, feels the air hit her face as she pulls back to look at you again. That annoying smirk is back on her face, her eyes dark with lust and need. You jerk your leg from between hers, narrowing your eyes at the fake pout she wears at the action.

Natasha tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, her eyes never leaving your face as she whistles a tune you’d never heard before. Within the blink of an eye nearly fifty bodies hit the floor, each of them going down silently, without so much as a scream, as though someone had simply powered them off.

You look around in shock and horror, your mind running through how she could have done something like that and if you’d be next. 

“Don’t worry, angel.” Natasha coos, her voice a poor imitation of someone attempting to be soothing. “I won’t kill you.” She smiles, bringing her hands up to cup your face.

“You're of no use to me dead.”

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ

A/n- Currently obsessed with dark mob boss Nat, let me know what you think so far, part two will be out this day next week

Part Two

[keervah]

Long Live The Queen

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Knight Wanda Maximoff x Princess Reader

Word Count: 3,249

Summary: As the only living child of the king it is your job to ensure your bloodline continues and that means being married off. Unfortunately for your father neither you or your girlfriend will allow that to happen.

Warnings: 18+ fic, minors DNI, mentions of smut, allusion to SA, brief mentions of abuse, violence, death. Protective Wanda. Wanda has powers.

Au Masterlist

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

“You bring shame to our house.” Your father, the king, seethes from his pace on his throne. 

You stand before him in the great hall, the large and decadent room having been cleared of all its usual occupants in favor of an “imperative family discussion.” 

Your knight, your secret lover, Wanda, stands two steps behind you. Her presence is both grounding and comforting. As your loyal guard, sworn to protect you, the king thinks nothing of the way she stands so close. He does not see that the reason for her actions goes beyond duty.

“You are long past the age when a princess should marry!” The man shouts, rising from his seat, causing you to take a hastened step back. You pause, air held still in your lungs as you wait with baited breath to see if your father noticed your unintentional act of defiance. He doesn’t, much to your relief, too caught up in his mad ranting to take much notice of you at all. 

A warm, comforting hand on your back alerts you that another did notice your flinched movement. A quiet, rattly breath shakes loose from your lungs, your body instinctively leaning into the familiarity of the hand on your back. 

“You should have at least three heirs by now!” His voice booms throughout the room, echoing off the walls and back at you, somehow twice as loud as the initial offending words. He goes on to shout about how you’ve disgraced his good name for long enough, how you’ve tarnished his legacy and put his bloodline at risk by refusing your duties of finding a husband to give you children, to carry on his bloodline. As his first born and only surviving child it is your duty to ensure the continuation of your house, no matter the personal ramifications.

Every word the man utters causes Wanda's anger to grow, bubbling inside her until it borders on the line of blind rage. The king, too caught up in his own self centeredness, does not notice the danger he puts himself in, carrying on and on until your lover's patience is so paper thin you can hear her strained breathing from beside you. 

She’s trying to ground herself, you realize with a surge of panic, the pattern in her breathing alerting you to how close to losing control she truly is. The pause between each push and pull of breath is all too familiar to you, having taught her that breathing exercises yourself to help her keep a reign on her anger, her power. 

The king's boorish words push to the back of Wanda’s mind as she takes herself back to the night you taught her the grounding tool. It was no more than eight months into your relationship with the woman, during one of your many stolen nights together. Wanda had come to terms with the fact that she wanted to be with you always, that she could no longer imagine a life without you. So she’d confessed to you that she was born with the ability to wield magic, a skill she learned to harness in secret. 

Even from the first moment you learned of wanda’s powers you never feared them, only asking her with wide and excited eyes for her to show you her abilities. It wasn’t until later in the night, when wanda confessed to you something darker that she saw the first hint of fear flicker in your eyes. If only she’d known that your fear was for her and not of her.

She told you that, when she got especially emotional, she struggled to keep a grip on her abilities. That, sometimes, when her magic surged through her with a will of its own, she could hear a voice whisper to her. A voice that sounded so similar to her own only darker, egging her on to let her power flow freely, to kill anyone who would come between her and what she wants.  

She’d confessed to you that, since the first moment you let her touch you, the thing the voice screamed for most of all is you. To love you, protect you, take you and claim you as her own. She told you it scared her. That she feared what she might be capable of if this ever looming voice took over. She feared what she might do to you if she lost control. 

She remembers how gently you’d taken her tear stained cheeks into your hands, the concern palpable in your eyes as you raised her gaze to your own.  She remembers how you whispered to her how much you love her, how you refused to leave her, that you’d stand by her side no matter what. She also remembers how softly you’d kissed her, how she knew then that she could trust you with anything, that she would never let anything come between you. 

You fight to keep your own breath in check, every inch of your body hyper aware of Wanda’s struggling form beside you. From the sound of it, the stutter in her breath and the static that fills the air around her, you can tell she’s fighting hard to keep control.

The king's words rush back into the forefront of Wanda's mind. His loud demand for you to take your “rightful place” in society breaks through her carefully constructed memory. What he means is for you to marry a man, one who will treat you as no more than a toy, an incubator and a maid. He doesn’t say these things directly, but you can read between the lines, you always could with him. 

You’ve tried to tell him on many occasions that the life he invisions for you would be nothing short of torture. That what he sees as a political need for alliance to ensure the continuation of his house would mean that you are to be beated and raped by whatever man he deems as good enough to sell you to. This time is no different than any other, he simply will hear none of it, stating that it is a woman's true nature to bend to the will of man. That it is the will of the gods for women to be obedient, no matter what it is asked of them. 

Movement in your peripheral draws your attention to Wanda, your fathers words fading to the background as you take in her struggle to remain in control. Her hands begin to twitch, her breath getting shallower, faster in pace as she removes her hand from your back, afraid she could hurt you. 

Her displeasure at the way you’re being spoken to is obvious, poorly hidden behind a facade of restlessness, just an obedient servant eager to get back to work.

“Do you wish for my line to die out with you!?” The king exasperates, throwing his cup toward you. The object barely misses you, wine splattering across your face and clothes, painting a picture of the very real pain and suffering you would be subjected to if you went along with your fathers wishes. You fight the urge to smile at the thought, knowing in your heart there really is no humor to the notion. 

Wanda whips her head towards you, her eyes widened in rage and concern. You see her hands ball into fists, that voice in her head daring her to retaliate. You turn your gaze toward the woman, your eyes locking on hers, silently assuring her you are alright and begging her to stay calm. 

Rage swells inside the woman, despite your wordless assurance. Actually, she’s pretty sure the calm on your face only serves to anger her more. You shouldn’t be used to this, it shouldn’t be normal for things to be thrown at you in anger, in violence or at all really. You shouldn’t be sitting calmly as he spits words of disgust and disrespect your way. 

Your pretty face should not be stained with evidence of his lack of care for you. 

Her eyes are still locked on yours when she feels the rage hit a tipping point. The falter in your smile lets her know her green orbs have flicked to red, her eyes closing the second she sees the alarm in yours. She turns away from you, standing with her back straight, her head bowed slightly as she takes a deep breath and then another. 

She needs to calm down, fast, or she’ll do something she can’t come back from.

Wanda now knows your fear does not come from a place for your own safety, never once have you been afraid she could hurt you, accident or otherwise. Your fear is only for the woman you love. If word of her power were to get out, armies of power hungry men would surly descent upon her, keen on harnessing that power for themselves.

“Are you so undesirable that you cannot find one single man willing to wed and bed you?!” The king's voice rings through the room again, echoing in Wanda’s head, hammering against her skull from the outside as a power from inside her slams against it demanding to be set free. 

You move your gaze from Wanda to your father in a second, all traces of concern bleeding from your orbs as repulsion takes its place. You would rather die than feel any man's touch on your body. You know voicing such things will do you no good. It would only put you in even heavier danger with your father. But there are always ways around things, parts of his ego to feed, weaknesses to gently press, lightly enough he won’t even notice. 

“Father I-“ 

“No! I don’t care for your meaningless words anymore child. I’ve found a husband for you.” 

Blood runs cold in your veins, your eyes widening as you take in his words. “You’ll be married tomorrow. You’ll be with child within the fortnight.” 

Wanda’s eyes fly open, her intense gaze fixed on you. You feel as though you might get sick, bile rising up your throat you struggle to swallow it back down. You’d rather die than be made to live through a life as bleak and miserable. 

“Father, please.”

“No! You will do as I say!” The man scoffs. “The time for you to choose a husband has come and gone. You will do your duty to your father and your house, I will hear nothing more of it.” 

Wanda’s blood is boiling. Her hands balled tightly into fists. She sees you frozen in place beside her, fear overtaking you at the thought of what your father has in store for you. He’s going to force you into this, force you to marry a man. Force you to be his wife, lay with him, give him as many heirs as he sees fit. Be a simple, doting woman who adheres to all his demands. 

You can’t do it. You won’t. 

Your father shouts for the guards outside to open the doors to the great hall. Wanda doesn’t move her eyes from you as a man steps through. He’s tall, muscular and very smug looking. The guards announce him as lord Vander, as he struts over to your father and greets him properly, even bowing briefly to the king before turning his attention to you. 

“Is this her?” Lord Vander asks, making his way over to you. “Is this my future wife?” He asks with a smirk.

Vander raises a hand to grip your jaw, pulling your face to meet his eyes, as you refused to even look at him. His eyes light up at the way you flinch away from him, the fear he sees in your eyes, he likes it. Disgusting pig. 

Wanda fights against herself to break the man’s neck the second he touches you. She only refrains for you, knowing you’d want her to. She feels herself shaking, her power begging to set itself free, to protect her girl, her love. To rid you both of this filthy creature. 

The Lord takes his time looking over you, humming his satisfaction as he does. “Is she a virgin?” He asks, a hungry look in his eyes at the thought. “I do like it when they’re virgins. The way they squirm and cry is just so delicious.” 

You can feel Wanda vibrating with anger beside you, the force of it too strong to even attempt to conceal. You can’t blame her, you’re damn near shaking with fear and anger yourself. 

This man is disgusting. You want nothing more than to reach your hand up and force your fingers deep into his eye sockets and push, push with so much strength and hatred until you feel his warped, rotted brain break beneath your touch. You want to sit comfortably on your girlfriend's lap, her arms wrapped protectively and possessively around you. Her comfort would seep into your bones as you watched blood and mush poor from the fresh wounds in his head.

Your fathers voice brings you from your vivid fantasy,  his agreement with the man ringing in your ears as he proudly proclaims you as “pure.” If only he knew you’d already been claimed. That your very soul had been marked by the way a certain green eyed beauty coaxed pleasure from your veins with such care, with so much love, that you were irrevocably hers. 

You want to rebuttal this very fact, want to smack this vile man’s hand from your skin and tell him that you most certainly aren’t “pure” but fear of repercussions keeps you still. Not only would you be punished for such acts, but Wanda would surely be beaten for “defiling” you. 

The man in front of you takes another step in your direction, making the space between you almost non-existent. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you.” He says to himself more than anyone else. He looks you over again, his eyes sliding over your skin like blood soaked snakes, making you feel dirty. 

He nods once, turning to your father with a twisted grin on his face. “You have a deal.” He then moves his hand to your forearm, grabbing you with a bruising strength, uncaring of its effect on you as he yanks you toward him. 

“Hey! Get off of me!” You finally fight back, trying to pull yourself free from his grasp as he attempts to pull you towards the double doors. You rip your arm free from his hold, your hands coming to his chest and pushing him away when he angrily reaches for you again. Lord Vander stumbles back and scoffs, indignantly spitting the words “how dare you put your hands on me!” 

Before you can think, move away from the man or respond in any way a hand comes across your face harshly, whipping your head to the side with the force of it. You stumble back, landing on the floor. 

It takes you a second to move, your hand reaching up to your lip, your fingers coming away bloody. You look up, your eyes wide as you see your father standing above you, anger clear in his eyes. “How dare you!” He roars, stalking toward you as you shuffle away from him. “How dare you defy your future husband. You are to do as you are told, whether you like it or not.” 

His arm leeches back, ready to strike you again. You close your eyes tight, bracing for the harsh impact of his strike. Seconds pass and you have yet to feel anything. A gargled, desperate sound draws your attention, your eyes flying open to find the source of the noise.

A gasp leaves your lips, horror filling your face as your eyes land on the sight before you. There, two feet off the floor is your father and Lord Vander, levitating, clutching at their necks as a seemingly invisible force fights to crush their windpipes. 

Wanda.

You turn, probably faster than a human should be able to as you turn to face the woman. Her eyes are consumed by blood red, scarlet red lights all around her, so bright you have to squint against its glow. 

“Wanda.” You say, desperately scrambling to your feet and making your way toward her. “Wanda, baby, come back to me.” You plead, your hands cupping her face gently, trying to guide her out of her rage induced haze with gentle touches. 

“Run.” The woman grits out, feeling her grip on reality slip from between her fingers. Her power is consuming her, that depraved voice back to taunt her.

You shake your head in refusal, your eyes pleading with her to listen to you. “Wanda, please.” You beg. “I love you.” 

Wanda's eyes flicker to green, her gaze turning to you and her eyes softing. Another gargled sound from behind you draws her attention away, her eyes turning to red once again as a blood red crown materializes on her head.

You gasp, your arms falling from her face as you take her in. Power courses through her as she strangles the two men behind you, her usual knight's outfit falling away as another, more fitted for a warrior queen, takes its place. 

You stare at her in awe, enamored with the sight before you. Wanda hears your thoughts, senses the heat inside you and snaps her head toward you once again, this time waving her wrist and breaking both men’s necks, letting their lifeless bodies drop to the blood with a loud thud. 

You don’t bother to turn your gaze toward the corpses on the floor behind you, your gaze sent intently on the woman in front of you. Her eyes have settled back to their usual green. She looks ethereal and it's wrong, so wrong, but you can’t help but be turned on by all of this. The sight of her. The way she protected you. The way she leans toward you, wraps one arm around you and pulls you into a hungry kiss. 

You moan into her mouth as the kiss grows more heated and the red haired woman pulls away with a smirk on her face. You whine in protest but Wanda shushes you. “There will be plenty of time for that, princess.” She says, placing a kiss to your cheek. “But right now there is something we need to do.”

You don’t question Wanda as she leads you to the throne, taking a seat herself before pulling you into her lap. She calls everyone in the palace to the great hall, not bothering to move the two bodies from the floor. Only once everyone has filed in does Wanda take her attention away from you to address the crowd. 

“The king is dead.” She declares, her voice traveling throughout the room thanks to her powers.  A crown materializes on your head, one a lot like her own. “Long live the queen.” 

Wanda's voice and stance leaves no room for questions, everyone in the room merely bowing and chanting. “Long live the queen.”

Under your fathers rule the people in your kingdom were suffering, starving. There was so much wrong in the land. But you and Wanda together could fix that. You would be a kinder leader, everyone knew that. 

Plus, if anyone tried to get in your way, Wanda would take care of it. She will never again allow anything to come between you two. Your hers and now she has no reservations about making sure everyone knows it.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

A/n- This is my first time post a fic in what feels like ages purely because of lack of motivation with so little interaction on fics lately. So if you have any thoughts on this or liked it at all please don’t be afraid to drop an ask or comment!! (feed your fic writers ppl please) As always I hope you guys like the fic and hope you have a good day/ night :)

[keervah]

seeing green

Summary: So maybe you made a not-so-great choice... in your defense, it was fun at the time. But now, looking at Wanda's raised eyebrow and dark smile, maybe you shouldn't have tried to make her so jealous. Hindsight is everything.

Tags: wanda maximoff x f!reader, 18+, smut, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, dacryphilia, oral sex, cunnilingus, mommy kink, mean mommy wanda!!

WC: 1,266

A/N: was hit by a spark of irritation— i mean, inspiration, today

You pant loudly in the living room, gasping for breath. The curtains are drawn, only a thin shaft of light spilling onto the rug and one arm of the couch.

Wanda is leaned leisurely back against the couch, smiling darkly up at you as you cry out. Her hand stops for just one moment, and she hums softly as you twitch in her grasp.

"You sure you don't want Avery here instead, detka? You certainly seemed to be having a good time with her."

"No, no— no mommy just want you don't want her please— pleaseplease please let me come," you whine, squirming in Wanda's lap. She allows it for but a moment before her free hand clamps down on your hip again, holding you still.

"Really? I don't think I believe you…"

Wanda licks her lips, tracing soft, slow circles around your clit with the pad of her finger.

"Please, mommy. Don't want her, just want you. Just want mommy," you plead desperately, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

"Hmm," Wanda hums, tutting softly when you whine again. "I don't know if I believe that, detka. You were all over her." Her voice dips dangerously, eyes flashing. You can tell she's displeased, and you flush; she's not wrong—you had been basically attached at the hip to your newest work friend Avery.

Normally, you wouldn't spend so much time with her, but it had been at least a little bit fun to see the way Wanda's jaw worked through her displeasure, and you'd enjoyed the dark glare she'd kept leveled on you the entire night. It sent shivers down your spine, knowing how much she wanted you, and so maybe you'd pushed it a little too far, leaning into Avery heavier or laughing a little brighter than you normally world.

It's not fun now as Wanda stops for probably the 6th or 7th time in a row, bringing you down from the edge of your orgasm and holding you still as tears drip down your face.

"You look so pretty, detka," she murmurs, leaning forward to lick away some of your tears.

You inhale sharply, feeling more tears spill over as she chuckles in the back of her throat.

"Regretting it now, honey?" she coos softly, thumb still pressed to your swollen clit.

"I'm sorry, mommy," you whimper, trying your best attempt at the saddest puppy-dog eyes you can manage, but she doesn't budge.

"Oh, pretty girl, you should've thought about that before you decided to spend the night flirting with Avery." Wanda hums dismissively as you whine and start crying again.

"No use crying over spilled milk, baby," she chuckles. "What's done is done. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you try another little stunt like this one."

"Please, mommy," you beg, wracking your brain for anything you can possibly say to appease Wanda. "Please, I belong to you, mommy."

Wanda looks at you sharply, interest piqued as she tilts her head slightly.

You chase the tail end of your declaration eagerly, perking up as you continue babbling.

"I'm yours, mommy, please. I just want you. I'm all yours."

Her thumb restarts its slow rhythm against your clit, and you nearly sob with relief, chasing the feeling as your mouth runs on and on without a single thought.

"Belong to mommy, please, just for mommy, all yours."

Her thumb is firm against your clit, and you shiver at the stimulation — it's too much and not enough all at once, and you yelp softly when she begins rubbing faster. Her entire hand is dripping wet, no thanks to you, but she just keeps looking up at you, encouraging the deluge of words flooding out of you.

"Please, mommy, please let me come, please."

Just as you reach the very edge, Wanda stops again, and you feel the tears restart without warning, pouring down your face as you whimper desperately.

"Tell me who you belong to again, baby," she coos, brushing your tears away with her thumb this time.

"You, mommy, please," you whine. "Belong to you."

"Then how come you were basically sitting on Avery's lap the whole night, huh?"

You sob softly, tears drip-dripping unstoppably now.

"Because I wanted to make you jealous, mommy," you hiccup, whining when Wanda presses down on your clit.

"And have you learned your lesson, detka?"

You nod fervently, abashed and apologetic. Wanda hums absently, but her thumb starts moving again, and you melt into the touch.

"Please, mommy, I belong to you," you profess eagerly, tears still flowing.

"It's okay, detka, I know. Be a good girl and tell me again, why don't you? Whose girl are you, hm?"

"Your girl, mommy," you hiccup softly, moaning when she loosens her grip on your hip and lets you start to rock against her finger.

"Again, detka, say it again," she whispers, eyes sharp and intense.

"I belong to you, mommy. I'm all yours. Please."

"One more time, baby, I just wanna hear you say it one more time and then you can come, okay?"

Wanda looks nearly feral, her pupils blown as she leans into your space, her thumb rubbing fast, tight circles over your clit. You can't help but shiver, gushing against her hand again as your orgasm fast-approaches.

"I'm yours, Wanda," you murmur, softening as you see her breathe a shuddery sigh of relief. You also lean forward, drawn to her magnetic allure, and meet her in the middle for a feverish kiss.

"Mine," she mumbles as she nibbles on your bottom lip, thumb rubbing furiously over your clit.

You jolt back, crying out as she drives her index and middle finger into your cunt, working double-time in an effort to make you come.

"Come for me, baby. You can come now," she's murmuring into your neck, but you can barely tell she's saying anything at all, the vibrations of sound a distant consideration as your vision whites out completely.

When you come to again, she's rearranged you entirely so you're lying down on the couch. You have a moment to just blink and breathe as sound and feeling returns to you, and as soon as you can feel your fingertips again, you whimper.

Wanda, tucked between your thighs, is licking softly at your cunt, dark green eyes intent on your expression.

You tremble your way through another orgasm, shivering as she crawls up the length of your body to settle herself on your chest.

"You did such a good job, detka," she murmurs softly, leaning up for a soft kiss.

"Felt good," you whisper in return, blushing lightly when she grins into your neck.

She reaches up to run her fingers through your hair, and sits up momentarily to reach for a blanket that she promptly pulls over top of both of you. As you lie on the couch, you hear Wanda's breath slowly even out, and your eyes begin to droop.

Clearly, though, she isn't really asleep, because you hear her voice, softer and more hesitant, float up.

"You don't actually like her that much, do you?"

You smother your grin against the top of her head and pull her up for another kiss, this one longer and warmer.

"No, I don't," you reply easily, watching the way the crease between her eyebrows smooths over and she finally seems to relax.

"I love you and only you," you murmur softly. "You're my favorite person."

She hums contentedly and presses a kiss to your chin.

"I love you too, detka."

She sits up momentarily, squinting at you suspiciously.

"But don't do that again."

[keervah]

Hi! If you’re taking fic requests, may I request a story with fem!nerd reader whose a loner, paired with popular Wanda, Natasha, or both?

Their friends challenge them to a bet, daring them to make the reader fall for them. As time goes on, they unexpectedly develop real feelings for her. However, on the day the reader confesses to both of them, she discovers the truth, that it was all just a bet, while their friends are present. Reader distances herself, but Wanda and Natasha do everything they can to win her back. Angst and fluff please!

Of course, you don’t have to write this if you’re not comfortable, but thank you regardless! ☺️

A Penny for your Love. (W. M. x N. R. x R.) — Part one. (5.006 words.)

| Tags & Warning — Popular!Natasha Romanoff x Popular!Wanda Maximoff x Looser!Reader. University alternative universe, social anxiety, loneliness, spiralling thoughts, alcohol consumption (just a bit), insecurities (a lot, not gonna lie), cheating (not really), lies, manipulation (or at least not being honest), fluff, angst (a bit).

| A/N — my draft was very (very) long so there will be two parts (or maybe three, i will see). i hope you will enjoy this first part even if it is coming a bit late!

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

You were sure that no one would notice if you were not here.

And this statement was not the result of dark thoughts, it was a fact. A conclusion so simple that the realization had been agonizing — how did you not realize this sooner? You always knew you were not outstanding, but you never thought you were so.. disposable.

People do not know your name, and those who see you every day barely remember your face. Yet, it has been almost three years. And even though you knew you could not blame them — how could you? You had never exchanged more than a few words with them — the heaviness this fact had placed on your chest was impossible to shake off.

It was your fault.

You were the one who put yourself in this situation. You were the only one who could be blamed for it and, at the same time, the only one who could get you out of it. But the realization came too late, you kept repeating yourself, at that time, the friendships were already made, and you were sure no one would need — or want — a new one.

You were sure no one was as lonely as you were. 

But that was nothing more than an excuse, a reason not to even try, because the truth was that you didn’t feel up to the task. It should be easy, to exchange a few words with the people you saw every day, for more than two years, but it was not. 

Every time you looked at them, you felt your insides knot up. Every time you thought of exchanging a few words with them, you were petrified, not to mention the few times life had forced you to do so. You had uttered a few words whose syllables had become jumbled, your voice trembling as you were saying the words you would regret for the next few years.

It is no surprise that you did not make any friends. 

You are a mess. 

The voice in your head whispers the same thing again, and again, until you can’t do anything but believe its poisonous words. Your fists clenched until your fingernails leave crescent-shaped marks in your palm, you try to push these thoughts away but, deep down, you know. 

There is some truth in these words. 

It was no coincidence that every one of your attempts at making friends had failed, and not just at university. It has always been that way. The loneliness and the yearning to be a part of their world, two feelings that had been tearing you apart since a very young age. 

But you were used to it by now, even enjoying the loneliness sometimes — It has its advantages. These were also words you kept repeating in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself, more lies. I do not care, you were saying through gritted teeth but, as you were watching them, you could not ignore the jealousy that was creeping up.

And even though you should not, in these moments, you didn’t want anything more than being one of them. You wanted to be the one who laughs at the jokes one of her friends just told her, even if it was lame. To be the one who didn’t have time to finish her meal because she spent the lunch break chatting. The one who was courageous enough to speak up in class, ask the questions that bloom in her mind and give the answers, even when they were wrong. The one who would not have to worry about the group projects because she would already know who she was going to be with, their eyes meeting before the instructions were even given because it was just as obvious as the color of the sky that they would be a group. 

You yearned to be one of those that were brave enough to live, to exist.

But no matter how much you wanted it, you had never managed to get it. The invisible wall that separated you from them was far too thick to be broken that easily, and so you stayed there, watching them from the other side of what seemed to be a one-way mirror — You could see them, but they were unaware of your existence. 

And because wanting something was not enough to get it, you never managed to do more than touch your dreams with your fingertips. For every step you took forward, you felt like you were making three back afterwards.

You were not getting closer to your dream. 

You were moving away from it, drawing in your own mess. 

The few times you had had the impression of being a part of their world had only been illusions that never lasted long. It was nothing more than fragments of what it could be. 

And you wanted more than that.

More than snatches, what you really wanted was a permanent spot in this sweet universe that was theirs. A place where solitude would not be a constraint, but a choice, and yours. Not one that was made by others because they did not deem you worthy of their time.

But life is not a fairy tale. It is cruel, harsh, and the reality catches up with you faster than you would like when your language teacher announces a group project — In pairs.

You do not even look at your classmates, preferring to avoid their gaze by pretending you are writing something on your notebook — you are not, you are just scribbling circles. But the motion helps you to think about how you are going to formulate your request. This teacher is a bit of a boor, you thought, so there is little chance of her agreeing to you doing this project on your own but maybe, maybe with the right words you could change her mind.

The course is continuing, but you are not listening anymore, unable to think about anything other than this stupid assignment, than the conversation you will have at the end of the course. Your breathing has quickened, your hands have become clammy, but even though you keep telling yourself that everything is okay, you can’t calm down. At least not enough to be able to concentrate on the class. The teacher’s words seem far away, and they do not really reach you, as if cotton had been put in your ears.

It is a tap on the shoulder that eventually pulls you out of your thoughts, preventing you from falling further down the rabbit hole into which this whole story was dragging you in. When you turn your head, your eyes land on a pretty redhead — Natasha Romanoff. She is not in your class, being a bit older, so you do not see her much outside the language classes. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she murmured, and you must have looked surprised — perhaps even frightened — because she immediately moved her hand back in a gesture of appeasement. “I wanted to know if you would like to pair up with me?” She said, and you could not help but notice how soft her voice sounded as she was asking you to be her partner for the second time, the words not having reached your ears the first. 

“What?” You replied without thinking, but maybe you should have, it would have prevented you from saying the stupidest thing you could have. The instant the question escapes you, you bite your lip — she must think you are a complete idiot now, well done, you thought.

“For the group project,” she clarified, “would you like to work with me? If you are not already with someone else, of course,” she said, but it was only to sound polite. Despite what you may think, Natasha Romanoff knows you, and she knows that you are a lonely soul, never heard, hardly seen — You may be discreet, but not enough to escape her observant gaze.

Even though it was the third time she had asked the question, you detected no trace of impatience in her tone, no judgment in her eyes, just a certain.. expectation, but you could not tell for what reason.

“Ar-,” — you sure? You wanted to ask, but you swallow the words before you can say them, replacing them by a simple nod. “Yes,” you blurted out the word, your voice being so high-pitched that you winced with embarrassment for a moment. “I mean.. I do not have a partner yet, and I would love to work with you,” you clarified, trying to control your voice, but your excitement hadn’t gone unnoticed by the redhead, nor did the slight tremble of your hands, and she was now smirking — because you looked like you were about to explode, and maybe you were, for real. “My name is-” 

“I know,” she cut you off as she filled in the sheet that was being passed through the rows, writing your name without any hesitation, without a mistake. “Did I write it right?” She asked with feigned care. She already knew that she got it right, and she is not surprised when you nod — she could not say the same about you, though. 

You may belong to two completely different worlds in appearance, one barely existing, always in her sole company, the other always surrounded, her presence hard to ignore. And yet, from the very first lessons, Natasha had found something endearing about you, waiting for the opportunity to approach you without frightening you — and she knew she was not the only one whose gaze you caught.

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Before that evening, the two women had never spoken of you — nor had they ever spoken to you — and you were like a half-confessed secret floating between them, because despite their respective silence, they knew each other too well to not know the truth.

Wanda could see the smile on Natasha’s lips whenever she was coming out of her language classes that, as luck would have it, you had chosen too. And Natasha for sure noticed the sparke in Wanda’s eyes when they landed on you in the corridors, always lingering a little longer than they should on your silhouette.

But they had never been brave enough to put into words what they were feeling, and this desire continued to grow little by little in their hearts. Out of respect, they told themselves, to not admit that it was out of fear — that they would mess everything up.

You were from a very different world. The two women were popular, and all it took was a smile and a few pretty words to get any girl into their bed. Girls who did not care about being a one-night stand, who lived for it, but they could tell that you were not one of them. You were reserved, and solitary, and by the way your fingers trembled and your words tangled at the slightest conversation, they guessed you took things too personally to be satisfied with a one-night stand — you needed time, and attachment.

But they were not sure they would be able to give you what you needed. Their relationship was complicated, messy, it was in their image and that suited them — or almost. And then, out of fear of ruining their chances by taking the first step too soon, or doing things the wrong way, they kept their desires a secret, observing you from afar, pretending it satisfied them. 

Until that night.

From the moment they were dared by their friends to choose a target for their twisted game, your name had been on their minds — it has been evident. And so, despite the initial desire not to disturb your tranquility, they made you their prey. Their judgment had probably been impaired by the few — many — drinks they already had that night, but the cheers of their friends quickly cleared their doubts.

They could have chosen someone else — they should have — there were so many girls who envied them, who wouldn’t have minded being the object of a bet — but where was the fun in that? You were different, you were unreachable, always slipping through their fingers, never exchanging more than a few hesitant words with them, or the others. 

You always left class the instant the bell rang, never leaving your headphones, and music quickly became your only company to the point where it discouraged any of your classmates from trying to bond with you. 

If the women did not know any better, they would have assumed that you were content with your situation, but they had never missed the hint of sadness — and jealousy — that clouded your gaze whenever your eyes landed on the others — nor they had missed the desire in it when you were watching them, thinking they would not notice.

But they always did.

Something in your attitude made them want to wrap their arms around you, to protect you — and to love you — even though they barely know who you are. It is a foreign feeling they had never felt before, not even with each other, their love taking on something completely different, something rougher. 

And maybe that is why the two women did not think about the harm this little game could cause, because for a few hours, under the effects of alcohol, they had forgotten how different your world was from theirs, how much more fragile. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

It is only a few days after you first met the redhead that you eventually came across the second one, Wanda, and for a long time you thought that your meeting had been nothing more than a happy — very happy — coincidence.

At that moment, you were at the library working on some of your assignments, or more realistically regretting some of your materials choices — How could a Sokovian language class for beginners be so complicated? A few months ago, it had sounded like an interesting choice, and you had then been thrilled by the possibility of learning a new language. But you soon understood why so few people chose this class; while it sounded appealing on paper, it was nothing less than a nightmare to study.

Despite trying your best, you were piling up the difficulties, falling behind, and you were not sure you would ever be able to catch up, even if they gave you years to do so. The letters and their sounds, the words and their meanings, everything was mixed in your mind, forming an indecipherable mass of information.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice when she approached your table. At this point, it was not about studying the material or getting your exercises done anymore, it was about pushing these thoughts away, those which attempted to drag you down, to encourage you to give up — because what is even the point of putting so much energy into something you are going to fail, as everything else you do? 

It is only when she waved her hand in front of your eyes that you noticed her presence, and it took you a few long seconds before you recognized her face.

“Y- yeah?” You stuttered, scrambling to remove your headphones.

“May I sit there? All the seats are taken,” she explained softly, a disappointed pout spreading across her face as she talks. And, unable to refuse — and certainly not wanting to — you hurriedly retrieve your belongings to make room for the brunette. 

What you ignored is that her words were not completely true. While most of the tables were in fact taken, Wanda was not actually looking for a seat. She was already on her way out when she saw you, but it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up — Especially since Natasha had already taken the lead in their little game, and she hated to lose. 

But maybe you should have said no, because from the moment she sat down, you have been unable to concentrate on your work. All your thoughts were directed to the woman, especially since you could feel her gaze on you as she watched what you were doing.

If her gaze was filled with curiosity, you could not help but imagine judgment in it — What would she think of you if you wrote something really wrong and really stupid? Suddenly, your breathing was a little faster, your hands clammy, forcing you to readjust your grip on your pen several times, and your mind too foggy to be able to do more than pretending to be thinking.

Why did you say yes, already? 

Partially because you didn’t know how to say no, mainly because you were so delirious that a part of you was hoping to become friends with the woman, exactly like in fiction where the most beautiful relationships were starting with insignificant, unexpected encounters. It was stupid, and you were perfectly aware of that, already regretting your choice — You should have lied, it wouldn't have been that hard, would it? But the words came too late to your mind, and you were now stuck with that girl until one of you decided to leave.

The minutes stretched until they seemed interminable, as if the seconds had stopped ticking. None of you were doing anything, and she hadn’t even bothered to — or at least pretend to — mind her own business, never taking out her notebooks, never letting her eyes leave your worksheets for a minute. 

When she finally spoke, you looked at her with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. If you didn’t understand the meaning behind her words, you could still recognize them as Sokovian — And by the way she pointed to your sheet while talking, you guessed she had seen every one of your mistakes. 

But she had not been mean about it, and even the smirk she wore was not mischievous, just very frustrating as you would learn later. The girl — Wanda, as she will let you know in a few minutes — even kindly offered you a little help, probably out of pity, which you tried to refuse. But your lies were not very convincing. 

“That’s nice, but I am doing just fine,” you replied, your words sounding a little harsher than they did in your head. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind, her smile not faltering. 

“Are you sure?” She asked back, tilting her head slightly to the side. But she already knew the answer, you both did, and it was no surprise that you eventually admitted that you in fact needed a little help with your lessons. 

“Actually, no,” you conceded, and the chuckle that escaped her lips was so infectious that you forgot your own embarrassment for a moment, a soft laugh escaping yours too.

And if at first you felt bad about accepting her help, that feeling quickly faded as a routine set in. At least twice a week, the two of you would meet at the library so she could help with your language lessons — And damn, you really needed this help. Surprisingly, the woman never lost her patience, and even when you thought she would hate you for making her repeat the same thing dozens of times, she did not, always remaining benevolent.

You appreciated these moments more than you would admit it. Wanda’s presence was breaking your loneliness a bit, even though you were not sure if you two could be considered as friends since you’ve never met outside of the library’s walls.

“Why does it have to be so difficult?” You mumble, and these are the words that usually conclude your sessions, marking the moment when you despair overcomes your determination. Most of the time, they are accompanied by a groan as you lean dramatically on the table, knowing it would make her laugh. A sound you loved to hear because it made your heart beat like never before. A sweet, warm feeling that spreads through your whole being. 

At that point, she always whispers the same words that you can’t understand. And whenever you ask her about their meaning, she refuses to give you the answer. “It will give you a reason to study,” is the response she gives you every time. And as she talks, there is that unnerving smirk dancing at the corner of her lips. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Since you have met the women, something has shifted in your attitude. It was nothing obvious, but it was still enough for them to notice. You were a bit more confident, sometimes even initiating contact with them instead of dodging their eyes. and you let in a glimpse of yourself you'd usually kept hidden. More relaxed, less withdrawn.

And you felt it too, this change.  

The past few weeks, the fear that used to knot your insides had been replaced by a kind of enthusiasm. It was driven by the fact that you knew you would see them whenever you were at university, and even though you were not talking much with them outside of your work sessions, you were looking forward to crossing their paths. The women always had a smile or a lingering hand to spare, and these small gestures meant everything to you as they never failed to make your days much better than they were.

Honestly, if you haven’t yet seen any of them outside university, it was mainly your fault. Despite how great everything was going, there was still this lingering fear you couldn’t get rid off — It was this voice. The one that never failed to remind you how much people must hate you, how much you hated yourself. And it was always here to remind you that the women will dump you at your first mistake, because it is sure you will end up making one. You always do, ending up ruining all the good things you were given. 

Studying at the library with Wanda, or working on your group project in a coffee shop with Natasha, it was easy, familiar and you knew how to do it without messing it up. So every time they have tried to propose something different — and damn, they have tried so many times — you’ve come up with an excuse, always being too busy to do anything else than studying.

In reality, the only thing you have been busy with was drowning in your own thoughts. Despite how well things were going with them, you were still not sure if you could really be friends, let alone being more, as your delusional mind liked to hope sometimes.  

They are popular, and so are their friends. They go to parties every Thursday, where they probably drink and smoke. They do not worry about everything, and are not scared by everyone. They are pretty, funny, and confident. In other words, these people were everything you were not. They knew how to live, something you did not, and you knew they would notice that you weren’t like them the moment you would meet — And what if they judge you for that? What if they do not like you? Or worse, what if they talk about it with Wanda and Natasha, and the women eventually realize how lame you are ? 

But tonight had been different, because this time you had said yes to them — more specifically to the redhead. When she told you she was having a party at her place, you were ready to decline before she even got a chance to finish her sentence. Yet, this time, Natasha had refused to take no for an answer, and after several long minutes of trying to convince — and reassure — you, you eventually agreed. But it was only after she told you — multiple times — that it wasn’t really a party, only a small gathering with a few friends to celebrate the end of the exams.

A choice you were now regretting. 

You have never felt so out of place than the moment you walked through that door, entering a universe that was foreign to you — Natasha and you definitely didn’t have the same definition of a “small gathering.” When you didn’t immediately see the redhead, the thought of leaving crossed your mind because it suddenly felt impossible. Until then, you knew the steps you had to follow perfectly — choosing an outfit, coming there, not too late but not too early, bringing a little something — but now? 

Now, you were not sure, and this uncertainty was already gnawing at you — Should you send her a message? But what if she forgot about you, or doesn’t want to stay with you all night? Should you get yourself a drink? 

The weight on your chest grew heavier with each passing second, but the moment your eyes met hers, it was gone. You weren’t aware of it, but she saw you the moment you entered the room. You had this ability to absorb all her concentration, to the point where she wasn’t listening to the conversation she was engaged in anymore.

You hadn’t planned what happened in the following hours. It just happened, one event after another, and you just let it happen. At the same time, after a drink, or two — or maybe three — you weren't really able to think anymore. This too, you didn’t foresee. But you have been unable to refuse the glasses that some people kept handing you, a part of your actions being driven by the desire to be like them, or at least pretend to be for one night.

“I think you had more than enough for tonight, malyshka,” she intervened at some point, fetching the drink someone was handing you before you could grab it.

“Noo,” you whined in response. The redhead may was right, but the action still felt really unfair in the moment, and you couldn’t help but pout as you witnessed your drink being taken away. “Please, just one last more, I promise I am perfectly fine,” you tried to argue, but nothing you could say would change her mind, and you understood it when the only answer she gave you was a negative nod of the head. “You are not fair!” You grumbled. 

“Life never is,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips — One that was frustrating but terribly endearing at the same time. One that was atrociously close to Wanda’s, the two women having more in common than they might admit. “Come on,” she eventually added, grabbing your arm as she was talking.

“Where?” You immediately asked, refusing to follow the woman, almost fighting her grip. “I don’t wanna leave,” you whined, and this time her eyes went up to the sky — You may be adorable, but you were also being damn annoying when drunk.

“We are not leaving, I promise,” she sighed, “I have something I wanna show you,... a secret,” she added, lowering her voice. The woman knew exactly what words to use to convince you to follow. 

Throughout the walk, one of her hands rested on your lower back, probably because she didn’t want you to get lost — Or to run away. A thought that was really tempting right now. And it was a good thing that she was there to catch you when you got your feet caught. not because of the drinks, but because you were too focused on her than where you were walking. 

You could not help but stare, but observe every detail of her face. Your eyes traveled up her jawline, lingering on her lips for a moment too long before tracing the bridge of her nose to these eyes, topped by slightly frowning eyebrows, an expression she often wore when she was focused on something. 

“I wanna kiss you,” you blurted out at some point, the words coming out of your mouth before you could even realize it. By the time you do, it is already too late to take them back, and you can’t help but blush under the redhead’s gaze. Fierce, and full of something you couldn’t name — Hunger, desire. Things no one has ever felt towards you in the past.

In reality, the look of surprise on Natasha’s face was — at least partly — feigned. The women already knew about your attraction to her, you weren’t exactly as discreet as you had imagined. Yet, she hadn’t expected you to be so direct about it when you would eventually reveal your feelings for her, you who were usually so reserved, and shy. But the alcohol probably helped loosen your tongue. 

“Do you?” She asked, but she already knows the answer, and before you can even nod or mutter some excuses, you are pushed against the corridor walls. 

The music from the party was still playing loudly but you could barely hear it, the sound covered by the one of your heart pounding in your ears. You had expected the woman to react in a lot of different ways, but never this one. In the thousands of scenarios that had been created by your mind, never one had involved anything other than rejection — Instant, and disgusted. 

The possibility that she might feel the same way you do seemed unreal. You were too used to being invisible, not enough to being seen, and desired. It was something new and foreign, and it made you feel like you were about to die on the spot — But at the same time it was the best thing you had ever felt.

“Then I must give you what you want, printsessa,” she whispered, and even before she leaned in so her lips could meet yours, she was so closed that you could feel her breath brushing against your face.

God, she has waited so long for this moment, unable to take the first step because she was afraid she would mess everything up, afraid that the relationship she has built with you over the past weeks would crumble — Because kissing you means that the bait is over, and she is not sure she wants it to be. Because it has never truly been about this stupid game.

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

| Tag list —

[keervah]

Safe House—Chapter 1

Synopsis: Natasha is a lawyer, and you’re a key witness in one of her cases. She offers her home as a safe house during trial prep. While living there, she and her wife Wanda start to fall for you.

Chapter: 1/10 (The Proposal)

Series Warnings: Non-Marvel AU, angst, crime, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective WandaNat, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings:  Mentions of violence

—————

Natasha rounded the last length of the indoor track, legs and arms pumping in perfect rhythm as she pulled ahead of her sister. What had started as a friendly cooldown jog had escalated into a flat-out sprint when Yelena challenged Natasha to a race halfway through their last lap. 

Leaning forward, Natasha dug deep and found a final burst of energy. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and the lactic acid in her leg muscles was burning as she exploded across the finish line a full three strides ahead of Yelena. 

“You cheated,” her sister called, clutching a stitch in her side.

“How?” Natasha demanded. 

Yelena gestured vaguely. “Longer legs.”

Natasha chuckled as Yelena slumped forward, propping her hands on her knees. “Best three out of five?” 

Just then, Natasha’s phone rang. 

“Saved by bell,” Yelena taunted. 

She grabbed a bottle of water and a hand towel, eyes darting around the gym. It was a private facility, and at this late hour it was mostly empty. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m heading home,” Natasha murmured, voice low. “Miss you too, detka.” 

Ending the call, the redhead slipped her phone back into her pocket and followed Yelena toward the changing room.

“How’s Wanda?” 

“She sounds tired,” Natasha said, peeling off her shirt. “Her flight’s delayed until tomorrow.” 

Yelena grunted in something like sympathy. Natasha pulled her hair back, tying it into a messy top knot. Her sister’s bright eyes shifted around the room uneasily. 

“You’re acting weird,” Natasha observed. 

“Am not,” Yelena scoffed as she shrugged out of her own sweaty tank top.

Natasha frowned. Her sister’s nervous energy was infectious. 

“Are too.” 

Yelena rolled her eyes but didn’t bother arguing.

Together they walked toward the sauna and slipped inside. Natasha took a seat on one end of the cedar bench and crossed her legs, drawing from a deep well of patience as she waited for her sister to explain who exactly she was supposed to be meeting, and why the circumstances had to be so clandestine. 

Yelena, however, said nothing. A minute went by. Then another. She glanced at her wristwatch, leaning back as sweat began to bead on her forehead. 

Suddenly the door to the sauna opened.

“There you are,” Yelena grumbled, standing up and pulling you into an aggressive hug. “I was getting worried.” 

“Sorry,” you said, voice muffled against her shoulder. “Had to make sure nobody was following me.” 

Natasha watched the interaction with interest. She thought she knew most of Yelena’s friends, but she didn’t recognize you. And you were definitely someone she would have remembered meeting. You were quite striking—tall, muscular, with a faint, thin scar over one of your hazel eyes.

“You must be Nat,” you said, gently disentangling from your friend. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Natasha gave you a tight smile. “Wish I could say the same.” 

“Oh,” you said, voice tinged with a preamble of apologetic regret. “I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of me.” 

You smiled wearily and extended a hand. Natasha’s eyes narrowed when she heard your last name.  

“As in…”

You nodded. 

“Guess that explains all the cloak and daggers.” She fixed her sister with a stare. “What exactly are we doing here?”

Yelena locked the door and took a seat. “She needs your help.”

“That much I gathered,” Natasha said dryly. You took a seat on the bench opposite the sisters, collecting your thoughts. 

“My family’s reputation obviously precedes me,” you began with another crooked smile that Natasha tried not to find endearing. She watched as you ran a hand through your short sandy- blonde hair, took a steadying breath.

“I emancipated myself when I was 17. Cut off all ties with my family and did my best to disappear. Put myself through pre-med, carved out a little life in the city. Then last year, my father died.”

“I saw in the news,” Natasha inclined her head. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” you said, swallowing around an unexpected lump in your throat. ”He was…”

You trailed off. In many ways, you were still processing your father’s unexpected passing. There was rage, yes, but also grief. 

“A violent criminal?” Yelena offered bluntly. 

You laughed. 

“Yes,” you agreed, getting back on track. “And I’m an only child, making my uncle the heir apparent to the empire my father built.” 

“And that’s a problem because?” Natasha prompted.

Your gaze hardened. 

“My father was far from perfect, but he operated…by a code, of sorts,” you explained, struggling to articulate what you meant. “His brother is…nothing like him. He doesn’t care who gets hurt. He’s dangerous, evil.” 

You paused, eyes flickering to Yelena. She nodded, as if encouraging you to contine. “Tell her.” 

Natasha frowned. “Tell me what?” 

You paused, lifting the hem of your shirt to wipe the gathering sweat from your face, and Natasha’s gaze flickered briefly to your toned stomach.

“Last week, his people…made contact,” you said. “They’ve extended me an offer, to rejoin the business.“ 

You looked at Natasha, trying to gauge her reaction, but she seemed to be lost in thought. Her face was scrunched into a frown of concentration. Your gaze drifted lower, to her full pink lips, and then even lower, to the golden skin of her neck and chest glistening with sweat. You licked your lips. The heat was making you feel a bit light-headed.

“Not to be rude,” she said, and your eyes snapped back up to her face. “But why the invite? What do you bring to the table?”

“That actually is pretty rude,” Yelena muttered.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, ignoring your friend. “My father was extremely paranoid, and my uncle is the same way. Could be that he just wants to keep tabs on me, and having me on the payroll is the easiest way to do that.” 

Natasha tilted her head to the side, considering this. From what she knew of your family’s crime syndicate, they traded mostly in illegal arms deals. They were also rumored to have eyes and ears everywhere.

“I’m guessing you haven’t gone to the cops?” 

You nodded. “Too risky.” 

Natasha took a deep breath, turning everything over in her mind. “How do you know this isn’t a trap?” She asked. “To lure you back in, then take you out of the picture?

You shrugged, and Natasha couldn’t help but feel a little impressed by your casual bravery. “If they wanted to kill me, they would have done it already.”

She nodded and leaned back, considering all the information you had shared. 

“Last question,” she said finally. 

“Thank god,” Yelena grumbled. “I’m melting.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Natasha’s dark eyes sparkled with obvious curiosity, even as she tried to school her face into a neutral expression. 

“Well,” you licked your lips, leaning forward slightly. “You’re a lawyer, right?”

“She’s the best prosecutor in the city,” Yelena corrected, voice tinged with pride. 

A small smile tugged at the corners of Natasha’s mouth. “She’s not wrong.” 

You met her gaze evenly, squaring your broad shoulders. 

“I want you to help me take them down.” 

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[keervah]

Hi, i saw your post about taking requests. Can you write a natasha x fem reader were the reader is taller than her and after a difficult mission nat is just very clingy and doesn't want to let her gf qo so reader just picks her up and wak around like that? Just some cute, adorable natasha feeling bad about what happened at the mission and the reader being there for her, maybe talking about it? But overall fluff

Thanks, feel free to add whatever things you want

I'm right here

Natasha Romanoff x female Reader (Request)

Summary: Following a dangerous mission all Natasha needs right now is to be close to you, and you're more than happy to tend to her needs.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Set between The Avengers and CA: TWS

Static buzzing of your ruined comms forced you to open your eyes as you pulled the damn earpiece out. The stench of burning plastic and burnt skin and blood and suffocating smoke made you groan as you tried to roll onto your back and sit up. Your head felt like it was going to explode and the warm blood slowly trickling from your forehead down the side of your face wasn’t a good sign. Oh, Natasha was going to be so damn pissed off when she sees you. Assuming she even gets to see you again in the first place. “I got this,” you mockingly repeated as you sat up and leaned against the wall and looked around you. The lab was in ruins, computers blown up, equipment destroyed, enemy soldiers dead, some shot, some killed by the explosion.

You glanced at the USB stick, at least you accomplished what you were after. The data Fury wanted was safely in your hands and all things considered you were sure you bought enough time for Natasha and Clint to get the hostages out. All that was left to do was to get out alive.

Footsteps caught your attention, too many to be Nat and Clint, and the three of you didn’t bring any backup. “I need a vacation,” you sighed. Was there any chance you could convince your workaholic of a girlfriend to take more than three days off?

Probably not.

You tucked the USB stick away and checked your gun, you still had plenty of ammo left.

~X~

Years spent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. changed her, she dared to think she was trying to do something good, to make up for at least a tiny bit of suffering she caused. She grew to care for people, for Clint, his family… for you, and with that care she came to dread the sound of static coming through the comms more than nearly any sound.

Hearing you were in trouble would have been easier. At least then Natasha wouldn’t feel any uncertainty, she’d know where you were and that she needed to get to you. She’d know how much time she had.

Natasha Romanoff despised uncertainty.

She despised not knowing what happened.

She despised knowing the last thing she heard from your side was an explosion.

The worry etched on her face was easily noticeable, especially to Clint. “She’ll be fine,” he assured her, firing off another arrow and taking out a guard with a sniper rifle ready. As much as Natasha wanted to rush toward you, she still had hostages to lead to safety, and as much as she hated to admit it, the wound on her side was bothering her.  

“It should have been me,” and that was the initial plan. She was the best equipped to go in, retrieve the data and blow the whole place up before anyone even realized she was there. Natasha could have done it, she should have done it, and you should have been here with Clint, leading two hostages out. Instead, she got wounded and now you were the one in danger.

Clint took aim, noticing another guard a fraction of a second faster than she could. She really was worried, and it was affecting her more than she ever thought possible.

All Natasha could do was hope her worries and the bad feeling she had was just paranoia, and not her intuition telling her to drop everything and go back to get you. If she lost you here, she would never forgive herself.

~X~

You took several deep breaths as you looked around the room, it was over, you killed every single one of the criminals that came after you and you tossed aside and empty gun. It wasn’t even your own, you ran out of bullets about halfway into the fight, so you grabbed a gun one of the criminals had and just kept firing until there was no one else left to fire at.

The rush of adrenaline slowly passed, and your legs trembled, but you were alive. You held the side of your head, dizzy from the loss of blood and what was probably a concussion. Soon enough this mission would be over and you could rest. You just had to-

A gunshot echoed and a bullet missed your head by less than an inch, causing you to as quickly as possible take cover behind a table that was turned over. “Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. There was a gun close to you, you just had to take a bit of a risk and get it. And also get lucky and find a bullet in the gun.

All a part of the job, you figured.

A bullet went through the criminal’s head before you could even consider making a lunge for the gun and you saw Natasha rushing in, gun drawn and ready to fire. “Nat,” despite knowing you were still in a dangerous place you visibly relaxed.

“Couldn’t leave things to chance,” Clint’s voice echoed as through the room as he walked through the same hall Natasha did.

Natasha was tense, looking for any sign of an enemy, and in your current state all you could do was admire her. “Let’s get you out of here,” you knew her, she couldn’t truly relax until you were both out of here.

“Yes, Ma’am,” you smiled, hoping it would reassure her, even if only a tiny bit. “I’m right here, Nat, you got me,” and despite Natasha being on edge her eyes softened when she looked at you.

~X~

Natasha despised sitting in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hospital hall, waiting for you to get patched up. She was relieved that you were fine and basically just needed some bandages, but she was restless, constantly replaying the moments from the mission in her mind, specifically the sight of a man aiming his gun toward you and moving to close the distance so he wouldn’t miss this time. She moved purely on an instinct, firing before she could even consciously make that decision and blowing a hole through the side of the man’s head. Years of trying to wipe red off her ledger and still she took a life with ease, not even considering it, not even for a moment regretting it.

Now though, now she just needed to see you, just to be completely sure you were fine. Nothing else mattered. The doors opened and she jumped to her feet, seeing you walking out on your own, a bit bandaged up but otherwise fine. The bright look in your eyes made the restlessness go away and Natasha met you halfway.

“Saved me again,” you smiled at her as she looked up into your eyes. How many times has she saved you by now? You both lost count. She didn’t lose count of how many times you saved her, eleven times thus far, though she was certain you never counted them. She did, though. And she found relief in knowing that you were willing to go out of your way to save her, even when she herself used to think she wasn’t worth saving.

Instead of saying anything Natasha just threw her arms around you, clinging desperately to you. She wanted to kiss you, right here, right now, but it was too risky. Too many eyes around you, even if the hall itself was empty. Walls had eyes and ears, and she’d rather keep people guessing if these hugs were between friends or lovers. A keen eye might spot the difference, might see the way she wouldn’t let go, the way she’d lower her guard and try to close as much of the distance between you as possible, or the way you’d bury your face in her hair, taking comfort in her presence, especially after missions that end up being too close for comfort.

“What did the doctor say?” she asked as her fingers traced the bandages around your head.

“A concussion and a few wounds, nothing a bit of rest won’t fix,” you answered, prompting her to nod. She checked your injuries as Clint flew toward the hospital, and your answer matched her assessment, but she still appreciated hearing what the professional said. You’d be perfectly fine, you just needed a bit of rest.

Considering you were about as human as her and Clint were, and not a super soldier, or a billionaire with a suit of armor, and especially not near indestructible beings, Natasha considered herself lucky that you survived this many close calls with little more than rest needed to recover.

“Thanks,” it still should have been her, she should have been in danger, but she wouldn’t tell you that.

“We’re the same, I don’t want to lose you either,” not that she needed to tell you, you knew what was on her mind, you understood how much Natasha wanted you out of danger, in part because you wanted her out of danger just as much. So, you compromised, going together on missions hoping you would keep one another as safe as possible.

~X~

What restraint Natasha had while you were out in public vanished the moment you were back in your shared room as she straddled your lap and hugged you on the sofa, and you couldn’t help but smile at how clingy she was. For a deadly assassin she sometimes acted more like a koala, clinging onto you and not letting go.

Like an assassin not letting their target out of their sight for a single moment, only cuddly and soft, and very warm.

And you loved every second of it. “Nat,” you chuckled before she decided your mouth had more important tasks to do than let out sounds and kissed you, preventing chuckling or any form of light teasing that might have come out of your mouth. You’d never complain about that. You ran your fingers through her hair, she hasn’t cut it in a while now and Natasha hummed softly into the kiss, relaxing and just driving you insane with her touch. All you could feel was Natasha, her slightly swollen lips because of course she chewed on her lower lip while you were being patched up, her hands, so used to handling guns, gently holding you, pulling you closer to her, the sound of her soft, barely audible moans between kisses, the scent of the soap she used, and something uniquely her own, the weight of her body on top of your own… And when you separated for a brief moment, and you opened your eyes all you could see was Natasha. Everything else faded into the background and you were lost in her eyes. She looked like she was searching for something, a reassurance, or just another proof that you were just fine. “I’m right here,” you kept repeating those words to her, through dangerous missions and battles, through nights filled with nightmares, most importantly through all the moments when she’d get stuck in her head, thinking she’s not worthy of the redemption she was so desperately chasing. Just a simple reminder that you were with her, no matter what.

Natasha opened her mouth, only to change her mind and just close it before saying anything. Instead she just hugged you tightly, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and letting out a sigh of relief.

“That tickles,” you chuckled, prompting Natasha to huff and then purposely blow air against your neck. “Nat,” you would never complain, you could never. You cherished every single moment like this, when she would just drop every mask and be herself with you. Oh, she could be assertive, and tease, and confidently mess with anyone, but these playful moments free from caution were rare.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, and you would have stayed like that a lot longer if you could stand being hungry. In your defense you came back home somewhat hungry, and that was hours ago. “Food. Now,” you would starve if this hunger prolonged any longer. Yet Natasha didn’t budge. “Nat?”

“I just got comfortable,” yeah, two hours ago. You rolled your eyes, even if you were smiling and got up with Natasha still clinging to you.

“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” you kissed her cheek and went to the kitchen, not even daring to consider letting Natasha go.

This time it was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Bitch, I’m adorable,” she was right, of course.

You grabbed some toast and some cream cheese, since that was the first thing you managed to grab with Natasha between you and the fridge. “Pickles or no pickles?” you asked before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Make me one as well,” Natasha blindly reached back into the fridge to grab peanut butter, and you were still amazed that she could just do it. No hesitation, no second thoughts, just reached into the fridge and pulled what she wanted out.

“Sure,” you made the sandwiches and went back to the sofa, eager to finally eat something. Natasha wasn’t as excited about eating, and while you absolutely slaughtered your sandwich like a woman starving for weeks would, she occasionally took a bit and instead just kept close to you. Your eyes softened and you once again began rubbing circles into Natasha’s back.

It wasn’t the first time she got like this. When you started dating it didn’t really happen, she showed you how much she cared, sure, but it was never like this, never this desperate to feel your heart beating. And then New York happened, and you both had some very close calls, and she spent the night just like this, not moving away from you unless it was absolutely necessary.

She needed to know this was real, to feel it was real. With everything she went through, how much she suffered through, she needed time. She needed you to be with her, so the thoughts of losing you would quiet down.

And you’d give it to her every single time. This and anything else she needed.

“I’m right here,” you whispered into her ear, soft and gentle as she closed her eyes.

“You’re with me,” she replied, slowly falling asleep in your arms, at peace and comfortable.

A/N: Thank you for the request! I really had fun writing it, and I'm sorry it took so long for me to write it 😁💙

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 14: Last Piece | 4.5k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, bad writing, dark themes, arson, torture (kinda waterbloating) Natasha almost killing Yelena with a piece of cloth and water, thoughts of suicide, implied sexual abuse, Natasha being a child of r4p3 (I’m really sorry)

Author's Note: BEWARE OF THE WARNINGS‼️I feel like I wasn't able to write everything in this chapter because I wrote this in a rush and since I will be gone for another week or 2 or worst a month, I decided to post this now. I also have received all the requests and tiger cub 🐅 I will surely write the one you requested :3 it will be the first fic I will post as soon as I get back.

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

Yelena found herself lying in her safehouse, the familiar surroundings a small comfort amidst the pain coursing through her body. When she tried to move her left wrist was restrained, handcuffed to the bed. Despite the situation, she remained calm, she's trained for this—these things are like simple activities to her. She tried to reach out for the side table, to look for something she can use to free herself but the table was gone.

“Fuck, that was the first thing I bought with my own money.”

A sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor echoed in the silence while the blonde struggled in her own bed, when she shot her head forward she saw a figure loom over.

“Natasha…” she called out in a warning. Even if she hasn't seen who it is, she knew it was her sister.

Of course she knew she’ll come after her.

“Hope you don't mind me paying a visit,” Natasha said as she sat down on the chair she had dragged. The harsh sound of the metal against the ground only added to the tension in the room. The blonde always made a visit to her place without her knowing it so why wouldn't she do the same?

“I’m sorry.”

“Where is she?”

“Natasha, please…”

“Don't beg, yet.”

Yelena winced slightly as she shifted her body, but she managed to sit upright, her back resting against the wall. The coldness of the stone wall sent a chill down her spine, but it provided the support she needed. The handcuff kept her left wrist in place on the bed, limiting her movement.

“Where's the puppy?” Yelena asked as she tried to shift the situation.

“Somewhere safe,” Natasha replied. “But the mom?” She paused, her gaze boring into Yelena's, “That's what I'm asking you.” She now stood and walked over her sister who is now scooting on the corner of her bed.

“Where is Y/N?” she asked again with a little bit of force now.

“I don't know, Natasha,” Yelena said truthfully but her sister did not seem to be satisfied with that answer. Natasha felt like her own sister was lying to her, so she left in a minute and when she got back, she was dragging a trash bag behind her.

“Woah, woah, Natasha don't!” Yelena's eyes widened as she saw her own collection of vests inside the trash bag, and her heart almost stopped when Natasha carelessly flung a lighter onto the pile in a blink.

The blonde watched in horror as the items burst into flames, the fire licking and consuming her precious collection of vests.

“I am telling you the truth!” Yelena shouted, her chest rose and fell quickly as she breathed heavily, the smell of burning fabric filled the room, the acrid aroma of the vests being consumed by flames filling her nostrils. Yelena watched as her sister walked out of the room again. A few moments later, she could hear the sound of water moving through pipes as her sister returned with a hose in hand. She breathed thinking her sister would use it for the burning clothes she just lit, but then her sister gripped her right hand and cuffed it to the side of the bed, forcing her to lie back.

“Natasha…” She tugged on the handcuffs, the metal biting on both of her wrists as she struggled to break free, but to no avail.

The redhead grabbed a towel from nearby and placed it over her sister's face, covering her completely. The fabric was thick and stifling, making it nearly impossible for Yelena to breathe.

“What the fuck! Natasha!” She shouted but the fabric made her words muffled.

Natasha then took the head of the hose and aimed it over the towel-covered face of her sister, the water already running at maximum pressure. The force of the stream pushed the towel further into Yelena's mouth and nose, the water pouring down her throat and into her lungs. Her body convulsed as she gagged and sputtered, her legs thrashing beneath her.

She desperately tried to inhale through the soaked towel. Each breath was a fight, water pouring into her mouth and nostrils, choking and burning her. Her lungs screamed for air, but all she could draw in was more water.

Yelena's face scrunched up in agony beneath the towel and a slideshow of memories flickered through her mind—the moments she shared with you, short, yet changed the trajectory of her life.

She felt guilty about how she treated you, the names she called you. She still hated you, though, she hated how your purity and warmth reminded her of her own hardened ways. She also hated how good your cookies are.

But what she hated most was that she couldn't escape the fact that you had inadvertently made her realize the truth–that deep down, her sister, Natasha who was torturing her right now, loved her more than she cared to admit

“You know, your sister loves you.”

Just as suddenly as it began, the water stopped. She managed to remove the soaked towel from her face, coughing and sputtering as she tried to clear the water from her throat. Her vision was blurry, and her body ached from the ordeal, but her mind remained focused on one thing: finding you.

The hose continued to run, soaking the pile of her vests and extinguishing the last remnants of the fire.

“Red R-room,” Yelena gasped out.

Natasha stopped her movements when she heard her sister say the two words she doesn't want to hear anymore.

“They took her, Nat. It's them.”

“And you let them,” she said coldly, “You helped them!” She now turned and pointed a finger on her sister, she then fished out the burner phone Yelena had and threw it to her making the blonde wince when it hit her stomach.

“I can handle the truth of the Red Room resurfacing after all these years, after I burnt them down,” Natasha tried to keep her tears at bay, not wanting Yelena to see her vulnerable at this point, “But you?” Her gaze locked onto her sister, she clenched her jaw and finally let the tears fall from her eyes, “My own sister? Betraying me?”

“How could you do this to me?!”

Natasha exhaled, wiping her tears as she tried to hold her anger that she thought was finally gone after she almost killed her sister with a piece of towel.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

“Sestra, please.”

“Shut up!”

“I was supposed to bring her back to you!” Yelena didn't back down, she wanted her sister to know about it, about you—about how you changed her. Maybe the things Natasha saw in you that she now saw too.

“I w-was changing my mind...” The weight of her actions, of what she did to you is now eating her alive.

“Too late.”

“Natasha! You're gonna need me!” Yelena called out urgently, thrashing her cuffed hands when she saw her sister moving to walk away—this time she thinks it's for good. “I'm going to help you! I'll find Y/N!”

Yelena's pleading continued, desperate to convince her sister to give her a chance. But Natasha didn't stop, didn't turn back. With a final glance, she vanished from sight, leaving Yelena drowning in guilt and shame of her betrayal.

“I’m sorry.”

⧗

You slowly wake-up, blinking your eyes a few times as you look at the ceiling above you. Your body is numb and you can hear a faint ringing in your ears as your heart starts to race. You shut your eyes and counted up to 3 and you managed to slowly sit upright but your body trembled. You look desperately around the room and notice heavy curtains. You're about to move towards it when you hear a voice.

“That will get you nowhere.”

You freeze abruptly, you can hear the loud thud of your heart as you scan the unfamiliar room for the source of the voice. And that's when you see a woman, sitting on her own bed across the room.

“W-who ar—”

“Xialing, Xu Xialing,” she cut you off as if she was already expecting you to ask her that.

“Xialing? A-as in the pri—”

“The Princess of Ta Lo,” despite you being disoriented right now, you noticed how her tone dropped. You’ve seen her on TV, when the crown was passed down to her mother. You always dreamed of being like her and now she's in the same room as you.

The only difference is that she is a princess and you're just a stripper.

Dreams be damned but you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you desperately ask again, this time you whispered it to yourself but it didn't go unheard by the princess, “Where am I?”

She observed you, her expression remained calm as she responded with a question of her own, “What was the last thing you remember?”

And that's when it hits you, the last thing you remember was the sight of Yelena, lying motionless on the street while the small puppy she bought you licked her face.

“You brought us in so much trouble already, you’re going to pay for it.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as the memory floods your mind. You then rushed towards her and stood in front of her bed, “We’re in danger, we need to get out of here,” you informed her as you paced around, finally gaining your senses back, “I-I was kidnapped a-and…and…”

As if she heard nothing, she simply tightened the robe around her body and walked in front of you to her vanity table. She sat there, casually searching on the drawers.

You furrow your brows in disbelief as you watch her start combing her hair, “What are you doing?” You asked and you weren't able to contain your frustration as your voice came out louder than you intended—even if you knew that you were talking to a royalty.

As you watch her continue to brush her hair, a sudden realization hits you. You had assumed the worst for yourself, but what about her? Has she been here for a long time now? Was she also taken captive? How can she be so calm?

You looked at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair, your voice cracking as you ask, “W-were you taken too?”

She huffed, “We all are,” she then fixed her robe, and then there, you saw a glimpse of a scar on her shoulder similar to yours, “Even the only heir to the throne cannot be shielded away from danger.” She met your gaze on the mirror before she placed the comb back to its place.

“No one can escape the Red Room.”

“W-what are you saying,” you asked in a shaky voice, “w-what Red Room?”

“What's your story?” She asked, answering your question with a question once again. “Girls here have different stories,” you watched her in the mirror as she put some moisturizer on her face, “there's this spoiled daughter of a corrupt mayor in Europe, her room is across ours. She's one of the favorites, not the one to be messed with. Then there's the wife of the president of Latveria…” She trailed off as she noted every woman that was taken by god who knows what room.

“There's also this one student of Kamar-Taj, only few can enroll in that prestigious school. Very strict and they don't let the students out, they can only have visitors once in 2 months,” she shook her head sideways and chuckled lightly to herself, “but it's the Red Room, so…they still got her.”

She twisted the cap back onto her moisturizer bottle and then turned to face you as she sat on the edge of her vanity table, her arms crossing and eyeing you with anticipation.

“So what about you? What's your story?”

These were women from powerful backgrounds, high-class families, sent to prestigious schools—probably filthy rich. They’re literally elites, royalties, lived in mansions and had influential families, parents, husbands, partners, connections. And you? Hell, you have no one. You survived on scraps and you swallow filthy comments for a living, how can't you? You're just a lowly stripper who accidentally got saved by a mob by sheer luck.

So you remained silent, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat together with the shame you feel right now. The princess noticed it, though, but she didn't pry further.

“What's your name?”

“Y/N...”

She then moved closer to her bed and dipped herself on the soft sheets. She spoke again, “You were the last piece, Y/N,” she said and that made you furrow your brows more, this time not to hold your tears back but in confusion as you struggled to process what she just said.

Last piece?

“They had a hard time finding you, so whoever was protecting you must be powerful.”

“Not powerful enough, though,” she added that made you hitch your breath as you saw flashes of Natasha’s image before your eyes.

“But that makes us all the same, no matter how powerful we are, they still found us.” She then tucked herself in, signaling the end of the conversation.

You fixated on the princess beneath her duvet, your mind filled with horror with everything she just told you, what bothers you more is as if she had grown accustomed to this—comfortable even.

How will you process all that? All the suppressed tears you had been holding back now streamed down your cheeks. You swiftly brought your hands to your mouth, desperately trying to muffle the sobs that threatened to erupt.

“Crying will get you nowhere, you should rest,” she advised for the last time. “In a couple of days, you’ll see real powerful people. And we’ll be paraded while they dish out millions on us like it’s a chump change.”

⧗

The Princess told you everything you need to know about the Red Room, it's a sinister organization. They'll take who they're ordered to take, no questions asked. They will do anything if the price is right, regardless of who asks. Each woman in this place as you were all specifically targeted and requested. It's the Red Room's specialty—fulfilling those who request abductions of women.

And what bothers you now is who would pay just to take you?

Xialing applied her lipstick, fixing herself in front of her own vanity mirror as you sat on your bed, staring at nothing.

“We're having breakfast, be aware that there will be armed guards stationed outside,” she informed you sternly. “Stay calm, refrain from any impulsive actions. Speak only when spoken to, and avoid attracting attention. And above all,” she continued, her voice firm, “Do not attempt anything stupid. Keep yourself out of trouble, don't get in anyone’s way.”

You found yourself lost in thought, staring blankly at the floor in front of you. Your eyes had become unblinking as you became lost in your own thoughts. You can feel your chest tightening as a crushing sense of hopelessness begins to take hold. You felt trapped, helpless, and your despair grew with each passing moment.

The sound of the door opening echoed through the room and two men entered, their big weapons clinging in their body. The princess stood up from her seat, her gaze fixated on them. You, however, remained seated, your eyes vacant as tears streamed down your face. It was as if you were detached from reality, no longer responding to the world around you.

The princess shot a frustrated glance back in your direction, her irritation evident. She immediately ran to your bed and shook you.

“Why do you always cry?! If you want to survive,” she hissed, “you have to pull yourself together because crying won’t help you here!”

You struggled to stand, your body heavy with despair, and the princess nearly had to drag you to your feet. As you stood, you wiped the tears from your face.

“She's fine.” The princess told the guards who seemed being impatient with the two of you.

She guided you as you walked passed them. Your eyes take in every detail of your surroundings as you both went outside the room. You silently counted the cameras that were positioned in each corner of the hall, your eyes noting the locations of each one.

Next, you focused on the guards, mentally tallying their movements and positions within their area.

As you entered the dining area, there was a long table with girls seated in chairs. Their expressions were vacant as you, as if they were under mysterious control. A guard stepped forward, he dragged you away from the princess and firmly directed you towards your assigned seat. You reminded yourself not to fight even if your body wants to.

A woman at the head of the table smirked as she looked directly at you.

“Ah, perfect, all the chairs are filled. The last piece is here.”

You remained silent, eyes fixated on the table in front of you but that didn't stop you from feeling all the attention pointing towards you. The woman then clapped, and almost on cue, guards wheeled in carts laden with food and placed them on the table. The aroma filled the air, and the sight of delicious dishes lined the table. However, you remained silent and unresponsive, still unable to bring yourself to move even a single finger.

As you sat silently, your eyes scanned the table in front of you, and something immediately caught your attention–the sight of plastic utensils getting placed at the table. Confusion filled your mind as you wondered why they would use such materials for a meal in this luxurious setting.

You’re mind now fell onto the darker part of your brain by wanting to place the fork in your neck or maybe at your chest and just end it there. And there, you realized the reason why they use plastic as utensils.

The other women at the table began to eat, but you paid them no attention. You sat silently, ignoring the food on your plate. The central woman then tilted her head in your direction, her voice cold and commanding.

“Stripper,” she called that made you pull out from your deep thought, your throat tightened but you remained fixed on the food on your plate, not daring to look at her direction or to anyone. It sounded degrading coming from her and it made you want to rip your soul apart from your body as you remember that all women in here were literally nothing like you.

You sure do really need to know your place here.

“Eat. Or I will force you to eat, and trust me, it will hurt.”

You swallowed, your throat felt dry, and you slightly glanced at the princess seated across from you. Her eyes met your gaze, and she mouthed the words “please, eat” silently to you. The look in her eyes was pleading, her concern for you visible in her expression.

You took a shaky breath and picked up the plastic fork, your fingers trembling slightly as you began to eat. The food tasted bland and unappetizing, but you forced yourself to swallow each morsel that passed your lips.

The woman at the center of the table observed you silently, her gaze fixed upon you as you ate, clearly evaluating your compliance.

She then clapped her hands once more, and with remarkable efficiency. The guards immediately began to remove the food from the table, regardless of whether you had finished it or not. The sight of each plate being taken away so quickly was slightly unnerving.

You managed to take a total of four bites before the guards removed each plate and utensils from the table. Then, the woman at the center of the table gestured to a girl at the table, “You, over there–you have a visitor. Get ready.”

The girl immediately started to cry and plead, “No, no, no, please!” But the guard advanced toward her, undeterred by her frantic pleas.

You felt a sense of helplessness wash over you as you desperately wanted to intervene, but an invisible force seemed to hold you back—as if you were tied to your chair. You looked at Xialing who quietly shook her head, signaling you not to take any rash actions that will for sure put you to a death row situation.

Unable to bear the sight and sounds of the girl’s cries, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, desperately trying to block them out. Your heart pounded heavily, and your fingernails dug into the skin of your palms as a means to distract yourself from the heartbreaking situation unfolding before you.

Once the girl had been led away, the woman at the center of the table addressed the remaining girls, “See you all at lunch.”

One guard approached each girl, gently taking hold of your arm as they guided each of you back to your rooms. As the guards led you back to yours, you felt frustrated, hating how you were being handled like a prisoner. But you are, though, you also remembered the princess’s earlier warning and tried your best to control yourself, knowing that any resistance or disobedience could put you in more danger.

You sat on your bed, your gaze vacant as you stared at the floor once again. The sound of the door opening echoed through the room, and without even turning your head, you knew that it was the princess entering.

“That was Agatha, she's the head here.” The princess spoke as if she knew all the questions you had in mind.

Your voice was cold and devoid of emotion as you asked, “What will happen to the girl?”

The princess stayed silent, her attention shifting to the vanity mirror as she began to fix her appearance. She did not offer any response to your question, her focus solely on her reflection.

You stood up abruptly, your voice filled with irritation and anger as you faced her.

“Why aren't you answering my question now, huh?” you laughed humorlessly, “You speak to me as if you know everything in my mind, but now you can't answer my question?”

“What is going to happen to that girl?” you repeated the question shakingly, angrily emphasizing each word.

“I am not answering because the answer to your question is already in your mind too.”

“No…” you shook your head, you wanted to throw up everything you ate on that goddamn table.

“She might probably meet the one who requested her from the Red Room but they won't have her not until the night.”

“Stop,” you whispered.

But the princess didn't bother, she continued, “And whoever that person can do whatever they want on her, like fuck her or...”

“Stop!”

“You want to know the truth, don't you? And now you cannot accept it?!”

The princess spun around, her face now visible to you.

“That is her truth! Because the same thing happened to me!” Her eyes were filled with anger and pain. She stood mere inches away from you, her chest rising and falling rapidly with her revelation.

You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, their warmth cascading down your cheeks. It was not for your own pain but for the princess' and the girl. The realization of what they had been through, the suffering they endured, and the horrors of what is happening or what might happen to the girl right now broke you, and the tears rolled down shamelessly.

Xialing clenched her jaw, her voice sharp and harsh.

“I don't need your tears or your sympathy,” she said firmly, her jaw clenching as she turned her back at you. Now, she is the one who's trying to hold her own tears back, not for herself—but for you.

“Better save your tears for yourself because the same thing will happen to you in no time.”

⧗

Bucky pushed Yelena forcefully forward, his grip on her arm firm and unwavering. Yelena stumbled, regaining her balance as she came to a halt in front of Natasha's table.

“I saw this one climbing in,” Bucky said, his voice monotone. “I thought I'd bring her to you.”

Natasha looked up, her gaze shifting towards her sister who stood before her, panting and disheveled.

“Natasha…” she breathed but she was interrupted when Maria pushed the door open and entered the room, her eyes widening as she took in the blonde who looked so distressed in front of her.

“I thought we were having an emergency meeting,” she chuckled in surprise, “I didn't know we were having a torture party. Should I get your toys, Natalia?”

“You made the wrong move coming here, little one,” Bucky growled. “Did you really think you could still sneak in unnoticed this time?”

“Enough of that,” Natasha interjected, her authoritative tone silencing Bucky and Maria instantly.

Yelena seized the opportunity to speak, “I know you're looking for Y/N and I...I can help you.”

“Dreykov is not stupid enough to trust you with everything. They just used you and you, in your desperate quest to prove your worth, did whatever Papa wanted you to. Even if it's you taking away the one I love! ”

Yelena visibly flinched at her sister's words. Her expression shifted from determination to disbelief and for a brief moment, a flicker of guilt once again passed through her eyes with Natasha's revelation.

Her sister loves you and she knowingly became a part of those chains that led you away from her.

Her determination flared up even more.

“But I am not dumber, Natasha,” the blonde asserted. “I tracked them. I know where they are. We both know that I know the Red Room better than you. I knew they were still out there when you thought you succeeded in burning them, but you don't. You know mama is a product of the—”

She was cut off as Natasha hurled the glass of whiskey in her direction making the blonde flinch.

“Mama is not a product of the Red Room!” she shouted, her words filled with fierce anger. “She was a victim! She didn't choose that life, it was forced upon her. Don't you dare label her in that way!”

“YA byl produktom…” (I was the product) she now let out a humorless chuckle as she stared directly onto her sister's eyes, the irony of her own words bitter in her mouth. “You still don't get it, sestra, do you?”

Yelena froze, her breaths becoming shallow as Natasha's words settled within her. Her mind raced, refusing to accept the horrifying truth that was beginning to take shape.

She shook her head, an unconscious act of denial. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, “They love each other from the beginning! Papa loved Mama the first ti—”

“If they did…” Natasha didn't let her sister finish, not wanting to hear the stupid fairytale lie of a love story Alexei used to tell them as a kid.

“Why did Mama look at me, as if I reminded her of her worst nightmare?” The horrified look of her mother on her flashed in Natasha's mind, she winced as she remember how many countless times she called out for her Mama, but her cries went unanswered.

The three stood in silence, their heads were kept down in unease as Natasha revealed and recounted her pain.

“You heard the different side of the love story, Yeye. Why don't you flip the other side, so you'll see the rest of it?” Natasha's smirk was tinged with a bitter edge as she echoed the nickname Alexei used to call the blonde.

“He loved her the first time he laid eyes on her?” She paused in disbelief, her expression hardening as she avoided addressing Alexei as her Papa. “It was nothing more than an illusion - a sick, twisted form of possession. He was a coward, so he just asked his friend to capture her. He paid them and forced himself on Mama.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked once again at her sister, “I thought you knew the Red Room well?”

“I do, I still do...I know their every movement but what they don't know is I am willing to betray them for you, Natalia.”

Secret Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 13: Option | 6.3k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, bad writing, making out, smut, top!Natasha, Natasha has a penis, bottom!reader, cunnilingus, fingering (r receiving), arguing, cursing, hostage taking, drugging and kidnapping (I really don't wanna add this because it's a huge spoiler lol)

Author's Note: I added additional details on chapter 12 a few days ago after it was posted, so for those who have already read chapter 12, you might want to read it again because you might have read the unupdated version.

I am not a ballerina nor a professional one, I just wrote what I have researched so pls excuse my stupid mistakes here. This is not proofread and I wrote this chapter in a rush ;')) we are here to burn the slow xD and finally answer who's a lot better? Your vibrator or Natasha?

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

You began to back away, contemplating your next move and your instinctive act of kissing her. Natasha suddenly took hold of you, her sly hands slipping gently on your lower back. She then pulled you back to her, pulling you into a passionate, heated kiss. This time it's not just a lingering kiss on the cheek, not just for a fraction of a second.

The kiss grew more passionate and heated with each passing second. You found yourself moaning against Natasha's mouth, the sounds escaping your lips involuntarily.

There was an undeniable hunger and need in the way Natasha's tongue fought for dominance in your mouth, and you let her have it, giving her control as she ravaged you with her lips—almost as if she couldn't get enough of you. You could only grip her shoulders, thumbs digging into her neck creating a crescent mark in her skin.

Natasha pulled away suddenly, her lips leaving you—leaving you wanting more. You almost chased her mouth, the string of saliva connecting your lips together.

Her gaze upon you was calm and collected, but beneath the surface, you can see the hunger and the dark desire in her eyes. She looked at you as if you were her last meal and she was starving. Her gaze landed on your agape plump mouth again.

“What if you could be all those three at once?”

You looked at her, still trying to catch your breath after the hungry kiss, “What?”

“You heard me.” She husked, her mouth inch closer to yours.

“Wh—” you breathe, “What do you mean?”

She leaned in dangerously closer, her voice dropping to a more sultry tone as she responded, “Well, I suppose it's my job to make sure you don't have to resort to those two options of yours. After all, I wouldn't want you becoming someone else's trophy.”

You felt a shiver course through you as her hand traced down the curve of your back, her touch electric against your skin as she pulled you even closer that you can feel the bulge against her jeans.

“But I’ll offer you a third option,” she continued, her tongue darted out in a swift second, slowly licking her lips as if savoring the remnants you left in her mouth. “You can be all those three at once. A degree holder which you already are, and…”

“Be my personal stripper and my trophy wife.”

The offer were bold and unexpected, yet somehow, they felt right coming from her mouth.

And only a dumb person would decline that offer.

Your breath coming in sharp pants as you look up at her, your eyes captivated by her dilated pupils and parted lips.

“I…I’m a virgin, Nat…” you stuttered in a whisper, your cheeks turning red at your admission.

“That’s not what I asked of you, detka…” her piercing green eyes studying you in a way that made your heart race faster than normal. “But if you're gonna be my wife, I guess I’ll have to know that.”

“I’m gonna ask you again…” her eyes never left yours, you can feel her breath fanning over your lips.

“Can you be my personal stripper and my trophy wife?”

She actually didn't have to ask, again.

You couldn't resist anymore. You surged forward, pulling Natasha into a fierce kiss. Your lips crashed together as your tongues danced in an intimate embrace. You locked your arms around her neck as she scooped your ass up, wrapping your legs around her waist. She carried you over until you could feel the cold pole against your back.

Natasha's lips moved down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. Her breath was hot against your skin as she teased you with soft nips and licks. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making it hard for you to keep still.

She slowly lowered you back to your feet, her hands now working to unbutton your silk top.

With your top completely off, Natasha let her gaze wander down your body, taking in every curve and inch of skin. Her eyes gleamed with desire as she traced her fingers along the edge of your lace bra.

"You're so fucking beautiful, detka."

And with that, your bra is completely out of your body.

Natasha's hands were now on your breasts, caressing and kneading them as if trying to memorize every inch of your body.

“Is this okay? Detka?” She asked, eyeing you for any sign of discomfort.

“Please, Nat. Make me yours.”

And she did.

Natasha immediately leaned down, her mouth replacing her fingers on your nipple. She sucked and teased it with her tongue, causing you to arch my back with pleasure.

Her mouth was all over you, her tongue tracing a hot, wet path down your body. She moved your legs open and lowered herself between your legs that made you shudder. When she's finally kneeling down in front of you, you let her tug your silk pajamas together with your panties until they're pooling down your feet. She then brought your right leg over her shoulder.

She looked up at you with those piercing dilated green orbs before her tongue flicked against your clit.

“Oh fuck!” Both of your hands gripped her braided hair tightly from the pleasure as she continued to lap you.

Natasha pulled back from you for a moment, her lips glistening with your arousal. “You taste heavenly,” she purred, her voice husky with desire as she locked eyes with you. Her gaze was intense and full of hunger, making you tremble with need.

She brought herself back into you, moaning and sending even more pleasure through your body as she expertly brought you to the edge. This time she plunged one finger inside you with a hunger that matched your own. You can feel the rough texture of her finger through your core but it was immediately coated with your arousal.

Natasha still managed to smirk as she continued to eat you out, it's just one finger and she could feel your tightness clenching around her finger, pulling her deeper inside. That made her crave for you even more.

It has been so long since you had a vibrator inside you, but this one's not a vibrator and you would do anything to come right now.

Her tongue focused on licking and sucking your clit while her forefinger came in and out of your hole, fingering you in rhythmic thrusts that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Oh god, fuck, Natasha!” you gasped, your right hand flew to your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. She's for sure a lot better than any vibrator you had in your whole life.

Natasha's fingers moved faster and deeper, pressing against that sweet spot inside you. The wet sound of her lapping your core and her finger pushing in and out of your tight hole.

“Oh, Nat I’m gonna!”

And you finally lost all control, crying out in release as your orgasm overtook you. Your body shook and trembled, every muscle tensed as you rode out the waves of pleasure Natasha brought you.

Natasha swiftly pulled your panties and silk pajamas back in place as she stood. You were still high from pleasure and the only thing that keeps you steady is the pole behind you. Your hands are still tangled in her hair and she's now in front of you, she eyed you as she slowly licked her lips and her arousal coated finger. Despite you being high in pleasure, you didn't miss that moment and you could only bite your lip at the sight of her. Your hands moved to her cheeks and desperately pulled her into a kiss, you moaned as you tasted yourself in her mouth.

Natasha gently pulled away and took her leather jacket and let it hang it to your shoulders to cover your bare chest. She now swiftly carried you in a bridal style.

“You did so good for me, detka. So good.” she murmured in your ears, pressing a light kiss against it.

You both left the room, leaving your silk top and lacy bra behind.

⧗

“Maria, we need to tighten up the security,” Natasha said, her voice brooking no argument. “It's not secure if Yelena can just waltz in unannounced like this.”

Maria sighed, crossing her arms, “Did you two talk?”

“If by 'talk' you mean papers scattered on the floor, broken glasses, and a slightly bruised wall,” she responded casually—too casually, “then yes, we talked.”

Maria sighed once again, a sense of weary resignation in her eyes. She had grown up with Natasha, witnessing firsthand the tumultuous relationship between her and her sister. When Natasha had decided to start building her own empire, Maria had been the first one to offer her support—she was even the one who told Natasha to start her own business so she could finally get away from her family.

“There was a change of plans,” Maria confirmed to Natasha, “Is it true that you weren't able to finish the meeting that was held here earlier? Because the associates asked to move to a different location.”

Natasha already knew about this and she nodded in confirmation. It was supposed to be done but your unexpected appearance disrupted the flow of the meeting, but Natasha didn't blame you, though, because she liked the events that followed after that.

If she would have you in that position again—you gripping her hair—pushing and bucking your core down to her mouth as you try to muffle your cries while she eats you out. Hell, she would let you disrupt every meeting she’ll have.

“You good?”

Maria's voice pulled Natasha out of her reverie, and she tried to shake off the thoughts that had been preoccupying her mind just moments ago. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks as she hastily responded, “Yeah, I'm good.”

Maria just hummed but she clearly knows what's going on in the redhead's mind.

“I had Y/N’s clothes that were left in that room put in the laundry.”

Natasha swallowed a lump on her throat as Maria walked towards her, “You might wanna tie your hair back.”

Natasha's hands instinctively went to her braid, her fingers tangling in the thick strands of hair as she pulled it over her shoulder. The hair tie had already been removed, leaving her braid slightly loose in its end.

“You left this too.” She placed a plain black hair tie on her desk, you might have accidentally tugged it while you two…

“Damn, Nat I didn't know that's the purpose of the room you asked me. I thought it was a studio or something.” Maria raised a brow before heading to Natasha's office door.

“Hey! It-it is a studio!” Natasha couldn't help but feel a little defensive as Maria teased her. She tried to maintain her composure, although the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed the things that were going into her mind.

She made it for you, it is a studio, at least that's how she planned it to be.

“Sure…sure, but I wouldn't get shocked if it would turn into a sex den.” Maria teased once again, winking at her best friend before she shut the door.

“Hey! Maria! Comeback here!”

⧗

You slowly blink your eyes open, feeling the soft silk of the sheets against your skin. As you push the comforter aside, realization dawns upon you—you're not wearing anything on your top, and Natasha's jacket is lying haphazardly on the pillow beside you.

Memories of the previous night flood your mind, a cocktail of sensations and emotions. You can still feel the remnants of her touch on your skin and the scent of her perfume lingers on the jacket—on you, sending a shiver down your spine.

With wide eyes, you quickly rush towards the full-length mirror in your room. As you look at your reflection, a wave of surprise and a little bit of shock washes over you. The marks on your skin it's like a roadmap outlining Natasha's path along your body.

You carefully trace your fingers down from your neck, tracing the marks that continue down to the valley of your breasts.

“Be my personal stripper and my trophy wife.”

“Fuck…” you screw your eyes shut at the memories.

Every touch, every caress, every sensation that Natasha had brought out in you came rushing back like a tidal wave. The need for her, the aching desire for her touch, was overwhelming. You closed your eyes tightly, your body instinctively reacting to the recollections of her lips and hands on your skin.

Your eyes scan the table next to your bed, and you spot a white box adorned with red ribbons. Curiosity piqued, you reached out to the box and saw a note tucked into the lid.

“A small trophy, for my wife.”

You bite your lip to the words of Natasha's note. The thought of being marked and claimed in this way awakened a primal part of you that longs to be desired and owned by her.

As you peer inside the box, you find that it contains a single item, a beautiful pair of pink pointe shoes. Your eyes start to glisten with tears as you gently touch the shoe. This one was different, so much more exquisite and perfect compared to the one you had before. Those were cheap, thrift store finds that you had to painstakingly repair and patch up. This new shoe seemed so much... better. It looked elegant and more importantly, it looked comfortable. But you weren't sure if you could wear it; your feet were used to the pain and torture that came with the cheap shoes you usually danced in. You let another tear fall down your cheek before you put the box down and slipped onto some comfortable clothes.

⧗

You had walked to the room Natasha said she made for you, seeking solace and a place to immerse yourself in your dance. An unfamiliar music played softly in the background, a random selection that you didn't recognize but chose to dance to anyway.

As you continued to dance, you looked at the wide wall mirror eyeing your reflection, you observed your movements. The music pulsated through the room, you began to perform a series of ballet moves that you’ve learned on your own. You're a quick learner, you’ve only seen these steps at least once and you can do it neatly in a blink of an eye.

Your body moves with grace and precision. You twirled in elegant pirouettes, extending your leg and pointing your toes during tendus, gracefully arched yourself in arabesques, and leaped through the air with powerful grand jetes. You allow yourself to lose in the movement, each step and twirl flowing effortlessly, your body becoming one with the rhythm and the space around you.

Your dancing was interrupted by the sound of the door opening forcefully. You turned to see Natasha standing at the threshold, her breath labored and her shoulders tensed.

“Natasha?” you ran towards her, your heart in yout throat when you saw the blood seeping through the fabric of her shoulders. The sight stopped you in your tracks and you reached out to touch her, your fingers trembling as they traced over the wetness of the fabric.

“I’ll find Maria.” you said firmly, trying to pull your wrists free from Natasha's grip. But she tugged you back, her eyes pleading with you not to leave her. “No,” she whispered, her was voice broken and vulnerable. “Please don't go. There's a kit behind those speakers," Without a second thought, you ran towards the speakers, moving them aside to reveal a small black case. You opened it up to find bandages, gauze, and painkillers.

Natasha walked slowly towards the pole, her body aching from the injury she had sustained. She sat down heavily, resting her back against the cool metal, and let out a deep sigh of relief, “The shoe fits perfectly?” she asked as she closed her eyes.

“Y-yeah, t-thank you,” you managed to say. And Natasha just hummed but you can feel that she was smiling.

You could feel your mind racing with panic, a million thoughts swirling uncontrollably in your head. Natasha needed you and you are struggling to keep it together. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears as you ran your hands through your sweaty hair, your heart pounding in your chest.

Natasha opened her eyes and looked at you kneeling in front of her. She could see the fear in your eyes and knew that you were trying to keep it under control. She smiled softly, trying to reassure you, “Come here,” she gently took your arm and pulled you on her lap.

“This seems normal to you.” You huffed, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.

It is indeed normal for Natasha to walk back from her latest business, her body covered in bruises and scratches, her clothes tattered, and a gunshot wound on her thigh—it's a lifestyle.

She tugged at the fabric of her sleeves, pulling them up to reveal a fresh cut on her arm, she was stabbed. She winced slightly as you began to clean it, her eyes focusing on you as she gently circled her thumbs on your waist.

“Does Maria know about this?” you quivered.

“No, later maybe, yeah,” rambled, groaning as she adjusted herself. Making you move slightly on her lap.

“I need to call her,” you insisted, but Natasha shook her head, digging her fingers on your waist, “No, you're gonna stay here.”

As you finished cleaning her wound, the room fell into a moment of silence. Natasha sat quietly, her gaze unfocused as she took deep breaths, trying to steady herself. You couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety wash over you, wondering if you were doing everything right.

The silence became too much to bear, and just as you were about to break the tension, Natasha spoke up. “You scared?” she asked, her voice softer than usual. In that moment, all the worry and fear you had been holding back came pouring out.

“Of course I am!”

You harshly wiped the tears that started streaming down your face. Natasha watched you cry, a pained expression in her eyes. She felt guilty, like she was putting you through unnecessary emotional turmoil.

She moved a strand away from your face, “I don't like seeing you like this,” Natasha whispered, so softly that you almost didn't hear her. But the words were enough to make you stop you, your hands frozen in mid-air as you looked at her. Your eyes were puffy and glossy.

“Natasha,” you breathe, “I don't like seeing you like this too,” you managed to say between sobs, you softly jabbed her chest with your finger. You cannot bear to see her in pain too, her going home with wounds, bruises, stabs, gunshots and for her it's nothing? Maybe for her it is, but for you it's not. What if she comes home cold? Lifeless?

“You don't deserve this.”

Now, you huffed hearing it from her, “Taking everything back?” your face hardened into a smirk as you wiped the tears out your face and quickly moved away from her lap. Natasha furrowed her brows, confused at your question. She tried to chase you to make you stay in that position, she wanted you close to her—now you just moved away.

“So you asking me to be your personal stripper and your trophy wife was what?” Your voice trembled slightly as you voiced your thoughts, “Out of lust? To get to me? To use me?” you chuckled slightly.

“Detka, that's not what it is,” her voice cracked, she didn't want you to think that she was just using you. She never intended that.

“You wouldn't wish a life with me!”

“What if I want this, Natasha?” You asked the question before you could even think, “What if I want this? What if I want you, Natasha? What if I want to be with you?” The words tumbled out of your mouth, each one a confession that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. You gulped the lump on your throat, turning your back at her as you sob uncontrollably.

Natasha hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest as she processed your words. She watched as you turned away from her and her instincts kicked in. Without thinking, she stood despite the pain on her shoulder. Then, she moved closer, her hands gently reaching for your waist.

At first, Natasha was taken aback when you swatted her hands away. You turned to look at her, she saw the clear view of your face—the uncertainty and pain in your eyes, followed by a flash of something else - desire? She didn't think twice as she reached for you again, pulling you closer by your elbows.

“Natasha, no,” your voice barely above a whisper. You tried to move to push her away but Natasha was determined. She pulled you closer still, your face just inches from hers now. Her eyes locked on yours.

“Y/N, don't fight me,” gently, her hands moved down to your cheek and you didn't fight back. Tears started streaming down your face again as you cling to her touch, she looked at you before closing the gap of your lips, pulling you into a searing kiss. She could taste the saltiness of your tears on her lips and it only made her want to hold you tighter, wanting to stay like this with you forever.

You managed to pull away from her and Natasha tried chasing your lips but you immediately stepped back. You stood there for a couple of seconds, waiting for her to say something, you wanted her to say something but no words came out of her mouth.

You wiped your tears away and swallowed a sob before speaking, “I…uhh, I’ll find Maria.” With that, you turned and left the room not daring to look at her because you know what's going to happen if you do.

⧗

You just found clinging to Yelena as she drives her bike away from the manor. You just called Maria to get Natasha and you went into the kitchen when Yelena approached you and proposed an idea, suggesting a ‘little escapade’ as she calls it when she saw you all vulnerable alone after your encounter with her sister. And without hesitation, you found yourself nodding in agreement. The manor had been stifling and you desperately craved a breath of fresh air.

You were easy, too easy.

Yelena stopped the bike at a nearby ice cream place, she turned to you and inquired, “So, where do you wanna go?”

Your response was a nonchalant shrug, not having any specific destination in mind. Sensing your lack of a preference, Yelena grinned. “Let's grab some ice-cream then,” she said, gesturing towards the ice-cream parlor.

Yelena immediately went straight to the counter and placed the order for both of you, not even bothering to ask what you wanted. You sat silently, patiently waiting for her to finish. It was your first time leaving the manor in what felt like forever, and you relished the opportunity to be out and about once again. But as you sat there waiting, your mind began to drift to Natasha once again. Thoughts of her started to plague your mind, you couldn't help but replay the argument in your head, recalling every word and the addicting touch of hers. You tried to make sense of what had happened and how things had spiraled out—how you spiraled out.

You want her, you want to be with her. You long to hear the simple words that she used to soothe your worries and fears, that you just have to stay and be with her and no harm will come after you. Yet, deep down, maybe you yearned for more than just those words, maybe you wanted her to say the same thing—that she wants you and she wants to be with you.

“Ice-cream for your thoughts?” Yelena waved the ice-cream cone on your face, pulling you out of your deep thoughts of her sister.

You immediately took it and walked out of the ice-cream parlor and Yelena walked after you, “How much do I owe you?” You asked.

“Why? Do you have money with you?” She asked back, huffing knowing that you have none.

“No,” you replied quietly, savoring the taste of the strawberry ice cream. “I only have a black dress, a pair of heels, and a knife,” you mumbled. “And lingerie,” you added as an afterthought.

In truth, you barely had anything that was truly your own. All you had were the clothes you had worn the night you worked at Valkyrie's and that's everything you got since ending up in Natasha's penthouse.

After finishing your ice cream, you saw a nearby library. And you made a bold request, despite your attempts to keep your facade of aloofness intact. You tried to maintain a certain distance from Yelena. Yes, you accepted her ‘little escapade’ but that doesn't mean that you had forgotten how she had treated you since the day you two met. Her harsh attitude and scathing insults still echoed in your mind and you couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment and wariness whenever you were near her. But right now, you have no time for that, you want peace and a breather.

“I want to go inside,” you said, your voice betraying a hint of pleading despite your efforts to sound indifferent. “Please.”

“You look cute when you beg.”

Irritation flared in you at Yelena's mocking tone and teasing words. You couldn't help but roll your eyes in response, you licked your thumb after you finished your ice-cream to get the small crumbs left of the cone. With doe eyes, you stared at her that caused her to almost choke at her ice-cream.

“Yeah, thanks, your sister hears it a lot,” you replied with a wink, before crossing the street towards the direction of the library leaving her behind.

“Zlyushchaya suka.” (Feisty bitch) She whispered under breath before running after you.

As you entered the library, the aroma of old books and the hush of whispered conversations enveloped you. You approached the counter and without wasting any time, you signed your name on the guest book, eager to immerse yourself in the library's collection of books. Yelena followed suit, walking over to the counter and casually scratching her name onto the page.

As you maneuvered through the library, you were drawn to a section filled with the works of Emily Dickinson. Your eyes landed on her collection, and a sense of comfort washed over you. You had a deep fondness for the poet's work, and you eagerly reached out to pick up one of her books.

Yelena, meanwhile, was casually browsing nearby. When she saw what book you had chosen, her eyes widened momentarily,

“You read Dickinson too?”

“Wild nights, wild nights, were I with thee wild nights should be, our luxury…” You lazily recited just to prove her that you do read Dickinson's works. You grabbed a book that caught your eye and walked towards the blonde, you placed it on the top of the book she's reading.

“Grumpy Monkey,” Yelena read the title to herself. Her mouth agaped slightly offended at what you did, she immediately immersed herself to look for a perfect book to give you.

Yelena approached you with a cocky smirk, slamming a book onto the table. With a hint of mockery in her tone, she asked, “You live there?” you looked at the book entitled: Bitch Planet, Volume 1: Extraordinary Machine

You flashed a book in her face, as if you're ready for this, “Mr. Author Lewis here wants to give you an advice on how to raise your I.Q.” She read the title in her mind, How to Raise Your I.Q. by Eating Gifted Children.

“Okay, that’s alarming,” Yelena pointed out, which made you giggle. She returned to look for more books and spotted a book with a hilariously controversial title. She couldn't resist the urge to call out to you in a loud whisper, waving the book in her hand. “Hey, hey!”

Eating People is Wrong you read, despite the distance between you, Yelena's infectious laughter managed to reach your ears. Her boisterous chuckle filled the library, causing a few heads to turn in your direction. You immediately shush her causing the blonde to slowly and pretend to look for a book to read.

“Games You Can Play with Your Pussy; and Lots of Other Stuff Cat Owners Should Know.” You read in disgust and you turned to look at Yelena who was sitting in front of you, her eyes watered as she fought back the tears forming in her eyes, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Terrible book title,” you remarked. She pulled another one that made you roll your eyes, did she really just collect books with controversial, alarming and terrible titles?

You sighed as you read the title again. “Still Stripping After 25 Years,” you gasped, which made Yelena slap the table, still trying not to burst into laughter. You didn't even read the blurb of the book before you judged, “They should not put this in a public library!” You whisper-shouted.

“Okay, that's enough,” you chastised her, she was sitting on her seat in an almost slouching manner and you found yourself crossing your arms across your chest as you raised a questioning brow at her but she instantly straightened up and adjusted her vest.

It feels like you're with a kid, honestly.

“I like your vest.”

Yelena’s eyes widened at your compliment, “I just absolutely love vests with lots of pockets. They're so practical, and they just have that perfect blend of style and function, you know?” she giddily rambled. You just hummed as you flipped the book you’re reading.

“It's actually Natasha’s,” the revelation made you look at her, “I took all her clothes when she left.”

“How long has it been since she left? If you don't mind me asking…” you inquired carefully, hoping that you didn't cross any line.

“18 years, papa made her manage the business with him at 16 then she left when she was 19.”

“She started that young?” Yelena just hummed, her energy immediately dropping down.

“You know, your sister loves you,” Yelena immediately eyed you after you said those words, “Even though you always come around her property with no invitations,” you chuckled as you closed the book that you had no plans on finishing reading.

She just shook her head slightly as if she's trying to focus her mind and remove thoughts in her brain.

She hates you, she reminded herself.

“Let's go out, go for a walk.” You gave her a smile and grabbed her hand, the closeness making the blonde guilty.

As you and Yelena stepped outside the library, you noticed a small box on the sidewalk, filled with six adorable puppies, each of them looking at you with curious eyes. A $20 sign hung over the box, indicating that they were for sale. Poor adorable puppies just being sold?

Yelena's phone suddenly vibrated from her pocket, causing her to break away from your grasp. She looked at you apologetically and told you that she will just get it for a second. You nodded and informed her that you will go see the puppies, you pointed the direction so she'll know where you are before you both went your separate ways.

“The delivery should be done in 15 minutes, we’ve waited for so long.”

Yelena's heart dropped as she saw the text on the small screen. Guilt and dread, that's what she feels right now. She made a huge mistake on getting too close to you, this wasn't supposed to happen, she never intended to let her guard down and warm up to you.

She hated the fact that you have no crumb of flaws in you, well yes, of course you have your own flaws but it's not enough for her to hate. She tried testing you as if she was digging the pandora's box, it's nowhere to be found. She can't find any reason to hate you.

And she hate you for that. She hates you, she did. She hated you.

Yelena's heart raced as she desperately searched for you, but you were nowhere in sight. She spotted a two black van meters away from her and panic gripped her as she frantically looked for you. But suddenly, she saw you waving at her, a small puppy cradled in your arms. She immediately ran towards your direction.

“Can we get this puppy for Natasha? You know your sister always wanted a pup—”

You were taken aback when Yelena withdrew a wad of cash from her pocket and swiftly pulled out a $100 bill. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed your arm and quickly yanked you away from the scene, she wasn't even able to get her change.

“I need to get you back to the manor.”

The golden retriever puppy was whining in your arms and you cooed it even though you're being dragged by the blonde.

Yelena's panic intensified as her gaze darted anxiously in different directions. She noticed the same van she saw earlier moving slowly, following closely behind the both of you. Her focus shifted to you, and she watched you coo at the puppy in your arms, blissfully unaware of the danger that was trailing behind. Yelena's heart wrenched as she realized that she had never intended for things to take this turn—with you.

Yelena fished out her motorcycle keys from her pocket. She quickly straddled the bike and turned on the ignition.

“Get in.”

Despite her brusque tone, you quickly obeyed her and swung your leg over the bike, settling in behind her. Suddenly, without any warning, she gunned the engine and the motorcycle shot forward, taking off like a rocket down the street. The small puppy in your arms gave a slight yelp, startled by the sudden movement. You instinctively cradled the furry bundle closer to your body.

“Can you drive slow?” you asked worrily as you try to balance yourself in the bike, you weren't holding anything for support just the little puppy in your arms.

As Yelena prepared to turn the corner, her eyes widened in horror as she suddenly saw a van blocking the road and she can't just maneuver around it. Yelena's heart raced, and she had no choice but to hit the brakes, bringing the motorcycle to a skidding halt. The puppy in your arms whimpered softly at the sudden stop. Yelena considered backtracking, but her hopes were dashed as she saw the van that had been pursuing you earlier was now blocking the return path as well.

“Yelena? What's happening?” You asked as you were practically being trapped by the two vans.

Yelena could only grip on the handlebars at your question, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to keep her composure. She didn't give an immediate answer, her gaze flickering between the van that blocked your path and the one behind, trying to figure out a way out. After a minute of contemplating, she gave up.

“Just stay here. I'm sorry.” Yelena told you, you nodded slightly as you adjusted yourself in the seat of her bike.

Why is she apologizing?

Yelena dismounted the motorcycle and slowly approached the van. The driver's door opened and a bald burly, threatening-looking man stepped out, a hardened scowl on his face.

The bald man's voice lowered into a menacing growl as he confronted Yelena. “You tryna run away from us?”

“No.”

The man's expression darkened and he took a step closer to her. “Give us the girl now,” he demanded, leaving no room for negotiation, though this is a negotiation.

In a snap Yelena seized the burly man and she held him like a shield, using him as a means to keep the others at bay. As the other men started to exit the van, their faces hardened and their hands reaching for their weapons, Yelena's eyes darted from one to the other.

“Let the girl go and I'll let this bald-headed demon man go.”

“Yelena what's happening?” You called out to her in a whimper.

“I'm sorry, Y/N. Please come here.”

You immediately obeyed her command, slowly stepping off the bike and moving closer to her. As you did so, you turned around, trying to keep an eye on the men who were approaching from behind.

As you stood behind Yelena, the weight of the situation started to sink in. Your heart pounded in your chest and fear gripped you. You clutched the puppy tightly, its small form shaking slightly in your arms. Panic coursed through your veins and you couldn't help but look around, searching for a way out or any sign of help. “Y-Yelena?” you stuttered.

“Y/N, forgive me. I promise I’ll get you back to Natash—”

She wasn't able to finish her words when she suddenly dropped to the ground, unconscious after being shot with a tranquilizer the men had fired at her. Your heart froze and you could barely comprehend what was happening.

“Yelena!” Your voice was filled with anguish as you called out to her, tears streaming down your face.

The man she has been holding captive earlier stalked towards you and yanked you by your arm. The suddenness of the grab made you release your hold on the puppy. The man's eyes roamed over your body and ripped your top, he quickly inspected your shoulders. Satisfied with what he saw, he glanced up at the other men and shouted, “This is the one!”

“Yelena!” you hollered as the man wrapped his arms around your waist and dragged you. Even in your disoriented state, your survival instincts kicked in. With all the strength you could muster, you tried to fight back against the man who was holding you.

“Fuck you!” You growled, you spat at the face of the man, he was really enraged as he wipe the spit on his face but when he poised to strike you a man intervened grasping his wrist.

“We cannot leave no marks on her,” he calmly said, a sinister smile starting to form on his face.

“Fuck you too!” You shouted, the adrenaline pumping through your veins gives you a momentary burst of courage.

He smirked at how feisty you are but he then shushed you and pressed a cloth over your nose and mouth, “You've brought us in so much trouble already, you're gonna pay for it.”

You never stopped to fight back but your limbs started to flail weakly, your attempts to kick and struggle against them proving futile.

The world blurred around you as tears streamed down your face, your voice hoarse from crying out Yelena's name once more before everything started to fade away and the last thing you saw was the small puppy nudging Yelena's unconscious body.

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 12: A Room of Your Own | 5.2k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, bad writing, slow burn, horny thoughts, gun pointing (?), bully Yelena (?), is fluff a warning? If yes, then what the fluff?

Author's Note: Scene reference from the movie Black Widow👀 I had to watch it so I can be able to write the scene. And, and, and the mascot was from my own experience, lol. Not proofread so if you see some stupid mistakes, no you didn't.

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

“Fuck.” You mutter to yourself as soon as you're sure that she's out of the room. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath since you felt Natasha close to you and now you're gasping for air. You immediately slapped your cheek over and over, trying to remove the thoughts out of your mind.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is wrong.” You feel your head being light, remembering her words.

“You can take it.”

“Just like that.”

“Good girl.”

You took a pillow and slammed it on your face with both of your hands and screamed at it, it stayed at your face for a couple of seconds before you slowly removed it.

You squeezed your thighs shut to relieve the aching feeling between your legs, “Oh God, forgive me for I have sinned.”

“Y/N?” A call coming out your door freaked you out, you immediately shuffled and got out of your bed, you ran towards the door as you put your clothes over your freshly cleaned up wound.

You peeked revealing Maria outside, “Oh hey.”

“Here's your food, there are actually stocks of food in your room but Natasha told the chef to have some soup made for you.” She said carrying a tray of soup and water. “You okay?” She asked as she saw your blushing form just staring at the tray.

“Oh yeah, shit t-thanks. I mean…” you winced as you opened the door for her to come in and immediately but carefully took the tray from her. You put it on the side of your bed and walked back towards her.

There was an awkward silence between the two of you, “So? How are you?” She asked crossing her arms, offering you a comforting smile

“I…” you shrugged.

"I know things are hard for you...complicated," Maria empathized. "But please don't sleep naked on the tile floor again, Y/N." She chuckled, as did you.

She noticed your nervous fidgeting and slowly began walking towards the door, with you following closely behind, crossing your arms and rubbing your arm.

"She was really worried about you," Maria declared as she looked at you.

You nodded slowly, recognizing the depth of Natasha's concern. Your heart wanted to jump out of its place. But you actually hadn't meant to cause her any worry, and now a plan began to take shape in your mind. You thought about making it up to Natasha for all she had done for you. Just as Maria started to leave your room, you hastily called out to her.

"I uh, Maria," you began, "Is it possible for me to go into the kitchen later? I'd like to do some cooking, or something." You cursed yourself for being so awkward.

“Oh…” she smiled, “Sure, I’ll tell the chef. Finish your food first and you can have the kitchen all by yourself.”

⧗

You quickly finished the remainder of your soup and carried the tray with you as you made your way out of your room.

With the tray in your grasp, you navigated through the halls, making your way towards the kitchen. As you walked, the sound of your footsteps echoed slightly in the deserted corridor, as if the emptiness itself was listening to your every step.

Finally, you arrived at the kitchen that Maria had pointed out to you a day ago. The kitchen was one large expansive room, without any doors or dividers. The space was seamless and open, allowing the air to flow freely between the workstations and appliances.

You cautiously stepped inside, placing the tray in the sink. You took a moment to survey the kitchen, your hands slightly fidgeting from nerves. You had initially planned to bake, but now that you are faced with the vastness of the kitchen, you actually don't know what to do now as you feel a little overwhelmed.

The kitchen was immaculate, the stainless steel counters gleaming under the warm glow of the overhead lights. Rows of pristine cookware, pots, and pans hung from hooks on the backsplash, and the various appliances were meticulously arranged on the counters.

“Wow…I only had a microwave in my apartment.” You muttered to yourself.

You took a moment to examine the cabinets, quietly searching for the ingredients you needed for what you planned to bake. Opening each one, you looked closely, taking mental note of what you had and what you still needed to find. Then, your eyes landed on the pantry, located to the left of the large fridge.

You entered the pantry, which was another expansive room brimming with ingredients.

“Wow…” your jaw literally dropped as you took a good look around the pantry, you couldn't help but marvel at the variety of items before you. It seemed like a mini grocery store!

One by one, you managed to retrieve everything you needed. The ingredients in your arms grew, until eventually you had everything you needed, including flour, sugar, chocolate chips, eggs, and butter. With your arms full, you carefully walked out of the pantry.

You began your cooking project by setting all the ingredients out on a clean countertop. The measuring cups, spoons, bowls, and baking sheets were placed strategically so you could easily access them. As you arranged everything, a small wave of overwhelm washed over you as you looked at the materials before you. You were anxious that you may accidentally damage or ruin them in some way.

You measured each ingredient, the aroma of the dough began to fill the room, blending the scents of sugar and butter. With each cup and teaspoon, you mixed the ingredients in a large bowl, creating a smooth and creamy base.

You had finally completed the cookie dough and were now preparing to bake it. However, in order to do so, you needed to find the parchment paper, which was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did I put it?”

You were frantically searching for it, knowing that you had just placed it in one place together with others. You began to worry that you misplaced it. Suddenly, you heard a voice behind you. “Looking for this?”

Startled, you whipped around to find Yelena, sitting casually on the countertop, holding the parchment paper you had been looking for. Your clumsy hands accidentally knocked over some of the ingredients, causing it to crash to the ground.

You immediately and instinctively crouched down to fix the mess you made, Yelena smirked down at the sight. She toyed with the parchment paper as you cleaned in front of her.

Yelena hummed a nonsensical tune, her feet idly swaying and occasionally coming close to your head, almost purposely. However, you tried not to let it get to you and refrained from showing any reaction. Deep inside, you couldn't help but hope that Natasha would appear, as she usually did when her sister was around, to rescue you from this frustrating situation.

“Yelena.”

Yelena turned, a smirk creeping in her face. She tilted her head, “Hey Riri.”

Maria's expression toward Yelena remained emotionless. She maintained a stoic demeanor, silently observing Yelena's actions and behavior. “You know where to find your sister.”

“I always do.” Yelena chuckled as she leaped off the countertop and nonchalantly let the parchment paper fall to the ground as you focused on cleaning up. Without a pause, she promptly walked out of the kitchen.

When Yelena was finally out of sight Maria immediately inquired if you're okay to which you nodded.

Maria, noticing the lingering tension Yelena left in the air, she turned to you with a sympathetic expression and softly apologized for Yelena's behavior.

"I'm sorry about Yelena," she said gently. "She can be quite...a lot."

Sensing your lack of response, Maria quickly shifted the conversation and her eyes landed at the countertop, seeing the dough you just made ready to be baked.

“You know, that looks really delicious,” she said, her tone shifting to a more casual one.

Her words were meant to ease the tension, hoping to alleviate any discomfort you might still be feeling. Her words, though simple, had a profound effect, causing your cheeks to blush. A small, shy smile graced your lips as you gratefully accepted her compliment.

“Thanks,” you said as you stood with the ingredients on your arms. “I just need to bake them, can I ask for a hand? I don't know how your oven works.”

Upon hearing your request for assistance, a warm smile spread across Maria's face. “Sure, whatever you need.”

⧗

"I know you’re out there.” Yelena, still concealing her presence, speaks out, her voice carrying a hint of challenge as she carefully closes the door behind her and pulled the gun behind her jeans.

Natasha, unfazed, responds calmly, she leaned back to her office chair, "I know you know I’m out here."

Yelena cautiously steps forward, her eyes scanning the room carefully. She picks her way through the room, avoiding any objects that might make noise or hinder her movement.

"So, are we going to talk like grown-ups?" Natasha said after a lack of response from her sister.

“Is that what we are?” Yelena shot back, finally revealing her sister who's sitting in her office chair, gun pointed in her direction.

The room is tense, their eyes locked in a deadly staring contest. Natasha stood from her chair and circled the desk, walking forward, her gun pointed directly at Yelena.

“Put it down before I make you.” Yelena said with a stern voice, she walked backwards when she saw Natasha slowly begin to advance. She kept her gun pointed precisely at her sister.

“You put yours down.” Natasha replied, keeping her gun trained on Yelena, her footsteps are measured and steady, her gaze still locked on the blonde.

As Yelena takes a step backward, she slightly stumbles. She falters momentarily but quickly regains her footing.

“Watch your step.”

Yelena responded with a smirk.

With each step, the distance closes between them, their body tense and ready for any sudden moves from each other.

In a quick, coordinated movement, both Natasha and Yelena switch their guns with each other, passing them between their hands while still maintaining their defensive stances.

The switch is swift and seamless, a testament to the skill and familiarity the sisters have with each other's movements. Both continue to watch each other intently, weapons now held in the other's hand. The air crackles with tension, neither of them willing to back down.

Natasha, in a split second, reaches out and touches Yelena’s gun and the unexpected touch is enough to send Yelena straight into attack mode. She quickly launches herself at Natasha, slamming her sister towards the wall.

Natasha winces, the impact on her back momentarily catching her off guard. But Natasha was quick to counterattack; she grabbed Yelena’s jacket, and pushed her harshly, she then yanked her towards the cabinets. In a single swift motion, Natasha slams her sister’s back against the table below, pinning her firmly by the jaw.

“Stay down, stay down!”

Despite being in a disadvantaged position, Yelena makes quick work of the situation. With her sharp and agile movements, she sneaks her hand behind her and grabs a stack of thick papers from the table. Before Natasha can react, Yelena brings the papers down hard against her sister's head.

The unexpected blow sends Natasha staggering back, her grip on Yelena momentarily loosening. Yelena uses this to her advantage and quickly stands from being pinned.

Natasha and Yelena continue eyeing each other, both of them are breathing heavily and are refusing to back down. The tension in the room is palpable. After a long moment, Natasha breaks the standoff and walks back to her desk, she winced as she touched her side slightly.

“How's mama?” Natasha asks in a detached tone as if they didn't just almost kill each other seconds ago.

Yelena can't hold back a smile. The mention of their mother seems to bring a bit of tenderness and excitement into Yelena's voice. She straightens her clothes after the fight, pausing to collect her thoughts before she speaks.

“She uhm,” Yelena started fidgeting, “Mama’s fine, she's okay and uhh…she misses you so much, like she always cooks your favorite when she misses you.”

Yelena's excitement was almost palpable as she shared this tidbit of information. On the other hand, Natasha's stoic expression gave away nothing of her emotions. She reached for a beer, uncapping it. The sound of the cap snapping off echoed in as her sister continued to ramble.

“And papa, he’s—”

“I only asked for mama did I?” Her response was crisp and biting, a clear indication that she had no interest in hearing about their father.

Yelena was visibly taken aback by Natasha's abruptness. She watched in silence as her sister finished the beer in one smooth gulp, setting the empty bottle down with a firm tap on the hardwood desk.

She huffed, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the room. Her voice was slightly mocking as she made a comment about Natasha's setup.

"Quite domesticated here," she began, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Got yourself a wife cooking downstairs, huh?"

Natasha's cold gaze flicked up to meet Yelena's, her expression hardening at the mention of you. She interrupted her sister sternly, knowing how this conversation would go.

"Enough."

But Yelena didn't relent, continuing to push her sister's buttons.

"All cutesy," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Bringing poison into this house."

Natasha's patience had reached its limit. Her eyes flashed and her jaw tightened. In a swift, fluid movement, she slammed the jagged pieces of the broken glass onto the table, the sound of it making a loud thud against the hard surface. Her voice was low and sharp as she shouted at her sister.

Yelena didn't expect the sudden move, and she flinched momentarily.

"I said, enough." She emphasized each word, her fingers digging into the desk, the fragments of which were now scattered across the desk and the floor.

“Get out, I have a meeting to go to.”

Yelena let out a huff, her neutral demeanor faltering. She started walking backwards, still facing her sister.

"I don't understand you," she said, shaking her head slightly. "All of this for a woman you just met weeks ago."

She began to make her way out of the room. As she reached the threshold, she turned back to look at her sister, her expression firm. In a quieter voice, she added, "Don't drag yourself into this."

And with that, Natasha was left alone in her office, shattered glasses, scattered papers everywhere. The silence was thick and heavy. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the chaos that surrounded her. She let out a sigh, running her hands through her hair, the stress of the situation starting to manifest physically. As the clock ticked by, counting down the minutes until her meeting, Natasha took a deep breath to steady herself.

⧗

You had just finished plating the cookies, neatly arranging them on a tray. The thought of finding Natasha to give her the baked goods brought a small smile to your face. However, your thoughts were interrupted when you turned and saw Yelena leaning against the counter. Her sudden appearance made you jump slightly, the familiar feeling of uneasiness creeping over you.

Yelena chuckled seeing your reaction. She watched you intently, her expression amused. It was clear she enjoyed startling you and making you feel uncomfortable, as always

“Looking for Natasha?” She asked as if she could read your mind, you nodded not daring to look at her.

“I know where she is,” remembering that her sister just told her that she has some meeting to attend to. A smirk creeped into her face as she thought about you making some surprise visit to that meeting.

“2nd floor, last room at the left hall.”

You smile slightly at her and your eyes flickered as she told you where her sister is, the excitement evident in you.

“Thanks,” you said, slightly stuttering due to your eagerness to leave. “You can have some if you want.”

With the tray of cookies in your hands, you began slowly making your way past Yelena. A wave of disdain flooded over her. She hated how genuine you were, showing kindness even after she had been so tough on you. No matter how hard time she gave you, you still managed to make small genuine acts towards her and she hated it.

She hated you.

Yelena, despite her best efforts to stay aloof, found herself drawn to the freshly baked cookies sitting on the counter. The aroma was irresistible. Her pride told her not to take one, but her stomach says otherwise. In a swift motion, she picked one up and quickly stuffed it into her mouth, the sweet taste only adding to her inner conflict. It was so good that she hated you more.

⧗

As you make your way down the hall towards where Natasha is, your heart thumps in your chest. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach, each step bringing you closer. As you approach the hall, you mentally rehearse what to say.

“This is for you,” you say aloud, testing the words out. Then, you jokingly chide yourself, “What? No greetings? That's so disrespectful of you Y/N.”

“I baked cookies for you,” you tried again with a sigh on how awkward you sound.

Caught up in your internal monologue, you continue to walk and rehearse your lines, blissfully unaware of your surroundings. The door suddenly opens under your touch, and you find yourself standing in the doorway of Natasha's office.

Shit. You stop short, your eyes swept across the room. Not only is Natasha present, but there are also four other men in there, all of whom look like hardened criminals. They were in the middle of a meeting, and your unexpected entrance caught everyone's attention. Silence filled the air as their gaze landed on you, and you felt completely out of place, standing in the doorway with the tray of cookies in your hands.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. All the men in the room quickly stood up, their expressions neutral as they drew their weapons and aimed them directly at you as if they were trained to do it. The sound of multiple guns cocking filled your ears, and you instinctively froze, the tray of cookies trembling in your hands and your eyes started to get covered with tears. You thought this is it for you.

Natasha shoots up from her chair. “Fuck,” she muttered enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t you dare fucking shoot her! Out! Now!”

Your shoulders jump at the sharpness of the order, you know she has your protection in mind, though. You're on the verge of crying while apologizing for barging in on the meeting, but the men in attendance also jump to their feet, instantly bowing courteously to Natasha before hastily making their exit giving you a wide berth as they open the other door to her office and file out.

Natasha's eyes were locked onto you, concern etched across her face.

“Fuck…” a cursed escaped her lips. “Baby…” And without realizing it, a term of endearment slipped out this time. Natasha could see the shock on your face and the tremble in your hands holding the tray of cookies. She gently took the tray from you and set it down on the long table in the meeting room.

“Hey,” she called, holding your face.

Your words came out in a shaky breath, your voice quivering slightly. “I'm so sorry Natasha,” you said, the guilt and embarrassment evident. “I didn't mean to…” You tried to hold back the tears, but the sobs began to take over, your body shaking slightly.

You managed to get the words out between the sobs, explaining, “I just wanted to give you these cookies I made for you. And...and your sister...she told me you were here…” Your voice sounded like a small child complaining.

“Eta suka.” (That bitch) she whispered.

“I’m sorry, you weren't supposed to see that.” She said softly, bringing your head on her shoulder. You caught a whiff of her perfume as you nuzzled closer to her neck.

“You baked this for me?” she asked, caught off guard, your shy nod confirmed and a small smile curled on her lips.

“Why don't we get out and enjoy them?” You nodded again, this time with a genuine smile blossoming on your face.

⧗

As you and Natasha walked side by side, she casually looped her arm around your waist, making you feel safe and secure. In her other hand, she held the tray of cookies.

Suddenly, you were startled to see a guard carrying a large gun standing in front of you. Surprised, you looked up at him, but Natasha quickly intervened, asking him to step aside.

She turned to you and explained apologetically, “Sorry, it's security.” You nodded, understanding the need for precautions in her line of work.

“Don't you have an ongoing meeting?”

Natasha simply shrugged and responded nonchalantly, "They can wait."

“I’m really sorry, you should've finished whatever you're discussing if I didn't barge in—”

As you began to apologize once again, Natasha quickly reassured you, cutting off your apology before you could finish. Holding your hand, she gently squeezed it to comfort you.

"Y/N, it's okay." She continued walking with you, leading the way towards the tranquil garden of the manor.

Your eyes widened in awe as you took in the breathtaking view of the lake in front of you. "Wow," you breathed out, captivated by the beauty of your surroundings.

Natasha gestured for you to take a seat beside her in the soft grass. She removed her leather jacket and laid it down on the ground, creating a soft surface for you to sit comfortably.

As she did so, you inadvertently caught a glimpse of her biceps flexing. To your surprise, you could see that her arms were adorned with intricate tattoos, the ink dancing across her skin. But there was also a long, slender scar running through one of the tattoos, partially concealed by the ink.

The sight of it caused your breath to hitch in your throat, your gaze lingering on her skin and her strong arms.

You quickly shifted your gaze, your mind raced as you hoped she hadn't noticed the way your eyes had lingered on her arms.

Looking away, you redirected your attention to the serene lake in front of you, the cool breeze gently ruffling your hair and bringing some relief to your flushed face.

The two of you sat down together, she put the tray of cookies in front of you and you on the other hand was still fascinated at the view of the lake, your mouth slightly opened. Natasha couldn't help but smile at you, she grabbed a cookie from the tray which caught your attention.

“So?” You asked, “How was it?”

“You should try your own cookie.” She said, winking at you and you did, you grabbed one and took a bite.

“It's heavenly,” she commented, you looked at her with your brows furrowed.

“Heavenly?” You laughed, “What are you a poet?” You said between giggles.

For a few moments, there was a comfortable silence between the two of you as you sat together in the garden. It wasn't an awkward silence per se, but rather a calm and peaceful atmosphere that surrounded you both.

Your eyes wandered idly, scanning the surroundings until they landed on a beautiful rose bush nearby. A sense of wonder filled you as you spotted a single red rose in full bloom. Excited, you pointed at it and exclaimed with a childlike enthusiasm.

"Look, a rose! Like the ones on your shoulder!”

As soon as the words left your lips, you immediately realized your faux pas and hastily apologized.

“I'm sorry,” you said remorsefully. “I think they're cool you know, your tattoos.”

Natasha looked at the roses, not providing an immediate response. Feeling even more embarrassed, you repeated your apology with a pout, feeling awkward.

Natasha chuckled at your adorable reaction and reassured you, “It's fine, Y/N.”

After a moment of silence, you found yourself rambling again. Curiosity tinged your voice as you mused aloud,

“So it's true, mob bosses…gangsters or whatever…they all have tattoos on their upper bodies, huh?”

Natasha hummed, “Yeah, I guess they do,”

A teasing smile tugged at your lips as you jokingly inquired, “You think I'd look good with tattoos too? Look, I have scars now too.” Natasha's eyes met yours, and a soft chuckle escaped her lips in response to your question.

Your heart skipped a beat as her laughter filled the air. The mere sound of her amusement sent a wave of warmth rushing through you, causing a flutter in your chest. It was a small victory, earning her laughter, but one that felt significant nonetheless.

“You silly girl,” she remarked as she took another cookie from the tray.

“It's an initiation rites,” she started, you shifted and sat properly beside her ready to listen to whatever she's going to say.

“I never wanted to have it, my mother told my father that it should stop with him.” She pauses, gathering her thoughts, before continuing, “The curse of our blood.”

That line just made your skin crawl.

“I saw how people looked at my father, all the scars in his body? I don't wanna be seen that way.” Her voice trembles slightly.

“I woke up,” she shifted slightly, “in a chair, I was tied up. I was 15 when I had it, my father slowly scarred my skin while I was begging him to stop. I was shouting for my mom but she never came.” She said it nonchalantly as she recounts the harrowing experience.

Your heart wrenched in your chest as you listened to her.

“From then I had to accept my fate.” A hint of bitterness tugged at the corners of Natasha's lips. “But that didn't mean I had to carry it on with me.”

Her eyes darted to the ground, studying the blades of grass that lay beneath her feet. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before continuing.

“I managed our business for 4 years and left to start my own. I haven't seen my parents since, only Yelena.” She looked at you, placing her hands at her back so she could lean on them and she straightened her legs forward. “What about you?”

“Oh, me?” You asked, pointing at yourself using the cookie.

“Yes, silly.” She giggled at you.

“I don't wanna make it about me though, you’re sharing yours—”

“Please tell me, I wanna know.” She cut you off.

You fell silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts and steeling yourself recalling your past. You swallowed the last piece of cookie in your hand before you spoke.

“Well, let's start with the fact that I never got to see my parents,” you began casually. “My mom died giving birth...to me and my dad left my mom before I was even born. So I grew up with my grandparents, but when they passed away, I had to live by myself.”

As you continued, your hands instinctively sought comfort, and you started to hug your legs tightly.

“My aunt took my grandparents' house and decided to sell it,” you huffed, your voice laced with bitterness. “They gave me my part of it because my mom’s gone and yeah, of course, I get to have her share in that.

“I started working at 17 to pay for my school," you said, recounting your early attempts at earning money. "I did everything, I worked at a laundromat, waitress, hostess, janitress, mascot…”

“Mascot?” Natasha's curiosity piqued, as she immediately asked.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you nodded and explained, “Yeah, there was this pizzeria that was having their opening and for a month I was half human and half pizza.”

“Wow…” Natasha laughed, “That’s funny…I mean no offense and respect to that because that's a difficult job.”

“Yeah, it is ‘coz they stink with all the sweat you know, ugh.” You rolled your eyes and made a gagging noise that earned another laugh from the redhead.

“Do you know how mascots blink?” you asked, your chin lifted in with a grin on your face.

“Ooh interesting, how?”

"When I did it, there's actually this thing in the hands of the mascot that whenever you close the hands," you lifted your left hand and formed a balled fist, demonstrating the mechanism of the mascot, “the mascot also blinks.”

“Ooh, I thought—”

You quickly guessed her thought, laughing slightly, “That it blinks when the person inside blinks?”

“I know it sounds so stupid but yeah.” She admitted with a sheepish grin.

You both couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea, to the point that both of you had to lay back down almost dying in laughter.

When the both of you finally calm down, Natasha's question broke the silence, and her curious tone filled the air as she asked, facing you as both of you were laying down, “So you went to college?”

“I did.”

Natasha then continued her line of questioning, “What happened? Did you finish?”

“I did. I was late for 2 years. Decided to have a leap year so I can save money for college. I took theater arts and when I finished I moved to New York with all my savings, hoping to fulfill my dream, you know...every kid's dream, everybody's dream, Broadway. But things didn't go as planned. But…I still had planned my future and I did plan some options. We need some safety net y’know?”

“Planned some options?” Natasha asked, slightly curious at the thought.

“Yeah.” You nodded, you can actually feel the grass and the dirt mixing with your hairstrand.

“And the plan is?”

“My plan is…one, to get a degree, finish college and I already did that. And I have two options if my degree doesn't work out for me.” You paused, your tongue darting out to wet your lips before continuing.

“One, be a stripper or two, be someone's trophy wife. And that's how I landed on Valkyrie's, option one.” You finally turned to look at her but she was already staring at you, your eyes widened and immediately got up trying to cover up the blush creeping in your face.

Natasha slowly sat beside you, your heart skipped a beat. You felt her presence as she reached for your hand, gently pulling you to your feet.

"I gotta show you something."

You grabbed her leather jacket and left the empty tray of cookies. The two of you walked back towards the manor, passing by a couple of armed guards who stood watch.

Natasha led you towards the large hall, her grip on your hand firm and sure. As she opened the double doors, you were immediately struck by the empty room that greeted you.

The space was spacious, with mirrors lining the walls and a solitary pole placed in the center. The polished wooden floor shone under the dim lighting, creating a subtle and intimate atmosphere.

A shy smile played on Natasha's lips as she spoke, looking directly at you. Her voice was soft, almost sheepish as she confessed.

“I still remember that dream of yours being a ballerina. So I had this room made just for you.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “Natasha, this…” Your voice trailed off for a moment as you gathered your thoughts, your emotions overwhelming you.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice cracking slightly as tears threatened to spill down your cheeks.

You don't need to be scared now.

No one will stop you.

No one will threaten you to know your place.

Because right now, at this moment, you do know your place.

You stepped forward and leaned towards Natasha, you gently planted a soft kiss on her cheek, your lips lingering for just a fraction of a second.

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 11: Inches in Between Us | 3.3k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, bad writing, slow burn, sexual tension, Natasha and reader being vulnerable and a horny mess at the same time

Author's Note: We're getting closer for some...fluff??? xD

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

As the car rolled along the secluded road leading to the manor, you peered out the window, noticing how the tall trees blocked out the city noise. Natasha sat beside you, her eyes never leaving the road as she drove the car.

You glanced at Natasha, you noticed how her biceps flexed through her leather jacket as she steered the wheel. You gulped at the sight, "This place is so secluded," you remarked, breaking the silence that had settled between you.

"Yeah," Natasha replied, "It's one of the reasons I chose it.” Her words hung in the air with a sense of mystery that left you curious. You turned back to the window, watching as the trees whizzed by in a blur of greenery.

Suddenly, it was Natasha's voice that broke the silence, pulling you from your thoughts. "We're here," she said. You glanced up, noticing the entrance looming ahead and a woman standing in front of the manor. Natasha navigated the car, circling the fountain planted in front of the manor. With a final turn of the wheel, Natasha brought the car to a smooth stop in front of the woman. You turned to look at Natasha, watching as she immediately stepped out of the car, leaving you momentarily alone inside. Your gaze lingered on her as she engaged in a brief conversation with the woman.

Unaware of how long you had been staring, you suddenly realized that you had been watching them for too long. With a jolt, you snapped out of your thoughts and quickly stepped out of the car.

Natasha turned to you with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Y/N, this is Maria," she said, gesturing towards the woman beside her. “She's been with me for years.”

“Oh.”

Natasha chuckled at your reaction, “No, Y/N she's working for me.”

“I—I didn't…”

You felt a flush of embarrassment wash over you as you immediately extended your hand to Maria, hoping she hadn't noticed your momentary lapse. "It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N," Maria said with a smile, her voice warm and welcoming.

“Finally home,” Natasha whispered but enough for the two of you to hear. “Shall we? Ladies?” Natasha asked before continuing her way to the manor.

You couldn't shake the feeling of unease but still followed through. You trailed behind Natasha and Maria who were discussing something you quite could not comprehend, but you didn't mind. You were so lost inside the manor, the high ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly above you, adorned with exquisite chandeliers that cast a warm, inviting glow. If Natasha's penthouse is too much for you, well this manor is a whole lot different.

"Natasha, all the things you requested have been done," Maria reported, her eyes flicking briefly to you before returning to Natasha.

"Good to hear," Natasha replied. "Thank you, Maria."

You followed a few steps behind them, your eyes wide as you took in everything around you. Everything in this place, the lush decor—it was all so overwhelming. You stumbled slightly, your foot catching on the edge of an ornate rug, and you reached out to steady herself against the wall.

Natasha glanced back at you, easily forgetting her conversation with Maria as she watched you almost panicking and stumbling around. Maria noticed Natasha's lingering gaze and smirked knowingly. "You seem distracted, Nat," Maria teased lightly.

Natasha shook away her thoughts, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "Just making sure she's alright," she said, her tone brisk. "Please show her to her room. I’ll be in my office.”

Maria nodded, her smirk widening as she walked towards you. “Hey Y/N,” she called, you immediately whipped your head towards her direction.

“Oh, h—hi, I…” you tried to look for Natasha but there was no sign of her and it made you feel worried, right now you're not used to Natasha not being around. Maria noticed your worried expression, she knows you're looking for Nat, "Natasha went to her office. Let me show you around and take you to your room.”

You nodded reluctantly, feeling a bit lost once again. As you walked, Maria pointed out various rooms and features of the manor, but your mind was only half on the tour. You couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place in such a lavish environment.

"Don't worry," Maria said, noticing your distracted state. "You'll get used to it. And besides, Natasha wouldn't have brought you here if she didn't think you belonged."

“Oh no…I don't belong here, she's just, she just wanted me to…”

“To be safe.” Maria said, pulling the words out of you.

“Yeah…” You looked at her, your nerves still evident. "It's just... all of this is so overwhelming. I've never seen anything like this or been to this kind of place, you know? Since…meeting Natasha…" you laugh weakly.

Maria smiled gently. "I understand. It can be a lot to take in. But you're safe here, and I know Natasha will make sure of that." She reached a set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. Maria pushed them open to reveal a beautiful bedroom, decorated in soft, calming tones. The large windows overlooked the gardens, and the room was furnished with elegant, comfortable pieces.

"So…this is your room," Maria said, gesturing for you to step inside.

You walked in, your eyes wide with wonder. "This...this is my room?" you asked, disbelief evident in your voice.

Maria chuckled softly. "Yes, it's all yours. Everything that you're gonna need is already in here, Natasha wanted to make sure you're comfortable.”

You shook your head slightly, still in shock. “It's beautiful...”

Maria nodded, amused at your reaction. "Natasha, well right now she’ll be a little occupied, so for the meantime if you need anything just find me, alright?”

"I will. Thank you." You turned to look at her and gave a small, grateful smile before she excused herself and walked her way to the halls of the manor.

⧗

In her office, Natasha sat behind her desk, her thoughts still lingering on you. She stared at the ceiling, but her mind kept drifting back to the way you had looked at her, the trust and uncertainty in your eyes.

The way she wanted to run to you when she saw you stumbling...

Or how your eyes glimmer as you look around the manor...

The way it made her heart jump when she heared Maria that you were trying to look for her when she's on her way to her office...

Natasha tried to shook the thoughts of you, these little simple things that is growing and is affecting her. But the feeling was persistent, gnawing at the edges of her concentration.

Natasha immediately shot her head up from her desk when Maria entered, her expression was tense, "How is she?" she asked.

"She's resting in her room now," Maria replied, closing the door behind her. "Still a bit overwhelmed, but she's adjusting."

Natasha nodded, a small sigh escaping her lips. "Good. It will take her some time for sure."

“She said it's beautiful.” Maria commented as she glanced at Natasha.

That made Natasha’s heart flutter. Maria moved closer, leaning against the edge of the desk, and then her expression shifted to a playful smirk. "Oh, and by the way the room you requested is done." Her fingers tapping at the desk. Natasha just hummed and nodded.

Maria's smirk widened, as she stood. "You can check it out yourself later. But now with those eyes Nat, you should really rest for now.”

Natasha allowed herself a small smile. "Thank you, Maria. I appreciate you handling everything."

Maria gave Natasha an exasperated, yet amused look, her arms crossing in front of her chest. "Romanoff, you gotta stop thanking me. Please, stop that. You know I always got your back, right?"

She smirked, enjoying the banter. "Yeah, yeah, fine, thanks."

"God, Nat, bye, I'm out!” Maria rolled her eyes dramatically.

Natasha couldn't resist one last tease. "Okay, Ri! Thank youuuuuu!"

Maria shook her head with a chuckle as she closed the door. "You’re impossible, Romanoff!"

⧗

You had been awestruck by the beauty of the room, but as you explored its elegant details and spaciousness, your mind couldn't help but return to the events that had led you here. After tentatively testing the comfort of the bed and examining the view from the windows, you decided to draw yourself a bath.

After filling the bathtub with warm water and easing yourself in, you closed her eyes, trying to relax despite the lingering tension in your muscles. As you sank into the water, your senses heightened, and you felt a sting on your back. Opening your eyes, you noticed a faint swirl of blood mixing with the water around you.

A groan escaped your lips, feeling pain and relief. The pain reminded you of the danger you had narrowly escaped and understood, but strangely, it also felt cleansing—it felt good, as if each throb eased a weight from your shoulders. You allowed yourself a moment to feel the rawness of it all, the contrast between luxury and danger stark in your mind.

But as the minutes passed, you found yourself gradually calming. You submerged yourself deeper into the water, letting the cold envelop you. The pain subsided to a dull ache, and you focused on steadying your breathing.

When you finally rose from the water, you noticed the blood had diluted and disappeared, leaving only a faint reminder on the porcelain. Water dripping out of your body, you stood before the mirror, studying your naked reflection with nothingness in your eyes. You took a deep breath and wiped away the tears forming in your eyes, you tried to be strong like you always do. You gripped the sink, trying to calm yourself down.

The pain was unbearable, both physically and emotionally. The weight of everything that had happened finally crashed over you, and you couldn't hold back the sobs any longer.

“God, what have I gotten into?”

Your knees buckled, and you collapsed to the cold bathroom tile, the chill seeping into your skin. The pristine luxury of your surroundings only made you feel more out of place. You felt small, fragile, and utterly broken. Every breath was a struggle as you sobbed uncontrollably, your cries echoing off the marble walls.

The events that had led you to this moment replayed in your mind like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from. The danger, the fear, the uncertainty—all of it was too much to bear. You don't even understand what's happening or what's going to happen. You felt trapped and lost in this reality.

Hours seemed to pass as you lay there, your tears eventually subsiding into quiet whimpers. You curled into a fetal position, the cold of the tiles grounding you in a way that was both comforting and cruel. Your body ached, your heart hurt, and your mind was a storm of thoughts you couldn't control.

Finally, exhaustion took over. Your sobs quieted, and your breathing evened out. You fell into a fitful sleep, the bathroom light casting harsh shadows around you. The night crept on, but you remained there, a small, broken figure on the cold tiles, with an unknowing danger that awaits you.

⧗

The next morning, Natasha’s first thought was you, well, she just had a restless night, with you not leaving her mind. Deciding to check in, she made her way to your room. Knocking softly at first, she waited for a response. When none came, she knocked louder, anxiety creeping into her voice.

"Y/N?”

No response.

“Y/N, Are you awake?"

Silence.

Natasha's concern turned to panic. She opened the door and stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on the untouched bed. Her heart pounded as she saw the terrace door swinging open, the curtains billowing in the breeze. Her gut tightened with dread as she hurried into the room.

Natasha immediately took her phone out and called Maria, "Maria, I can't find Y/N. I can't see her in here, and the terrace door was open when I got in. Get in here now."

Without waiting for Maria's response, Natasha scanned the room until her gaze fell on the slightly ajar bathroom door. She rushed over and pushed it open, her breath catching in her throat at the sight before her. You were laying on the cold tile, your naked body pale and trembling. Your shoulder was bleeding, the wound still fresh and raw. Natasha's heart broke at the sight, and she quickly grabbed a robe, wrapping it around your fragile form.

"Oh God, baby," she whispered, her voice choking with emotion. She didn't even notice the pet name that naturally slipped in her mouth. She gently lifted you into her arms, holding you close. Your body felt cold and Natasha's mind raced with fear.

Cradling you in a bridal style, Natasha carried you to the bed, her movements careful, she feels like any moment she'll break you even more. She didn't even dare looking at your naked body, she placed you down gently, ensuring you were covered and warm. Her hands trembled as she brushed a strand of hair from your face, her eyes filled with worry.

Within minutes, Maria burst into the room finding Natasha cradling your unconscious form in the bed. She turned to her, urgency in her eyes. "Maria, call Strange.”

⧗

"Natasha," Strange began, his tone calm and reassuring, "She's going to be okay."

Natasha let out a breath she hadn't realized that she had been pacing back and forth, relief flooding her features.

"She was extremely cold," Strange explained. “It appears she spent the night on the bathroom tiles, naked. The cold tiles and lack of clothing likely led to her body temperature dropping significantly. She's suffering from mild hypothermia, but she's stable now. Make sure she stays warm and comfortable. And the wound on her shoulder. Might have caused her a great deal of pain but don’t worry it's not infected. I’ve cleaned and treated it, but again as what I had instructed you back in the penthouse, it has to be checked and cleaned regularly.”

Natasha nodded, absorbing the information. "And the rest of her?"

"Exhaustion and shock," Strange replied. "She’s been through a lot, and it’s taken a toll on her body and mind. She needs rest and care, but she will recover. Don’t worry too much."

Natasha sighed, her worry easing a bit. Strange gave her a reassuring smile. "Just make sure to keep her wound clean, and she should be fine. If anything changes, call me immediately."

“I will, thank you.”

As Strange left, Natasha made her way back to your room, her heart was heavy seeing you like this. Everything must have dawned into you she realized and that broke her heart even more.

⧗

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open. You took a moment to orient yourself, recognizing the familiar surroundings of the room and the warmth of the blankets. You noticed that you already have some clothes on. Your gaze shifted, and you saw Natasha slumped in a chair beside the bed, fast asleep, her head resting on her hand.

“Natasha?” Your voice was weak but clear enough to rouse Natasha. The redhead jerked awake, immediately leaning forward to check on you.

"Hey, how are you feeling? Are you in pain? W-what do you feel?” her eyes scanning yours for any signs of distress.

You gave her a weak laugh, touched by her worry. “I'm fine, Natasha. Really. Stop worrying so much.” You tried to sit in the bed and Natasha immediately got up from her chair to assist you move from the bed and you giggled how she almost fell just to help you.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, but the weight of the situation lingered in the air. Natasha cleared her throat, breaking the quiet. "We need to clean your wound. It needs regular care to heal properly."

“Oh, okay.”

Natasha retrieved the medical supplies needed and when she turned to come back to your bed she saw you slowly unbuttoning the silk pajama top you're wearing and she immediately avoided looking at you, her face heating up.

“I…uhm, c-can I?” she asked, pointing out behind you.

“Oh, y-yeah sure.” You threw the comforter to the side of the bed and moved enough to make a room for Natasha.

Natasha took a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepared to tend to your wound. She gently sat behind you on the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. "Okay, let's get this cleaned up," she said softly.

You nodded and slipped the clothes off your shoulder, exposing the wound. Natasha's hands brushed against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Natasha's breath hitched as she took in the sight of your soft skin, a flush creeping up her cheeks. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension.

“I’m scared, Natasha.”

“No, you’ll be fine. This will only take a couple of minutes.”

You shook your head no. You glanced over your shoulder, Natasha's eyes darkened as she darted up to your wounded shoulder to your lips, just inches away from her own.

A heavy silence filled the room.

“I’m scared… scared of something I don’t even know?” you laughed humorlessly, the sound filled with pain and confusion.

Natasha felt ashamed with the thoughts creeping in her mind. She wanted to offer comfort, to say something that would take away your fear, but she found herself at a loss. She just hoped her actions could convey what her words could not: that she would protect you with everything she had.

She reached for the antiseptic, pouring a small amount onto a clean cloth. She dabbed the cloth against the wound, her touch as light as possible. You winced, a sharp intake of breath escaping your lips.

“Sorry.” she murmured, her breath fanning over your skin. “Just breathe through it. You can take it.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. The closeness of Natasha, the feel of her breath on your skin, was almost overwhelming. You could feel every movement, every gentle brush of Natasha's fingers, and it made you feel unexplainable feelings.

“N-Natasha…”

“You’re doing great,” she whispered, her breath caressing your ear. “Just like that.”

“Good girl.”

You closed your eyes and bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan to suppress the shiver that Natasha's words sent through you and the stinging pain you're feeling at the same time.

But you actually didn't feel any pain, it felt…good.

Natasha reached for the gauze. She carefully placed it over your wound, her fingers brushing your skin once more. "All done," she immediately stepped back slightly, taking a moment to collect herself.

You shifted to your seat and gripped the buttons of your top, holding it together so you wouldn’t expose your chest as if she hadn't seen you naked already after finding your curled naked body on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. You thank her with a shaky breath, covering the fact that you're still aching…but it's not your shoulders that's aching.

Natasha gulped at the sight of you, she had to shut her eyes to stop her mind from going to inappropriate places. “Well,” she said as she looked away, “I’ll let you rest some more and I uhm…I’ll have some food sent up here.”

Natasha started walking through the door, her movements a bit hesitant. “Get some rest, okay? If you need anything, just call.”

“Yeah.”

“Y/N?” She called, her voice was so soothing saying your name. You can feel your heart pounding on your ribcage...

You're already missing the feeling of how safe you are with her embrace...

The heat of her breath through your skin...

The way she touched you...

You shut your eyes before you hesitantly looked at her way because you couldn't bring yourself to directly look at her.

“As long as you're here, you're safe. I know you're scared. But I…I promise that no harm will come after you. As long as you stay.” Natasha said, hoping that her words gave you enough reassurance. She gave you one last look, you just nodded, you could feel her eyes looking for yours but you still didn't dare to meet them.

You just realize that in her embrace, you don't feel scared, with her all your fears seem to vanish.

Secret Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secret Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 10: Everything's Personal | 2.4k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, bad writing, slow burn, angst, details of drugging, mean Yelena

Author's Note: This is my first time posting again after a year of abandoning this fic. I promise to post every week and expect 4 to 6 more chapters for this series, happy reading everyone!

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

"I took a urine sample, you're right about drink spiking," he confirmed, his voice carrying a hint of concern. This isn't new to him or something of a big problem, but Strange felt that there is more to this situation and he couldn't help but to feel slightly alarmed.

"Yeah, I found her almost unconscious in the club," Natasha sighed, her eyes never settling, "What drug? Maybe I could identify the dealer or even the manufacturer, is it a party drug? M&M? Eccy? Something illegal here or no—"

Strange interrupted her gently, "Rohypnol, it's illegal for medical use." Strange crossed his arms and gave Natasha a concerned look, "In my line of work if I have my license it's called Flunitrazepam but in your world, well…our without license, it is known as a date-rape drug."

"What?" Natasha's jaw tensed as she absorbed the information. “Well I found her in a bar, these drugs can be commonly found in clubs so it makes total sense.”

Stephen Strange, known for his extraordinary medical skills, had earned a reputation not only among the general public but also among certain secretive circles. While he mostly focused on healing and saving lives, he had occasionally and secretly found himself providing medical assistance to individuals involved in criminal activities, including members in darker organized crime syndicates.

"I was shock she remembers a tiny bits of what happened to her, people who gets drugged by roach doesn't remember anything at all. She remembered mostly herself getting dragged and being thrown in a dark room," Strange then finally sat on the couch of Natasha's office, "She also remembers her shoulder burning like hell. And about that, I already cleaned and applied dressing on it. You should've brought her to me earlier. It's a 3rd degree burn, she could've gotten infections from and if she did I might have to perform wound debridement on her."

"I-I never saw it, Yelena did. She was the one who told me." Natasha slightly moved in her office chair, not comfortable as she shared the information.

"Family reunion, I see." Strange cocked his brow and once again took a glance at her.

Natasha huffed, "I'm way past that." She finally stood and made her way to a small corner of her office where she kept a personal stash of beverages. She poured a small amount into a glass, "I know you're a doctor and it's so early in the morning but care for a drink?" She slid the glass on her desk and gestured Strange to sit in the chair across her office chair.

"What's on her skin, the mark…it is something." He finally stood and grabbed the glass of whiskey before settling himself in front of Natasha. "Have you identified it yet?"

"No."

"You know you're in—"

Knowing what he was going to say, Natasha replied instinctively and immediately not allowing him to finish. "You don't need to remind me that, Stephen."

"You should know what you're going into, Natalia." Strange said, now they're both playing the game of using their real name, a gesture that reflected the seriousness of conversation. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as they exchanged sharp glances.

"And I do." Natasha held her gaze on him, masking her frustration growing. "I always do, Stephen."

Strange sighed, his eyes never leaving Natasha's. He leaned forward to her, "This…" he circled the glass he's holding onto the table, "Whatever this is you're entering, it's dangerous and the stakes are higher than ever. I know you've faced countless situations before, but this…this is different. This is personal." He warned, he then reclined in his seat, both of his elbows were positioned at the chair's armrest. "You have to be careful, Natalia."

"Everything's personal, Stephen." She didn't flinch under Strange's cautionary words. There are only a few things Natasha resents: Being reminded of her vulnerabilities, being told of the things she's supposed to do and not to do, and on the top of her list, men. Natasha just nodded acknowledging Strange's concern.

"I'm just looking out for you."

"I know." Natasha replied softly.

"Well I think I'm done here, if something happened you know where to find me," he paused and finished his drink. "Well I do know where to find you too."

Natasha chuckled and apologized, "I'm sorry for making you go here without notice." But Strange waved it off, "I'll walk you out, Stephen."

As they both reached the door, they were surprised to find Yelena lounging on the couch.

"Family reunion, I see." Strange teasingly muttered against his breath. And his comment didn't go unnoticed by Natasha, who tried to maintain her composure despite her growing frustration for her sister once again.

"Hey, Doc." Yelena greeted lazily.

"Hi." He glanced at Natasha, noticing her stifled groans and huffs. "Don't kill her, I don't wanna overstay here." Strange jokes as he quickly puts on his suit.

"I'll try not to."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her response, he immediately shifted the topic not wanting to frustrate her more. "Clean and change the bandages every 4 hours, I already gave her some antibiotics and a pack of fine mesh gauze. It'll heal probably in 2 weeks or so."

As soon as the elevator closed, she quickly marched to the living room. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I said I will come in here whether you like it or not." Yelena replied groggily as she shifted herself in a more comfortable position on the couch.

Natasha immediately grabbed Yelena's tank top by the neck. Natasha glared angrily at her sister before focusing on the jacket she was donning. "Is that my jacket?" she questioned even more angrily.

"Well you didn't get most of your stuff when you left home." Yelena replied her shoulders slumped trying to move away from Natasha's hold. She raised both of her hands to her ears.

"Still doesn't explain the jacket." Natasha groaned.

"Woah!" Yelena mockingly exclaimed as soon as she saw you peeking, "She still here huh?" She glanced back at her sister. "Hiiiii!" Yelena looked behind Natasha's thighs and greeted you mockingly.

Once more groaning, Natasha roughly pulled her sister deeply in the couch before hesitantly letting go of her. Her piercing glare stopped Yelena from reacting as she was about to whimper in pain over her sister's harshness.

"This girl is always coming to my rescue." Yelena smirked as she muttered to herself. She threw a pillow on her sister's back testing her because she knows that she won't do anything now that you're there.

"You okay?" Natasha asks.

"Yeah, my wound feels so cold though. But yeah, I'm fine physically but not entirely fine…" You awkwardly chuckle as you get frustrated again because the whole situation hasn't dawned on you really.

"I ordered some food, do you eat Italian?" Natasha softly asks and you sheepishly nod, you look at Yelena sitting behind Natasha's standing figure; she gives you an uneasy smile before averting her eyes from you.

Natasha walked past you and went to the kitchen, you immediately followed her leaving Yelena alone in the living room. You sat in one of the chairs of the kitchen table as Natasha set up the food for you. "Here, krasivaya." She muttered under her breath as she handed you a fork and gently placed a plate of pasta in front of you. Of course you heard it, you never missed it.

"What else did you remember the other night?" She asked, "If you don't mind me asking. If you're not comfortable it's totally okay but at some point you have to tell me so I could help you."

"What does that mean?" You finally spoke but awkwardly.

"What?" Natasha blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your question.

"You called me something…I don't understand it." You murmured as you tried to avoid her eyes while you played with the fork in your hand.

"Beautiful." Yelena appeared from behind, Natasha scowled at Yelena who was slowly heading towards the kitchen. "Why?"

"Nothing." Your voice was so small that you were not comfortable with Yelena's presence. You looked down to your plate trying to hide the fear and discomfort forming in your face as you remembered what happened the other night.

Natasha sensed your discomfort as Yelena continued to linger around the room. She shot her sister a glare, hoping she'd take the hint and give some space. Yelena, though mischievous, could be sensitive to such cues when she wanted to be.

Yelena huffed, turning to look at her sister with a sinister smile, "Don't be flattered by it, Natasha calls every girl that."

Natasha's scowl intensified as Yelena continued to intrude on the conversation. She clenched her jaw and shot her sister a stern look once again, but Yelena continued to give her a playful smirk. She inhaled trying to calm herself and remembered Strange's joke-ish reminder not to kill her sister and right now she thinks she couldn't handle the urge not to.

You looked down at your plate, almost slamming your face on it. You felt a sudden jealousy and insecurity swirling in you, you gave her an awkward and sad chuckle. "Well I uhh, uhm t-the Maximoff lady…the Maximoff lady called me that." You managed to say before taking a bite of your pasta.

"Maximoff lady?" Natasha slightly clenched her jaw, she couldn't help but immediately ask.

"Oooh…" Yelena tilted her head as she eyed her sister with a smug in her face, "Wanda... that's interesting." She murmured something that you couldn't quite make out—was it because she spoke in such a feeble voice or was it because she spoke in a different language? "What else did she say to you, huh?"

"Yelena." Natasha warned. And you started to panic, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Or things you let her do to you?" Yelena methodically sifted through the pantry shelves, all aware of your growing unease but she still continued. She put her elbows on the table across you, she looked at you in the eyes and smirked, "I bet you let her fuck you."

"Enough!" Natasha glared at her sister and walked towards her, "Why is she still here Natasha?" Yelena asked angrily.

“I want you to fucking leave Yelena. And don't worry she's not gonna be here anymore because we're moving to the manor. And I want you gone.” Natasha's demand cut through the tense air. She looked at her straight in the eye with anger evident in hers.

Yelena nodded and backed down with a sad smile on her face. “Thank you for telling me that you're moving to that pretty property of yours. A new place to barge in.” She looked again at Natasha, the before sad smile turning into a grin before walking out.

“Sumasshedshaya malen'kaya suchka.” (Crazy little bitch) Natasha whispered to herself before turning to you. You saw her closing her eyes, inhaling as she tried to calm herself.

The tension didn't vanish when you heard the elevator ding, a sign that Yelena is already gone. As the tension thickened in the air, your appetite vanished, your stomach churning with unease. The clinking of cutlery against plates echoed in the silent room.

“The Maximoff twin...the Maximoff lady didn't do anything to…to me.” You broke the silence, but you felt that you just made everything worse. “I just served some drinks to them that night before—”

“You don't need to talk about it if it's not comfortable for you.” Natasha interrupted. Your heart sank. You knew you couldn't avoid asking any longer. "Natasha," your voice wavered slightly as she turned to face you. "Why—why are you doing this? I know we talked about it already but, why? Your sister’s right, why are you doing this?"

Natasha's gaze faltered for a moment, a shadow passing over her features before she quickly masked it with a composed facade. She opened her mouth to respond, but her words seemed to catch in her throat.

“I…” Natasha avoided your innocent gaze, she knows how much it will ruin her looking at those eyes of yours. “We're gonna leave now," She finally said, her tone clipped as she rose from her seat. The abrupt change in topic caught you off guard, leaving your question unanswered and your heart heavy.

Secret Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 9: Moving Out | 4.1k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: Brief mentions of weapons

Author's Note: I have an author's note below but I don't wanna spoil so read first!👀😉

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

As you stood by the closed door, your hand trembling slightly as you clutched the silk robe that Yelena had given you. Your eyes were still puffy from the tears you had shed moments ago, and the hurtful words of Yelena lingered in you.

You hated it, you were being nice to her even though she was being sarcastic and kind of mean to you. You just met her but you let her words get you. A familiar scent evades your nostrils as you start covering the smooth robe around you.

"I shouldn't have eaten that mac and cheese." You muttered to yourself, pouting like a kid as you played the lace of the robe in your waist.

You don't actually know what you'll do in this room, it wouldn't be bad if you did a little roaming right?

There is only one door inside the room, it was clean—empty is the right word to put it. This room is probably a guest room and you couldn't resist the temptation to explore further. Once you slid the door open, the lights automatically turned on, you were completely startled by it.

You instinctively placed your hand on your chest. "Okay…" you breathed, "That was quite a stunt huh." You awkwardly chuckled to yourself. You peek towards the bathroom connected to the room. "What? The light's gonna open automatically when I open this too? Or like when I stepped inside the water will like automatically run?" Making fun of yourself is the only way to cope up with the things you've seen and encountered today, it's not even lunch hour yet and a lot of things have happened already.

This is just a walk-in closet but it's much bigger than your own apartment. You run your hand towards the fully-furnished cabinets. Intrigued by the sight before you, you couldn't resist but open the cabinets and this is just a guest room you think, so there shouldn't be anything inside except for some towels, bathroom robes, or hygiene stuff prepared just for the guests.

The smell of the wood welcomed you as you opened each closet one by one and slid each drawer open revealing nothing inside them. You tried peeking inside like a stupid toddler playing with the cabinet lights, you even thought about getting yourself inside. But when you got into the last one in the corner of the closet it revealed a couple of clothing inside, 3 suits hanging, not-so-neatly folded pants, boxers and a couple of wrappers.

You placed your closed fists to your mouth with widened eyes. "Yup…" you pointed at it before instinctively slamming the cabinet door close. "That's definitely a condom right there." You did it so quickly that you actually didn't notice the gun attached under the flooring of the cabinet and a couple of teddy bear bandaids beside the empty holster. You quickly turned around and buried your face in your hands.

It became clear to you that this was not just any guest room; it was Natasha's personal space.

Feeling a rush of embarrassment and intrusion, you quickly made your way out of the room, squirming as you carefully slid the door close behind you. The realization that you had unknowingly stepped into Natasha's private sanctuary washed over you, leaving you with a sense of guilt and unease. It's good that you still had some respect and privacy left in you and you didn't go through and touch her things. You kept thinking that it's not your fault because you thought this room was a guest room because it was so empty.

"She didn't use those…to me right?" You squirmed in panic. "No she won't. Plus, it's unopened." You laughed hysterically. "Yeah, they're unopened," you said, convincing yourself as you paced back and forth.

You threw yourself on the sofa, trying to calm yourself. When you already gathered yourself together, you sat slumped on the couch—suddenly your gaze drifted towards the window. You ran your fingers through the smooth cushion of the couch, an idea sparked in your mind.

"Okay I just invaded someone's closet, now I am going to move her things?" You chuckled, already moving the couch towards the window. "It's not my fault that I thought this was a guest room." You mumbled as you hardly moved the couch.

"One more…push" you groaned as you pushed the couch, "Okay…maybe pull." You breathe and walked towards the front of it and started dragging it forward.

The couch now sat perfectly aligned with the window, providing an unobstructed panorama of the bustling city below. You couldn't help but beam like a child, satisfied with your newfound spot to enjoy the scenery. You settled onto the couch, positioning yourself to face the window. As you reclined, the soft cushions embraced you, offering comfort and support.

"Where else am I gonna get a view like this?" You muttered as you lay nestling yourself at the cushions, soaking in the view.

As you peacefully drifted into slumber on the couch by the window, the serenity of your sleep was interrupted by a sudden loud thud outside the room. Your eyes fluttered open, and you sat up, momentarily disoriented. Slowly, you stood and made your way towards the doorway, your steps cautious and tentative.

As you peeked around the corner, your eyes widened at the scene unfolding before you. Natasha had Yelena pinned against the wall, their faces tense with what seemed to be an intense conversation. The air crackled with tension, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Caught in the middle of their confrontation, your gaze met Natasha's, and for a brief moment, your eyes locked. Natasha took a step back as if nothing happened and smiled at you. You quickly returned it with a gentle smile. She was about to make her way towards you but Yelena stopped her. She glanced once again at you and you just smiled once again.

You slowly closed the door when they were out of your sight. You couldn't help but notice the way Natasha glares at her sister and her walking out. You slumped yourself against the couch but the view couldn't give you any peace nor answers now. You tried positioning yourself over and over but you couldn't get yourself comfortable anymore, so you quickly removed the robe out of your body to get rid of the addicting smell before it started to get covered with your sweats though you know the room is cold enough for you to sweat. After that you started moving the couch in place.

In a quick second, you remembered the telephone you saw near the living room earlier. You have been mentally noting the things you've seen in the place, not to mention the things you saw earlier in this room. Of course it's like an instinct to do that, this is a strange place. Mentally noting things you've seen aren't wrong especially if ever bad situations happened.

Your attention shifted from the hallway to your initial intention of using the telephone, you remembered seeing it near the living area earlier. As you wandered through the halls of the penthouse, you couldn't help but feel like a child exploring a wonderland again.

To you, everything in the this place appeared to be automated, as if each object had a mind of its own. Lights would turn on and off as you walked by, doors would open and close effortlessly, and what you think a crazy automatic fireplace in the living room you saw earlier.

However, just as you took a few steps towards the place where you saw the telephone earlier, your eyes were drawn back to the balcony, you met Natasha's gaze—she was facing her sister. Startled, you nervously smiled and sheepishly waved at her. You tried to hide yourself towards the wall. Without words, you gestured with your hands, mimicking the act of holding a phone, asking her for permission to use the telephone. When she nodded, you quickly made your way out squirming internally wishing that you didn't interrupt anything.

As you held the telephone to your ear, you looked at yourself in the mirror placed on the wall. Your heart raced nervously, you had dialed the number you needed—the club's telephone number. And just as you had expected, Valkyrie's voice greeted you on the other end.

"Hello, Valkyrie's!"

"Hey, Valkyrie it's me, Y/N."

"Y/N? How are you? I didn't see you leave last night." Valkyrie's worried tone was laced with concern. You frowned at the question, you once again found yourself struggling to piece together the events of the previous night.

"I...I'm fine," you replied hesitantly, your voice betraying your inner turmoil. "Actually, I don't think I'll be working tonight at the club. I'm sorry."

"Sam told me he didn't see you leave either, he took your stuff with him before he went home," she paused, you heard her take a deep breath. "And well, about working here yeah, I think you're not going to the club anymore."

Your heart skipped a beat. What she said hit you like a punch to the gut. "What do you mean?" You asked, your voice trembling in frustration. You touched your forehead and winced at the memory starting to come back at you.

"I didn't know that drug would get to you that easily, you poor thing…"

"I told you to know your place, didn't I?"

"I made it clear, right? Y/N?"

"Don't make me do anything bad to you!"

You gasped at the memory, fear flowing in your entire system. You stood there slightly slouching and placing your palm towards the table for support, clutching the telephone tightly.

Valkyrie heard your shaky breath on the line. "Are you okay? Y/N? Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine, I'm with som—I'm somewhere safe. I'm alright." You reassured her as you started swiping the tears of fear rushing down your cheeks.

Valkyrie hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Well, someone bought the club, a friend of mine. Her offer was too good to pass up. And...she requested that you will be fired."

"W-what? We're all fired then?" You asked, furrowing your brows. Ignoring the fact that she just said someone requested to fire you.

"Well…just you." Valkyrie said, her voice was so small. Her voice softened, and she chose her words carefully, "Look. I was just as shocked as you are. I didn't know she knew you, but it seems she has her reasons and I don't want to be nosey about it because she's a big person like real big. Her offer was too good to refuse, she owns the club but I'll still be running everything. And what's even more good is I'd still be keeping the club's name." She beamed, not aware of your state right now. "But don't worry, I have a little café down the street, and I'll give you a jo—"

"Who did—who bought…" you shut your eyes. You couldn't think properly at this point, you couldn't think what to think first. The memory of what Penelope and that strange man did to you or you getting fired at the club. You had actually considered quitting but finding out that someone requested for you to be fired wasn't the way you expected of leaving the club.

"Hey? You okay?" Valkyrie asked once again, noticing how you stutter and your ragged breath is getting heavier and heavier.

"Who bought the club?" You managed to ask, finally.

"Natasha, Natasha Romanoff. You know her?" Valkyrie said her tone wasn't a question but more of a confirmation.

"Thanks, Valkyrie…for everything. I'll just go to Sam later." You immediately put the telephone back in its place.

Your world seemed to spin out of control when she said her name. You couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal, leaving you stunned and lost. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. The weight of the situation bore down on you, the memories of Penelope with the man last night, and the threats you had received.

Your gaze met your reflection in the decorative mirror, you couldn't help but notice a peculiar unease settling in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes darted across the hall to the mirror positioned on the opposite wall. It was there that you caught a glimpse of something that made your heart skip a beat—a deep, jagged wound on your back. You tried examining it but your eyes were getting blurry with tears.

The weight of the situation became too much to bear. Your breath started getting ragged, you eyed the penthouse' elevator. You started dragging yourself towards it with your whole body cold. Your breaths grew shallow, your chest tightening with anxiety.

"Walk like nothing happened."

You winced, placing your hand towards your ear as you started whimpering at the memory. With trembling hands, you made your way towards the elevator with your vision blurred by tears and your body weakened by the panic. Each step felt like a monumental effort, your mind urging you to leave and refuge elsewhere. But just as you reached the elevator you felt a presence behind your back.

"Please don't hurt me!"

"Hey, hey," Natasha caught you before you fell on your knees, her hand under your shoulder and the other securing your torso, "You're okay, you're okay Y/N," she murmured, her voice soothing and gentle. "I'm not gonna hurt you…"

"P-please…" you sobbed.

Your panicked gaze met Natasha's reassuring eyes and for a brief moment, the intensity of your fear began to subside. The steadiness in Natasha's voice, the warmth of her touch. The memory of how she held you like this last night flashed in your mind.

You attempted to regulate your breathing. Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be enveloped by the reassuring embrace of the woman in front of you. Gradually, your racing heart began to slow, and the grip of panic started to loosen its hold on you.

In a blink of an eye Natasha quickly carried you in a bridal style. You found yourself nestling to the crook of her neck and gripping the fabric of the shirt on her shoulder. She walked towards the living room and settled you on the couch.

"I'll get you some water." She said with a soft tone. But before she came back with a tray and water on top of it she saw your figure curled like a ball, already sleeping on the couch.

Natasha sighed at the sight of you and quickly placed the tray back, she went to her room and took a blanket in the cabinet of her closet before leaving. She also grabbed a few pillows on her bed.

"You could've asked me to do that," Yelena spoke as she saw her sister rush back in the living room, but she ignored her.

Natasha kneeled in front of you, your back facing her. She nervously gulped at the sight of your exposed skin and the wound on your left shoulder. Her fingers gently traced the perimeter of the scar. After that Natasha carefully tucked the soft blanket around you and arranged the pillows to support your head so your neck won't get sore when you wake up.

As Natasha stood her attention shifted to her sister, leaning against a nearby wall.

"Who do you think it is?" Yelena asked. Natasha brought her gaze back to you again and she tucked some more hair covering your face. "I don't know."

"What did you do these past few weeks?"

"Just business."

"Didn't make any enemies?"

"Not that I can remember."

"Well if you really didn't, maybe it's her problem." She huffed, "Her work Natasha she's a—"

"I think your 5 minutes just ended a couple of minutes ago, you're overstaying." Natasha didn't like how this conversation would go. Natasha started walking towards the counter-bar across the living room, she walked past her sister.

Yelena just huffed again. "Natasha, don't get yourself involved in this. Our business…" She trailed off when she suddenly saw Natasha grabbing her gun placed behind her jeans, she put it at the top of the counter-bar before grabbing a drink and a glass.

"You're making this worse, Natasha." Yelena took a step back. "You're going to need me."

"I never needed any of you…" Natasha muttered, gulping the shot of her drink. The elevator dinged, "I think that's your cue."

"I will come back, like it or not." Yelena sternly said before walking her way to the penthouse's elevator.

⧗

Natasha sat in a chair nearby, a glass of whiskey in her hand. She swirled the ice cubes around, the clinking sound echoing in the room, as her mind wandered into the depths of her thoughts. Her gaze shifted from the glass to you, who lay peacefully on the couch, lost in slumber.

She couldn't help but question whether her own enemies had a hand in what had happened to you. As a woman with a complex past, powerful connections, and troubled history. Natasha knew all too well that she had made her fair share of enemies along the way. Her line of work had exposed her to dangerous people, organizations, and situations. But this situation seemed new to her.

The thought of someone intentionally causing harm to you sent a surge of anger and alarm on her. She can't handle the thought of her dragging you to her dangerous life.

Natasha took a sip of her drink, the liquid burning slightly as it slid down her throat. The taste was bitter, mirroring the bitterness she felt in her entire body.

Her brows furrowed in concern when she heard you whimpering and crying in your deep sleep. She could see the pain etched on your face even in the midst of your slumber. She stood and moved closer, she knelt down beside the couch, her hand gently reaching out to brush away a tear that trickled down your cheek. She couldn't bear to see you suffer, even in your dreams.

Softly, Natasha whispered soothing words, hoping to provide some comfort and it would reach your restless soul. You whimpered again, Natasha's heart clenched. "Hey, Y/N? It's okay, wake up krasivaya." (Beautiful)

Natasha watched as you stirred from your sleep, whimpering softly. Concern etched across her face, she gently reached out to you but you recoiled, creating a distance between the two of you.

Natasha's heart ached at your actions so she quickly stood not wanting to make you uncomfortable, "Here have some water."

You just stared at it, remembering the drink Penelope gave you last night. You scanned if you will see some particles swimming in it and Natasha notices it, "Don't worry I didn't…I didn't put anything to that." She sat on the couch across from you.

You quickly removed your gaze away from her, you clutched the blanket around you. "Why did you fire me from my work?" You asked, still not facing her.

"It's dangerous…for you to be working there, I f-found you almost unconscious. I—"

"Who are you to tell me what's dangerous for me?!"

Natasha pursed her lips at your outburst, but you weren’t even close to done. "Y/N, you don't understa—"

"What are you? What do you do? What exactly are you?!" Your voice took on a stern tone, demanding answers from her.

"Y/N, obviously my business isn't..." She skirts around what it really is as she fiddles with her hands placed on top of her spread knees. "I have been involved in various operations, some of which may be considered illegal. I've worked with different organizations, both legitimate and less so."

Your frustration and impatience grew as Natasha struggled to provide a clear explanation.

Natasha could feel the weight of your demand, your eyes locked in an intense gaze. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully as she tried to find a way to convey the truth without causing further distress.

"Y/N, what I do…it's complicated," Natasha began again, "—weaponry, firearms, both illegal and legal ones, or from the government…"

You interrupted Natasha, your voice laced with exasperation and impatience, "Get to the point!" You stood and paced back and forth before boring your eyes into her.

"I'm a mob."

Natasha took a deep breath, the weight of her confession settling heavily upon her. She looked into your eyes, the truth hanging between them. "I have a whole organization in my hand, Y/N. I have been associated with anything…anything that you could think of. I'm a mob and it's something I'm not proud of, but it's a part of my past…it's a part of me."

"God, what have I gotten myself into?" You hysterically muttered to yourself as you grip the blanket over your shoulders.

"I know this is a lot to take in," Natasha stood and tried to reach out to offer some comfort. "But you're not safe and I could help you."

You tightened the grip to the blanket, remembering the wound behind your back, recalling how the cold metal burnt into your shoulder.

"I…I will help you, I'll make sure that I will find whoever did this to you. But for you to be out there with that mark on you, it's dangerous, it's not safe." Natasha sighed and took a step forward. "You have to leave everything behind if you want to be safe…"

You immediately shot your eyes on her. You felt your skin crawl when she said those. Leave everything behind? What does that mean? You're going to leave your life? Everything? Not that you still have anyone or anything, but are you truly in such danger that leaving everything behind is your only choice? You didn't dare to ask more about how dangerous it is, about how thin the ice you're standing right now. The only thing you could do right now is tremble and whimper in fear, you slouched as you avoided Natasha's concerned look on you.

Panicked by your reaction, Natasha quickly tried to reassure you. "Hey, it's okay, don't cry." But her words seemed to only amplify your distress, and she wished she could take back her hasty attempt to comfort you.

You sniffled and wiped the blanket on your face, you hesitantly looked at her. "What am I gonna do?"

Natasha's eyes softened when you looked at her, she took a step forward. "You don't have to do anything, you just have to stay…"

You nodded and avoided her gaze once again. You didn't know why you trusted her, but there was something about her—every time you look at her you just feel secure and safe. In this troubled situation, this mark carved in your skin, you don't understand anything at all and she seemed to be the only person you could turn to.

⧗

Natasha immediately dialed Maria's number. "Maria, I need you to arrange something for me. I want everything from my office to be moved to the manor today. I want it done as discreetly as possible."

Maria, familiar with Natasha's requests, acknowledged her instructions. "Okay. I'll coordinate with the team. Is there anything specific you want to prioritize?"

"I want my personal files and documents to be moved first. The rest can be packed up and transported accordingly." Natasha started pacing back and forth to the penthouse's balcony.

Maria nodded through the phone and immediately went to Natasha's office. "I'll make sure to handle that personally. Is there anything else you need?"

"Lessen the appointments with our associates for now. Please inform them and reschedule any pending meetings." Natasha paused for a moment and then continued, "Also, inform Barnes to assign additional securities to the manor."

Maria held the phone between her ear and shoulder and started rummaging Natasha's papers and placing them on her desk. "Consider it done, Natasha. I'll manage your schedule and inform everyone of the associates. I will go to Barnes later for that request of yours."

"Thanks, Ria." Natasha slipped her phone on the pocket of her pants. She slid the door of the balcony and made her way towards the kitchen only to see you devouring an ungodly amount of chicken nuggets. Natasha chuckled at the sight of you she was about to turn, not daring to disturb your comfortable state.

"Hey!" You called her with your mouth full of nuggets, she immediately turned to look at you trying to stifle her laugh, "So that house of yours, does it have a skating rink? Or like—" you gulped almost choking the food, "Or like bumper cars? Like built-in Disneyland y'know?"

Natasha leant her side to the wall and crossed her arms, "Why? Are those one of your dreams?"

⧗

Author's Note: First, yes I confirm that Natasha has a dick. Second, family issues? I mean every family have those right?💀 And lastly, did I smell some incoming domestic fluff? Let's find out👀

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 8: Unwelcome | 3.8k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: None (Warnings or none, minors do not interact; this is an 18+ series fiction)

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

You slowly opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the ceiling. You can feel the softness of the mattress beneath you and the gentle embrace of the blankets. The comfort offered a temptation to succumb to sleep, to let yourself be lulled into its soothing embrace. You blinked a few times, trying to clear your hazy mind and make sense of your surroundings and a familiar scent evading your mind.

"Where am I?" You groggily asked yourself.

Your heart started hammering in your chest when you realized you're not in your own room. You gripped the sheets of the bed as you tried to get up, it was so soft you felt like you just wanted to stay and lay there for a while. However, your growing panic refused to allow you to drift off again. You looked at the clock hanging in the wall that says 10:03 A.M.

You couldn't shake the nagging feeling of being disoriented and disconnected from your surroundings. Every movement you do your panic grows more and more. You sat at the edge of the bed letting your feet touch the cold floor and started glancing around the unfamiliar room, you couldn't help but be captivated by its beauty. It was like stepping into a world you had only seen in movies or imagined in your dreams—a room that seemed to belong to a different world entirely.

Your eyes darted around the room, taking in every little detail. You noticed your boots lying haphazardly on the floor, your dress from the night before still clinging in your body thankfully.

The room was simple, the walls were painted in a soothing shade of pale gray, its neutral color provided a versatile backdrop for the various elements in the room, allowing them to stand out. Adjacent to the bed you were sitting in, a pair of modern nightstands stood, their surfaces adorned with simple yet stylish table lamps. Against one wall, a streamlined desk was positioned, accompanied by a comfortable chair. The desk boasted a minimalist design, with clean lines and ample workspace. And lastly a cozy couch placed near the oak door.

You haven't seen most of these things, you haven't even stepped into this kind of place.

"Jesus…is this heaven?" You muttered to yourself, trying not to stumble as you stood up.

You hazily walked towards the curtains, your mind still clouded with confusion and uncertainty. As you pulled back the heavy fabric, your eyes widened in horror and disbelief at the sight before you.

There, beyond the glass, stretched a magnificent view of the cityscape, bathed in the soft glow of morning sun. Tall buildings reached towards the sky. But it was the clouds that captured your attention. Wisps of white and shades of blue danced across the sky, creating an otherworldly landscape that seemed straight out of a dream. The beauty of it all was overwhelming.

"Fuck," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "So this is what heaven looks like."

The surreal combination of the breathtaking view and your own confusion led you to question the reality of your surroundings. This felt too perfect, it's too heavenly, to be anything but a figment of your imagination. You struggled to make sense of your situation, desperately searching for answers that seemed just out of reach.

"Wake up, Y/N, this isn't real. This isn't your place…god." You winced, palming your forehead.

You literally don't know your place now.

The room was lacking any personal touch or belongings that would provide clues about its owner. You scanned the room, searching for any familiar objects or hints that could jog your memory, but everything was foreign—the room remained silent, offering no answers.

As you hovered further in the room, you became more aware of the persistent ache in your body. You can feel something aching in your body but you couldn't figure out where and you have no time for that, right now you have to know where in hell—heaven rather you are. Every step you took seemed to magnify the discomfort, as if your muscles and bones were reminding you of a physical ordeal last night that you couldn't remember.

As you tried to recall the events, fragments of memories flashed in your mind—a blurry image of Natasha, the comfort of her touch, and then darkness.

"Natasha…"

Your heart pounded in your chest when you heard some commotion somewhere outside the room, your instinct for self-preservation kicking in. You began to frantically search for the knife you had secretly hidden in your boots. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the concealed weapon, gripping it tightly in your hand.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you slowly walked towards the door and pushed it open, your eyes scanning the hallway beyond. You felt the cold tile beneath you walking barefoot but you didn't mind. Step by step, you venture into the corridor, your senses on high alert.

Your grip on the knife tightened when you heard someone whistling. With cautious steps, you made your way towards the source of the sound, your mind swirling with nothing but fear.

As you entered the kitchen, you were taken aback by the sudden appearance of a woman who seemed to materialize out of thin air. She was wearing a green coat dress. Her hair was braided, it was blond, her eyes were accentuated by bold black eyeliner, creating a striking and intimidating appearance.

"Hiiiii," the woman greeted with a child-like tone. "Did I wake you?" She asked, her tone more curious than accusatory. "I was just looking for the bowl, and it slipped out of its place." She was in the middle of making mac and cheese, it was a bit of a mess you think. Mac and cheese only have few ingredients but this woman seemed to be cooking a full dish with all the mess she has made.

You shook away your focus about her mess and brought your attention to her. As you observed her, you sensed a lack of immediate threat. Though still cautious, you remained vigilant, ready to react if the situation changed.

"So," the blond woman licked her thumb, "How was it fucking my wife?" she asked, glancing at you with nothing but a plain look. But her tone sounded more like a threat to you.

Situation changed.

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing to process the implications of what the woman had just said.

Is she talking about Natasha?

"W-What?" You gasped, you felt sick to the stomach.

She glared at you from the other side of the countertop of the kitchen, focused on your every movement which she knew made you uncomfortable.

"My wife, Natasha." She confirmed. "How was it? Fucking her?"

Natasha? Married?

It hit you like a punch to the gut. You stood there in stunned silence, placing your hand to your stomach. Unable to form a coherent response.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you finally found your voice, your words stumbling out in a rush. "No, nothing happened between me and...N-Natasha," you managed to say, you even had a hard time saying Natasha's name, "Not that I can…I can remember."

Because you really don't know. What if something did happen? And right now you can't remember anything. You hated the thought that something might have happened between you and Natasha—and her being married. But at this point you're still wearing your dress from the other night so you considered it as a good sign that nothing…happened.

She just tilted her head at you with no expression showing in her face, she suddenly eyed the knife you're clutching to your stomach.

"You gon' kill me with that?" She asked before walking towards the cabinets.

Your eyes widened in surprise, you hadn't even realized that you had absentmindedly placed the knife in front of your stomach. The realization hit you like a jolt, and panic coursed through your veins.

"No, I was just…I'm sorry, I-uhh," frantically, you scrambled and managed to place the knife on the top of the table that borders the both of you. Breathing heavily, you returned to your previous position, your face flushed with embarrassment and panic.

But suddenly the awkwardness and the tension of the atmosphere was replaced with a wicked laugh escaping the woman's lips, echoing through the kitchen and sending chills down your spine.

"You should really see yourself right now," she managed to say between giggles as she pointed the bottle of hot sauce she retrieved from the cabinet towards you. She continued to laugh, though she tried to stifle it, unsuccessfully snorting every now and then. You just frowned at her, now you're really confused and embarrassed, you just wanted to run through the glass window with nothing but clouds behind it in her back not minding how many floors this penthouse is.

As her laughter subsided, she wiped away a tear of mirth from her eye. She smirked at you, her eyes still twinkling with mischief.

"I'm Yelena, Natasha's sister."

Your eyes remained fixed on her as you watched her grab a single fork from a nearby drawer before proceeding to eat her mac and cheese straight from the pan.

You couldn't quite comprehend the whirlwind of events that had unfolded since waking up in this place. With your encounter with this woman, revealing that she was Natasha's wife, accusing you of fucking her wife, then revealing that she was just Natasha's sister, and her poking fun at your panic. Caught up in your thoughts and still processing the whole situation, you remained frozen in place.

Yelena's gaze shifted from her pan of mac and cheese to your face, and she observed your stunned look. You were absentmindedly looking at the box of mac and cheese, "Oh, where are my manners?" she said, "Do you want some?" she pointed her fork down to the pan of mac and cheese.

Caught off guard by the unexpected offer, your awkwardness got the better of you as you stammered, but really your stomach is getting mad now, "No, I uhh, no than—"

"Suit yourself," Yelena shrugged, seemingly unfazed by your response. She continued to eat her mac and cheese.

Unbeknownst to you, Yelena had kept a portion of the mac and cheese aside, knowing that you might change your mind. She placed the plate on the countertop, within your line of sight, and continued her meal, subtly keeping an eye on your reactions.

You, on the other hand, are still lost in your own thoughts and still trying to make sense of everything. It seems like everything is a puzzle, you have the pieces but couldn't piece them together.

She circled from the countertop table, the pan handle hitting the box of mac and cheese sending it down to the ground together with the bowl.

You flinched at the sound it made, "Do you want me to…" you immediately asked, pointing to the mess on the ground. But Yelena just stared at you, still eating her mac and cheese. She walked past you not minding the mess she created.

You were left alone in the kitchen feeling embarrassed but without any hesitation you crouched down and began picking up the scattered contents of the mac and cheese.

Yelena was not so far behind you, she studied you intently. Her eyes trailed from your bare feet, your short black dress, half of your hair covering up your face as you knelt down cleaning up her mess. Her gaze seemed to penetrate your soul, searching for any hint of deception or ulterior motives. But she couldn't see any and she hated it.

As you finished cleaning up, you tried to look for Yelena like a lost puppy. When suddenly your eyes dropped at the sight of the plate of a mac and cheese and a fork placed beside. You tried to look away but your growling stomach made you wince, you also tried not to think that she kept this food only for you. You couldn't fight your pride and hunger anymore so you glanced around before eating the food like someone would take it in a second.

Unbeknownst to you, Yelena never took her eyes away from you; she watched you scramble the food from the distance, a grin playing at the corners of her lips. She watched you take your third bite before continuing her way to the living room.

When you finished eating, you washed your plate with the couple of dishes that were left in the sink. After that you decided to look for Yelena.

She was positioned in the big couch of the living room. When she felt your presence behind, she looked at you over her shoulders. Her gaze softened as she watched you scan the whole place with amusement in your eyes—also in bare feet, you seemed like a kid that was brought in the park for being a good girl or having a perfect star during your school exams. She slightly smirked at the sight of you before taking a bite of her mac and cheese.

"A biggo birdie told me that some woman is sleeping in my sister's penthouse," Yelena's voice cut through your wandering gaze, "Which is very unusual because she never had girls in her private property. Like, ever. That's why I came here to check myself, so…" she placed the pan and fork down at the table, "Who are you?"

Your heart skipped a beat with Yelena's question, causing a wave of panic over you. It's just a simple question but suddenly you don't know what or how to answer. "I…uhh, I'm Y/N," you said as you started fidgeting with your fingers, you slid your hair over your left shoulder as you stand near the side of the couch she's sitting on.

"What do you do, Y/N?" She asked.

"I…" you gulped, "I work in the…I work at Valkyrie's." You didn't directly say that you work in a club, instead you said the name of the club you work in hoping she doesn't know the place. But the club is very famous not just in the whole city, different personalities across the world go and sometimes rent the place. So you doubt that she doesn't know the place but still you tried.

"Oh," she gasped almost mockingly and crossed her legs, "Haven't tried any girls from there."

Okay, she does know the place.

"W-what? No, I'm no—"

"How was it fucking my sister?" She didn't let you finish, her lips curled into a cynical smile.

"N-Nothing happened between me and N-Na—you're sister!"

"What do you want?"

"What?"

"Money? If my sister hasn't given you anything then I'll cover it up for her, name what you need," she spat, she finally looked at you and scanned you from head to toe, "Whore."

Yelena had seen how genuine you are since she saw you. She couldn't deny that there was something captivating about your authenticity. She had seen you in moments of panic, confusion, and even embarrassment, and yet, you remained genuine with your actions. She even finds you adorable.

But now she's trying to get to you for you to really show who you are. She's trying to break you.

Tears started swelling in your eyes. You hated how you reacted at what she said, you hated how her words got to you. You hated how vulnerable she made you be.

You wiped the tears that started rushing in your cheeks, "I'm so sorry, I should've left earlier…" you tried to blink away the tears but you couldn't, so you turned to look away from her facing the ground. "But I'll leave now. I don't remember what happened but please thank Natasha for me…and I don't need money from N-Natasha or from you, I don't need it. I'm not what you think I am. I'm sorry if I-I uhh caused you any trouble."

Yelena paid no mind as you walked away but suddenly she caught something behind you that made her eyes widened in alarm. Her eyes flashed with fear. "Wait!"

You ignored her, your eyes were blurry as you tried to find the room you woke up in.

While she was walking she spotted the powder room, she took a quick glance inside and she hesitantly grabbed a silk robe hanging inside which she thinks still hasn't washed and is Natasha's. After that she quickly raced to follow you.

"Zdravstvuyte, eto Natasha. YA ne zhaleyu, chto propustil tvoy zvonok."

"Zdravstvuyte, eto Natasha. YA ne zhaleyu, chto propustil tvoy zvonok."

"Zdravstvuyte, eto Natasha. YA ne zhaleyu, chto propustil tvoy zvonok."

(Hello, this is Natasha. I'm not sorry I missed your call.)

"Fuck your voicemail sucks, Natasha." Yelena groaned while muttering to herself.

When she saw you nearing the room she tried calling you again, "Wait! Please, Y/N!" She is now running towards you.

You ignored her pleas, after how she treated you earlier? After she called you a whore now she's addressing you by your name?

You were about to close the room but in a blink of an eye Yelena stepped her foot stopping the door from being closed. She was breathing hard as she placed her phone inside her suit.

She was taken aback, her guilt consuming her when she met your eyes swimming in tears.

"I…I'm sorry, Y/N," you hated how her apology sounded genuine. You tried to shut the door but she fought it open, "Look, I'm sorry okay? What…what about we wait for Natasha? Before you leave? How about that? Is that okay? Please tell me it's okay, please?" Yelena's voice cracked, desperation evident in her tone. "Just stay right here, in this room while we wait for her."

After a moment of silence, you slowly released your grip on the door and nodded. Yelena's eyes softened with relief, she smiled at you before opening your door completely, "Here," she was about to place the robe over your shoulder but you took a step back so she just gently handed it to you.

"I'm sorry again, Y/N," your guard remained up, you just nodded, not daring to look at her.

"If you need something, you ca—" you cut her off by slowly shutting the door, she tries to peek over as you close it.

She sighed walking with heavy strides towards the hall of the penthouse while rummaging through her suit to find her phone, when she found it she once again dialed Natasha for the fourth time.

"Otvet' na chertov telefon, sestra." (Answer the damn phone, sister.)

⧗

The tension in the penthouse was palpable as Natasha, with an unmistakable air of anger, barged into her own private place.

"You can't just go in here, Yelena." Natasha shook her head, chuckling with anger as she walked past her.

"We need to talk, Natasha." Yelena followed her.

Natasha removed her leather jacket, her fury unyielding. She gripped it before tossing it to the couch, she faced Yelena who was sensing her anger.

"I know I came here unwelcome, but we need to ta—"

Natasha's eyes burned with rage, she gripped Yelena's suit and pressed her towards a nearby wall. "What are you doing here?!"

Yelena could read the question Natasha spat to her, she doesn't want to know what she is doing here, what she wants to know is if she did anything to you while she was gone. "I didn't do anything to her Natasha, calm down." Yelena was doing well keeping herself composed. But at the same time she couldn't keep the guilt away from how she treated you earlier.

"I don't want to hear shit about anything yo—"

Natasha's words cut through the air when she saw you peeking at the slightly open door. Her expression abruptly shifted. Her features softened, and a disarming smile formed on her face as she turned her gaze towards you.

As if a switch had been flipped, Natasha released Yelena's suit and stepped back, her anger dissipating into thin air. You timidly returned the smile.

"Hey…" she called with a warm smile, she was about to approach you as if nothing had transpired between her and her sister just moments ago however, Yelena reached out and firmly grabbed Natasha's arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Please, Natasha…we need to talk."

Natasha never took her eyes away from you. She wanted to ensure that you didn't notice the heated tension between her and her sister. She gave you a warm smile once again before turning at her sister.

"Pyat' minut, i ya khochu, chtoby ty ushel," (Five minutes and I want you gone.) she hissed, shoving her sister's hold on her not enough for you to notice before walking away.

Natasha headed towards the balcony of the penthouse, hoping that the air would somehow calm her down, though seeing you brought some solace to her but right now you're not there to soothe her, "4 minutes."

"What? We haven't even started talking yet?!" Yelena exclaimed, as she slid the door close.

"Oh I started counting walking on the way here and we're conversing now. 4 minutes and 17." Natasha simply said, not caring about how her sister grumbled.

Yelena groaned internally and took a breath before started talking again. "Who is that woman and why is she here, Natasha?" It was a genuine question really, you're the reason why she's here, why she risked coming in here unwelcome.

"Why do you care?" She spoke through gritted teeth, her voice laced with a controlled fury. She glanced towards the clock in her wrist, "3 minutes and 50."

"And you care about her?" Yelena retorted, not caring about how her sister reminded her of her fleeting time. Natasha just huffed her hands crossed at the railings of the terrace. "I'm going to ask this one time, do you care for her? Do you care for that woman?" Yelena asked once again, taking a step behind her sister. Her voice was firm and trying to be calm.

"We're not having this conversation, Lena." Natasha let out a chuckle, a mix of anger and frustration still not facing her sister. She was impatiently tapping her leather boot. "You still have 3 minutes an—"

"Do you care about her?! Because if not we can just throw her off your place so whoever marked her could fucking get her!"

Natasha froze in her place. She wasn't stunned by Yelena's sudden outburst, she was stunned by what she just said.

"What did you say?" her tone demanded straight answers, but clearly she understood what her sister just said. She furrowed her brows, slowly tilting her head to finally face her sister.

Yelena met Natasha's gaze, not breaking her eyes on her. "You heard me, Natasha."

As they both stood there, facing each other in the aftermath of their clash, Natasha saw you peeking through the wall. You shyly waved at her and the gesture made Natasha's heart ache. Yelena slowly turned her gaze over her shoulders and saw the interaction, she now walked past Natasha placing her elbows at the glassed-bars of the terrace.

"Congrats, Sestra. You just signed that woman a death warrant."

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 7: Business | 5.4k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, drugging, violence, Maximoff twins

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

2 days after…

"What's her name again?" Bucky asked, as he slowly opened his laptop on Natasha's desk.

"What are you doing?" She scowled at him.

"We'll find her and it's the basics…" Bucky answered plainly.

"You're not gonna profile her."

"What? You always do profiling with the girls you..." He glanced over to Natasha when he saw at his peripheral how her eyes threw daggers at him. She sauntered over and snatched Bucky's laptop away from him.

"I. Don't." Natasha settled from her office chair again, "You're the one profiling them!"

"Hey! I was playing solitaire!" Bucky shot back. Natasha just scowled at him, holding the laptop securely out of his reach.

"At least I bothered to know the name of the people you slept with." He started.

"Yeah, so you could have them after."

"Wh—No! So we would know if they're s-something! Someone!"

"Yeah?"

"Okay, maybe I did once but she was the one who came for me…and…and you don't even care for the girls you slept with Natasha!"

"And you do? Don't speak to me like I slept with sooooo many girls, Barnes."

Bucky crossed his arms, his face frowning in defeat—and guilt.

Bucky couldn't contain himself. He hesitantly started a conversation once again, "Aren't you curious about her? You could literally know her whole ancestry, her history in a snap if you wanted to. That's the advantage we have, you have."

"If I wanted to, yes. But…I don't want that." Natasha said with a plain tone, she handed the laptop back to Bucky.

She doesn't want to profile you, she doesn't want to use her advantages. She doesn't want to know anything about you yet—she doesn't want to spoil anything. What she wants is for everything to come from you, not from anyone, not by her using any of her advantages.

"I'm not interested in your lady, if that's what you're thinking.

"No one thinks of anything, Buck."

"I'm just…I mean," he sighed, "This is so not you, you know? You seemed different so I'm not going to lie, whoever that woman is she intrigues me...but what about your...?" Bucky took a glance at her and she was just smiling while looking down at the papers scattered in her table and he was so sure it was because of his words, he couldn't risk to bring something that would ruin that smile.

"But you know Nat, I'll always be here for you..." he shifted and Natasha just hummed in response with a smile. "What about we go have fun tonight?" Now that's a shift.

"I saw that coming," Natasha let out a few chuckles. "But as tempting as that sounds, I think I'll pass tonight Barnes," she replied, her tone indicating that her mind was preoccupied with the paper scattered in front of her. But really she was desperate to see you again but she doesn't want Bucky to notice it but unfortunately he already did.

"Oh, yeah I think we can't go clubbing at Valkyrie's tonight," Bucky scrolled at his phone, "Oh yeah, we can't," he confirmed. "The Maximoff's are taking over the club tonight…they just got back," he then flashed the phone towards Natasha, an article of the twins arriving at the airport with the headline: Maximoff Twins Homecoming at Valkyrie's tonight!

Natasha's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to connect the dots. Valkyrie's Club…that was the place where you worked. The information hit her like a sudden jolt, a surge of adrenaline flooding her entire system.

Natasha knows how dangerous those brats can be, but they're nothing she can handle. She pushed aside her paperworks, and suddenly Natasha isn't busy anymore.

"Do you think those brats won't mind having some visitors tonight?"

⧗

As you stepped into the club, the usual hustle and bustle was back. The air was filled with hushed whispers and the sounds of the other girls preparing themselves. You were walking down the hall, gossips already buzzing around however what they're talking about wasn't even gossip.

"There was a patron that was escorted out last few nights, have you heard that?"

"He wasn't escorted out, somebody came to pick him up. That man won't even let the bouncers touch him."

"And the fact that his face was so broken...and bloody."

What a great reminder for you to start the night…

Each girl was meticulously applying their make-up, perfecting their looks for tonight.

Gossips and conversation floated through the air as the girls exchanged stories and caught up on each other's life. You just rolled your eyes on them nervously as you sat facing your vanity mirror as if you weren't involved with those incidents they were talking about.

You grabbed your make-up kit and started fixing yourself, you just did a light make-up to yourself as you decided not to perform and will just serve drinks since there are a lot of girls tonight. And besides the $1,000 Natasha slipped to your bag would still keep you alive 'till the end of the month.

You couldn't help but overhear snippets of some girl's conversation behind your back. They were too loud. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard them talk about Penelope's anger from the previous night with a heated tone. You took a quick glance at them.

"Well, from what I knew she was supposed to get a good fuck that night but...her client suddenly disappeared."

"Did you see how snappy she was when she arrived earlier?"

"She's always snappy and cranky you know. So better not get in her way girls or we're…" The girl mockingly slit her throat with her index finger with a dead look on her face.

The lipstick you were applying suddenly slipped out of your hand, sending it to the ground when you fearfully gasped at the sight of the girl doing it. You awkwardly reached for it and wiped the lipstick stain on the tiles with your bare hands. You shakily grabbed the tissue out of your bag. When you looked at your mirror you met the gaze of girls through it that screams, 'freak, weird,' or anything mean they could think of.

The mention of Penelope's client suddenly disappearing hit you like a punch to the gut. You realized that they were talking about Natasha, the patron that you saw in the midst of the crowd, the guest that literally punched a man in front of you, the stranger that you had spent time with, and the implications of Penelope's wrath sent a shiver down your spine. The thought of Penelope if she found out that you were involved in it sent waves of fear coursing your veins.

You're so dead right now, Y/N.

As you finished off, they were talking about something else now. You just rolled your eyes at them once again, these girls never run out of gossip.

The topic is now the Maximoff Twins, the other girl leaned in close to the other, her voice barely above a whisper, "I heard the older twin is an absolute stunner. Got this look that can make anyone weak in the knees," the other girls started squirming and blushing.

"Oh my god, I can't wait to be on my knees!" The other exclaimed with a moan, you almost gagged at that girl's reaction.

"As if, they were choosy based on what I have heard. Especially the youngest twin? They said the youngest is a flirt and is a brat and can always get whatever or whoever…"

"Even though that one wouldn't want me I would offer myself willingly to that twin." The other girl butted in her response that made everyone giggle.

The conversation about the twins continued to echo through the room. But the gossip didn't provide you a distraction to somehow momentarily divert your attention from the ever-present worry of Penelope's wrath.

As the chatter among the girls grew louder, you met Valkyrie's glare at them through your mirror, you gulped nervously. The girls didn't even notice and still continued their gossip sesh.

With a voice that demanded attention, she bellowed, "Out! Now! The show starts in 3!" The girls were startled at Valkyrie's commanding presence, immediately quieting down and walking their way through the door.

When the girls were finally out, you let out a sigh. But you were taken aback when Valkyrie approached you.

"You gonna perform tonight?" She asked with a soft tone as if she wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs to the girls earlier.

"No, just gonna serve some drinks for a while and is it okay if I leave early?" You asked nervously.

"Sure, there are so many girls this evening. I'm sure they can occupy the club all night." Valkyrie patted your shoulders before making her way out.

"Oh fuck I should've asked if I could have a night off tonight." You muttered to yourself burying your face in your hands, at this point you're considering leaving, leaving this club, this work for good.

You get yourself dressed, a black leather spaghetti strap exposing your cleavage, the length is 5 inches above your knees. And a knee-boots matching your dress.

You grabbed your pocket knife and placed it inside of your left boot. You took a quick glance to yourself in the mirror before you hurried towards the hall wishing everything to be over tonight.

You entered the bustling club. Gulping nervously, you tried to push aside your anxiety and focus on your shift at the bar. You were lucky it's Sam's shift tonight.

You could literally hear the hammering sound of your chest despite the loud banging sound of the club. Your eyes landed at the halls of the private rooms and remembered the encounter you had with Natasha, the memory somehow made your anxiety tone down.

"Hey baby girl, servin' drinks tonight?" Sam playfully raised his brow to you as you sat at the bar stool. He was already making some drinks.

"Yeah, but I'll leave early." You muttered. He just hummed in response.

"Hmkay, this for the twins," Sam slid the tray of drinks towards you, "They're over there," he pointed towards the VIP balcony section, you couldn't see the twins but you could clearly see the girls surrounding the area, vying for their attention.

Your heart races as you observe the crowded area, anxious creeping again to your nerves. You glanced back at Sam, who gave you an encouraging at the same time commanding nod, signaling you to go ahead. He's up to making the second batch of the drinks.

Taking a deep breath, you carefully maneuvered through the crowd trying to maintain your composure. Your focus was shattered when your eyes accidentally landed with Penelope. Fear flashed before your eyes as you locked gazes with her. She didn't glare at you or give you a piercing look that can literally kill but she smiled at you, a smile that sent a cold shiver to your whole body.

You carefully made your way through the crowd, holding the tray with the drinks exclusive for the Maximoff twins. You tried to fit yourself in the swarm of girls around them. As you approached their table, you saw the twins with girls sitting beside them. You saw the older one, offering his cigarette to the girl in his arms. And when you looked at the younger twin's gaze it was fixated on you, she made the girls beside her stand immediately and the girls frowned and whined. The younger one signaled you over.

"Hi, krasivaya." (Beautiful) She leaned properly at the sofa and stretched her arms on top of it.

You looked at her as she said those unfamiliar words, language you're not familiar with, but she just smirked at the sight of you. As you finished putting the drinks on their table you looked at the twins again, the older one still flirting at the girls and the younger one never removed her gaze on you. She patted the seat beside her, signaling you to sit. But you declined by offering her a polite smile and slight bow.

She was captivated by your aloofness. "Pretty please?" She purred, her voice was low and rasp, laced with seduction. The way her eyes seemed to dance with mischief and her voice dripped with confidence, it was clear she was used to getting what she wanted.

Her behavior, though seemingly casual, held a hint of possessiveness that unsettled you. You just smiled shyly, hoping that it would send a clear message of disinterest. When you were about to get the tray she quickly grabbed your wrist making you stumble closer to her. Her brother glanced at you with her sister's sudden action but he paid no mind and turned his attention back to flirting. You gasped in shock at what she did. You slightly tried to pull your arm back, but her hold was strong and unyielding.

The younger twin's eyes were drawn to you, trailing a path along your body, subtly checking you out. Her eyes trailed up to your knees, your exposed cleavage where she bit her lower lip at the sight, your neck, until she met your eyes. When she saw how nervous you were, a smirk creeped out on her face. She caressed her thumb over your wrist before letting you go.

Without lingering for too long, you swiftly and awkwardly made your way out. You could literally feel the piercing gaze of the other girls, you just walked past them trying to maintain your composure despite the internal turmoil caused by the younger twin's attention.

When you were out of her sight she signaled the other girls standing not so far but inside their VIP area to leave. They quickly went downstairs, hoping that their obedience would grant them some award from the twins later.

"I want that one, Piet," she leaned back again at the sofa as she tapped her finger against it patiently.

Pietro sighed as he looked at her sister. He patted the legs of the girls sitting beside him and signaled them to leave. When they finally left, Pietro circled to the table and stood in front of her sister, arms crossed, "Wanda…you literally didn't tell me the whereabouts of the girl I brought you for a gift at the Red Room before and now you want another?"

"Don't worry, I made her feel good before burying her to the ground," She said in a low tone with a smirk, not looking at his brother, "If she wasn't so bitchy at me maybe I would have considered treating her nice…but she didn't." Wanda finally looked up at him, a smile creeping in her face with her eyes cold—dead cold.

"Ya khochu yeye…"(I want her…) Her eyes crazily transitioned to a pleading gaze with a glimmer of desperation, trying to convince her brother with those eyes and soft voice, "Pozhaluysta…brat?" (Please…brother?)

Pietro just sighed before making his way downstairs where he was swarmed by so many girls that were trying to please him.

A smirk spread across Wanda's face. She brought the hand she used when she grabbed you up to her nose and sniffed the lingering scent that she rubbed off of you.

"Ne mogu dozhdat'sya, kogda ty stanesh' moyey, miloye lichiko." (I can't wait for you to be mine, pretty face).

⧗

You let out a deep breath as you sat at the bar stool again, "Fuck," you muttered to yourself.

You couldn't help but feel bothered by your interaction with the younger Maximoff twin, Wanda. Despite your clear rejection, the intensity of her gaze left a lingering impression on your mind. You would be lying if you said you weren't fluttered by it. But it stirred up a bottle of emotions within you, causing a whirlwind of thoughts and unease.

"So, how was it serving the twins?" Sam suddenly asked as he walked across you.

You tried to hide your uneasiness, offering a forced smile, "Oh, they seemed to be enjoying themselves."

Sam chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, I heard they can be quite the handful. Did they give you any trouble?"

You quickly shook your head. "No, not at all. They were just like any other…patrons, guests, nothing noteworthy."

Sam noticed your lingering unease and decided to intervene, wanting to offer you some comfort. He reached for a bottle on the shelf behind the bar, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"I can see that you're a bit on edge. How about I make you a special drink? It's my own concoction, and trust me, it can work wonders in calming nerves." Sam said in a soothing tone.

Curiosity mixed with a tinge of hesitation, you looked at Sam, considering his offer. You were tempted by the idea of something that could soothe your nervous state at this moment even though you don't actually drink when you work.

"What's in it?" You asked, your voice betraying you with curiosity.

Sam winked playfully, "Ah, now that's a secret recipe. But I can tell you it's a blend of some smooth liquors, infused with a touch of my special magic to help melt away your worries."

Your lips curved into a small smile. "How can I say no to a free drink? But you know the rule, keep it light. I don't wanna get wasted tonight."

"Keep it light it is!" You watched as Sam skillfully mixed the ingredients, his hands moving with practiced precision. The scent of the drink filled the air, a delicate aroma that promised a momentary escape from your anxieties.

As Sam passed the glass to you, he offered a warm smile. "Here you go Y/N. Take a sip and let the worries melt away."

"Thanks, Sammy," You took the glass, feeling a sense of gratitude for Sam's thoughtful gesture. You brought it to your lips and took a tentative sip, feeling the smooth warmth of the liquid wash over her palate. It was a unique blend of flavors, both comforting and exhilarating.

Sam nodded, "I'll just keep the drinks up." You watch him disappear as he makes his way to the room inside the bar.

As you waited for him patiently, you saw a figure walking in the crowd. A figure you were trying to avoid: Penelope, she was carrying two drinks both in her hands.

Your nerves were once again on edge as you realized that Penelope was walking towards you. The overwhelming urge to flee, to escape from the gaze of someone who seemed to possess an uncanny ability to make you feel unsafe, unease. Yet, you knew that running away would only draw attention to your nervous state right now, and you didn't want Penelope to suspect that you're avoiding her.

Just pretend you don't know anything, you didn't do anything, Y/N. You know your place…right? Right?

In a blink of an eye she was already in front of you. To your surprise, she didn't welcome you with wrath or aggression as you were expecting. Instead, she smiled at you, her expression almost unnerving.

"Have a drink with me." Her tone was soft but sounded more like a…threat. She handed the Martini glass to you.

You were caught off guard and afraid to refuse, you nodded timidly as you took the drink out of her hand. Your instinct told you that something was amiss, it was unusual for Penelope to invite the other girls she worked with for drinks. But you don't have time to think about anything right now, you wanted yourself out of her sight, you just wanted to get out of her way.

Your fingers trembled around the glass. You took a glance at the drink, the liquid swirled in the glass, its contents mirrored the nervous look of your face. As the liquid touched your lips, a subtle wince escaped you. The taste was bitter, leaving an unpleasant sensation on your tongue. Your eyes instinctively flickered towards Penelope, who wore a smirk that sent shivers down your spine.

"Enjoying the night?" She asked as she glanced around the club before looking back at you.

"Uhh…well, I'm a worker here. I don't enjoy or anything. I just work, you know." You shrug awkwardly as you play with the Martini glass.

"Ah, so you know your place?" She immediately shot back, her eyes locked with yours, and the intensity of that gaze and how she shot her words made it clear that this interaction was far from casual. There was an eerie satisfaction in Penelope's expression, as if she relished in your discomfort, reveling in the power she held over you.

Your heartbeat quickened, your instincts urging you to retreat from Penelope's gaze. But you knew that showing weakness or fear would only fuel Penelope's predatory nature. So, with a quiet resolve, you held your ground, concealing your nervousness and fear behind a veil of composure.

A familiar figure not so far behind her back was looking at you intently. You didn't know why you gulped nervously and why your heart started hammering so heavy in your chest. You looked again at Penelope, she is now smiling creepily in your liking. When you glanced over her shoulder again the figure was long gone.

A sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, causing the room to spin. Panic surged through your veins as your vision started to get blurred and your knees weakened.

"I'm just gonna…" you rested your arm at the countertop of the bar as you tried to stand on the ground.

In that moment of vulnerability, Penelope seemed to anticipate your distress. With an eerie calmness, she swiftly moved closer and cupped your left cheek. The gesture was both unexpected and unsettling, as if Penelope had foreseen this very outcome.

"Oh, you feeling dizzy?" She said with a mocking soft voice.

Your head felt heavy, your thoughts muddled by the dizziness that clouded your senses. You couldn't help but wonder if Penelope had orchestrated this, if the drink had been laced with something more than just alcohol. The realization made you dead cold, and a surge of fear coursed through your system.

"I didn't know that drug would get to you that easily, you poor thing…"

She steadied you with a firm grip on your arm. She started guiding you to walk, enough to make anyone that would see that you're pretty wasted for tonight which is very unusual. You don't drink when you're working, serving or performing, you don't get yourself wasted.

Your steps became unsteady, your reliance on Penelope's support growing with each passing moment. It was as if Penelope held the key to your stability. You glanced back over to the bar and saw Sam looking at the place where he left you, he was looking over the club trying to look for a sign of you but Penelope quickly shoved you forward when she noticed you looking back.

In the midst of your disorientation, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being ensnared, trapped within Penelope's web. Your senses screamed with caution, urging you to break free from Penelope's grip, but the dizziness held you captive, leaving you vulnerable to her embrace.

When the crowd was out of your sight, that's when she started dragging you. She took a handful of your hair and pushed you forward as you walked.

The deafening music and dim lighting obscured your path, making it easier for Penelope to guide you towards an unmarked door tucked away in a secluded hall of the club.

"I told you to know your place, didn't I?" She whispered with heaviness in her tone, you could now feel her anger that you know she has been suppressing since earlier. "I made it clear, right? Y/N?"

Your voice already died in your throat as soon as you saw her earlier, you couldn't speak or scream. You tried removing her hand out of your hair, but she just shoved you forward making you stumble as you walked. Now your vision started to flicker, to die, the edges of your consciousness blurring with each passing second.

Penelope threw you towards a dark room, you weren't sure if it was the room that was dark or it was your vision getting darker. You couldn't help but fall to your knees. You tried looking at the door where the only light comes in. You saw two figures shadowing over you, you're sure that Penelope is one of those. By the sound of it, it seems like the other person is a man. You strained to catch fragments of the conversation between them but their conversation remained muffled and indistinct.

"Here," The man faced her as he grabbed his bag and took a handful of cash.

"I want more than this…okay?" Penelope seductively said as she took the wad of cash the unknown man handed her, "And I know you do too…" she tugged the leather jacket of the man properly.

The man just chuckled, "Do you wanna watch?" He asked her as he made his way towards you.

"That bitch stole what's mine however as much as I want to…" Penelope counted the cash in her hands, "I have to get myself ready, for later…" she smirked as the man turned to look at her leaning at the door. "Meet me after?"

"I will." The man said before kneeling in front of you.

Penelope's shadow left the room. Now, you know that it's only the two of you. The man's menacing presence loomed over the room.

"I want to have a good time with that chic so I'll make this quick and easy for you." The man said as he stood and took something from his bag.

He knelt again and the sound of a metal clinked to the ground made you flinch. He gripped your jaw, you tried to take a good look at him but you couldn't because your sight is completely dark now. He tightened his grip when you tried to move away from his touch. You also tried biting his thumb when you felt it brushing your mouth but he quickly shoved you. You tried everything but it wasn't enough.

"Don't make me do anything bad to you." He growled, his voice laced with venom. He stood and started to circle around you.

Your eyes shut when you felt something burning in your back, you hissed in pain. When he was back in front of you again, he took a handful of your hair, he started speaking but you couldn't get a word with what he's saying.

"Just one…" he breathed before slapping you that sent you to the ground. Tears started to stream down your face, you tried to blink them away but you couldn't. The room was filled with your muffled cries.

The man gripped your arm and forcefully led you out of the room. "Walk like nothing happened," he commanded, his voice carrying an implicit warning. You saw his blurred figure walking away, leaving you alone in the hall.

With each step you took, your body felt heavy, weighed down by what happened and the lingering dizziness. Anytime at this point you could literally pass out. Your eyes tried scanning your surroundings but you could only see a light invading your sight, you don't know where you're going, you don't know how long you have been walking.

You tried to lean over the wall to support your body when somebody caught you.

⧗

"You keep your eyes towards the entrance," Natasha commanded Bucky.

Bucky chuckled, "What are we on a mission? But not gonna lie, I missed this." Natasha didn't mind whatsoever he was saying as she exited the car.

"He—Where are you going?" Bucky shouted, he flinched when Natasha slammed the car door, "Damn, good thing I didn't offer to use my car…"

Natasha swiftly walked while her mind raced as she retraced her steps, recalling the hidden passage you led her before. Natasha's heart pounded in her chest as she opened the door, its creaking sound made her wince but luckily no one was guarding there.

And there, she hurriedly walked to the dimly lit hall, Natasha's eyes fell upon you, your body slumped and weakened—relying on the wall as if your life depended on it. Natasha quickly rushed to your side, catching you before you completely collapsed. Concern etched across her face, she gently cradled your head, her touch infused with tenderness and concern.

"Y/N," Natasha whispered, her voice filled with worry and anger. "Who did this to you?" She placed her palm to the reddening mark on your cheek, wiping the trail of your wet tears. She doesn't want to know what happened, what she did want is to know who did this to you.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze meeting Natasha's concerned eyes. In that moment, your voice trembled, your words strained. You finally mustered to say a word—her name, after being shut, "Natasha?" you breathed heavily, your eyes were getting glassy at the sight of her, "Please...just…don't do anything, don't get yourself hurt…" you managed to utter before your strength gave way and you finally slipped into unconsciousness.

A surge of anger coursed through Natasha's veins, her jaw clenching as she stared at your unconscious form and when she heard your plea not to do anything. The pain and helplessness she felt were finally getting into her. She reached for her phone and dialed Bucky.

"Get the car at the back of the club, just go straight and turn left. You'll find me there."

Bucky quickly started the car and slowly approached the area, he saw Natasha emerge from the depths of the private door, carrying you in her arms. He quickly made his way out of the car and ran at Natasha to get you but Natasha denied his help, at this point Natasha doesn't want anyone to touch you except her. So Bucky made a quick turn to the car and held the car door open. Natasha carefully settled you at the backseat of her car. She removed her leather jacket placing it on your exposed upper chest, she cupped your cheek one last time before closing the door.

Bucky stayed behind Natasha as he watched her position you properly in the car. He was worried but before he could ask what happened, Natasha's words cut through the air.

"Meet me at the entrance," she instructed, her voice leaving no room for argument.

"What are you going to do Nat?" He asked with his tensed and worried voice, he watched Natasha make heavy strides at the private door of the club again.

Natasha slammed the door after her, not minding looking at him.

"Business."

⧗

Bucky's eyes darted between the road ahead and the unconscious form of you in the backseat. Concern showing in his face as he navigated the car through the main entrance of the club. His focus is divided between driving safely and keeping an eye on you. As he parked not so far from the club, he caught sight of movement near the main entrance.

As Bucky glanced in that direction, his gaze locked onto the Maximoff twins being escorted out.

Their reactions varied. Wanda, the younger twin wore a look of defiance, her eyes flashing with anger but her composure is still refusing to show any signs of vulnerability.

"I. can. walk. my. self." She shoved her index finger in every word aiming at the shoulder of the bouncer.

The older twin Pietro, displayed a different reaction. A smirk played along the corners of his lips, as if he found the whole ordeal rather amusing. He maintained a nonchalant demeanor, his quick wit and confident aura made it evident that he was not easily shaken by them being escorted out. Pietro grabbed his sister and walked her towards their luxury car, when he had already settled his sister in the car he came back to the bouncer and spat some threats to his face.

Bucky watched them cautiously until their vehicles were out of his sight. He glanced at the side mirror and saw Natasha walking towards the car, she opened the door and swiftly slipped into the backseat. Natasha carefully cradled your head in her lap.

"I saw the Maximoff twins getting a walk of shame," he glanced at Natasha through the rearview mirror before starting the engine of the car. But she didn't meet his gaze, she didn't even bother to hear what he just said, her attention is focused on soothing your sleeping form.

"What did you do Nat?" Bucky's tone is now commanding for answers rather than asking.

Natasha's expression remained composed, her eyes still on you, and her index finger caressing your cheek.

"I bought the club."

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[keervah]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 6: Sweet Dreams | 3.9k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairing: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: None (Warnings or none, minors do not interact; this is an 18+ series fiction)

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

"Can I get a private show?"

You're internally shaking, switching your glance over the unconscious body lying on the floor and Natasha. You didn't even notice the wad of cash she flashed on you.

"Y-yeah, well…w-well, I-uhh…" you want to call a bouncer but where are they when you need them most?! Why is this place lacking bouncers tonight? Other nights when you work aren't like this. Is this club facing bankruptcy or something? You glanced at Natasha and she just gave you a playful smirk with a hint of a concerned look.

You know your place, you keep reminding yourself.

"Y/N, know your place. Got that?" Penelope's threat keeps echoing in your head.

You have no choice now, but you are quick to make a plan.

"This way."

You walked your way out of the balcony. At this point you were praying internally that no one would notice you with this woman behind your back, especially Penelope.

You nervously led Natasha to the bar, she noticed how you asked the bartender where the private rooms are. It was because you had never been to that place.

"Damn, you do private shows now I see." Sam smirked as he glanced over at Natasha, his eyes suddenly traveled in her bloody hands. "Oh shit," He looked at you with worried eyes and you just gave him an 'I know right' look, you were a little shaken and he could clearly see it, he slowly placed his hands over the counter top of the bar, "You okay? Do you want me to—"

"No, Sam. I'm fine, " you reached his hands and he pointed you to the halls where the private rooms are. "Thanks, Sammy."

As you walked through the hall, your heart started to pound heavily, wishing she didn't hear any of it. You chose the room in the end of the hall and opened the thick curtains for Natasha to get inside.

"Here, I-uhh…I'm going to go to Penelope so—"

"Penelope?" Natasha didn't let you finish.

"Yeah, I-I uhh, well she told me that she's booked tonight and…I saw her earlier…with you so—"

"I don't want her." Natasha once again didn't let you finish. She threw herself at the sofa.

This was the first time you heard someone say that they don't like Penelope. In a soft whisper to yourself, you mused, "Everybody wants Penelope…"

"Well, I don't." Natasha interrupted your thoughts this time.

You were shocked at her reply and her tone when she said it was a plain reply but heavy, you didn't even realize that she heard you talk to yourself. To hide your embarrassment you crossed your arms, hoping you looked intimidating, "Why'd you book her then?"

"I didn't. My friend did, he booked her for me." Natasha chuckled at your question and at your sudden change of behavior.

"Well, why didn't you—"

"Because…" Natasha leaned her back against the sofa properly, "I don't like her. I did consider my friends' offer. But I said that if I like her, then I will have her, but I didn't so…I promise, I don't like her."

Well, she didn't let you finish again, for the third time.

"I didn't ask you if you like her…" You frowned, muttering to yourself. She just chuckled at you.

You watched her figure sitting comfortably in the leather sofa, her legs wide open, her right arm straightened at the top as her bloody and bruised fingertips tapped the sofa. You gulped nervously at the sight of her, your face heating up like a burning kettle.

You're fucked up, you don't do private shows. You haven't even experienced getting to anyone's lap. Not ever. You didn't sign up to any of this. The plan was, once you get her here, you go get Penelope after so they could have…their planned shit. Although you hated the idea of it.

But right now the only thing you know is…you are fucking screwed.

You know your place, now you're lost.

You stood straight in front of her, you have no choice now. You waited for her signal for you to start.

"Well, why don't you sit because you've been standing there for what seems like hours." She glanced up at you.

"Sit?" You asked her dumbly, "You don't want me to…" You immediately brushed off the thoughts you were thinking earlier as you sat across her, "Of course thank you."

At least she won't let you do a lap dance for her…or maybe she wanted more than that? Fuck.

"Got a name?" She asked, breaking the silence between the two of you.

Your eyes were glued to her bruised and bloody hands. A deep sense of concern welling up inside you. You noticed how veiny her hands were, your eyes trailed up to her broad shoulders, up to her jaw until you met her eyes. You almost swallowed your tongue, "I uhh, It's Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N."

Natasha chuckled when she noticed that you just checked her out, "Hm, Y/N Y/L/N..." she repeated in sa soft tone.

"Can you wait here?" You quickly asked.

"What? Why?" Now she was alarmed at your question as if she doesn't want you to go anywhere.

"I'm going to get my bag, so I can..." You hesitantly pointed her hand but your voice laced with sincerity.

"Oh, this is nothing. I've had the wor—I mean no need, I can handle this. I'm fi—"

"Please, my conscience won't let me sleep." You're the one who didn't let her finish this time. You reminded her of the same words she said the night the two of you met. When she asked to walk you home because her conscience won't let her sleep if she didn't. "I promise, I'll come back."

Natasha glanced away at you, crossing her arms together, "Go…"

You felt a slight pain with her reply, "Don't squeeze your hand please." You told her and pointed at her right hand.

"Oh, I-okay," Natasha watched as you walked out to the room leaving her alone.

⧗

As you entered the room, you found yourself alone. There are no other girls in here, you reminded yourself. You quickly untied the lace of your heels and kicked them away. You didn't have time to undress, so you just grabbed your jogging pants and quickly put them on. You were panicking and stumbling with every step as you circled the room.

As you made your way out you snatched the heels from the ground and stuffed it in your bag as you walked to the hallway. Your gaze fell upon the private exit, your initial instinct was to walk away. Your mind was debating for a second, you hated it. But your empathy outweighed your desire to leave. You gave her your word, you promised to come back.

The cold air of the club welcomed you as you entered, you groaned as you forgot where you placed your windbreaker jacket. Not wanting to throw any tantrum, you slightly ducked and tiptoed your way to the bar so no one would notice you.

"Damn, you look like shit!" Sam was startled by your presence.

"I know," You are wearing your dress earlier as your top, jogging pants, and your pink slides as your slippers. One strap of your backpack clinging on your right shoulder. You really do look like shit right now. "Give me a shot of Lemon-drop please."

Sam playfully raised an eyebrow, teasing you about your preference, "Still a baby I see," he jested, knowing it was not the strongest or most potent of alcohol, "Give me a sec baby girl. And by the way how's the show going?"

"Eww Sam! Shut it, I already gave you a sec, give me my shot!" You rolled your eyes on him. "And there is no show, okay." You muttered to yourself with a childish-like tone.

"Lemon-drop for the baby girl." Sam handed you your drink with a wink.

You raised your glass in a mock defiance, joining in the banter. "Cheers to keeping it light for the baby girl!"

"Speaking of keeping it light, what happened earlier wasn't light," Sam suddenly gave you a warning at the same time concerned look, "There were a couple of scary gals that went over the balcony, they exited with a mushed-bloody-faced guy. You take care, Y/N. And the lady you're with."

The heat in your throat caused by your drink was replaced with a sudden cold, "Yeah…thanks Sammy. Keep my drink on that woman's tab. Her name is Natasha."

"Okay baby girl!" Sam shouted, laughing as he watched you rush over the private rooms. You just gave him a finger while clutching your backpack.

⧗

As you walk to the hall you couldn't help but think about what happened earlier, why would you need to take care of yourself? It's normal to have a fight in the club, for sure that guy would forget that it happened. You were blinded with that thought in your mind.

You opened the curtains you found Natasha sitting still on the sofa.

"I thought you ditched me," she said not looking at you as she picked the bruises in her knuckles.

"Don't do that!" You swat her hands away from her bruised knuckles as you rushed and knelt in front of her.

Feeling a sense of panic rising within you, you quickly grabbed your bag from behind, and frantically started rummaging through your stuff.

Your heart raced as you desperately searched for your pouch where you put some medical aids. With a flicker of desperation, you grasped the bottom of your bag firmly and turned it upside down. Your stuff spilled out onto the ground, scattering in disarray. Your make-up kit, loose change, the heels you wore earlier during the performance, rolled and clinked against each other, but your focus remained on finding your pouch.

"Sorry about that," you mumbled, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Natasha just chuckled at the sight of you. And her focus suddenly turned on to something—a thing that was clattered in front of her.

Finally, amidst the chaos, your eyes landed on the small, fabric pouch you had been desperately searching for. You swiftly retrieved it from the mess and held it up triumphantly, almost like a child who had just found their lost toy.

Your frustration was evident as you grasped the pouch, only to find a lone bandaids staring back at you. You sighed in disappointment, realizing that it was not nearly enough to properly cover Natasha's bruised knuckles.

"Great, Y/N. Fucking great." You mumbled to yourself.

"I-uh, here. This is the only thing I have, give me your hand so I…" You extended your hand towards Natasha, silently requesting her injured hands.

Natasha gave you her bruised hands without a second.

You were slightly shaking when you held it. Her hands were slender and graceful, with long, tapered fingers that seemed to possess a natural elegance. The skin was smooth and flawless.

As you worked, you found yourself captivated by the feel of Natasha's hands, its warmth, strength and comfort beneath your own.

Know your effing place, Y/N...

You were lucky she didn't notice you almost squirming while tending her wounds and you also didn't notice that it was because Natasha was focusing on something else.

"Here, y'go. Done. I'm sorry that is the on—"

"Tell me more about it, " she suddenly asked, her eyes still focused on something beside you.

I swear to the love of Goddess of War if this woman interrupted me again, I'm going to kiss her. Wh—kiss?! Y/N…know your place for fucksake!

You immediately released your hold of her hand shaking away your thoughts messing in your mind. You turned your focus on your mess lying on the ground as you anxiously picked up your backpack and stuffed your things inside.

"What are you talking about?"

You didn't know that Natasha has been looking at your pointe shoe the whole time.

"Your dreams."

You gripped the shoe before stuffing it on your backpack, you were feeling embarrassed because of the stitches it had on it.

"That's just it..."

When you didn't get a reply from her you decided to take a slight glance on what she is doing, just a slight. As you looked up at Natasha, you saw a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She was examining her hand.

She actually heard your response but she just didn't want you to feel like she's pushing you to tell her more about it.

Natasha's gaze focused on the bandaid, adorned with a playful teddy bear design, and she couldn't help but find it cute. Find you cute.

"I'm sorry about that, I bought that on sale…" you sheepishly apologized.

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha found your frustration endearing and your genuine desire to help comforting. In Natasha's mind, your actions and the way you reacted to the situation only added to her already growing fondness for you.

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

Natasha's unexpected invitation caught you off guard. You hesitated for a moment, your mind filled with caution and the awareness that Natasha was still a stranger to you. But something with her, sparked a sense of intrigue within you; plus you badly wanted to get out of this place.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you found herself nodding in agreement.

With a nod, you guided Natasha out through the halls of the private room. When you made it to the club you ducked in an instant as you passed the bar so no one would notice you sneaking around, you giggled when Natasha mirrored your action.

You led her towards a private entrance and exit door of the club, a gateway to escape the vibrant chaos and slip into the night undetected. The same door you didn't expect to exit with a patron from the club.

As you both stepped out into the cool night air, a sense of liberation washed over you.

Natasha glanced at you as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. She was once again mesmerized by you.

"So, this is where you also enter the club?" She suddenly asked, trying to act normal after staring at you for too long.

"Yeah..." You responded not looking at her, your hands sliding in your pants pocket.

Her answers as to why she didn't find you going into the club a few weeks ago was now answered, but maybe if she considered Bucky's idea of entering the club she could've found you sooner.

You broke the silence slash awkwardness between you, "Well…I'll go now, thank you for…" You don't actually know why you're thanking her, "Everything?" You were embarrassed with your statement, your cheeks are now again burning hot.

"Wait, let me walk you home again. Please, a thank you for…" Natasha raised her right hand with your teddy bear bandaids around it, "This."

You found her cute when she did it, the contrast between her toughness and mysterious persona and the cuteness of the bandaid brought a smile to your face. You shook your head with a chuckle.

"I insist on walking you home. Please...my conscience won't le—"

"Let you sleep, yeah." You finished her statement with a slight smirk creeping in your lips.

You started walking ahead of her, but she didn't follow you as you didn't answer her asking your permission if she could walk you home again.

"Are you coming or what!" You shouted, turning at her.

You giggled when she started walking running towards you, when you saw her nearing you turned to start walking again.

You both walked together through the quiet streets, the cool night breeze gently brushing against your skin. There was a palpable sense of silence, an unspoken tension between you, mingled with a burgeoning comfort that eased the initial awkwardness. You both didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words, instead allowing your shared presence to speak volumes.

As you both walked through the chilly night, you couldn't help but shiver, your arms wrapping around yourself in an attempt to ward off the cold. You also tried not to make Natasha notice that you're cold.

But still Natasha noticed your discomfort and, without hesitation, she stopped her pace, and began unbuttoning her suit jacket.

"Oh, no, no, no…"

But she already removed it.

Your eyes widened when she closed the distance between you, you could literally feel her breath as she took your backpack. You immediately turned your head away when she started wrapping her suit around you.

"You look like you could use some extra warmth." She said tugging the suit properly on you.

"And you'll be the one getting cold now." You protested with a frown.

"I'll be fine. You need it more than I do." Natasha smiled gently as she took a step back, she clung one of the straps of your backpack to her shoulder.

You felt the jacket's warmth envelop you. The fabric carried the faint scent of Natasha's perfume, adding a touch of intimacy to the gesture.

"Thank you," you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips.

Natasha simply nodded with a satisfied look, her own attire offering little protection from the cold. She shrugged off the concern, focusing instead on the way her suit suited you, enhancing your beauty. It was a small sacrifice for a fleeting moment of shared warmth.

As you both continued to walk, now wrapped again with a gentle silence, the exchange of warmth fostering a sense of closeness. You still feel some curiosity and mystery towards Natasha, but at the same time her presence makes you comfortable, at ease as if you knew her for a very long time.

"I uhh, I actually don't live on…wherever block I told you last time." You revealed, breaking the silence.

"And I think we just passed that block and we didn't even noticed," You turned to look back with a chuckle, an awkward one.

"Oh…" Natasha's expression remained unreadable, but her eyes showed a flicker of understanding at the same time embarrassment.

Another question was once again answered, but of course Natasha didn't want you to know that she had her men scattered on the block you said you live in or how she checked each studio in that area. You don't even know what she really is…

The truth could wait for now…

"Yeah, I actually live at 890 Fifth Ave." You said, not daring to look at her.

"Oh, so you need to get to the train? That's like three stations away from here right?" She asked, glancing at you.

"Yeah…" You nodded, looking at your feet as you walked. Guilt consuming you, "We're actually heading there now, just a few walks and we're at the station. But I can han—"

"Did you get home safe that night?" You shot your eyes towards her, you were stunned by her concern. You didn't even care that she stopped you once again from talking when you tried to say that you can walk yourself to the station. You expected her to be disappointed or cold but…she wasn't.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." You shrugged and smiled at her sheepishly.

It's just a simple thing. Everyone can lie about where they live, people even have fake names when they're out in public, and she was a stranger and still is a stranger but you felt guilty about it.

But… is she still a stranger? Was she ever a stranger to you?

The train station was nearing, Natasha's heart sank. The thought of never seeing you again weighed heavily on her mind, creating a sense of unease she couldn't ignore. Even though she already knows where you truly live, she felt a bittersweet pang of reluctance, not wanting to let go of the moment she had with you.

"If you…ever had any dreams or came up with any dreams. Would you mind…telling them to me?" Natasha couldn't help but suddenly ask. Wishing she didn't cross any lines.

You were taken aback by the question, "Why would I do that?" you gave her a mocking fake gasp and let out a faint laugh—almost an evil laugh catching Natasha off guard.

Natasha's brows furrowed, her mind trying to comprehend your response. She let out a nervous chuckle as she felt embarrassed, thinking she went too far.

But then, a mischievous glimmer danced in your eyes, "You have an obsession with my dreams, Natasha." You playfully teased her.

She shivered when her name came out of your mouth. She was stoned at the moment with her cheeks reddening, and her voice was dying inside her throat.

You noticed how nervous she'd gotten. And you were satisfied with how nervous you made her be, "I was just playing with you."

Natasha sighed as you revealed your playful intent. The tension that had momentarily built up dissipated, replaced by a lighthearted atmosphere between you. Natasha couldn't help but smile at the clever way you had deflected her question.

"But okay...I will." You smiled, glancing to take a good look at her, "I'd love that…"

The surprise on Natasha's face was unmistakable as she struggled to process the unexpected turn of events. She hadn't anticipated that you would agree to telling her your dreams so readily, particularly after your initial response. She couldn't help but beam with happiness as she took a glance at you.

"It's not like there are other people that wants to hear them, you know…" your voice almost cracked. You looked away, trying to blink the threats of the incoming tears in your eyes.

"I…I love hearing them." Natasha muttered, but you didn't hear it as the sound of the incoming train invaded your ears.

The train arrived in a soft hiss.

"Well, I guess this is my train." You faced her, "May I?" You pointed sheepishly at your bag.

"Oh, yeah. Here." Natasha quickly removed the strap of the bag out of her shoulder and handed the bag to you gently.

You were about to return the suit back to Natasha, but she immediately reached out and took hold of the suit, her hand grazing on yours in the process.

But instead of taking the suit back, Natasha's gaze locked with you. Without hesitating, she closed the distance between you, her movements swift yet gentle.

"Keep it," Natasha carefully tugged the suit properly on your shoulders, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Her hands moved with a tenderness, adjusting the fabric to ensure it sat comfortably on your frame. As she did, Natasha's fingertips slightly brushed against your exposed chest, sending a faint electric tingle through your own body. "It looks better on you anyway."

The station announcer's voice resonated through the bustling train station, signaling imminent departure and last call for the passengers. The countdown had begun, a few people around you hastened their steps, heading the call and making their way towards the train. The urgency filled the air, accompanied by the sound of footsteps.

Yet, you both remained rooted in place, face to face. Unwilling to part ways.

You instinctively took a step back, a slight shyness washed over you, causing you to avert Nastasha's gaze momentarily.

The open door of the train station seemed to beckon you, urging you to walk in.

You turned to walk through the door but a surge of emotion overwhelmed you. You closed your eyes in a moment while taking a deep breath, you gripped the strap of your backpack like your life depended on it.

Know your place, Y/N.

Know your place

Know your place

Know your place

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise, her heart skipping a beat when you rushed back at her and placed a swift yet tender kiss on her cheek.

"Bye, Natasha."

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist