Title: Monster Mania.
Pairing: Yandere!Vampire!Neuvillette x Reader x Yandere!Werewolf!Wriothesley (Genshin).
Word Count: 3.0k.
TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Oral Sex, Mentions of Blood, Non-Human Anatomy, Possessive Behavior, Prolonged Imprprisoment, and Slight Dehumanization.
“Pouting won’t get you out of this.”
“I’m not—” You paused, gritting your teeth as his shoulder pressed uncomfortably into your stomach. In retribution, you did your best to drive your knee into his chest, to let him know he was hurting you without admitting that you were even more fragile than he’d assumed, but if he cared about your attempts at resistance, if he so much as noticed that you’d moved at all, Wriothesley didn’t waver. “I’m not pouting, I’m trying to get away from my fucking stalker and his—” Another fit of thrashing. This time, Wriothesley was kind enough to tighten his hold on your legs. “—fucking dog. Why is that so hard for you two to get that through your heads?”
He hummed, drumming his fingers against your thigh. “Might be how often call us… what was it, again? A stalker and a dog?”
You scowled, crossing your arms. From your current position, slung over his shoulder, the remnants of one of his rope snares still wrapped around your left ankle, you could only see the thin footpath he was following and the dense forest that laid beyond it. The tree canopy was too thick to let you see the sky (something you mourned and Neuvillette adored, considering his fondness for early evening walks), but rays of golden sunlight still managed to pierce the endless sprawl of branches and leaves, marking the first signs of dusk. Neuvillette had still been asleep when you slipped through the door Wriothesley had forgotten to lock when he left for his daily hunting trip, but he’d be waking up soon; you could already imagine him rising from his canopied bed, picture the diluted shock he’d wear as he stepped into your bedroom for his first meal of the night only to find it empty. You weren’t surprised Wriothesley was so eager to get you home. Neuvillette was stoic at the worst of times, but the thought of letting his pet blood-bag get away was one of the few things that could get a reaction out of him.
Not that Wriothesley was much better. He was more level-headed, sure, more likely to let you wear something aside from ivory nightgowns and untangle you from Neuvillette’s arms when his hunger left him in a blood-thirsty daze, but that never stopped him from taking Neuvillette’s side when you found yourself in another petty argument, from standing in the doorway with a smile and a dreamy look in his eyes as Neuvillette fastened a lace collar around your neck, a collar just a touch too small to cover the twin puncture marks at the base of your throat and just a touch too similar to the steel choker that sat at the base of Wriothesley’s throat more often than not. He might’ve been human, something as mortal and as delicate as you were, but he was still a monster. He’d be crushed under Neuvillette’s heel a thousand times before he ever considered showing you mercy.
The shadow of their mansion was coming into view, now – the lonely building just as dark and just as intimidating as it’d been the first time Wriothesley lured inside. It stretched on as far as the eye could see in either direction and towered above you like some awful, looming thing; thick curtains constantly drawn over its many windows and every surface of its exterior constantly covered in a thick layer of creeping ivy. The rotting boards of the front porch groaned under his weight as he approached the front door, and you braced yourself as he cursed under his breath, patting down the pockets of his heavy flannel. You weren’t sure why they bothered keeping the door locked at all – aside from what it took to keep you trapped inside, at least. Neuvillette was the most dangerous thing for the next hundred miles, and Wriothesley was a close second.
The inside of the mansion was just as ominous; any light from the outside world captured and suffocated before it could penetrate Neuvillette’s endless abyss. You squirmed, hoping Wriothesley would at least let you cross the threshold on your own, but he wasn’t so kind, only responding to your silent plea with a playful squeeze to your calf as he made his way past the entryway and down an unlit hall, passing several torn paintings and overturned tables before finally shrugging open the door to Neuvillette’s study. A bottle of red wine sat open and half-drained on his mahogany desk, a small fire smoldering in the stone hearth he only rarely used. Neuvillette sat beside it, dressed in a simple black robe, his eyes blearily focused on the low-burning flames. He looked concerned, but his apprehension faded as Wriothesley carried you into his line of sigh, disappearing completely as you were hauled off of Wriothesley’s shoulder and dropped into Neuvillette’s lap. One of his hands found its way to your waist, its twin cupping your cheek, tilting your head back and allowing him to press a lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Beloved,” he muttered, practically breathing out his pet name for you before turning to Wriothesley. “Thank you, duke. I’m sorry you’ve had to inconvenience yourself for the sake of what should be my responsibility again.”
With a groan, Wriothesley fell onto the foot of the fireplace, shrugging off his coat. Where Neuvillette chose to hide his bloodlust behind a thick veil of unwavering niceties and delicate elegance, Wriothesley leaned into his brutality; broad muscle straining at the confines of his black undershirt, scruff cropping up faster than he could clear it away, his hair an untamable mess of black and grey and his clothes caked in an ever constant layer of mud and wear (save for his metal choker, of course, which was always polished to conspicuous shine). His eyes lit up when he heard Neuvillette ask after him, posture straightening like that of a soldier called to attention. You’d been too generous when you called him a dog. He was a mutt, too mindlessly obedient to ever question his master’s orders. “How many centuries has it been since you’ve had a reason to call me that?”
“It should be four this year.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. You could feel the points of his fangs, still tucked behind his lips but no less dangerous for their momentary concealment. “Don’t you have something to say to him, as well?”
It took a moment to register he was talking to you, another to recognize the hypocrisy of what he was asking you. Your pressed frown fell into an open-mouthed balk. “Absolutely not.” And then, when Neuvillette held strong, “You can’t expect me to thank him for keeping me trapped here—”
“Silence.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bear his fangs or dig his pointed nails into your thigh – he didn’t have to. All it took was that tone. Assertive, but not quite forceful. Lulling, but no softer than the wood and stone of his hellish mansion. Immediately, you shut your mouth. Neuvillette closed his eyes, letting out a raspy sigh before taking you by the hips and turning you in his lap, so that you faced outward rather than into his chest. That was enough to earn Wriothesley’s full attention, perking up as you were perched on the edge of Neuvillette’s lap. “Why don’t we try that again. Do you have anything to say to Wriothesley?”
You glared pointedly at the floor. “Thank you. For bringing me back?”
“And?”
“And...” This was the part you hated the most. If there’d been an alternative – a dungeon they could’ve thrown you into, a brand they could sear into your skin – you would’ve embraced it with open arms. But, that was the worst part about dealing with an captor. He had all the time in the world to make you bask in your own humiliation, and he never seemed to tire of the pasttime. “And, thank you for making sure I didn’t get hurt in the forest.”
As if there was anything out there that could’ve hurt you more than they did. Still, it seemed to appease Neuvillette, who let out an approving hum as he turned to Wriothesley. “What do you think? Be honest, this time. No lesson was ever taught with a gentle hand.”
He took a long moment to look over you, another to wet his lips. Wordlessly, dependent on the pure desperation in your eyes, you begged him not to listen to Neuvillette, to take your side just this once, but your improvised attempts at telepathic communication proved unsuccessful. “It could’ve been more genuine,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. “Didn’t have much nice to say on the way back, either.”
“Is that so?” His fingertips drummed against your side. “Why don’t you join us?”
Wriothesley didn’t hesitate, practically stumbling over himself as he crawled to Neuvillette’s feet. He came to rest on his knees, hand braced against the rug between his thighs and his cheek only a hair’s width from Neuvillette’s leg, as if waiting for permission to press against him. He always looked at his most relaxed there, on the floor, patiently waiting for an order from his master. It was hard to tell whether it was a skill learned through time, or if subservience was just in his nature.
His obedience was rewarded with a breathy chuckle, a hand run through his unruly hair. Wriothesley was more lax with himself than he usually was, letting his eyes fall shut as he melted into Neuvillette’s touch. “Since your tongue is so uncooperative today,” Neuvillette started, leaning forward just far enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. “How do you think you can show our dear helper how grateful you are?”
A bolt of cold dread shot down your spine. You moved to stand, to get away, but Neuvillette’s arm wrapped tight around your midriff, keeping you pinned against him despite your resistance. “Neuvi’,” you mumbled, squirming against him. “Please, Neuvi’, I don’t want to—”
“Now you’re going to play nice?” His hand fell to your knee, drawing your legs apart. Wriothesley filled the space before you could clench them shut again, his mouth immediately latching onto the inside of your thigh, his dull teeth burying themselves in the plush of your exposed skin. You cursed under your breath, trying to shake him off, but he held tight, fists curling around your ankles to keep you spread and exposed as Neuvillette watched on, his grin pressing into the crook of your throat. “That’s a little cruel, beloved. Can’t you see how excited he is?”
You could. There was a glassy sheen over his half-lidded eyes, a hunch to his posture that meant he was too distracted with you to care about how he held himself. You’d slipped out in a rush, eager to get as far as you could before Neuvillette woke up. In your haste, you hadn’t bothered to change out of the simple, silken frock you were wearing; a choice you only came to regret as Neuvillette dragged the tattered hem to your waist, as Wriothesley’s attention drifted from your thighs to your panties, the lacey fabric torn away with little more than a curl of his fingers and a throaty growl. That, more than anything, caught you off-guard. It wasn’t a threat, but it was more hostile than anything he’d ever directed towards you before. It wasn’t a sound someone like him, someone like you, should’ve been capable of making.
Neuvillette must’ve felt the way you stiffened against him. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the curve of your throat, just a touch too close to the vein he preferred to drink from, then another into the dip of your shoulder. “Surely, you must’ve noticed how scarce Wriothesley makes himself around this time of the month.” He paused, laughing airily. “He’d already be safely locked away in the cellar, if you hadn’t made him run out and fetch you. I suppose it must’ve slipped his mind while he was looking for you.”
“I don’t—” A tongue, broader than it should’ve been, hotter than it should’ve been, ran over your slit. “But, he’s supposed to be—”
“Human?” You refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge what he was doing to you, but you could feel his teeth ghosting over your skin, their usually dull tips beginning to sharpen into something more pointed, more animalistic. His tongue slipped into your entrance, thick enough to stretch you open with little more than its curling tip, and Neuvillette’s focus fell to your clit, left neglected by Wriothesley’s unwavering concentration on lapping up as much of your (humiliatingly, quickly accumulating) slick as he could. His thumb toyed with the sensitive bundle of nerves as he went on. “He is rather young, as far as immortal beings are concerned. He made an adorable puppy, back when creatures of the night were free to roam as they pleased, but he’s matured since his days of village razing and cattle slaughtering. I think you’ll find he’s learned how to keep his fangs to himself.” Wriothesley nipped gently at the junction of your thigh. You winced and Neuvillette added, “More or less.”
You could only bring yourself to half-listen to what he was saying. Wriothesley was growing more wild by the second, his formerly languid movements now hasty and agitated, little groans and growls joining the wet, disgusting sounds quickly filling the study. You felt claws that hadn’t been there a moment ago dig into your ankles, his already impressive build taking on bulk that would’ve been possible for anything natural, anything human. It wasn’t enough to just look away, anymore – you shut your eyes completely, bowing your head and curling into yourself as Wriothesley ate you out like a man— no, not a man, a beast starved. The cool marble of Neuvillette’s chest was almost a comfort when compared to the raw heat of Wriothesley’s mouth. It might’ve been more soothing, had he not been taking so much joy in your suffering.
“He’s always been prone to getting carried away. I used to have to fetch him at dawn – he could never seem to make it home before the moon set and he was left bare and unconscious in the vineyard of some poor nobleman.” He pulled back, letting Wriothesley’s cold nose grind against your clit in his place. You weren’t free from his touch for very long, though. The array of ribbons that kept the bodice of your frock drawn tight were undone, the neckline loosened and allowed to fall to your shoulders. “I’ve always preferred a more direct approach. The occasional drunkard taken off the street and drained was always enough to keep me sated.” He paused, cupped the curves of your chest. “Until I came across you, of course.”
You felt his fangs scrape over your neck, but he didn’t have time to bite down before you lurched forward, the sporadic movements of Wriothesley’s tongue bringing you to a sudden, unsteady climax. It was abrupt enough, violent enough to make tears swell in the corners of your eyes, to steal a ragged gasp from your lungs despite your attempts to swallow back any pathetic sound your weak-willed body might’ve wanted to make. For the first time, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him, letting your gaze fall onto the black-furred, oversized thing between your legs. He was unrecognizable, black fur and a wolf-like muzzle swallowing any familiar trait you might’ve latched onto. Pointed ears laid flat against his scalp, a grey-tipped tail brushed over the floor lazily behind him as he moved to keep going, to milk every last drop out of you, but Neuvillette reached down and took him by the metal collar now pressing flush against his throat. There was a low, drawn-out whine as he was dragged up and away from your pussy, but Neuvillette’s cruelty was limited to you.
“We spent hours talking about what to do with you, when he first brought you home.” He spoke absent-mindedly, muttering against your throat as he guided Wriothesley onto his knees. Even at only a fraction of his full height, he was tall enough to loom over you, to replace your limited world with a towering shadow of black fur and white teeth. He was panting, his chin glistening with slick and drool, what was left of his tattered clothes torn away in a few aggerated swipes of his claws. You’d been wrong, again – not every part of him was unfamiliar. His eyes were still there, the grey clouded and his pupils blown out but still undeniably his. Still fixed entirely on you.
“I thought he should turn you as soon as possible, but he protested, claimed the transformation would be too much for you.” He bowed his head, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Between you and I, there might be a chance he’s hoping I’ll give in first. He does his best to hide it, but he tends to sulk whenever I choose to feed from you. I think he’s hoping we might both have to rely on him.”
Clawed hands curled around the arms of his chair, the wood creaking under Wriothesley’s weight. For the first time, you let your eyes drift lower, let yourself take in the massive, pulsing cock standing erect against his lower stomach. It looked too big; like a prop, made to only vaguely resemble the real thing. It looked like it could tear you in half.
“Then again, he might’ve grown fond of the idea of adding another wolf to his pack,” Neuvillette added, as you went limp against him. “We’ll have to see how human you feel when the sun rises.”
It was an awkward position, Wriothesley too tall and Neuvillette too unyielding. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around your midriff as his other hand drifted into the limited space between your body and Wriothesley’s, his pale hand curling around Wriothesley’s thick shaft and carefully lining it up with your dripping cunt. Wriothesley bucked into the stimulation, his body lurching forward and his head nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. You felt his breath, warm and humid, fan over your chest, then the rough reverberation of his voice against your skin. “Mate.” It was more of a groan than anything, one long breath that seemed to escape from some unseen vault. It was his voice, but there was something underneath it, too – something more guttural than you would ever want on top of you. “Mine.”
“Ours,” Neuvillette corrected, tightening his hold and drawing you close. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel it, pressing against your throat as his fangs reclaimed lost territory. “Our precious, misguided little pet.”
Wriothesley thrust into you as Neuvillette drove his teeth into your skin, both men piercing you simultaneously. Too stunned to scream, you could only silently wonder who would end you first.
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A Feline Connection
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader
Summary: Natasha makes a new furry little friend and becomes captivated by its owner along the way.
Warnings: light fluff, light angst
Words: 4270
Natasha shoots upright in her bed, her heart racing and cold sweat clinging to her skin. Her hand instinctively reaches for the knife tucked nearby, gripping it tight as she scans the room, her pulse thundering in her ears.
She’s met with silence. The darkened space of her room at the Compound was empty of any threat. No footsteps, no shadows lurking—just her.
Exhaling shakily, Natasha lowers the blade, pressing her free hand against her eyes, as though she could push away the remnants of the nightmare from her mind.
The memories linger, though. They always do.
A quick glance at the clock tells her it’s 4:00 A.M. Too early for anyone else to be awake.
But for Natasha, this was normal.
Sighing, she swings her legs out of bed, trying not to dwell on how long it had taken to fall asleep in the first place.
Three hours of sleep was better than nothing.
She dresses quickly, pulling on her jogging clothes in automatic, well-practiced movements, intent on escaping the restlessness that always comes with her dreams.
The sky was still dark when she went outside, the first hints of light barely on the horizon, but Natasha set off anyway, her pace swift and determined.
With every stride, the tension in her body begins to ease, her breathing falling into a steady rhythm that mirrored the pounding of her feet against the pavement.
This was her moment of relief—where she could forget, even if just for a while—pushing her body harder, faster, hoping to leave behind the lingering shadows of her past.
After a few miles, Natasha slows to a stop beside a tree, her breath coming in even pants as she stretches out her arms.
The world was still quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves.
Then, faintly, she hears something.
A soft, distressed sound.
She freezes, tilting her head to listen.
There it is again—a tiny cry coming from somewhere nearby.
From above?
Her gaze lifts upward, and there, high up in the tree, a little black cat clings precariously to a branch, its claws struggling to maintain a grip on the rough bark.
Natasha blinks in surprise, but before she can react to the sight, the cat lets out a desperate yowl and slips.
Moving on instinct, Natasha surges forward and catches the cat just before it hits the ground. She cradles the small creature against her chest securely.
“You’re okay,” she murmurs, her fingers gently checking for any injuries. Its fur is soft and clean—not a stray, then.
Her suspicion is confirmed when she notices the sleek collar around its neck, the gold tag gleaming faintly in the early light.
Natasha tilts the tag to read the name engraved on it.
“Widow?”
An amused smirk tugs at her lips at the irony.
At the sound of its name, the cat looks up at her with wide, inquisitive yellow eyes and lets out a tiny, plaintive meow.
Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle softly, sinking down to sit against the tree with the cat still nestled in her arms.
“What were you doing up there?” she asks, her voice a soft murmur as she scratches behind its ears.
The cat responds with a long, dramatic meow as if offering some elaborate excuse for its predicament.
Natasha smiles softly in amusement before glancing at the tag again, searching for any contact information but finding none.
“Well, you obviously belong to someone,” Natasha muses, lifting the cat to meet its gaze. “They must really trust you to make it back on your own, huh?”
In response, the cat swats playfully at Natasha’s face, its soft paws barely grazing her skin.
Natasha shakes her head with a smile and tries to set the cat down to let it go on its way, but to her surprise, the cat clings to her, its claws digging into the front of her shirt.
“Hey, easy now,” Natasha grumbles, gently trying to pry the cat off, but it stubbornly clings to her, refusing to let go.
“Really? This is the thanks I get for saving you?” she deadpans, raising an eyebrow at the tiny creature.
The cat chirps, blinking up at her innocently before nuzzling against her chin.
“Alright, I surrender,” Natasha sighs, settling back against the tree in resignation, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the cat’s fur.
The warmth of the tiny creature in Natasha’s arms is unexpectedly comforting. Before she realizes it, her eyelids grow heavy, and exhaustion finally pulls her under.
It’s not until a soft movement against her arms stirs her that Natasha blinks awake, momentarily disoriented. As her vision clears, the first thing she sees is your face, watching her from a nearby bench, chin resting casually on your hand.
“You have my cat,” you say, your tone flat but not unkind.
Natasha blinks again, still shaking off the grogginess from the unexpected nap. She glances down to find Widow still nestled in her arms, staring up at her with wide, expectant eyes.
As she processes your words, Natasha loosens her hold and sits up straighter.
Widow hops onto her lap, stretching languidly and letting out a tiny yawn, completely at ease.
“Your cat was stuck in a tree,” Natasha explains, her voice still rough with sleep. “I caught her when she fell.”
You raise an eyebrow, your gaze flicking to the lazily stretching cat.
“You do know they land on their feet, right?”
Natasha opens her mouth to argue but pauses, catching the subtle teasing in your tone. She leans back with a small smirk, deciding to tease you back.
“Widow is kind of a strange name for a cat.”
At her remark, you scoff and cross your arms, leaning back on the bench with a playful glint in your eyes.
“Wow, so you’re a thief and you’re judgy. Maybe next time I won’t be so nice and let you finish your nap.”
“I didn’t steal your cat,” Natasha retorts, unable to suppress the slight curve of her lips, trying and failing to hide her amusement. “She wouldn’t let go of me. Also, you watched me sleep. Isn’t that a little weird?”
You shrug with casual ease and respond with a softened tone.
“You looked like you needed it.”
Your bluntness catches Natasha off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless. She blinks, surprised not only by your remark but by the realization that she hadn’t woken up immediately when you arrived.
The fact that she was able to rest so peacefully with a practical stranger nearby is something she never would’ve thought possible—but here she is.
As the sun rises higher for the start of the day, its gentle light softens the tension between you. It casts a warm glow over everything, including you, and Natasha finds herself at a loss for words at the sight.
After a moment, you stand, calling Widow to your side.
The cat stretches one last time before hopping down from Natasha’s lap and trotting over to you with a playful spring in its step.
As you turn to leave, you glance back at Natasha, a faint smile playing on your lips.
“Maybe find a better spot for naps next time,” you say, giving her a backward wave. “Take care, Miss Black Widow.”
Natasha watches you walk away, something unfamiliar stirring in her chest. She exhales, running a hand through her hair as she tries to shake off the lingering sensation.
“Yeah,” she murmurs softly. “You too.”
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
A few days later, Natasha returns to her room after another one of her early morning runs, her body drenched in exhaustion from both physical exertion and the sleepless nights filled with nightmares.
She lets out a tired sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head as if to shake off the haunting memories of the recent dream when a soft scratching sound from her window catches her attention.
Her eyes widen in surprise as she spots the source of the noise. Hurrying over, she opens the window and carefully scoops the black cat perched on the sill into her arms.
“How did you get all the way up here?” Natasha asks curiously.
Widow meows softly in response, twisting in her arms to bat playfully at a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face.
Natasha huffs in amusement, leaning her head back to keep the hair out of reach.
Her gaze drops to the collar around Widow’s neck, reminding her of the lack of contact information to reach you.
A small smile tugs at her lips as she recalls the memory of you accusing her of being a thief. Now, somehow, your cat has found its way to her again, staring up at her with those innocent, wide eyes.
Natasha taps the top of Widow’s nose lightly in mock scolding.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble with your owner again,” she mutters, half-playful, half-exasperated.
Unbothered by Natasha's words, Widow glances around the room with mild curiosity before letting out a pitiful meow, pawing at Natasha with an urgent expression.
Natasha raises an eyebrow, confused. "Am I supposed to know what that means?"
Her meows grow more insistent, her tiny voice taking on a more desperate tone.
“What do you want? Food?” she asks.
The cat immediately quiets at her suggestion, eyes shining with eager anticipation. Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head.
“All right, let’s see if we can find you something to eat.”
An hour later, Natasha finds herself in the Compound’s kitchen, waiting for the coffee pot to finish brewing as she reflects on the bizarre morning.
Just as the aroma of fresh coffee begins to fill the room, the elevator doors slide open, and Tony Stark comes strolling in, waving his phone at her.
“Someone explain why the emergency communication system I created is sending messages for cat food.”
Before Natasha can respond, Peter Parker swings in through an open window, landing at the kitchen counter with a large bag of cat food under his arm. He pulls off his Spider-Man mask, flashing a wide grin.
“No worries, Mr. Stark! I saw the message and picked some up on my way,” Peter declares proudly, placing the bag triumphantly on the counter.
“Thanks, Peter,” Natasha says, taking the bag and raising an eyebrow at Tony. “At least someone’s reliable around here.”
“Anytime, Miss Romanoff,” Peter replies, rubbing the back of his neck shyly as he moves toward the sitting area.
Meanwhile, Tony scoffs at her teasing jab, muttering her words mockingly under his breath as he turns to leave. But he freezes mid-stride, pointing toward the couch.
“Uh, what is that?”
Natasha follows his gaze and sees he’s referring to where Wanda is sitting on the sofa, using her powers to create a small red ball of energy for Widow, who is happily pouncing at it.
“Her name is Widow,” Natasha explains as she pours the cat food into a bowl.
“You named a cat after yourself?” Tony snorts, shaking his head. “And people say I’m the narcissist.”
“She’s not mine,” Natasha replies, rolling her eyes as she walks past him toward the sitting area.
“So, you stole it,” Tony deadpans.
“Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind?” Natasha huffs, exasperated, as she sets the bowl on the floor.
At the sight, Widow scampers over, letting out a happy meow before digging into the food.
Natasha smiles softly, scratching the cat’s head as it eats, though her thoughts inevitably drift to you, wondering how she will return your cat to you.
Wanda, who’s been watching the scene with an amused grin, chimes in, “Natasha has a crush on the owner. She keeps thinking about her.”
“Oh, this just got interesting,” Tony says, leaning on the back of a chair with an intrigued smirk. “When did that happen?”
Natasha glares at Wanda before answering, “I met her on one of my runs. We talked. That’s it. Also, what have we said about reading people’s minds?”
Wanda raises her hands in mock surrender.
“I’m not, I swear. Your thoughts are just…really loud, and most are about her.”
Tony chuckles at the revelation, thoroughly entertained. He raises an eyebrow at Natasha, grinning.
“Nat, there are better ways to get someone’s attention than stealing their pet. I could give you some tips if you want.”
Natasha huffs, crossing her arms.
“I don’t need your help, Stark.”
Tony, unbothered by her dismissal, smirks.
“Then why haven’t you contacted her about the cat?”
“I don’t have her contact info,” Natasha admits reluctantly. “I didn’t get her number.”
Peter, who had been quietly watching the exchange, suddenly perks up.
“I have an idea!”
He pulls out his phone from his backpack, snaps a picture of Widow, and begins typing. A moment later, he shows the screen to Natasha.
The post reads: “Cat found at Avengers Compound,” with Widow’s picture attached.
“What’s this?” Tony asks, peering over Peter’s shoulder.
“It’s the ‘Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man’ app,” Peter explains animatedly. “You told me to focus on local stuff as Spider-Man, so I made this app where people can report crimes or activities happening in New York. This way, Miss Romanoff’s crush will see the post and know where to find her cat.”
At his last casual remark, Tony bursts into laughter while Wanda hides her smile behind her hand.
“All right, that’s enough,” Natasha says, scooping up Widow and grabbing the food bowl. “Come on, Widow. Let’s get you some peace and quiet.”
With that, she leaves the room, escaping the playful teasing of the others.
Later that afternoon, Natasha returns to the common room and finds Peter frantically overturning the sofas.
“What are you looking for?” she asks, arms crossed.
Startled, Peter jumps, dropping the sofa back to the ground with a loud thud.
“Please don’t tell Mr. Stark,” he pleads.
Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What did you lose?”
Peter hesitates, then slumps his shoulders in defeat.
“Mr. Stark gave me a USB with the new suit design, and I was going to show him my modifications, but now I can't find it anywhere.”
He starts pacing, clearly panicking, as he continues.
“I thought I put it in my backpack, but it’s gone. If I lost it in the city, Mr. Stark will never let me help with modifications again!”
Natasha steps forward, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, calm down. Tony will understand,” she says, nodding toward the window. “Why don’t you go check your place again? I’ll keep an eye out here.”
Peter takes a deep breath and nods.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, Miss Romanoff,” he says before pulling his mask back on and swinging out the window.
Natasha shakes her head with a small smile and resumes her original task—finding Widow, who had somehow slipped out of her room without Natasha noticing.
The little cat was proving to be surprisingly clever and stealthy. It seems you obviously trained her well.
After searching around for a bit, Natasha is about to check with Wanda when a pair of yellow eyes appear from the shadows on one of the black sofas.
Widow stares up at her, completely unbothered.
Chuckling in realization, Natasha sits beside the cat, gently scratching her head.
“You’re pretty good at hiding. I didn’t even realize you were there.”
Widow responds with a bored yawn, stretches her body, and then hops onto Natasha’s lap, curling up contentedly. As her eyes begin to flutter closed, Natasha frowns in realization.
“No, no, you can’t fall asleep on me. I’ve got things to do.”
Widow ignores her, already deep in sleep. When Natasha hears the soft sound of the cat’s snoring, she throws her head back against the sofa in disbelief.
Sighing, Natasha spots a tablet on the nearby table. She carefully reaches for it without disturbing Widow and begins doing some work.
After a moment, the rhythmic purring from the cat brings an unexpected feeling of calm and comfort to her, and before she knows it, Natasha’s eyes start to grow heavy, and she drifts off without realizing it.
She doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep when she wakes up, blinking groggily. As her eyes adjust, she notices a familiar face beside her—you.
For a brief moment, Natasha wonders if she’s still dreaming. Though, she doesn’t usually have dreams this pleasant.
But then your eyes lift from your phone at her movement, and you raise an eyebrow, amused.
“For a hero, you sure take more naps than I expected.”
Natasha blinks away the remnants of sleep, sitting up straighter, and tilts her head at you curiously.
“How did you get in here?”
You gesture casually toward the elevator.
“I came by after seeing the post, and your teammate—Wanda, I believe—she said she recognized me, so she directed me here.”
Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, you lean your head on your hand as your eyes twinkle with amusement.
“I thought I told you to find a better napping spot. This one’s just going to give you neck cramps.”
Natasha’s lips curl into a small smile as she gestures to Widow, still sound asleep on her lap.
“Wasn’t exactly my choice.”
Your gaze drifts down to the cat, and you sigh knowingly.
“Widow, stop pretending and get off her.”
Natasha frowns in confusion at your words and snaps her gaze to the seemingly asleep creature on her lap.
For a second, the cat doesn’t move, but when you call her name again, a little more sternly, the cat’s eyes snap open.
Widow lets out an indignant meow before hopping off Natasha’s lap and licking her paws casually as if nothing happened.
Natasha shakes her head in disbelief.
“What a little liar.”
Groaning softly, she stretches out her stiff muscles and catches you watching her, your gaze lingering for a second too long.
When you realize she’s noticed, your eyes flicker back to your phone.
Natasha smirks, about to tease you, but then you show her the screen of your phone—the post Peter made about Widow.
“I need you to take this down,” you say, your tone serious.
Natasha furrows her brow but nods.
“Sure, I can do that. But why? It looks like she’s a hit with everyone.”
Your smile turns faint as you stand, the lightness in your expression turning somber.
“Not all attention is good attention,” you say cryptically.
Before Natasha can ask what you mean, you grab a pen from the table and reach for her hand. She watches in surprise as you scribble something on her palm. Your touch lingers for a moment, making her feel unexpectedly flustered.
“Here,” you said, finishing. “If Widow finds her way to you again, you’ll know how to reach me. Though, hopefully, you won’t need it too often.”
Natasha glances at the number on her palm, then back at you with a raised eyebrow.
“Am I only allowed to use this for cat-related emergencies?”
You smirk, though there’s a hint of something more serious in your eyes.
“I’m not sure I’m someone you’d want to get involved with.”
Natasha holds your gaze, intrigued.
But the tension is broken when Widow hops back onto the sofa, drawing both of your attention. The cat tries to burrow into the cushions, as if searching for something or determined to get comfortable again.
You sigh, picking her up despite her annoyed yowl. Before leaving, you glance back at Natasha, tilting your head thoughtfully.
“Though… I guess a hello from the Black Widow every now and then wouldn’t be too bad.”
With that, you head to the elevator, disappearing behind its doors.
Natasha looks down at the number on her palm, a small smile playing on her lips. She finds herself hoping that Widow might "accidentally" find her way back to the Compound again soon—if only for another chance to see you.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
Natasha didn’t have to wait long for another chance to see you, after all.
Just a few hours after your departure, late at night when the Compound was quiet, Natasha—still unable to sleep—wandered into the common room.
To her surprise, there you were, dressed in dark, stealthy clothes, frozen the moment you noticed her.
Her instincts kick in immediately, and within seconds, Natasha has her weapon drawn, pointing it directly at you.
Yet, you show no sign of panic. Instead, you raise your hands slowly and tilt your head at her with a calm, almost amused expression.
“You really shouldn’t be up this late, you know,” you say lightly, as if this was a casual conversation. “Messes with your sleep schedule.”
Natasha ignores the teasing, her gaze unwavering and her senses on high alert. She didn’t feel any malice from you, but the situation is far too strange to let her guard down.
“How did you get in undetected?” she asks, her voice low, tinged with suspicion.
With deliberate slowness, you gesture with one hand toward the open window behind you.
“That was left unlocked. Pretty reckless for the Avengers.”
Natasha’s frown deepens as she glances at the window, already making a mental note to have Peter redo security training.
“And the alarms?” Natasha asks, her weapon still trained on you.
You shrug casually.
“Let’s just say we have a lot of experience when it comes to not being seen.”
Natasha's eyes narrow at your words. "We?"
You nod toward her feet, and Natasha briefly glances down.
Widow is there, casually walking through her legs and brushing her fur against Natasha with a soft purr, completely at ease.
When her gaze snaps back to you, you gesture toward her weapon.
“Mind putting that away? I’m unarmed. You can check if you like.”
Natasha hesitates, her eyes studying you carefully, looking for any hint of deception.
But there is none.
Reluctantly, she holsters her weapon and steps closer, reaching out to pat you down.
You stand still, hands raised, letting her search you for any hidden weapons or gadgets.
“So, what are you?” Natasha asks, her tone sharp. “A spy?”
“Reformed thief, technically,” you reply with a casual shrug. “I don’t do this sort of thing much anymore.”
You sigh lightly, casting a glance at Widow, who had settled by Natasha’s feet and is now nonchalantly licking her paw.
“She, however, is still struggling to break her old habits.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow, glancing at the cat.
“You’re telling me this cat’s a thief?”
You chuckle softly, catching the disbelief in her voice.
“I’m serious. Check my pocket—it’s the reason I’m here.”
Frowning, Natasha reaches into your jacket pocket, her fingers brushing against something small and metallic. She pulls out a USB drive, her eyes widening slightly in realization when she notices the small Spider-Man logo sticker on the side.
“I didn’t realize Widow had swiped it before we left earlier,” you explain, your tone sheepish. “I came back to return it before there’s any trouble.”
“Is that why you wanted the post deleted?” Natasha asks, her suspicion now tinged with curiosity. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
There is a brief pause as you meet her gaze. Your smile turns slightly rueful at the concern in her voice, and for a moment, something unspoken lingers between you.
“Let me worry about that,” you say softly, your tone more serious than before. Then you lift your hands slightly in surrender, a playful glint returning to your eyes. “So, are you going to arrest me, or am I free to go?”
At that moment, Widow trots over, settling in front of Natasha and meowing softly as if to plead on your behalf.
Natasha crosses her arms, her lips curling slightly in amusement at the sight, though the concern hasn’t left her eyes.
“You two sure know how to double-team a person.”
You chuckle, realizing Natasha’s letting you go, and call your cat’s name. Widow immediately jumps into your arms, curling up comfortably. You look back up at Natasha, your expression softening.
“I told you—you wouldn’t want to get involved with someone like me.”
Natasha’s gaze softens in response.
“Your cat seems to think otherwise.”
You smile at that, gently shifting Widow in your arms.
“She’s got good instincts. A good judge of character, too. So, you must be really special if she’s interested in you.”
For a moment, silence settles between you, broken only by Widow’s soft purring. The tension eases, but something still lingers beneath the surface—an unspoken understanding that there was more to your story, more to you, than you were letting on.
With a small smile, you take Widow’s paw and give Natasha a playful wave.
“You should head to bed soon, Miss Black Widow,” you tease softly, raising an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t want you napping in random spots again.”
As you move toward the window, Natasha steps closer, her voice lowering.
“You know, I don’t mind the visits from Widow. And the two of you don’t have to sneak in or anything. Just…come by whenever.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised by her offer.
“Are you sure about that?”
Natasha holds your gaze steadily. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
You study her for a moment, then smile—a genuine, appreciative smile that softens the usual teasing banter.
“I’ll think about it,” you say with a playful tone.
With a quick nod, you adjust Widow in your arms and slip through the window with practiced ease. Natasha watches you disappear into the night, her mind spinning with questions and curiosity.
One thing’s certain: this won't be the last time she’d see you and your cat. And to her surprise, she finds herself looking forward to the next time.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
Part 2
a/n: thank you for reading!
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