widowromanova

[widowromanova]

Red Ledger - Part 1

villain!natasha x hero!reader

word count: 3063

You've always been careful - painstakingly, obsessively so. But what happens when Wanda Maximoff (a city reporter) uncovers your secret identity? Unbeknownst to her, her boss as been watching her the whole time, and has been looking for a way to take you down for years.

No witnesses. No patterns. No attachments. But it turns out, even ghosts leave footprints. And Wanda Maximoff is very good at finding them.

People whisper about the unknown vigilante who shows up when fires rage, when the wrong men corner the right people in alleyways. No one ever gets a clear look. That’s the point. You made sure of it.

But Wanda is too smart for that.

She calls it a “pet project,” this story she’s chasing. "Just for fun," she shrugs when you tease her. But her walls are covered with maps, timelines, news clippings. Patterns only she can see. You're always careful, but not careful enough for her.

She’s getting close.

Not because she suspects you - you’re just her best friend, the person she vents to over pizza and late-night edits. But she’s chasing the story with everything she’s got. And someone else is watching her chase it.

Natasha Romanoff.

She’s Wanda’s editor-in-chief at the Gazette. Polished. Imposing. The kind of woman who speaks softly and still makes the room go silent. Most of the staff think she’s a relic from some elite publication that burned her out. You know better.

There’s something colder behind her eyes. Something practiced.

Wanda doesn’t know that she’s not the only one on the hunt

It happens on a Thursday. Quiet day. The office is mostly empty - Wanda had stayed late, combing through a stack of old municipal records she’d dug up from the courthouse basement.

Just as she’s about to give up, she finds it.

A classified federal memo misfiled with budget reports - someone's screw-up. It’s vague, coded, but Wanda’s read enough to know how to break it open. Dates. Locations. Two of them match mysterious saves from town. There’s even a heavily redacted photo attached.

Her breath catches in her throat. It’s you.

Blurry, yes - but the outline, the posture, the coat... she knows it. She knows you.

It clicks all at once.

She doesn’t call. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t even sit down. She grabs the paper and a lighter from her bag, heads into the copy room, and locks the door behind her. Shaky fingers feed the pages one by one into the trash bin. The lighter flares. The paper catches.

She watches your secret turn to smoke. But she doesn’t see the eyes watching her through the sliver of glass in the door.

Just down the hall, Natasha Romanoff stands silently in the shadows of the break room. She’s been tracking Wanda’s movements for weeks. Waiting to see when she'd stop chasing and start hiding.

Now she knows. Wanda found something. And she destroyed it. Natasha’s eyes narrow, calculating. Now she knows Wanda does. That changes everything.

She turns and walks away, heels silent on the old tile, a smirk playing on her lips. The kind that means the hunt just became personal.

Back in the copy room, Wanda takes a deep breath, thinking she’s buried your secret forever.

She has no idea she just marked herself as bait.

And you?

You feel the shift before anyone says a word. You were safe. Now you’re not.

Because Natasha Romanoff is coming. And the only thing between her and your identity… is Wanda.

------------------------------------------------

The call comes midmorning. You’re already halfway through a run when Wanda’s name lights up your screen. You don’t answer right away - she texts a second later:

"Hey. Can you bring me a coffee? My brain's melting."

Then a pause.

"Also, get here fast."

You don’t question it. You never do.

Twenty minutes later, you’re pushing open the heavy glass door of the Westbrook Gazette building, the cold cup sweating in your hand. It’s a routine errand, the kind of thing best friends do for each other. But there’s something about Wanda’s voice - tight - that keeps your senses alert.

She’s at a table, phone pinned between shoulder and ear, eyes flicking toward the entrance like she’s been watching for you. She sees you and relaxes, waving you over with a tired smile

"You're a lifesaver," she mouths, holding up one finger as she keeps speaking into the receiver. You cross the lobby, weaving through scattered chairs and half-dead plants. The newsroom is unusually quiet. No printers humming. No chatter. Just the low drone of Wanda’s voice and - you feel her before you see her.

A stillness too deliberate to be casual.

You glance across the room and there she is.

Natasha's sitting on one of the velvet lobby benches like it’s a throne. Legs crossed, elbow resting lazily on the armrest, a magazine draped casually over one knee - untouched. Her gaze is locked on you. Calculating. Amused.

A smirk lifts the corner of her mouth.

You’ve never met. Not properly.

But something twists in your gut like déjà vu. You hold her gaze for half a second too long. The air between you feels suddenly thin, sharp-edged.

Wanda hangs up the phone. “Hey,” she says quickly, standing to take the coffee. “Thanks. You’re amazing.”

You tear your eyes from Natasha’s and hand Wanda the drink. “Rough day?”

She shrugs too quickly. “Rough week.”

Her voice is light, but her fingers tremble slightly as they brush yours. You glance back toward Natasha. Still watching. Still smiling that slow, knowing smile, like she’s remembering an old story and just figured out the ending.

She doesn't say a word.

It’s not confirmation. Not yet. But something passed between you in that brief silence. You don’t know how you recognize her. She doesn’t know who you are.

Natasha stands up, brushing the wrinkles off her suit and before turning to walk down the hall into an elevator, where she turns to meet your gaze one last time, running her tongue along her teeth with a knowing smirk as the door closes.

You turn to Wanda hesitantly, "Hey, who's that woman with the..." you gesture to your hair, "extremely red hair?"

Wanda blinks. Her response is immediate, automatic. “That’s Natasha Romanoff. She’s my editor-in-chief.”

You raise your brows. “She always smile like that, or did I just impress her with my coffee-carrying skills?”

Wanda doesn’t laugh. She forces a small smile, then looks away, like the floor suddenly got very interesting. “She’s… intense. She’s been watching my story on the vigilante. A little too closely, maybe.”

You try to keep your tone even. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “It started a few months ago. She told me the piece had potential. Kept asking questions. But lately she’s stopped giving notes and just… reads. Silently. Like she’s waiting for something.”

You nod slowly, heartbeat picking up speed. “And what does she think you’re going to find?”

Wanda shrugs, eyes flicking back toward the elevator doors. “No clue. But I think if she ever finds out I know something worth burning…” she taps the lid of her coffee, “she’s going to stop pretending she doesn’t.”

You watch Wanda for a moment. There’s something off in the way she holds herself - stiff, distracted. She keeps glancing toward the elevators like she’s expecting someone to reappear.

"What did you burn?” you ask, voice low.

Wanda doesn’t answer right away. She studies the lid of her coffee like it might rearrange itself into the right words. “I was in the archive room,” she says finally. “Looking for building permits for that environmental piece. I wasn’t even digging.”

You wait, giving her space.

"There was a box of unfiled clippings on the floor. Looked like someone had been sifting through it recently. Inside, I found a folder - half full, unlabelled. But someone had been watching the rooftops, the alleys. There were surveillance stills, and one of them-" She shakes her head. “It was you. Blurry, but not enough. Not if you know what to look for.”

You try not to react. Keep your face still. But your stomach turns.

“I didn’t think,” she goes on. “I didn’t even read the rest. Just burned the whole thing and dumped the ashes in the janitor’s bin. Sloppy, I know, but I panicked. I didn’t want it getting into the wrong hands."

You glance toward the elevators. “And you think it already did?”

Wanda’s fingers tap an uneven rhythm on the side of her coffee cup. “I didn’t hear anyone come in. But the door was open when I left. And this morning…” She trails off.

“Natasha.”

Wanda nods, barely.

"She’s not saying anything about it,” she says. “She just keeps looking at me like I’ve already told her everything. Like she’s waiting for me to slip up.”

You lean on the edge of her desk. “Do you think she saw the file?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe. Maybe not. But something changed. She used to give me feedback on the vigilante piece. Now she just reads it and moves on.”

The truth is, you don’t know Natasha well enough to decide. Everything about her is composed - polished in a way that feels practiced. Maybe that’s just the job. Or maybe she knows more than she lets on.

“She said anything to you?” you ask.

“No. But she was in the lobby when you walked in.”

You nod. “Yeah. I saw.”

Wanda lowers her voice. “She was watching you like she knew something. Not everything. But… enough to be curious.”

You glance toward the hallway again, trying not to let your mind get ahead of itself.

“She’s your boss,” you say. “Maybe she’s just protective of her reporters.”

“Maybe,” Wanda murmurs. “Or maybe she’s waiting to figure out if I’m lying to her.”

You straighten. “Are you?”

She meets your eyes. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Wanda says nothing after that, just sips her coffee, her mind clearly miles away. You don’t press. Not yet. Whatever she saw in that folder, whatever instinct made her trash it before even thinking it through… it’s still sitting with her. You glance around the lobby, but Natasha’s gone now. Elevator doors closed. No sign of her.

“I should get back upstairs,” Wanda says quietly, already standing, her bag slung over one shoulder. “I’ll text you later.”

You nod. “You still want to run that interview this weekend? The shopkeeper from Ivy Street?”

“Yeah. Definitely. Let’s keep moving like nothing’s changed.”

She doesn’t look back as she heads for the stairwell.

You watch her disappear behind the door, then glance once more at the hallway where Natasha vanished.

-----------------------------------------------

Later that day, you’re passing through the second-floor break room - empty but for a low hum of a soda fridge - when you see Natasha again.

She’s seated near the window, a legal pad in front of her, one ankle crossed over the other. There’s nothing in her posture that suggests surprise when you enter. No warm greeting. Just a flick of her eyes over to you, casual and calm.

You give a polite nod and move toward the coffee machine.

She doesn’t speak until the cup starts filling.

“You’re the one who brings Wanda her coffee,” she says without looking up.

It isn’t really a question.

You glance over. “Hah, I guess so."

She hums, tapping her pen twice against the pad. “You two close?”

You shrug. “We’ve known each other a while.”

“That’s good,” she says simply. “She’s sharp. Stubborn. A little reckless.”

You don’t respond.

Natasha finally lifts her gaze to meet yours. “She’s working on something important. I’d hate to see it get… derailed.”

There’s no malice in her voice. No edge. It could almost pass for concern.

Almost.

The coffee finishes. You retrieve it, gripping the paper cup a little tighter than necessary.

“I’m sure she’ll finish what she started,” you say evenly.

Natasha smiles - slow and unreadable. “I’m sure she will.”

She turns back to her notepad.

When you reach Wanda’s desk, you find her already typing - face hard with focus, screen half-filled with redacted emails and side-by-side photo comparisons from the protest archive.

You set the coffee down without a word.She doesn’t look up. “She talk to you?”

You nod.

“And?”

“She asked if we were close.”

Wanda doesn’t stop typing. “That’s not a question she asks if she’s bored.”

Wanda’s fingers pause over the keyboard. Just long enough to register that the comment meant something. Then she goes back to typing.

You pull a chair up next to her desk. “You’ve worked under her for a while. What’s your read?”

Wanda exhales through her nose, scrolling through the archive on her monitor. “She’s efficient. Always knows more than she says. She doesn’t waste time - not hers, not yours.”

“That’s not a read. That’s a résumé.”

She hesitates, then leans back slightly, rubbing her temple. “Honestly? I don’t know what her angle is. When I first pitched the vigilante piece, she wasn’t interested. Not really. Then something changed.”

“When?”

“Right after that first witness account hit the net. The kid who saw someone stop the armored van robbery on West Pine.” She clicks open another image. A zoomed-in security cam still. Blurry figure mid-stride, face obscured. “She called me into her office that afternoon. Said there might be more here than I thought. Told me to dig.”

“And now?”

“She’s stopped saying anything. Just reviews the drafts and closes the file. No edits. No questions.”

You nod slowly, staring at the grainy still on the screen. The longer you sit there, the louder the question gets: does she suspect? Or is she just patient?

Wanda taps a few keys and pulls up another folder. “I’m trying to retrace the source of that file I found. If it was planted, I want to know by who. And why.”

You glance over. “Think Natasha sent it?”

“I don’t think she’s careless enough to leave a trail,” Wanda says. “But someone wanted me to see it. And if Natasha is following my work this closely, then maybe it was a test. Or bait.”

You glance around - instinct, not reason - and lower your voice. “And if you hadn’t burned it?”

She finally looks at you. “I don’t know. But I didn’t like how fast I knew I should.”

The quiet stretches. You hear footsteps out in the hall, printers warming up, a phone ringing two desks down. The newsroom is humming the way it always does. Unbothered. Busy. Pretending normalcy.

But something’s shifted. You both feel it.

Wanda straightens. “I’m going to dig. Carefully. You keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

You arch a brow. “Which is?”

“Pretending you're just my friend who brings coffee.” She gives the smallest hint of a smile. “And if she ever asks you anything again, don’t lie. Just don’t say enough to be useful.”

You nod. Wanda turns back to her screen.

You stand, slowly, and leave her to work. But as you cross the newsroom, you feel it again - the weight of being observed.

Natasha’s office door is closed. The blinds drawn. But you don’t need a clear view to know she’s in there.

You take the stairs, not the elevator. It’s slower, quieter. Gives you time to think. Each step sounds louder than it should, like the building’s pressing in.

By the time you reach the street level, your phone buzzes. Unknown number. One ring, then it cuts out.

You keep walking.

--------------------‐---------------------------

Later that night, your apartment is dark, save for the dull light from the TV - muted, cycling through a weather report no one’s watching.

You’ve been pacing. Twenty steps from the window to the kitchen and back again. Over and over. Not anxious, not exactly. Alert. Aware. The kind of motion that helps you feel real when the walls get too still.

There’s a folder on your table you haven’t opened yet. Slipped into your mail slot sometime during the day. No name. No return address. Just the weight of it - a little too heavy for regular paper. Inside, photos. A map. Names in black ink, circled.

And one line typed clean across the bottom page:

“One of them already knows.”

You pick up the map. Red dots. Your building. Wanda’s office. The alley where you dropped the phone that night in February. A rooftop. The bar on 5th. West Pine. There’s no note, no sender.

You sit, finally, and run a hand down your face. Whoever sent this knows more than they should. Which means it’s either a warning… or the beginning of leverage.

Your phone buzzes again. This time, a message.

WANDA:

I think I found something. It’s not good.

Then, a follow-up:

Can you meet me? Not here.

You type back quickly.

YOU:

Where?

WANDA:

Union Square. North side. 20 min.

You grab your jacket, shove the folder into your backpack, and head for the door.

Union Square is mostly empty when you arrive. A few scattered smokers outside the subway entrance. A food cart packing up. Light rain in the air, enough to keep the benches slick and the park quiet.

You spot her under the awning of a shuttered newsstand, hands in her pockets, hood up. She doesn’t wave. Just waits.

You cross to her.

“What did you find?” you ask.

Wanda pulls out her phone, glances around, then holds it out. The screen shows a document - a personnel manifest from a federal contractor. Most of the names mean nothing. But one does.

Romanoff, N. Clearance Level: Redacted Division: Surveillance Operations / Asset Review Assignment: Civ–2174 — NYC Metro, active.

You blink at the screen. “Is this real?”

Wanda nods once. “It was hidden behind two redirects on a decommissioned server. Buried under a fake research program.”

“Civ–2174?”

She looks at you, steady. “That’s the classification tag tied to the vigilante report. All of them.”

The cold settles in behind your ribs.

You hand the phone back. “So she’s not just watching the story.”

“No,” Wanda says.

A car passes, headlights sweeping across your faces, then gone.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Finally, you ask, “Do you think she knows who I am?”

Wanda doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “I think she wants you to show her.”

(a/n: will post a part 2 soon :))

[widowromanova]

Sniper (Final Part) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: violence, death

word count: 4841

The S.H.I.E.L.D. transport came to a smooth stop in front of headquarters, but you barely registered it. The weight in your chest hasn’t lifted since the moment they hauled Natasha away.

The door unlocks with a soft click, and you stepped out into the cool night air, inhaling deep like it might steady you. It doesn’t.

Your legs feel heavy as you walk toward the entrance, each step pressing the guilt further into your gut.

You did this.

She trusted you enough to let her guard down, and you called them in.

Inside, the building hums with quiet efficiency - agents moving with purpose, monitors casting cold blue light, voices murmuring over comms. The escort assigned to you says nothing, just leads you down a long corridor, deeper into the heart of the facility. Every step echoes.

Eventually, they stop at a door and gesture for you to enter.

You step inside the dimly lit observation room, and your stomach clenches at the sight beyond the two-way glass.

Natasha stands in the center of the interrogation chamber, her hands bound above her head, wrists secured to a rope hanging from the ceiling. Her red hair falls messily over her face, but she’s still. Too still.

The door on the other side of the glass opens. Two agents walk in. One of them, broad-shouldered and smirking, steps closer.

"Romanoff," he says casually, as if this is just another conversation. "You know how this works. Talk, and we make this easy."

She doesn’t react. Doesn’t even lift her head.

The agent sighs, then drives a fist into her ribs. A sharp, sickening sound fills the room.

You stiffen. Another hit. This time to her face. Her head jerks to the side, hair whipping across her cheek, but she barely flinches. She only looks back at them, gaze sharp, calculating.

Your pulse spikes, this wasn’t part of the plan. Your breath quickened as the agent winds up again.

Before he can land the next blow, you turned and shoved open the door. You don’t think, you just move. You have to find Fury now.

You stormed through the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, your heart hammering against your ribs. The cold fluorescent lights overhead seem harsher now, their sterile glow making the walls feel even more suffocating. Your breath is short, your hands clenched and you barely register the agents you pass, some throwing you confused glances as you push forward.

You reach the right corridor, nearly knocking into an analyst carrying a stack of files. They stumble, muttering something under their breath, but you don’t have time for apologies.

The agents outside Fury’s office straighten as you approach, blocking your path.

"I need to see him," you say, voice sharp.

"He’s busy," one of them says, unmoving.

You reach for the door handle before either of them can react and the door swings open from the inside.

Fury stands there, his one good eye locking onto you instantly. He doesn’t look surprised - just vaguely annoyed.

"You better have a damn good reason for barging in here," he says, arms crossed.

You step inside, voice tight with barely restrained frustration. "They’re beating her."

Fury watches you for a long moment, unreadable. "And?"

Your stomach twists. "What do you mean, and? This was not part of the plan."

Fury exhales through his nose, stepping aside to let you in before shutting the door. "You wanted her brought in. We brought her in. You wanted information. We’re getting it. That’s how this works."

You shake your head, the image of Natasha’s body jerking with every hit burned into your mind. "No. This - this isn’t interrogation. This is torture."

Fury leans against his desk, arms still crossed. "She’s not going to talk willingly."

You glare at him. "So that justifies this?"

"It’s not about justification. It’s about results."

You shake your head. "No. No. This is wrong. You need to stop." Fury watches you carefully, then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his temple like you’re giving him a headache. "You feeling guilty?"

The words hit harder than you expect.

You swallow. Because yes - you do. Because no matter how dangerous Natasha is, no matter what she’s done, you can’t shake the image of her standing there, hands bound, taking the hits like she expected nothing else. Like she’s been through worse. And you put her there.

Fury exhales, standing up straighter. "You knew what you were signing up for."

"Not this."

"Then maybe you should’ve thought twice before making the call," he says, his voice calm but firm. "It’s too late for regrets now."

Your jaw tightens. "Stop it."

Fury raises an eyebrow. "Stop what?"

"The interrogation. Stop it. Right now."

Fury stares at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he picks up his comm and mutters something into it - a short, clipped command.

A beat of silence. Then he looks back at you. "Happy now?" he asks.

You don’t answer. Because you won’t be until you see it for yourself.

Without waiting for permission, you turn on your heel and head back the way you came.

Your footsteps are loud in the otherwise quiet building as you make your way back to the observation room. When you reach the door, you barely pause. You open it quickly, stepping inside before the agent stationed there can even acknowledge you.

Natasha is still in the center of the interrogation room. The rope pulls her arms upward, and though she’s still, you can see the tension in her shoulders. The agents are talking amongst themselves, too focused on their mission to notice you standing in the doorway.

The agent who had been hitting her earlier stands by her side, staring at her with a look that doesn’t quite meet the standard of professional. You can see the frustration in his posture - he wants something from her, and she’s not giving it."Romanoff," he sneers, his voice cutting through the silence. "Still not talking?"

She doesn’t answer.

Another agent approaches, his face impassive. "Maybe we should intensify the pressure. She’s a tough one."

Your breath catches in your throat. "You will not lay another hand on her." The words spill out before you can stop them.

The agents freeze, surprised by your presence, and the one closest to Natasha looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "And who the hell are you to give orders?"

Before you can answer, Natasha speaks for the first time. "Let them do what they want," she says, her voice low, but strong. "It won’t make me talk."

You take a step forward, eyes locked on her, ignoring the agents now visibly tensing in the room. "Stop," you say again, voice quieter but no less firm. "Now."

One of the agents narrows his eyes, about to challenge you. But just before he can speak, Fury’s voice cuts through the tension.

"You heard her," Fury says from the doorway, his tone unamused. "Release her."

The agent looks between you and Fury, clearly weighing the situation, then reluctantly steps back. Natasha’s hands drop slightly from the rope, and the tension in her body eases, if only a little.

You stare at her for a long moment, watching her breath slow. She doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t look at anyone. But for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of something softer in her eyes - something that wasn’t there earlier when you saw her through the glass. You don’t know what that means, but it gnaws at you.

Fury steps past you, his eye hardening as he looks at the agent who had been interrogating Natasha. turns to you."Get out of here," he says, his voice a low growl. "You’ve done enough for one day."

The next day arrives quietly, the cold grey light filtering through the windows of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters doing little to ease the tension that’s still tight in your chest.

When you arrive at the interrogation room later that morning, the air feels heavier. The agents you pass are more tense, but the usual buzz of activity feels muted today. You don't acknowledge anyone as you make your way down the corridor.

The door to the interrogation room opens with a soft click. Inside, Natasha is already seated, her posture as controlled as ever, but there’s something different in the way she’s watching you.

She’s free of the rope now, but the physical marks of last night’s treatment are still visible - bruises, swelling.

She looks at you as you enter with only a faint acknowledgment of what’s happened, of what you did.

You step inside and close the door behind you, letting the silence stretch out for a moment. The room feels smaller than it did yesterday, the glass reflecting your strained expression back at you. The events of last night, Fury’s indifference, the desperation in Natasha’s eyes - they all flood back, making your chest tighten again.

“I need to talk to you.” She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond. She’s waiting. For you to explain, or perhaps, for you to break the silence first.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the rush of thoughts swirling in your mind. “I... I shouldn’t have let it get that far. The way they treated you. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes - something almost unreadable, but she doesn’t interrupt you. She just watches, her face impassive.

“I made the call,” you continue, your voice tight. Natasha leans back slightly in her chair, considering your words. She exhales slowly through her nose, as if weighing her response. “You think I haven’t been through worse?” Her tone is calm, too calm, like she’s been numbed to the world. “You think I don’t know what happens when you make deals with people like this?”

You open your mouth to reply, but she cuts you off.

“It’s fine,” she says, the words quiet but cutting. “You did what you had to do. I get it.” Her gaze shifts slightly, a flicker of something softer in her eyes. “I knew what I was getting into when I trusted you.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a wave of guilt rushing over you. You want to say something, anything, to make this right, but what could you possibly say? The damage has been done.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence fills the room again. Finally, you find your voice again. “I need you to tell me what your plan is, Nat.” You pause, meeting her eyes. “You’re not the only one with a past." She stares at you for a long moment, her face unreadable. “You think I trust anyone here?” she asks softly, her voice a bit sharper than before.

Your chest tightens, but you hold her gaze. “I’m not them,” you say firmly. “You know that.”

Her eyes narrow, as if she’s trying to gauge whether or not your words are true. For a moment, the room feels charged, as if everything hangs in the balance, waiting for a shift that will come from either one of you.

Finally, Natasha exhales, her posture shifting slightly as she leans forward. “Fine. I’ll talk,” she says, her voice low but unwavering. “But not like this. Not with them watching me.”

You nod slowly, understanding. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

She gives you a wry smile, the kind that feels both familiar and unsettling. “You’re the one who brought me in, remember?” You take a step closer, your resolve hardening. “You’re going to get me what I need. I’ll protect you, Natasha. You know that, right?”

Her gaze softens, but only for a brief moment. Then, it’s gone, replaced by that calculating look she wears so well. “We’ll see,” she murmurs. “But you’d better make sure no one else gets in my way.”

For now, this feels like a start.

After a few minutes of tense silence, an agent enters the room and gestures for both you and Natasha to follow. There’s no hesitation from either of you; the reality of the situation has settled in, and you know that you can’t afford to waste time here.

You walk side by side, your footsteps echoing softly. Natasha doesn’t speak, but you can feel the shift in her - she’s preparing herself for something.

Eventually, you arrive at a plain, unassuming door. The agent holding the keys unlocks it, and inside is a stark, simple room with a heavy metal table, two chairs, and a single window near the ceiling. The only lighting is a harsh, overhead bulb.

The agent motions for you both to sit. Natasha moves without protest, her usual defiance hidden behind a mask of calculated calm. You sit across from her and the door clicks shut behind you. Then, Natasha speaks, her voice low. "You should know what you’re up against."

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "What are you talking about?"

She meets your gaze, her eyes intense, like she's measuring you, like she's testing how much you're willing to accept. "The bio-weapon I’ve been building for years," she says, and the words send a chill down your spine. "It’s not just some lab experiment. It’s not even a weapon - it’s a message."

You blink, trying to process what she's saying, but Natasha isn’t giving you time to form questions. "I’ve been building it underground, in the warehouse..." she looks at you teasingly.

"The one thing that can break SHIELD." You feel your pulse quicken. "You’ve been building a weapon under SHIELD's nose."

She nods. "It’s a virus. One that targets specific DNA of those highest-ranking in SHIELD, but it’s designed to be adaptable. It can spread. It could cripple the entire organisation in a matter of days if released properly."

Your mind races to piece together the implications. You’re torn - between the woman you once knew, the woman who loved you, and this stranger sitting across from you, determined to bring the world to its knees.

In the silence that follows, you realize one harsh truth: Natasha has already made her choice. And now, you’ll have to decide where you stand... whether you’ll try to stop her, or if you’ll let her tear everything apart.

You sit there, the room feels colder now, the stark metal walls closing in as you process everything Natasha just revealed. She’s already so far down this path, and you realise the task of stopping her is far more complicated than you ever imagined.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but your words catch in your throat. She’s right about one thing - SHIELD is corrupt, twisted in its own way. But what Natasha’s planning… it’s on another level. This isn’t just about taking down a few bad actors - it’s about destroying an entire institution, and countless lives in the process.

A part of you wonders if there’s a way to stop this without turning on her, but another part of you is already beginning to see the futility in trying to reason with her. She’s made her choice.

"Do you think I’m doing this out of some twisted need for revenge?" she asks suddenly, as if reading your thoughts. "I’ve seen what SHIELD has done. The lives it’s ruined. They’ll never stop. The virus is just a way to make sure they never have the chance to do it again."

You stand, pacing restlessly around the room, struggling to hold onto any semblance of control over your emotions. You want to believe there’s a way to fix things, to somehow find a middle ground. But Natasha’s cold conviction is shaking the very foundation of your beliefs.

She watches you, her gaze unwavering. "You’re going to have to choose, you know."

A slight, almost imperceptible smile tugs at Natasha’s lips, but it’s not one of victory. "You’re not in control anymore," she whispers. "You never were."

The sound of footsteps outside the room breaks the tense moment. You hear the lock on the door click, signaling that an agent is about to enter. You instinctively move toward Natasha, your hand gripping the edge of the table as if trying to make a final decision in the span of a breath. But just as the door opens, something happens.

The lights flicker once. Twice. Then the entire room goes dark.

A voice echoes in the distance - a faint, almost eerie sound. "You thought this would be easy?"

Before you can react, you hear the unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the floor, followed by the sharp sound of metal snapping.

The room plunges into near-complete darkness, and for a brief second, you’re disoriented, your heart racing. Then, you hear the sound of something - or someone - moving quickly, footsteps padding along the floor. You turn toward the sound, only to realize it’s too late. Natasha is gone.

The door to the room slams open, agents pouring in, flashing their lights around. They begin shouting, their voices frantic, but you’re already sprinting for the exit. You throw the door open, and in the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Natasha slipping into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

"Where the hell is she?!" an agent yells. You watch as she turns her gaze back to you, softly smiling before disappearing down the side of a building.

You hear the frantic voices of the agents around you, but they feel distant. Your mind is fixed on her, on that smile. And then, the bitter realization that she’s out there, still playing the game - only now, the stakes are higher. The bio-weapon she’s been building, the plan to bring down SHIELD, all of it still in motion, and you’re left standing in the aftermath of your choices.

The agents are shouting, scrambling for answers, but you’re already moving. You barely register the words they’re saying, too focused on what you need to do next. Fury will want answers, and SHIELD will be in full-blown pursuit mode, but deep down, you know that’s not enough.

A couple of days have passed since Natasha’s escape, but the world still feels like it’s holding its breath. SHIELD has been working around the clock, trying to track her down, but so far, no luck. Every lead, every attempt to intercept her, has been futile. You’ve been involved in planning, trying to predict her next move, but it feels like you’re chasing a shadow.

You sit at a long, rectangular table in a high-security meeting room. The air is thick with tension, agents and high-ranking officers murmuring amongst themselves, trying to piece together what’s left of the mess Natasha has left in her wake. They’re still focused on the bio-weapon, still trying to figure out how she got it, where it might be, and what she plans to do with it.

You’re half-listening to the reports, your mind elsewhere. Fury is across from you, his face grim, every line of his body taut. A few agents present more potential leads, but you can’t shake the feeling of impending dread that’s settled in your gut. You keep glancing at the clock, wondering if it’s just a matter of time before everything falls apart.

Then, it happens.

A man at the far end of the table - a high-ranking agent - suddenly slumps forward, his head hitting the table with a sickening thud. There’s a collective gasp as everyone jumps to their feet.

"Agent Carr! Agent Carr!" someone yells.

You’re frozen for a split second, unsure if what you’re seeing is real, if the panic in the room is just a byproduct of too many sleepless nights. But then you see it - the man’s face is pale, his breathing shallow. His eyes are wide open but glassy, vacant. It’s clear he’s not just unconscious.

"Someone call medical!" Fury shouts, standing up, his face turning to stone. He turns to you, his eyes hard and piercing. "Do you know what this is?"

You don’t answer.

The bio-weapon Natasha had been working on had been set into motion. The room starts to buzz with frantic chatter, but it’s all muffled in your ears.

"How long until we know more?" you ask, your voice sounding distant, even to your own ears.

"It’s too soon to say," Fury replies, his voice tight with frustration. "But I need answers. Now."

The room falls into disarray, agents rushing to assess the situation, calling for containment measures, working to stop whatever has been released. But in the back of your mind, you know this is only the beginning. Natasha’s plan is unfolding.

The door bursts open as more agents rush in, but all you can think about is Natasha. You stand up abruptly, the chaos around you blurring into the background. With every passing second, the stakes are getting higher.

The chaos in the room intensifies as you watch, helpless, as more and more high-ranking agents begin to cough violently. It starts with one, then another, and soon, it’s a cascade of agents, each of them clutching their throats, their faces contorting in pain. They stumble, crashing against the walls, collapsing to the floor.

The scene is surreal. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as the room fills with muffled coughs, choked gasps for air. The air feels thicker, heavier, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Fury stands at the end of the table, his sharp eye scanning the room with quick precision, as always, but even he can’t escape the inevitable. You watch him for a moment longer, the tension in his features tightening as he steps back, the first signs of panic crossing his face. His hand grips the side of the table, and then, with a sudden, painful gasp, he doubles over.

"No,” you whisper, barely daring to believe it, as Fury falls to his knees.

He gasps for breath, his chest heaving, his face turning pale as the same violent coughs wrack his body. His one good eye, wide with confusion, meets yours as he stumbles to his feet, but it’s clear. He’s not in control.

You don’t wait another second to push past the chaos and rush toward him, your legs heavy but moving on instinct.

“Fury!” you shout, but your voice is drowned by the cacophony of coughing and screaming from around you. It’s as though the room has turned into a battlefield.

You reach him just as he’s about to fall. His hand shoots out, grabbing your arm, his grip weak but desperate. “It’s... it’s too late...” he rasps, his voice barely audible over the violent coughing that now wracks his body.

“No, Fury. You can’t—” You reach for his face, trying to steady him, but he’s already crumbling.

His grip loosens. He falls against you, and in that moment, you realize it’s not just him. It’s everyone. Every high-ranking agent in the room is succumbing to the virus Natasha unleashed. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

You’re frozen. Fury’s eyes begin to glaze over, and you realize the unthinkable: the one person who might have been able to stop this has fallen too.

You glance around frantically. The room is descending into utter chaos. Some agents are still conscious, but their movements are slow, labored. Others are completely unresponsive, coughing up blood. The bio-weapon is spreading faster than you could have imagined.

“Fury, no…” You try again, but he can’t answer. His body is shaking now, barely holding onto consciousness.

But even as you watch, something else shifts. A door bursts open, and you catch sight of more agents rushing in, trying to help, trying to contain the damage. But it’s clear - everyone in the room is infected.

And in the midst of it all, one thought claws its way to the front of your mind: Natasha’s weapon has succeeded. It’s working faster than you anticipated. It’s a biological nightmare, and there’s no antidote. No plan B.

You slam the door of your car, the sound of it echoing in the empty parking lot. The engine roars to life. You barely know what to think anymore, but the one thing you do know is that Natasha is somewhere out there, and you need to find her.

You speed through the streets, the city lights flashing by in a blur as your hands grip the wheel tighter. The vision of Natasha’s face - those moments of quiet intimacy between you, the way she disappeared - haunts you. What has she done?

You focus on the road as it stretches before you, the rooftop gala looming in your mind’s eye.

You reach the familiar building, parking your car at the base of the structure. Without a second thought, you climb out, your feet moving quickly, but your mind racing even faster. You can’t seem to escape the weight in your chest. Every step you take feels heavy, like the ground beneath you is pulling you down into something darker, something inevitable.

You reach the rooftop door, pushing it open, and the night air hits you, cool and sharp. You scan the area, but there’s no sign of Natasha. Your heart skips a beat. The rooftop feels empty, distant, like an echo of the chaos that brought you here.

And then, you see her.

She’s sitting on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the side, her gaze directed downward, seemingly lost in thought. The sight of her hits you like a physical blow, a sharp pang of recognition. She looks as calm as ever, like this is just another night for her, even though everything is falling apart.

You step forward, hesitant. Your voice catches in your throat, unsure of what to say, unsure of where to even begin.

“Natasha…” you call softly, but she doesn’t react. Her eyes remain fixed on the distance, and you can’t read her expression.

The silence stretches between you, and you take another step closer, until you’re standing just a few feet away from her. You reach out, but hesitate, unsure if she’ll pull away again.

Your heart tightens, but before you can respond, something shifts. You feel it - like a sudden weight on your chest, a tightness.

You stumble, trying to catch your balance as a sharp, unexpected pain jolts through you. Your breath catches in your throat.

You try to steady yourself, but your body feels heavy, sluggish, like something is seeping into your veins, paralysing you. Your vision blurs. The world tilts. You stagger forward, barely catching yourself on the ledge of the rooftop.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps now, and you struggle to focus, to stay upright. But the dizziness is consuming you, clouding your thoughts. Panic sets in as you realize: this isn’t normal. This isn’t just fatigue. Something is wrong.

“Wha - what’s happening?” You choke out, your voice barely a whisper. The pain is spreading, your chest tightening with every breath.Natasha finally turns to face you, her eyes widening in shock as she takes in your condition. She starts to move toward you, but something in her face changes. A flicker of realization crosses her features.

“No…” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “No, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You try to speak again, but your throat is constricting, each breath coming harder than the last. Your vision fades in and out, your legs buckling beneath you. You collapse to the ground, gasping for air, your heart racing.

You hear Natasha’s voice, but it’s distant now, almost as if it’s echoing in a faraway place. “No, no, no…” she murmurs to herself, her hands trembling as she approaches you. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You reach out, but it feels like your body is betraying you. You’re shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop it. The world is slipping away, and all you can do is watch as she falls to her knees beside you, her face twisted in guilt.

“I didn’t mean it… I didn’t know...” Natasha’s words are broken now, her hands hovering near you, unsure of what to do.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, but you can’t make sense of it. Your body is shutting down, your skin feeling like it’s on fire. You can feel it now - the virus, spreading through your body, and Natasha’s voice rings in your ears: I didn't realise it spreads by touch.

You try to hold on, but the pain is too much. Your vision fades to black, and you’re left with nothing but the sound of Natasha’s broken voice, whispering your name.

In those last moments, you feel the warmth of Natasha’s lips against yours for the final time, and the desperation with which she clutches your hand as the virus begins to seize her too. Your eyes fade over with a black, the last colour of her red streaks fading.

And then... nothing.

a/n: whew, i am almost crying at my own story. sorry guys..

thank you to all the support you guys have given to this story, this is definitely not my last ever but this is where this story ends. looking forward to more in the future (sorry for the sad ending lol) :)

[widowromanova]

Sniper (Part 5) - Natasha x Female reader

warnings: smut (strap-on 🤐), slight violence??

word count: 2692

Hours passed whilst you sat there, tampering with bits of metal you found laying around. But no matter how hard you tried to focus on the task at hand, your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha. You could almost feel the imprint of her body still pressed against yours, the heat of her touch still searing your skin.

"Wow, you actually listened to me," you hear a car door slam. You looked up, your thoughts wrenched back to the present, as Natasha walked back into the warehouse. She was carrying a large duffel bag over her shoulder, a smug smile on her face. You look down at the duffel bag, raising an eyebrow. She chuckled at your expression, setting the bag down with a thump. "Don't worry, it's nothing deadly." She said, unzipping the bag to reveal its contents. "At least not for you," she added with a sly grin, pulling out a few small gadgets and placing them on the crate next to you.

"Just some fun toys I picked up during my little errand run." She replied, continuing to empty the bag. There were more gadgets, a few rolls of duct tape, and even what looked like a small taser. She caught you looking at the taser, her smile growing wider. "Ah, that one's for special occasions," she said, placing it gently beside you.

"Why have you brought these here now? I hope these aren't for me..." She chuckled, "They're not for you."

She picked up one of the rolls of duct tape, running her fingers over it as if contemplating. "This one is for you," she affirmed, her tone making your heart skip a beat. She moved closer, the roll of tape still clenched in her hand. "Lift your arms," she said, looking you directly in the eye. You hesitated for a moment, but something in her gaze compelled you to obey. You lifted your arms slowly, feeling unusually vulnerable in the simple gesture.

She moved behind you, securing your wrists together with a few expert loops of the tape. "Not too tight?" she asked, her voice a low rasp in your ear.

"Not like you'd care anyway."

She chuckled, securing another layer of tape around your wrists. "You know me so well," she purred, her hands trailing over your bound wrists. You watch her as she paces around you, "So… what's this for?" you gesture to your wrists.

She circles you, a sly grin on her face, "This is for your own safety, darling." She moves to stand behind you, her breath warm against your ear as she leans in. Her hands trail down your arms, across your shoulders, and down your back, "Can't have you wandering away before I've had my fun, can I?"

Her fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up and exposing your bare back to the cool air of the warehouse. "Besides, I like you like this." Goosebumps erupt across your skin under her touch, her hands sliding up your bare back. "So helpless and vulnerable." She murmurs, her lips brushing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. You shiver at the sensation, your breath catching in your throat as her fingers continue their journey across your skin. "And all mine," she whispers, her teeth sinking gently into your shoulder.

You let out a soft gasp as her hands move around to your front, skimming over your hips and stomach before coming to rest just above your beltline. "I think we've been apart too long," she murmurs, her lips tracing a path up your throat. She nips at your earlobe, her teeth grazing against your sensitive skin. "It's only-.. only been a couple of hours, Nat," you let out breathily.

She chuckled darkly, her hands still wandering across your body. "A couple of hours too long," she whispered, her lips finding the spot just below your ear that always drives you wild. You couldn't help but lean into her touch, your head tilting to give her better access to your neck. Her hands continued to rove across your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "You're so responsive," she murmured against your skin. "Just as I remember." Her hands dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans, her thumbs tracing small circles on your hip bones.

"Please, stop teasing me, Natasha."

She chuckled softly, her hands pausing in their movement, "But I love seeing you this desperate for me." She pressed herself against your back, her body flush against yours.

Her lips found your neck once again, her teeth nipping gently at your skin as her hands began their movement once more, dipping lower, lower. You felt your body arch involuntarily in response, your breath coming in ragged gasps as she relentlessly teased you. "Natasha," you whimpered, your hips shifting against her hands involuntarily, needing friction, needing her touch. She pulled your hips back against hers, her desire evident as her body pressed against yours.

"You feel that, Y/N?" she whispered in your ear, her voice thick. You gasped, feeling a slight bulge in her trousers. Did she leave to put a strap on?! She smirked, chuckling low in your ear as she felt you stiffen against her. "Not what you were expecting?" Her fingers hooked into your jeans, slowly tugging them down over your hips.

Her hands roamed your now-exposed thighs. "You know I've always wanted you in this position," she murmured, her lips finding a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. You gasped at the sudden sensation, your knees shaking slightly beneath you. "Natasha, please..." you pleaded, needing more than just her touch.

She chuckled softly, her fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh, "What do you want? Just tell me what you want." Her voice was a rough whisper in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to find your voice, your mind a whirlwind of desire and desperation. "I want you…" you rock your hips back slightly to grind on the bulge in her pants, "…here."

She let out a ragged breath, her body pressing against yours in response. "So impatient." She murmured, her fingers trailing higher up your thigh. She slowly began to pull your underwear off, making sure to let out breaths directly into your ear as she looked at the slick coating them. She bit down on your earlobe, her tongue swirling around softly before she pulled back, her breath hot on your neck. "You're making a mess." She whispered against your skin, her tone huskier than before, her hands still making their way up your thighs.

You felt impossibly bare, vulnerable and exposed with her standing behind you, your hands still bound in the duct tape. "Nat, untie me," you managed through ragged breaths, needing to touch her, to feel her. Natasha scoffs lowly, "That's not how this works, Y/N."

"But-" you tried to protest, but she cut you off with a rough kiss.

"No buts." She growled, biting your bottom lip lightly and drawing a gasp from you. She began to unbuckle her jeans, letting the strap hit your lower back. You tensed at the feeling, your breath catching in your throat. Her hands roamed across your back and waist, her touch becoming increasingly firm, more possessive.

"You like this, don't you?" she murmured, her voice low and rough. "All tied up and trembling for me." She pressed her body flush against yours where you could feel her breath warm against the back of your nape. She pushed you forward slightly, making you bend over. You felt even more exposed in this position, your hands still bound and your body trembling with anticipation. She ran her hands over your back and hips, tracing the contour of your body, her touch possessive yet tender.

"You're going to be good for me, aren't you?" she murmured, her breath warm on the nape of your neck. You nodded shakily, your body on the edge. "I need to hear you say it." Her voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. You swallowed, trying to find your voice amidst the chaos of sensations overwhelming your mind and body.

"Yes, Natasha. I'll be good for you," you finally manage to gasp out, your voice raspy and breathless. She chuckled, satisfied with your response, and ran her hands down your backside.

"Good," she murmured, her touch sending another shiver down your spine. Slowly, Natasha positioned herself at your entrance. Her hands were on your hips, her grip tight and possessive. As she moved in gradually, you felt the delicious stretch, letting out a loud groan when she was finally enveloped by you.

"Relax," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, her fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. She moved out slowly, creating a ripple of pleasure through you. You let out a shuddering moan, your body arching back into her. Her name fell from your lips in ragged breaths, a plea and a prayer all in one. "That's it," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. She began to move faster, her body working in time with yours, her hands roaming your body.

"I bet you would feel so good around me," she whispered huskily and you whimpered at the praise. With each stroke, your body grew more tense, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body quivering with need. "Are you going to be good and cum for me?" she whispered in your ear, her breath hot on your neck, her words only adding to the fire low in your belly. You could only nod, your voice failing you, your body teetering.

She smirked against your skin, her movements becoming more insistent, "Come for me, darling," her voice, a hushed command in your ear. With her words, you fell over the edge, your body shaking as pleasure coursed through you. She pressed herself against you, enveloping your torso in her strong arms and smiling widely against the skin of your back. You panted, "You're so good, Nat," reaching back to kiss her.

She chuckled, returning the kiss and moving her hand to cup your chin, "You're not too bad yourself." She said, her voice a rough, slightly breathless. She began untying the tape on your wrists, "I like you like this." Once the tape around your wrists was loose, she spun you around to face her. Her gaze roved over your form - flushed and trembling, hair tangled and eyes dark - like a masterpiece she'd personally painted. A satisfied hum rumbled in her chest.She took hold of your waist, drawing you closer, her fingers splaying against your skin. "You look so good right now," she murmured, her voice a low purr against your neck. You laughed, pulling your jeans back up to button them up.

Natasha watched you with a smirk on her face. She removed the harness then took a step closer, her hands finding your hips and pulling you flush against her. "That was fast," she teased, her fingers lightly tracing the waistband of your jeans.

Her eyes met yours, the usual steel replaced by a softer, more relaxed expression. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" You looked down at your unbuttoned clothing, "Maybe." Natasha chuckled, tilting your chin up to meet her gaze. "Only maybe?" she purred, her eyebrow raising in mock disappointment. Her touch was light, almost tender, as her fingers brushed against your bare waist above the waistband of your jeans. "You're not really a good liar, you know."

You smiled gently, buttoning your shirt back up and moving to look at all the equipment on the crates, "What's all this stuff for then?" Natasha watched as you examined the tools, her expression turning more serious. "I needed some... supplies," she said cryptically, her eyes flickering back to you. Her hand moved to rest on one of the crates, her fingers idly tracing the edges. "Some... equipment, to help me with a project," she said, her voice taking on a more detached tone.Natasha turned her gaze back to you, watching as you moved around the crates, examining her supplies with curiosity.

She watched as your hands skimmed over the tools, a hint of concern in her eyes. "Be careful with some of those," she said gruffly, her hand reaching out to snag your wrist, gently guiding you away from a particularly volatile-looking piece of equipment.

You look down at the items, sighing solemnly, "Nat," you turn to look at her, "you can't seriously think that-"

"Don't start," she warned, her voice low.

Her grip on your wrist tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but firm enough to prevent you from pulling away. "You have no idea what you're talking about." She stepped closer to you, her voice dropping to a low, rough whisper. "This is bigger than you think. Bigger than any of us." Natasha's fingers curled around your wrist again, her touch a mix of possessive and protective. "I'm doing what needs to be done," she said firmly, her gaze unflinching. "And not even you can stop me now... Y/N."

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the warehouse, causing both you and Natasha to stiffen in alarm.Natasha's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the surroundings. "What was that?" she hissed, her grip on your wrist tightening even more. Before you could answer, there was a loud crash from the main entrance to the warehouse. A team of SHIELD members dressed in tactical gear, weapons drawn, flooded into the warehouse.

Natasha looked to you in disbelief. You continued to look at the floor, disappointed in betraying her but knowing you did the right thing. Natasha's eyes widened in realisation and disbelief as she looked from the intruding agents to you. Her grip on your wrist slowly loosened, her touch becoming almost soft. "You..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She didn't resist as the agents moved in, securing her with ease. Her gaze was fixed on you, watching your expression. Natasha felt a pang of hurt and disbelief, the weight of it pressing down on her like a physical blow.

You watched as the agents restrained her, forcing her to her knees with her hands secured behind her back. Despite the situation, she didn't struggle, didn't fight back - she only stared at you, her sharp green eyes piercing through every layer of justification you'd built up for your decision.

"Stand down, Romanoff," one of the SHIELD agents ordered, but Natasha didn't even acknowledge them. She was focused on you, and you alone.

"You set me up," she murmured, her voice devoid of emotion, yet the disappointment in her eyes was undeniable. It made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"I had to," you replied, voice barely above a whisper. "You were going too far, Nat."

She scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting her lips. "Going too far? You, of all people, should know there's no such thing."

"That's not what this is about, and you know it," you countered, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "Whatever you're planning - whatever this ‘project’ is - it’s not the answer. You’re better than this."

"Am I?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Or is that just what you wanted to believe?" Her expression hardened, the brief vulnerability in her eyes vanishing. "Tell me something, Y/N- was any of it real?"

The question hit you harder than you'd expected. You opened your mouth, but the words refused to come. Before you could answer, one of the SHIELD agents yanked her up to her feet, preparing to escort her out.

"This isn't over," Natasha said, her voice lower now, edged with something dangerous.

You exhaled shakily, watching as they led her away. She didn’t look back, didn’t fight - she just walked, her head held high.

As you stood there, surrounded by scattered supplies, you couldn't shake the feeling that, despite everything, you hadn’t really won. If anything, you had just made an enemy of the one person who had ever truly known you.

And if Natasha Romanoff was anything, it was a damn good opponent.

a/n: shorter part this time while i figure out where this story is going :) hope you enjoyed it

[widowromanova]

Sniper (Part 4) - Natasha x Female reader

warnings: slight violence, smut

word count: 6759

The rooftop was silent except for the distant hum of the city below. You stayed there for a moment longer, gripping the edge of the railing as if holding on could somehow bring her back. But it couldn’t.

Your breath came out in uneven bursts, the adrenaline starting to wane, leaving only the ache of her absence. Again. The memory of her red hair streaking through the wind seared into your mind.

Then her words echoed back, sharp and unrelenting: Things change.

A rush of determination surged through you. This wasn’t over. Natasha didn’t leave loose ends, and she certainly didn’t come to that rooftop tonight just to disappear.

No, she wanted you to follow her. You pushed yourself away from the edge and adjusted the strap of your gear. Whatever game she was playing, you were done hesitating. If Natasha wanted to draw you into her web, you’d follow - but on your terms.

As you descended the stairs of the building, the familiar tension in your chest began to harden into resolve. You replayed every word, every movement, searching for clues. The gala rooftop wasn’t random. It was deliberate. There had to be a reason she chose this place to confront you - and to vanish.

By the time you reached the street, the cool night air had sharpened your focus. You didn’t have much to go on, but you knew Natasha.

You tightened your coat around you and set off into the city. One step closer to finding her. As you walked through the streets, your mind raced with possibilities. Where would she go? Then, like a lightning strike, it hit you - the safehouse.

It was a relic from a time when trust had been implicit between you, before everything unraveled. The small, nondescript apartment on the edge of the city had been your shared sanctuary, hidden from prying eyes. Neither SHIELD nor anyone else knew about it, and for a while, it had felt like the only place in the world where the two of you could truly breathe.

Your pace quickened as the memory came flooding back: the mismatched furniture, the faint smell of coffee that lingered in the air, and the way Natasha would sit cross-legged on the floor, absentmindedly dismantling and reassembling weapons while you tried to convince her to take a break.

You hadn’t thought about the safehouse in years, but now it seemed like the only place that made sense. If she was leading you anywhere, it had to be there.

You returned to your apartment first. You couldn’t go to her empty-handed - not this time. If Natasha had taught you anything, it was to be prepared, to think two steps ahead.

The room was silent when you entered, the faint hum of the city outside barely registering. Your eyes swept over the space as you moved with purpose toward the hidden compartment beneath your bed. You hadn’t opened it in years, but you knew exactly what was inside.

Sliding the compartment open, you reached in and pulled out a small, unassuming black case. Inside was the device. It was SHIELD tech, highly experimental, designed specifically to counteract enhanced abilities or nullify even the most skilled opponents. It worked like an EMP, but instead of disrupting electronics, it disrupted neural pathways temporarily, effectively incapacitating the target.

Natasha wouldn’t see it coming.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the device. This was now about finding the person in her that you used to know. You slid the device into your jacket pocket, its presence a weight.

As you stood, your gaze flicked to the corner of your desk, where an old photo frame sat. It was one of the few things you hadn’t thrown away - a picture of the two of you from years ago, back when things had been simpler.

You picked it up, studying her face. The smile, the way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. The Natasha in this photo was a world apart from the woman you’d faced tonight. Sliding the photo out of the frame, you tucked it into your other pocket. Not for her - no, this was for you. A reminder of what was at stake. With a steadying breath, you grabbed your gear and headed out the door, your mind already focused.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the city, the dim glow from the morning sun started to appear. The streets grew quieter as you neared the old building. The safehouse was tucked away on the third floor, its faded brick exterior blending seamlessly into the neighbourhood. You hesitated at the entrance, your hand hovering over the doorframe as you steeled yourself.

The lock was newer than you remembered, a subtle sign that someone had been here recently. Natasha. Of course, she’d updated it. You pulled out your tools, your hands steady despite the adrenaline surging through you. The lock gave way with a quiet click, and you pushed the door open cautiously.

The interior was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight. It smelled faintly of dust, mixed with something sharper - gun oil, maybe. The layout was almost exactly as you remembered it: the small kitchen to the left, the couch you’d both hated but never replaced, and the table where countless plans had been scribbled onto napkins and scraps of paper.

But it wasn’t just the memory of the place that hit you - it was the realisation that she had been here, recently. A half-empty glass of water sat on the counter. The faintest imprint of her boots on the dusty floor. And then you saw it: the box.

Sitting on the table, a plain wooden box, its lid slightly ajar. Your stomach tightened as you approached it, your hands brushing against the smooth surface. Inside were photos - pictures of the two of you. Moments you’d thought were long buried.

She’d taken them. Not stolen, but preserved. Why?

You flipped through them, your throat tightening with each one. The two of you at the safehouse, her leaning on your shoulder, you laughing at something she’d said. Another from a mission, her smirk caught perfectly in the frame.

Beneath the photos was a slip of paper. You unfolded it, the words scrawled in her unmistakable handwriting:

"Not yet. You’ll know when."

The message left you reeling. You clenched the note in your fist, your resolve hardening. If she wanted to keep pulling you into her game, you’d follow her lead. But this time, you wouldn’t hesitate.

The safehouse felt oppressive now, its familiarity twisted into something unsettling. You turned, scanning the room for anything else she might have left behind. Your gaze landed on the couch, and for a moment, you could almost see her sitting there, legs tucked beneath her, a knowing smirk on her lips as if she had predicted your every move.

You paced to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain just enough to peer out into the quiet street below. The faint glow of dawn had given way to full daylight, the city starting to stir. Natasha was out there somewhere.

Was she trying to test your loyalty, your resolve, or was there some part of her that still wanted you to understand? To see the reasons behind her actions?

You turned back to the table, your eyes falling on the box again. The photos were a stark contrast to the woman you faced now. They showed moments of vulnerability, of trust, of something real.

The weight of the device in your pocket brought you back to the present. It was a contingency plan, a last resort. But even as you’d taken it, you knew you didn’t want to use it - not unless there was no other choice.

With one last glance around the safehouse, you moved to the door. You’d learned all you could here. The note was clear enough: Natasha wasn’t done with you yet, and she wanted you to keep looking. But if you were going to find her, you’d need to anticipating her next move before she made it. If there was a part of Natasha still worth saving, you had to believe she was leading you to it.

You stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you. The quiet click of the lock felt like you were leaving the past behind - again. But this time, you weren’t chasing memories; you were chasing her.

And you wouldn’t stop until you caught up.

You exited the building, stepping onto the quiet street as the sun crept higher into the sky. The city was waking up, the hum of traffic and distant chatter pulling you back into the present. You pulled your coat tighter, both reassuringly and suffocatingly.

You moved with purpose, blending into the crowd as you retraced steps you hadn’t walked in years. Natasha’s note had been vague, but her choice of location wasn’t random. If she wanted you to find her, she’d leave a trail.

The first stop wasn’t the obvious one. It was the nearby café where the two of you used to meet during missions, a quiet corner of the city where secrets were exchanged over bitter coffee. The thought was almost laughable now - how many times had she teased you for always ordering the same thing?

The café hadn’t changed much. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted you as you stepped inside, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. You scanned the room, your heart skipping a beat when your eyes landed on the corner table. It was empty now, but the memory of her sitting there, her red hair catching the light as she leaned in close to whisper something only for you, was vivid.

You approached the table, your eyes darting to the small notepad left for customers to write reviews or messages. It was a long shot, but Natasha had a flair for theatrics. Flipping through the pages, you found nothing out of the ordinary - until you reached the very last page.

Scrawled in the corner was a simple line: "Close, but not quite."

Your grip tightened on the edge of the notepad as frustration bubbled up. She was toying with you, but at least you were on the right track.

You left the café, your mind working furiously. If she’d been here, she couldn’t have gone far. Natasha was deliberate in everything she did. The safehouse, the note, the café - they weren’t just breadcrumbs.

Your next destination was clear: the alley behind the café, where you used to slip away unnoticed. It was a spot you both knew well, a place where conversations had been had in hushed tones.

As you stepped into the alley, the air grew colder, the shadows stretching long against the brick walls. The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered, though you knew Natasha didn’t smoke. Your eyes scanned the area, every nerve on edge. Then, tucked into the crevice of a windowsill, you saw it: a small, folded piece of paper.

You unfolded it carefully, the faint imprint of her handwriting making your heart clench.

"You’re getting warmer."

The cryptic message struck a chord. You could almost hear her voice in the words, playfully laced with a smirk.

You folded the note and slipped it into your pocket. With determination, you made your way through the city streets. It was almost instinctual now, the way you moved, the way you searched for where she’d be.

You had been there before, a small, forgotten alley hidden behind a set of old warehouses on the outskirts of the city. The perfect spot for her to challenge you.

The alley was quiet, the air thick with the scent of old machinery and smoke. You walked further in, scanning your surroundings. At first, nothing seemed out of place—until you noticed the torn edge of a scrap of paper caught in the corner of a rusted fence. You grabbed it quickly, unfolding it with urgency.

"Come on... obviously I wouldn't make it this easy."

The note sent a surge of irritation through you. You gritted your teeth, crumpling the piece of paper in your fist. It angered you that the plan she had for you to follow her was working. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. She'd want you to be angry, to let your emotions guide you. That's why the notes were so carefully crafted, an intricate mix of challenge and mockery. Natasha's smugness practically dripped from the words.

You stood there for a moment, your pulse still running high from the chase, but a wave of exhaustion slowly started to settle over you. Your feet felt heavier as you turned back, the alley stretching ahead of you in the growing dark. The distant sounds of the city, once a comfort, now felt more like an oppressive weight. You weren't sure if you were ready to keep going, if you even could.

As you walked, the light of the fading day grew dimmer, the air cooler, and the streets less crowded. The more you thought about finding hr, the more you realised how little you had left to go on.

Eventually, your pace slowed, and the anger you’d felt earlier was replaced with something quieter. The irritation began to bleed out of you, and what replaced it was a sense of helplessness.

By the time you reached the familiar bridge that led home, you realised you were done for the night. The streetlights flickered on, casting long shadows on the pavement. You tugged your collar up against the evening chill, your thoughts scattered, and continued forward, the hum of the city now distant enough that you could hear the sound of your own breath.

And then, a small sound - a rock skittering across the ground.

You stopped in your tracks, heart skipping a beat. Slowly, you turned, the sudden shift in the air making your senses sharpen. There, standing a few feet away in the half-light, was Natasha. Her presence was unmistakable, like she’d been waiting for you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt heavy. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, almost quiet. "Is that it then, Y/N?"

Her eyes met yours, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. You could feel the challenge crackling between you.

You didn’t answer right away. What was there to say? Instead, you took a breath and let the silence hang for just a moment longer.

"Where are we going with this?" you asked, your voice steady despite the way your pulse was quickening. "What do you want, Natasha?"

She didn’t answer immediately, just stared at you for a long beat. Then, her lips curved into that same small, knowing smile. "Maybe I want you to figure it out."

Her words lingered in the cool night air. You stared at her.

"You always did like making things complicated," you said, your voice sharp, betraying the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Why now? You could’ve ended it all already."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if savouring the tension. "Maybe I didn’t want it to end," she replied softly, taking a step closer. "Maybe I wanted to see how far you'd go. You always did surprise me."

The distance between you shrank with each step she took, and yet, it felt like she was miles away. You stayed rooted to the spot, not letting her be the only one to move.

"I could’ve walked away," you said, your tone low. "But I didn’t. So what now, Natasha?"

She came to a stop, just inches from you. Her eyes never left yours. “This isn’t a game, Y/N. Never has been.”

"Then what are we doing?" you asked. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips, and for just a second, you thought she might say something, but she didn’t.

Instead, she stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. "You’ll know soon enough."

Then, without waiting for a response, she took a step back, her gaze still steady on you, leaving you standing there.

"Why now?" you asked, breaking the silence, your voice more vulnerable than you intended.

Her lips curled, but there was no humour in it. "Because you’re here," she said simply, the answer almost too casual for the weight of the moment. "And you always follow the trail."

Your chest tightened, the sharp sting of realization hitting you. She was right. You had been following, hadn’t you? Every note, every cryptic word—this whole chase—it had all been because you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to understand her. Even when you knew you shouldn’t.

"You never make things easy," you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Natasha’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, like a glimpse of something more familiar, something closer to the woman you once knew. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that cool, unreadable mask.

"It's not supposed to be," she said, her voice low. "That’s how it works."

You looked at her, the questions swirling in your mind, but you didn’t ask. Not yet. Instead, you took a breath, trying to ground yourself.

"Where do we go from here?" you finally asked.

Her gaze flicked to the city skyline in the distance, and for a moment, she seemed far away. "We keep moving forward," she said softly, the words heavy with some unspoken meaning. "Because I have no other choice, Y/N."

And then she turned, her silhouette disappearing into the shadows of the night.

The night seemed colder now. The tension from just moments ago had dissipated, but the uncertainty remained, gnawing at you like an unhealed wound.

You wanted to chase after her, to demand answers, to understand what the hell she meant by everything. But something inside you held back - an old instinct, the same one that had warned you before.

Some days had passed, many spent wallowing in your apartment trying to decode everything she had ever done or said to you. The walk back to your apartment on this day felt longer than ever, every person reminding her of you - you had stopped by the café to experience your warm memories again. Maybe for the last time.

The sound of your footsteps echoed in the still night. It was then that you heard it - a low hum, the unmistakable sound of a vehicle pulling up behind you.

You turned instinctively, but before you could react, the car came into view, its headlights cutting through the darkness.

The car stopped in front of you, the engine dying with a soft sputter. The door opened, and there she was - Natasha, her figure illuminated by the faint glow of the car screen. Her eyes met yours across the distance, unreadable, calm.

"Did you really think I was done with you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Instead, you just watched her, trying to read her expression. Her body language was relaxed, but you knew better than to trust that. Natasha never let her guard down fully.

"Where are we going, Natasha?" you finally asked, your voice steady despite the way your pulse had quickened.

She stepped forward, the car door still ajar behind her. "You’ll see," she replied, her lips curling into that familiar, enigmatic smile. You stepped forward, toward her, knowing that walking away now wasn’t an option.

The interior of the car smelled faintly of leather and gun oil, a subtle reminder of the world you and Natasha both inhabited. As you slid into the passenger seat, she moved with practiced ease, shutting the door behind her and taking the wheel.

The engine roared to life, and she pulled the car onto the road without a word. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the weight of questions you couldn’t ask and answers you weren’t ready to hear. The glow of the city lights streaked across her face, accentuating the sharp angles and the shadows that seemed to cling to her.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you broke it. "This feels familiar," you said, your voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

Natasha’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "Some things don’t change," she replied, her tone almost amused.

You turned to face her, studying her profile. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened for just a fraction of a second, a movement so small you might have missed it if you weren’t watching her so closely. "Not everything has to," she said after a moment.

She was always like this - just enough honesty to keep you hooked, but never enough to give you clarity.

The car slowed as she pulled into a desolate stretch of road, flanked by crumbling warehouses and overgrown lots. The city’s glow faded behind you, replaced by the stark stillness of the outskirts.

She parked the car and turned off the engine, leaving you both in the silence of the night. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then she turned to face you, her eyes piercing in the dim light.

"Do you remember the first time we were here?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You frowned, glancing around. The place looked vaguely familiar, but the memory eluded you. Natasha chuckled, noticing your confusion. "Relax," she said, a hint of the old familiarity creeping back into her tone. She nodded towards the glove compartment, gesturing for you to open it. You obliged, the old leather creaking under your fingers as you flipped up the lid. Inside was the familiar sight of a sleek handgun, resting atop a stack of old maps. But beneath the map, your eyes caught sight of something else: a faded photo.

You pulled it out carefully, your fingers tracing the edges as you studied the picture. The photo showed the two of you, younger and carefree. The backdrop was a familiar city alley, the old brick wall still standing in the same spot. Neither of you were looking at the camera; instead, you were leaning close to each other, each wearing a cocky smirk.

It had been taken years ago during your time in SHIELD. You remembered that day clearly; the mission to infiltrate a rival organization's headquarters had gone smoothly, but the adrenaline from the success had led to a moment of carelessness. You remembered standing in the abandoned alleyway, the thrill of success still coursing through your veins. It was then that Natasha had pulled out her phone and snapped the shot.

Memories came flooding back as you stared at the image. You could feel the rough texture of the brick wall against your back, the cold night air on your skin. And there was Natasha, her arm slung casually around your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned to look at her, seeing the subtle change in her expression. Her eyes were fixed on the photo, a mixture of nostalgia and something softer flitting across her features.

Without looking away, she spoke. "We had it all mapped out back then, didn't we?" she mused.

You looked back down at the photo, not saying anything. Natasha studied your face for a moment, the silence stretching between you like a taut rope. Finally, she spoke again.

"We were reckless," she said, almost more to herself than to you. Her gaze drifted back to the photo, a faint smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Always pushing boundaries. You remember that time we decided to go deep undercover in that mob hangout without any backup?"

Her tone was casual, but there was a spark in her eyes that betrayed her memory of that night. You remained silent for a while, running your thumb across the photo, "We're still reckless, Nat."

Natasha's expression dropped momentarily before saying, "There's things that have to be done, Y/N." She turned away from the photo, looking down at the cuts on her hands. In the dim light of the car, Natasha's face looked almost gaunt, etched with lines that hadn't been there before.

You studied her in the silence, seeing hints of the woman you used to know beneath the mask she now wore. But there was also a coldness in her eyes.

"They don't have to be done like this, Nat." That use of her name made her eyes dilate ever so slightly. She didn't look at you, but you saw the stiffening of her shoulders. Neither of you spoke for several moments, the words hanging heavy in the air. She was the first to break the quiet.

"You always were too soft." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She placed her hands on the wheel, turning her head at you, "How should they be done then, Y/N?"

There was a challenge in her gaze, as if she was daring you to answer.

"There's always another way." You kept your voice soft. Natasha let out a dry laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet car, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the wheel. She drove the car further towards the warehouse before suddenly stopping outside its large gate. She stepped out of the car, leaning down to peer into the car.

"You know that's not true," she said, "there's no room for 'another way' in our line of work, Y/N."

You followed her lead, stepping out of the car into the cold night air. The old warehouse loomed before you, its shadowy form a stark contrast against the faded glow of the city lights. You knew she was right, you'd both seen the darker side of the world.

The wind bit at your skin as you closed the car door behind you, the sound echoing faintly in the stillness. Natasha was already walking toward the warehouse, each step crunching softly on the gravel beneath her boots. You hesitated for a moment, staring at her back, before following.

"You say there's no room," you called after her, your voice cutting through the quiet. "But you’re here, Natasha. So what does that mean?"

She stopped just short of the warehouse's rusted door, her hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, you thought she wouldn’t answer, that she’d let the silence be her reply. But then, without turning, she spoke.

"It means I wanted to see if you’d follow." Her tone was even.

You stepped closer, the chill of the night forgotten. "And what if I hadn’t?"

She glanced over her shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, but her eyes betrayed no humour. "Then I’d have my answer."

The implication stung more than it should have. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "And now that you do?"

Natasha turned fully to face you, her expression unreadable. "Now we find out if you’re ready for what comes next."

She pushed the door open with a loud groan, the sound echoing into the dark expanse beyond. The warehouse was dimly lit by flickering overhead lights, casting long, distorted shadows on the concrete floor. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint tang of rust.

You followed her inside, your footsteps echoing softly. "You’ve always been good at the cryptic act," you said, your voice low but sharp. You stopped, the echo of your boots ceasing. "I’m tired of guessing, Natasha. What’s this really about?"

She stopped in the centre of the room, her arms crossed as she regarded you. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just let the silence stretch. Then, finally, she spoke.

"It’s about us, Y/N," she said, her voice softer now. "It’s about what we’ve done. How we've both changed."

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. "And what’s your solution?" you asked, keeping your tone even. "We walk in and make peace with it all?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked away. "No," she said quietly. "We decide if it’s worth fighting for."

You stared at her, trying to reconcile the woman in front of you with the one you thought you knew. "And what if it is?"

Her gaze snapped back to yours, sharp and searching. "Then you’ll have to prove it," she said, a challenge laced in her tone.

Silence fell between you again, the only sound the steady drip of water somewhere in the shadows. She looked away, her eyes fixed on the dust-covered machinery that had once been in operation. Finally, you spoke again.

"How do I prove it?"

Her head tilted slightly at the question, her gaze flickering back to you. She seemed almost amused by your directness. "Impatient as always," she mused.

She moved, circling a stack of metal crates in the corner, her footsteps echoing off the bare concrete walls. There was a pause as she traced her fingers along the rusted surface, as if she were deep in memory. You waited, the silence stretching around you. Then she spoke, still facing away from you.

"We start with one question," she said, her tone measured. "Do you trust me?"

You used to. But the years of secrets you had shared had built a barrier between the two of you that felt like miles in the dark. She turned to face you, her eyes locking on yours across the room. The distance felt even longer under her stare, her face still a mask of neutrality no matter how much her hands betrayed her.

You dropped your head, unsure of how to respond. She scoffed at your silence, shaking her head.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. There was a hardness in her voice that you’d rarely heard before.

She moved again, pacing in a small circle around you. You stayed still, every nerve in your body on edge. She stopped, her face just inches away from yours. You could see each individual freckle on her skin under the dim warehouse lights, every line on her face as she studied you.

Natasha was so close you could feel her breath on your cheek, could see every flicker of thought behind her cool exterior. Then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, she asked,

"Do you trust me?"

The question hung in the air, each syllable almost painfully loud in your ears. You looked into her eyes, seeing the challenge there. She was asking for more than just an answer.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words lodged in your throat. You wanted to say yes. She continued to stare at you, waiting for your answer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered, "Why should I?"

Her gaze hardened for a moment, a spark of annoyance flashing across her face. "Because that's what partners do," she said, her voice a bit sharper than before.

You could see the frustration build in the set of her shoulders, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed under the light of the warehouse bulb. She wanted you to say yes. "We haven't been partners for a long time, Nat," you warily replied.

Her face was blank, expressionless as she processed your words. But you knew her well enough to see the tension in the way she held herself.

For a moment, she said nothing, just stared at you with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket. Finally, her lips curled up into a bitter smile. "Fine," she said, her voice flat. "Then what are we?"

You took a step towards her, unable to keep yourself from closing the distance. Her eyes didn’t move from yours, but she stiffened at your approach. You studied her face, the hard lines and angles that were all too familiar. "We were colleagues once," you said, the words so soft you weren’t sure if she heard you as you took a step closer. "Then friends, then…" your voice drifted off, suddenly realising the pain you had felt at losing her.

"Then what, Y/N?" Natasha's expression looked more solemn now.

You swallowed, unsure of how to continue. But before you could speak, she spoke again, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the silence of the warehouse.

"We were a lot of things... weren't we." Her gaze met yours, that forest green burning into you. "We were good, Y/N." She took a step towards you, grabbing your hands to trace her thumb over the ridges of your knuckles. You shivered at the touch, feeling the rough callouses from years of fighting brush against your skin. For a moment, neither of you spoke, just held each other's gaze as your hands remained in her warm hold. She didn't let go of your hands, simply continued to stare at them as if she could read something from the lines on your palm.

Eventually, she spoke, still tracing your knuckles. "Are you scared of me?"

Her voice was quiet but steady, her gaze flickering to your face for a moment before returning to your hands. You swallowed, "Never." She released your hands but didn't step back, still standing close enough that you felt the faint heat of her body.

Her eyes bore into yours, searching, assessing, as if she were trying to figure you out all over again. "You're lying," she said simply.

"I don't lie, Nat." You grabbed her face, crashing your lips into hers. She responded immediately, her hands clutching at your hips, pulling you flush against her body. You stumbled back towards a stack of crates, knocking a loose tool off the rusted metal as you went. She pushed you back into the corner, pinning you against the wall.

Her hands were everywhere, skimming under your shirt and across your skin, her mouth burning hot against your skin as she found the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You arched into her touch, a soft moan slipping out before you could stop it. She was relentless, fingers tracing down your side and leaving shivers in their wake.

You gasped as her mouth continued to burn across your throat, her teeth nipping at your skin. She hummed against your collarbone, the sound sending a wave of electricity down your spine. "You always did have a hard time keeping quiet," she murmured into your shoulder, her hands still moving restlessly over your body.

You grabbed her by the neck, spinning her around, "Just shut the fuck up for a minute, Nat." She let out a sharp exhale as you shoved her backwards against the crates, her hands clutching at your wrists in surprise. A sly smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as her back hit the metal. She chuckled, low and breathless. "There's the fire I remember."

You pressed into her, closing any distance between you. Your fingers tightened on her neck, feeling her pulse pounding against your palm.

"You don't get to do that," you whispered against her skin, every word a hot promise against the hollow of her throat. Her eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping her lips as you pressed yourself harder against her. She didn't respond, just tilted her head back to give you better access to her neck.

You nipped at her jawline, feeling her body shudder against your lips. She groaned, her hands gripping your hips. Then, her voice cut through the haze of desire.

"It's my turn."

Her words were like a switch. A low growl slipped through your lips as your body responded, your grip on her neck tightening. She took advantage of the moment, shifting against you and suddenly reversing your positions. Your back hit the crates with a thud, her body pressed against yours, her hands pinning yours above your head.

Her eyes locked with yours, a victorious glint in her gaze as she held you there. You struggled against her grip, but she didn't budge, her body keeping you firmly pinned in place. "Always fighting me," she murmured, her breath hot against your ear. Her grip on your wrists was steel, her nails digging into your skin as she pressed even closer.

Her lips traced the shell of your ear as she shifted her weight, pressing even harder against you, her thigh suddenly between your legs. An unsteady breath left your lips as you felt her hand slip past your waistline. Her touch was feather-light, slowly moving up your inner thigh. Her fingers traced the edge of your underwear, a teasing touch that sent a wave of heat through your body. Her breath was hot on your neck, her body still pressed tightly against yours.

You tried to arch into her touch, but her grip tightened on your wrists, pinning you even more firmly in place. Her hand continued its torturous journey down your thigh, every nerve ending on edge, waiting for her to go just a little lower. You let out a strangled gasp, your body quivering with need and frustration. She chuckled darkly at your reaction, her hand still continuing its maddening motion, her fingers tracing small patterns on the thin fabric between your legs.

"So needy," she whispered, her breath hot on your neck. She shifted against you, her thigh pressing firmly against your centre, adding a delicious friction to the heat that pooled between you. Her fingers dipped into your underwear.

"So wet." You whimpered at the sudden touch, your body arching off the metal beneath you. The air filled with the sounds of your gasped breaths as she finally, finally, touched you where you wanted her most. Her fingers slid through your slick folds, circling slowly but never quite giving you what you needed. She took her sweet time, moving at an infuriatingly slow pace as she teased every sensitive spot with knowing precision.

You bucked against her touch, begging without words for more. Your hips straining against her thigh, seeking the relief she was holding just out of reach. She held you there, pinned with her weight and her hands, as she continued her slow torment. Her thumb brushed lightly over your clit, just a brief, almost accidental touch, but it sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making your body jerk against her in response. She chuckled again, the sound low and sultry. Her breath was hot against your ear.

"So responsive," she murmured against your neck. Her fingers teased again, one slipping just inside before withdrawing again. You let out a strangled moan, your hips trying to follow her retreating touch. She continued her slow, torturous rhythm, her fingers circling and brushing over you, bringing you close to the edge but never letting you quite reach it.

You bit down hard on your lip, trying to muffle the gasps that escaped with each movement of her touch. Your body was writhing beneath hers, desperate for release, desperate for just a little bit more. For the final time, she brought you closer than ever before. You felt that familiar feeling building again, "Please, Natasha…" you let out breathily. She quickened her pace, making you groan loudly. "Please, don't stop." She then withdrew her hand, licking her fingers clean with an exacting smirk on her face.

You let out a frustrated groan, your body still trembling from the sudden loss of contact. She chuckled, enjoying the sight of you so helpless in her hands.

"So close," she murmured, leaning back to look at your flushed face. "Better luck next time." She chuckled. You groaned in frustration, your body still trembling from the denied release. You tried to pull your hands free from her grip, wanting to reach out and touch her, but she held firm.

She brought her other hand to your face, grabbing you by the chin, "You sit tight, Y/N." She firmly threw your pinned hands down, "I'll be back before you know it," she walked away from you with a wink.

"Where the fuck are you going?" you yelled after her.

She called back over her shoulder, her smirk evident in her voice. "Just taking care of business." And with that, she was gone, her footsteps echoing faintly through the empty warehouse.

You were left there, alone, panting and unsatisfied, her sudden departure leaving you feeling cold and empty. You brought your hand to your head, wiping the sweat off.

What the fuck did you get yourself into.

a/n: hope that was not too long for you guys, part 5??? ;))

[widowromanova]

Sniper (Part 3) - Natasha x Female reader

warnings: violence, mentions of trafficking, smut

word count: 4072

Your apartment was dark when you stepped inside, the faint hum of the city below seeping through the windows. You set your equipment down carefully, your body heavy with exhaustion, but your mind was restless. Natasha was still there, pulling at the edges of your resolve.

You flicked on a single lamp, the warm light spilling across the room, illuminating the cluttered space. It wasn’t much - a temporary safehouse, nothing personal about it - except for one thing.

Crossing the room, you opened a drawer in the desk, your hands moving with practiced ease. Beneath a stack of forged documents and old mission files, you found the envelope. It was worn, the edges frayed from years of handling. You slid out the contents with a sharp exhale.

Photographs. There weren’t many - just a handful of moments you’d dared to capture in secret. You and Natasha at a café in Prague, her sunglasses tilted down just enough to catch the knowing smirk on her lips. A blurry shot of her laughing, mid-movement, during an impromptu rooftop training session. And one you’d taken without her knowing, her head resting on her hand, staring out a window as the sunlight painted her hair a deep, fiery red.But as you sifted through the drawer, your stomach dropped. The envelope was empty.

You froze, the implications slamming into you all at once. Someone had taken them.

Your pulse spiked, and you scanned the room, your instincts kicking in. The locks had shown no sign of tampering, no sign anyone had been here.

A faint chill ran down your spine. Natasha. It had to be. She’d always been meticulous, always left her mark in subtle ways. This wasn’t just about stealing pieces of the past. And you didn’t need to guess what it meant.

Moving to the window, you peered out into the night, your reflection staring back at you. Somewhere out there, she was watching, reminding you that she was always a step ahead. You clenched your fists, frustration swirling in your chest. If she thought she could rattle you, she was right. But if she thought you’d back down, she had no idea what was coming.

Natasha’s fall from grace hadn’t been a sudden plunge; it was slow, deliberate.

Years ago, before she became the Natasha Romanoff the world whispered about in fear, you both had been sent to dismantle an underground trafficking ring tied to a corrupt faction of global elites. This time, things had gone terribly wrong.

The operation had uncovered something darker than either of you expected: children, families, entire communities destroyed as pawns in a game played by the most powerful people in the world. The mission was supposed to be surgical - quick and clean - but Natasha saw firsthand how deep the rot went. She witnessed the perpetrators walk free, their wealth and influence shielding them from justice.

“I thought we were here to make a difference,” she had told you after the mission. Her voice had been cold, detached, but her eyes betrayed her anger beneath. “But all we’re doing is putting out fires while the whole system burns.”

You tried to reason with her, to remind her that the work you did mattered, that the small victories added up. But for Natasha, it wasn’t enough. She had given everything to SHIELD, sacrificed her freedom, only to find that the system she served was just as flawed as the ones she fought against.

Then came the final straw: a mission debrief where she learned that SHIELD had cut a deal with one of the very men she had worked to bring down. For “greater strategic advantage,” they said. Fury had been tight-lipped, dodging her questions with practiced indifference.

That night, you found her in the training room, her fists bloody from hours of beating a punching bag to shreds.

“They’re just like the rest of them,” she’d said, her voice breaking for the first time in years. “They don’t care who gets hurt, as long as they keep their power.”

You’d stayed silent, unable to argue. Deep down, you’d felt it too - the cracks in the moral high ground you thought SHIELD stood on.

After that, Natasha started to pull away. She became more withdrawn, her trust in SHIELD - and in you - eroding by the day. Until one day, she was gone. No warning, no explanation.

It wasn’t until years later, when you were sent to track down a rogue operative targeting high-level government officials, that you realized where she had gone. Natasha had shifted her loyalty to no one but herself. She wasn’t just dismantling the corrupt systems; she was taking the innocent down with the guilty.

To her, this wasn’t about revenge or chaos. It was about control, about rebuilding a world where no one could ever be used or manipulated again. At least, that’s what she told herself. But as much as she believed in her vision, a part of you knew she’d lost something along the way - her humanity, her hope, and maybe even the heart you knew so well.

"You know where to find me." The words echoed in your mind as you made your way through the darkened streets, every step pulling you closer to that rooftop.

The building loomed ahead, its sleek, glass facade reflecting the muted glow of the city lights. You hadn’t been back here in years. The gala that night had been your first real taste of Natasha’s world - not the spy, not the assassin, but the woman. The woman who had looked at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes and whispered seo many sweet things to you.

Now, the thought of her waiting for you on that rooftop twisted something deep in your chest. Was she taunting you? Testing you? Was this her way of closing a chapter that had been left wide open?

You slipped through the building’s side entrance, moving quickly and quietly. The elevator was too obvious, too vulnerable, so you took the stairs, your footsteps light as you ascended.

By the time you reached the rooftop, your pulse was thrumming in your ears, but not from exertion. Your eyes fixed on the figure standing near the edge.

She stood with her back to you, her red hair catching the faint glow of the rooftop lighting. She was dressed in black, her silhouette sharp against the cityscape. For a moment, you simply watched her, the memories crashing into you with brutal clarity: the first time she had kissed you, the way her laughter had carried on the wind, the fire in her eyes when she’d whispered promises you both knew you couldn’t keep.

“You came,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence. She didn’t turn, but you could hear the knowing smile in her tone.

“You said I’d know where to find you,” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind inside.

She chuckled softly, the sound sending a familiar shiver down your spine. "I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to resist."

Natasha finally turned, her gaze meeting yours. She shuffled through papers, your photos. Those emerald eyes held an old fire. She tilted her head, studying you.

"You've changed."

Her tone was light, almost casual, but the words landed like a blow. She took a step closer.

"You're more confident," she said, her voice taking on a more calculated tone.

You didn't respond, your muscles tensing automatically as she came to a stop right in front of you. She was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from her body. "You've learned to keep your emotions in control," she added, her gaze never leaving yours. She reached out, her fingertips tracing the edge of your jaw. It took all your willpower not to flinch. "Good for you, Y/N." She smiled, almost sincerely.

You swallowed, struggling to maintain your composure. "You didn't bring me all the way up here to critique my emotional skills, Natasha," you murmured.

She paused. "What makes you think I brought you up here?" she smiled wryly.

She stepped back, "You came up the stairs on your own, did you not?" She moved away with a grace that was almost feral, every gesture calculated and filled with deliberate intent.

"Maybe you just wanted to see me again," she paused, "or maybe I wanted to see you."

Her eyes flicked over you with a familiarity that made your skin crawl. "You're still trying to read me," she said, circling you. "After all these years, you still think you know exactly what I'm going to say." She stopped behind you, her breath warm on your neck, just like it had been so many times before.

"That's the problem," she whispered, too close, too real, her voice echoing in your ears. "You think you know me."

You tensed, anticipating her next move, but instead, she laughed, low and dark. "God, you're so predictable."

You clenched your fists, feeling your knuckles lightly click. She looked down, scoffing.

"Still wearing those brass knuckles, I see," she said, her tone mocking, "always expecting a fight."

She moved forward, her steps silent, closing the distance between you again. "But that won't save you here.. baby" she mused, coming to a stop, her body nearly touching yours. "I know your moves, your... soft spots."

The word sent a jolt through you. She hadn't called you that in years. But you schooled your expression, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. "Not anymore," you said, keeping your voice steady.

"You don't know anything about me anymore."

For the first time since the start of this encounter, Natasha's smile faltered, a shadow passing over her eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a hardened edge. "Is that so?" she said, the words laced with a dangerous calm. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

Before you could respond, she moved again. This time, her attack was more subtle, but no less deadly. Her fist aimed at your stomach, calculated to catch you off guard. You reacted just in time, dodging to the side and throwing a counter of your own. But Natasha was anticipating it, her hand catching your wrist in an iron grip.

She twisted your arm, using your momentum to pull you forward, and suddenly you were pressed against her. You could feel the heat emanating from her body, her muscles tensed with lethal power. "You fight just how you used to, Y/N" she murmured, her breath tickling your ear as she scoffed. She sucker-punched you in the stomach, winding you as you flew back away from her.

"Too predictable," she smirked, watching you catch your breath. You pushed yourself back up, gritting your teeth against the pain blossoming in your stomach. "Why are you still holding back, Y/N?" she shouted, raising her arms in an exclamatory gesture, "Don't you have something to prove?"

She was goading you, trying to get under your skin, to get you to drop your guard. But you weren't going to give her the satisfaction. "I have nothing to prove to you, Natasha," you said coldly, your body poised for her next attack. Her eyes narrowed, her smile turning darker. She lunged forward, her speed and precision still unmatched, and you barely managed to dodge. Her hands moved with a fluid grace and you could see it in her eyes; she was holding nothing back.

She landed a blow to your face, knocking your jaw loose. Blood trickled out of your nose. The pain and force of it made your head spin. You stumbled back, trying to clear your vision, your face stinging with each hit. Natasha paused, her smirk growing as she saw the blood streaming down your face. She was enjoying this. She relaxed, unclenching her fists to inspect your blood on them. She watched you struggle to stand, a cruel satisfaction in her eyes. "I thought you'd be more of a challenge," she said, a slight edge of disappointment in her voice.

She came closer again, moving in slow, predatory strides. "You were always so promising," she continued, her hand coming up to touch your chin, tilting your face up to hers. "But you've gotten soft. You've lost your edge."

As your eyes look up to meet hers, something in her falters. For a moment, a flicker of... something passes over her face. It's gone so quickly, you're not sure if it was even there. Her hand moves down to your bruised jaw, her touch surprisingly gentle as she examines the damage. "Still beautiful, though," she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Her thumb brushes over your bleeding lip, "So soft," she breathed, her eyes still locked on yours, an unexpected intensity in them. For a moment, it's just the two of you. She's too close, too real, and far too familiar.

You take her hand off your face, moving away from her, your breathing becoming more heavy at the realisation of how much you miss her. Her hand drops limply to her side, her eyes cold again. "You've always been stubborn," she said, the sharpness back in her voice. "Stubborn and too damn loyal."

At that moment, she strode up to you, grabbing your face to crash her lips into yours. The kiss took you by surprise, sending an electric shock through your body. It was rough, desperate, filled with years of pent-up emotions you had tried to bury. Her fingers twisted in your hair, her body pressing against yours with a familiar, burning heat. And you let her. You couldn't, no, you didn't want to, push her away. Not when the taste of her lips was still the same as you remembered, not when the feel of her body against yours felt like coming home. Your mind was telling you to resist, but your heart was singing.

She moved her mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that sent chills down your spine. "I've missed this." She pushed you back against a wall, pinning you against it, her body a solid mass of lean muscle and heat. Her hands traveled lower, slipping underneath your shirt, her touch setting your already heightened senses on fire.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" she said, her mouth returning to yours. Her body was pressing into you, her fingers digging into your sides hard enough to leave bruises. But it was a pain you welcomed. Your bodies melded together, fitting against each other in a way that felt achingly familiar.

You wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her even closer. Your free hand found its way to the back of her neck, your fingers tangling in her fiery hair. The kiss deepened, becoming more heated, more desperate. Her body writhed against yours, her hands roving freely, reacquainting themselves with every curve and angle of your body.

You span, making sure to painfully slam her into the wall as revenge for her earlier punch. She gasped, her lips breaking away from yours for a moment, more from surprise than pain. She caught her breath, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. "There she is," she smirked, her voice slightly hoarse, pulling you back into a kiss.

Your hand began sliding down her body, making its way into her underwear. She moaned against your lips, her body arching into your touch. "Y/N..." She breathed, her control starting to slip.Her hands gripped your hips, her nails digging into your skin, as her body reacted to your touch. "Shh, just please," your fingers softly traced circles, "don't say anything."

Her body shivered, the circles you traced sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. She opened her mouth to speak, to say your name, but then thought better of it, biting her lip to keep any sound from escaping. Her eyes closed, her head tilting back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat to your gaze. Your fingers continued their slow, deliberate movements, each stroke bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Her breathing grew heavier, every exhale a soft gasp, as she tried to keep herself together.

You added a finger, stretching her out deliciously. She couldn't hold back a gasp, her hands clenching against your hips."God, Y/N..." she panted, her voice strained, "please..." You could see the desperation in her eyes, the need that mirrored your own. But you continued your slow, relentless pace, enjoying the power you had over her.

"Beg," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Her body convulsed, a shudder running through her. She was falling apart, her control slipping faster than you thought possible. "Please," she gasped, "please... don't stop."

You rewarded her plea by increasing your speed, driving her closer to the edge. She was unraveling, her body trembling under your touch. Her hands moved to your shoulders, her grip tight enough to bruise, her nails digging into your skin. It was as if she was holding onto you, the only lifeline left in her crumbling world.

She whimpered, her body so close yet not quite there. She was balancing on the edge, ready to fall. "Look at me," she commanded, her lips close to your ear.

You lifted your gaze, meetings hers, "I need those eyes of yours on me." Her voice was filled with a mixture of command and pleading, a silent request to keep watching her as she fell apart under your touch. She let out a moan, her body tensing, her control wavering. "I'm...I'm-" she gasped, unable to finish the sentence.

"You're, what, Natasha?" you whispered into her neck.

The effect was more than you expected. Her body jerked, her back arching as a wave of pleasure washed over her. A strangled cry escaped her lips, a sound filled with need. She repeated your name, a breathless litany, her voice becoming hoarse from the effort of holding back the sounds that were threatening to spill over. Her body shook, her hands holding onto your arm muscles. The sight of her, so undone, was almost too much. You wanted to imprint this moment in your brain, to hold onto it as a reminder of the power you had over her.

As she slowly came back down from the high, her body shuddering with aftershocks, her eyes opened again, fixing on you. She looked wrecked, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, her breathing ragged. But there was something else there, too. A vulnerability that she rarely showed. Her gaze searched yours, her chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. For a moment, words were unnecessary, the silence filled by the sound of your shared breaths and the rapid beating of your hearts.

Then, slowly, she found her voice again, her words soft but still hoarse. "That was..."She paused, trying to compose herself. "That was more than I expected," she said, a hint of a smirk curving her lips.

"What were you expecting?" you replied.

She pushed herself up off the wall, her legs still shaky but steady enough to hold her weight. She stepped closer to you, her body millimeters from yours, her proximity making it hard for you to think straight. "I expected you to fight me," she said, her voice sultry. "Not to... make me beg."

Her hands found their way to your waist, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. "But I won't lie," she murmured, her lips close to your ear, "I liked it."

She tilted her head to look at you, her eyes dark, "You've always been good, Y/N." You meet her gaze, a confused yet amused expression on your face, "In what way?"

Her fingers began a slow trail across your collarbone, "Every way," she said. Her touch was light, a teasing caress that made your skin tingle, "You were always so kind, so gentle..." Her fingers trailed along your body as she looked down at the floor, "You always tried to see the best in everyone, even me."

"Especially you."

She paused at that, a flash of vulnerability in her eyes, her fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. "I don't deserve it," she muttered, her voice softer, "Your loyalty, your compassion."

Her touch continued, the patterns becoming more purposeful, as if she was trying to imprint the feel of you on her fingertips. "But you give it anyway," she said quietly, "No matter how much I push, you keep giving." Her eyes returned to yours, softer. "Why?" she asked, the question loaded. "After everything, why do you keep giving me chances?"

You knew the answer, of course. You knew why you still cared, why you couldn't let her go. But saying it out loud would make it real, so you deflected, "Why did you come back?"

She seemed to have expected that response, her lips curling into a soft smirk. "Isn't it obvious?" she said, her fingers moving up the side of your body, over your ribs, each touch sending chills down your spine. "I couldn't stay away," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her touch moved to your face, her thumb lightly tracing your bottom lip, "I tried. God, I tried. But it was impossible."

A pause.

"I missed you," she murmured, her touch becoming more gentle, her fingers tracing the bruise on your jaw. It was as if she was trying to soothe the pain she inflicted earlier, an unspoken apology. "I know I hurt you," she continued, her eyes still focused on the bruise. "And I know I'm going to hurt you again," she said, her voice tinged with resignation.

"I'm not gonna stop what I've set out to do, Y/N." Her gaze moved back up to yours, her fingers finally dropping from your face, "And you..." she paused, a flicker of conflict in her eyes, "you're still gonna try to stop me."

The statement was more a question than anything else, a silent plea for reassurance she probably didn't deserve. You took a moment, your heart warring with your head, before replying, "I am."

The corners of her lips pulled into a wry smile, "Of course, you are," she said, the resignation thicker in her voice this time. She stepped back, putting some distance between you. It felt wrong, like a physical manifestation of the chasm that seemed to be constantly opening up between the two of you.

"You're so damn loyal to them," she said again, shaking her head as if annoyed with herself. "It's infuriating, you know that?"

"I'm not loyal to them," you clarified, your voice steady. "I'm loyal to what's right," you continued, locking eyes with her.

"And what is right?" she countered, her voice hardening.

"What you're doing.." you said, trying to keep your own emotions in check. "It's not right, Natasha. You know it's not."

Her shoulders stiffened at that, the steel returning to her eyes. "You don't understand." she snapped, the frustration clear in her voice.

"Then make me understand," you retorted. You didn't want to argue, but something about her attitude, her stubbornness, pushed you to press on.

"It's not that simple!" she exploded, her patience finally snapping. She took a step towards you, her eyes locking on yours, "You think I like doing this? Hurting people? Betraying my friends?"

"I know you don't," you said, holding her gaze. "I know you well enough to know you're not a monster, Natasha." Her expression flickered, the anger giving way to something sofer. But she pushed it down, her expression hardening again. She walked towards the edge of the rooftop, looking out across the sea of skyscrapers. She exhaled, watching her breath dissipate into the cold, thin air, before turning her head to say, "Things change."

Natasha suddenly hurls herself off the building, her red hair leaving streaks in the wind. You run to the edge. "Natasha!" you shouted, the word ripping from your throat. You scanned the streets below, the rooftops nearby - anywhere she might have lande -but there was nothing.

She was gone. Again.

You stood there, frozen, the cold night air biting at your skin. But this time, you could tell something else has clicked in her head, that the next time would be different, that maybe you could get through to her and put an end to all of it. You clenched your fists, your mind racing.

You couldn’t let it end like this.

a/n: this has actually turned into more of a story than i intended for it to but only because i am enjoying writing it a lot!!!

let me know if you guys want a part 4 ;)

[widowromanova]

Sniper (part 2) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: mentions of violence, SMUT!!!

word count: 4891

a/n: here's the asked for part 2 (with (part of) their backstory) ;)

You shouldn’t have hesitated, you couldn’t afford to hesitate. God! How could you be so reckless! You had spent so long training just to avoid this. And yet, when you saw her tonight, the same fire in her eyes that once drew you in, every carefully constructed wall you’d built came crashing down.

It had been years since the two of you were more than just co-workers. Back then, it hadn’t just been reckless - it had been dangerous and intoxicating. Natasha had drawn you into her orbit effortlessly, she had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, the only one who mattered, even when you both knew that wasn’t true.

The secrecy wasn’t just about breaking SHIELD’s rules; it was about protection. You had both made enemies, people who wouldn’t hesitate to use your connection against you. Hiding it wasn’t just to keep your careers intact - it was to keep each other safe. But the risk had only made it more intense.

It all started at that party, "God, what a cliché," you thought. SHIELD’s annual gala was never your scene, but Fury had insisted on your attendance, throwing out some half-hearted excuse about team morale. You had arrived late, your shirt buttoned-up wrong, trying to disappear into the background.

And then you saw her.

Natasha was standing at the edge of the room, her back to the wall, a glass of champagne in hand, her body dripping in a silk black dress. She looked untouchable, like she always did. But her eyes - those sharp, calculating eyes - were scanning the crowd with purpose. She wasn’t there for the small talk or the niceties. She never was. And yet, when her gaze found yours, something shifted. For a moment, the room and its noise blurred, the crowd nothing more than a collection of moving shadows. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, and you knew she’d seen right through your plan to fade into obscurity.

She approached you first. Of course she did. Natasha never waited for anyone to come to her.

“You look miserable,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Let me guess, Fury dragged you here too?”

You’d laughed, caught off guard by the lightness of her tone. “Something like that. And you? I thought you thrived in situations like this.”

Her smile widened, but there was a glint of something deeper in her eyes. “I do, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy them.”

“Yeah, not exactly my idea of a good time,” you admitted, looking around the room.

She tilted her head, studying you with that sharp, assessing gaze. Her eyes flicked downward, and a small smirk tugged at her lips.

"Not your idea of a good time," she said, her tone laced with amusement. "Or maybe you’re just bad at dressing for it."

You frowned, confused, until she reached forward and tugged lightly at the collar of your shirt. It wasn’t until she stepped closer, the faint scent of her perfume brushing past you, that you realized what she was doing.

“Your buttons,” she murmured, her voice low, almost playful. Her fingers worked deftly, undoing the mismatched ones near your collar. “You can’t walk around looking like this- it’ll ruin the reputation Fury worked so hard to build for you.”

She delivered the last part with a dripping sarcasm that made you huff a quiet laugh despite yourself. “Oh, is that what Fury’s worried about?” you shot back, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk.

Her lips curved into a knowing grin as she finished fixing your shirt. “Absolutely. You’re the poster child for professionalism,” she said, her tone still laced with mockery.

“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling warmth creep up the back of your neck. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or the proximity of her hands, brushing just lightly enough against your chest to make you uncomfortably aware of how close she was.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, her tone casual, but when she looked up, there was that spark in her eyes again, the one that made it hard to breathe. “There. Perfect.”

She patted your chest lightly, the gesture half-teasing, half-sincere, before stepping back with a satisfied smile. “Much better. Now you look like someone worth talking to.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips. “I didn’t realize I was under inspection.”

“Always,” she quipped, looking you up and down in a satisfactory manner before grabbing her glass of champagne again. “You should know that by now.”

And just like that, she had you. In the span of a minute, Natasha Romanoff had taken a mundane moment and turned it into something you couldn’t stop thinking about. Looking back, you wondered if that had been her plan all along.

She tilted her head, studying you for a moment that felt longer than it should have. Then, with a mischievous spark, she handed you a drink. “Come on. Let’s make it more interesting.”

That was how it began - not with a grand declaration or a dramatic moment, but with Natasha pulling you out of the gala and onto the rooftop, away from the crowd. The conversation had been easy, surprisingly so. You had laughed, teased, talked about things you probably shouldn’t have, and for the first time, you saw Natasha not as the infamous Black Widow but as someone real.

The rooftop was quiet, the distant hum of the city below filling the silence. You leaned against the ledge, while Natasha stood a few feet away, her posture relaxed but somehow still charged with an energy that made her impossible to ignore.

For a while, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t the uncomfortable silence of strangers or colleagues forced into proximity, but something more natural. You could hear the faint clink of her glass as she swirled the last of her champagne, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

“You know,” she finally said, her voice softer now, almost thoughtful, “this is the first time I’ve been able to breathe all night.”

You turned your head to look at her, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of her face. “Yeah? Doesn’t seem like anything gets to you.”

She smirked at that, a small, almost wistful expression. “Maybe I’m just good at hiding it.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest tighten. There was a vulnerability in her voice, and you wondered how many people ever got to hear it.

She set her empty glass down on the ledge, turning to face you fully. Her green eyes held yours, unguarded in a way that felt disarming.

“Why do you do that?” she asked suddenly, her tone shifting.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re not interesting,” she said, taking a step closer. “Like you’re just… background noise in a room full of people.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but she was already moving, closing the distance between you with a deliberate slowness. Her hand brushed your arm, light and tentative at first, then bolder as her fingers trailed down to your wrist.

“You’re not,” she murmured, her voice low and steady.

You should’ve stepped back, put some distance between you. Instead, you found yourself rooted to the spot, caught in her pull. Natasha’s free hand reached up, her fingers brushing the side of your face, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

For a moment, everything else faded - the gala, the rules, the risks. All that mattered was the way she was looking at you.

“Tell me to stop,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

Your heart pounded, each beat louder than the last as her words echoed in your mind. You should’ve said something - anything - but the way her eyes searched yours stole the breath from your lungs.

Natasha tilted her head, closing the gap the rest of the way, her lips brushing yours with a softness that sent a shiver through you. The kiss wasn’t rushed or demanding, but deliberate, as if she was waiting for you to pull away, to stop her. When you didn’t, her hand slid from your wrist up to your neck, her touch both steady and grounding.

Your hands found her waist, hesitating for a moment before you pulled her closer, the tension melting away. And now, all of a sudden, the cool night air seemed warmer.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead resting against yours, her breath mingled with yours in the space between. She didn’t speak right away, her eyes flickering over your face as if she was committing every detail to memory.

“This changes things,” she said softly, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, “it does.”

From then on, you met in secret. The first time you met was two days after the gala, when you received a message from an anonymous number with a single address and the words “8 PM.” You debated whether or not to go, well aware that anything involving Natasha would likely lead to trouble. But something about the thrill of her pulled you in.

At 8 o’clock, you arrived at the address, a small, unassuming apartment building on the outskirts of the city. You climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, pulse racing with anticipation and uncertainty. The door opened revealing Natasha, dressed casually in a black tank top and jeans, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. At the sight of you, a slow smile curled at the corners of her lips.

"You didn't give me much choice," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the way your heart rate spiked at the sound of her voice.

She smiled softly, stepping aside to let you in. The apartment was cozy, dimly lit, and almost surprisingly normal-looking.

"Drink?" she asked, gesturing toward a bottle of scotch sitting on the kitchen counter. You nodded, accepting the glass she handed you. The silence between you was heavy. You watched her as she took a sip of her drink, studying you for a moment before finally speaking.

"I wasn't sure if you'd show up," she admitted, setting her glass down on the countertop and leaning on her arm against it. You shrugged, "Curiosity got the best of me, I suppose."

She raised an eyebrow, her smile growing into an almost predatory smirk. "Curiosity, huh?" You didn't respond, choosing instead to take a long drink. The scotch burned your throat, but you drank until you felt the heat in your cheeks cool.

Natasha tilted her head, her eyes roaming over you in that assessing way she had. She took a step closer, her proximity making it harder to think. "You're tense," she observed, her voice low and smooth. "Relax. I don't bite," she ran a hand up and down your arm. You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken. "I'd bet money you do," you quipped back.

Her smile widened. "Maybe I do," she murmured. "But not tonight." She held your gaze, her expression unreadable. For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat drumming in your ears. Then, she lifted her hand to your face, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of your jaw.

"You're making this difficult," she murmured, her touch leaving a trail of heat. "I didn't expect you to be so..."

"So what?"

She paused, her eyes searching yours. “So… different,” she said finally, her voice soft but firm, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it. “I’ve been trying to keep things simple, but you…”

Her words trailed off as her hand rested against your chest, her thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt. The faintest smile tugged at her lips, “You make it quite hard.”

The space between you seemed to shrink. You wanted to ask her what she meant, to press her for clarity, but you already knew the answer. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. "Simple isn't really your style, is it?" you managed to say, your voice betraying the emotions churning inside.

Her wry smile deepened, a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes as her fingers lingered at your jaw, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Simple is boring,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You tried to reply, to find some clever retort that would keep you grounded. All you could focus on was the way she looked at you, like she was daring you to close the last sliver of space between you.

“Natasha…” you started, but her name came out more like a sigh than a warning.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. “What?” she asked, her tone teasing but soft. “I thought you liked complicated.” Before you could answer, her hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

And then, without hesitation, she kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative or unsure; it was deliberate, purposeful, like she wasn’t going to give you a chance to second-guess her. Again, her lips were warm, soft, but there was an urgency beneath it.

You responded instinctively, your hands finding her waist as you pulled her against you, deepening the kiss.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and she let out a soft, almost amused breath. “See?” she whispered, her voice laced with a hint of triumph. “Complicated isn’t so bad.”

Her hand was still on the back of your neck, her fingers tracing idle patterns that sent shivers down your spine. "No," you breathed, your voice a low rumble against her skin, "it's not." You reached for her, pulling her head to the side to kiss her neck. She let out a soft, almost surprised gasp as your lips found her skin. Her fingers tightened in your hair, her body instinctively arching into you. You traced a line of kisses down her throat, tasting the salt and sweetness of her skin. Each press of your lips seemed to ignite a fire in her, a barely restrained need that mirrored your own. Her hand roamed down your back, nails scraping light and dangerous, sending another shiver through you. "You're not playing fair," she murmured in your ear, her voice ragged and breathless.

You smirked against her skin, pulling her closer, your hands sliding under the hem of her shirt. "Who said I was playing fair?" You pushed her backwards until she was against the wall, pinning her there with the weight of your body. Her eyes darkened, a mixture of desire and challenge in them. You reached up, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. She let out a small gasp, her lips parting in surprise, her chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. She could have easily freed herself, but instead, she leaned into you, her body pressed flush against yours.

You tightened your grip on her wrists, holding her captive as you dispersed kiss after kiss, tracing the veins on her neck. She arched into you, her mouth brushing the shell of your ear, a low whisper of “What do you think you're doing?” You didn't respond. Your lips found her jaw, trailing a path of fire down her neck. Her body responded to your touch, her breaths uneven, her skin flushed. A quiet moan escaped her as you kissed along her collarbone, and you felt the tension in her shoulders start to loosen. But before you could go further, Natasha’s hand found its way to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled your head back sharply, bringing your eyes to meet hers.

“I didn’t say you could keep going,” she said, her voice breathless, a playful edge beneath the words.

You could see the challenge in her eyes, the same one that had always drawn you in - fearless, confident.

“Maybe I don’t need permission,” you murmured, your lips curling into a teasing smile.

She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in the air between you, before her fingers slid from your hair, holding your face in her hands. “I like it when you’re bold,” she said softly, her voice now a mix of approval. Her thumb brushed over your lower lip, a gesture so intimate it made your heart skip a beat. “But," she continued, her voice a low, gravelly murmur, "don't get ahead of yourself."

"And why not?" you challenged.

Natasha smirked, the challenge clear in her eyes. "Because I said so," she replied firmly, her fingers tightening around your jaw.

She took a step forward, closing the small distance between you. Her body was now pressed against yours, her gaze intense and unwavering. "And if there's one thing you should know about me," she continued, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "I always get what I want."

In one swift motion, she turned, slamming you against the wall, her body pinning you there as her mouth found yours. The kiss was fiery, possessive, her tongue demanding entry as her hands gripped at your shirt, pulling you closer. Her leg pressed between yours, her knee rubbing slightly against the growing wet spot there. You could feel her smirk against your lips, her teeth nipping at your tongue. Her hands were under your shirt now, nails scraping down your stomach.

She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her thumb traced over your lips, swollen and tender from her, her touch feather-light yet utterly possessive.

"Still think you're in charge here?" she murmured, her voice a low husk. Her grip on your hips tightened, her knee pressing into you further, eliciting a low moan from you. She looked you up and down, "You're wearing too much."

Without waiting for a response, she started tugging at your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one swift move. Her gaze raked over your exposed skin, a look of hunger in her eyes. You watched her, goose bumps pebbling across your skin. She took her own shirt off now, her skin gleaming under the light, a canvas of muscle and scars, a stark contrast to the delicate curve of her hip. She moved closer, pressing herself against you, her bare skin against yours. Her hands roamed over your body, mapping every contour, every muscle. She traced a line down your chest, nails scratching lightly against your skin. Her mouth found your neck, her lips grazing over the sensitive flesh there, her breath hot and heavy against your skin. You began to fiddle with the clasp of her bra, desperately trying to undress her.

She pulled away slightly, her hands catching yours, pinning them against the wall above your head. Her expression was stern, almost predatory, a silent command to stay still. "Patience," she murmured, her breath tickling your ear. She let go of your hands to reach behind her back, unclasping the garment herself. You watched as she seductively took it off to drop it at your feet then pulled the waistband of her underwear down as well, dropping them beside her bra. Her hands skimmed over your hips, her thumbs hooking into the waistband. She looked up at you, a silent question in her eyes, seeking permission. You could only nod, words failing you. Your brain was a hazy mess of need and the sharp awareness of every inch of your body where she touched you.

You felt the material slither down your legs, heard the whisper of it falling to the floor. You were exposed now, vulnerable in a way you hadn't been before. But there was no shame in your nudity under Natasha's gaze, only a growing sense of belonging. She harshly grabbed you by the face again, your lips clashing as she haphazardly walked you over to the sofa where she pushed you to sit down.

You landed on the couch with a thud, your breath leaving you in a rush. Before you could even catch your bearings, Natasha was on you, straddling your lap, her body pressed flush against yours. Her mouth found yours again, her kiss rough and demanding. Her weight was pinning you to the cushions, the feeling of her skin against yours sending sparks through you. Your hands found their way to her hips, gripping tightly.

You moved your leg to position itself between hers, watching her as she tensed slightly at the movement, a small gasp escaping her lips. She broke the kiss to bury her face in the crook of your neck, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. You could feel her shiver, her body involuntarily rocking against your leg.

"Eager," she murmured against your neck, her voice a ragged whisper, "aren't you?" Her tongue traced a path down your throat, pleasure searing through you. She ground against your thigh, seeking friction, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Your hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements despite the loss of control. She whined in your ear, as you managed to gasp out a few words, your voice thick with desire. "I thought you were the one in charge," you panted, your fingers running up her sides to caress the soft skin of her back.

She pulled back slightly to look at you, her eyes dark with desire. "And I am," she replied, her words punctuated by a roll of her hips against your thigh. "But," she continued, her voice dropping as she let out another moan, "I like it when you get... unruly."

Your hands roamed over her body in response, one staying on her hip while the other moved higher, tracing the curve of her breast. She arched into your touch, a soft moan escaping her. The sight was almost too much to bear, the way she responded to you like a drug. She leaned in closer, her mouth finding yours again, her tongue insistent, demanding entry. She moved against you, each roll of her hips against your leg driving you both closer to the edge. You were lost in her.

Your fingers slowly moved down her stomach, stopping just above her pelvis. Her breath hitched at the feel of your fingers so close to where she wanted them most. Her hips instinctively thrust towards your hand, a silent plea for more. A low moan escaped her throat, her eyes dark and burning into yours. "Stop... teasing," she gasped, the words barely more than a ragged whisper.

You smirked at her, watching her domination over you waver, your hand staying exactly where you placed it. Her body was tense against you, a barely contained coil of energy waiting to snap. The look in her eyes was a mix of frustration and desire as she shifted her weight, her knees digging into the couch on either side of you. "I said stop..." she repeated, her voice a low growl. But her body betrayed her words, her hips still moving on their own accord, seeking out your touch. Your fingers trailed lightly over her skin, drawing lazy circles that drove her wild, but never quite giving her what she wanted.

Her eyes darkened, a growl-like sound rumbling in her throat. She grabbed your face firmly, her grip just on the edge of being painful. "You're playing a dangerous game here," she muttered, her body pressed flush against yours. Her fingers tangled in your hair, forcing your head back, leaving your neck exposed to her. Her mouth latched onto the sensitive skin of your neck, teeth sinking in just enough to make you gasp. "You're making it difficult to stay in control," she breathed against your skin, her breath hot and ragged.

"Good," you simply say.

Your words make her pause, her mouth still against your neck. You can feel her smirk, a mix of irritation and amusement as she laughs, "You do realise," she purred, her voice low, "that I could have you begging on your knees right now if I wanted?"

"Yeah, but..." your hand moves over her clit to trace circles, "you really don't want me to stop this, do you?" A shudder runs through her body, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again to lock with yours. Her breath catches, a stifled gasp escaping her. She tries to hold on to her composure. "Not... fair," she manages to say, her voice shakier than before. You smirk, your fingers continuing to move down to enter her, stretching her out perfectly. She lets out a low growl, "God.." Her hips snap against your hand, desperate for more. "Just... like that," she gasps, her body betraying her words. Her hands grip your shoulders, nails digging in, leaving little moon crescents in your skin. It is beyond clear she has lost most of her composure.

Her body tenses again, her thighs trembling slightly around your hand. Her eyes are dark, clouded over with desire, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. "Don't stop," she whispers, the words barely a breath.

"I wasn't planning to," you tease.

"Shut up," she mutters, but there's no real venom in her words, just a hint of desperation that betrays how badly she wants you. Her hands slide down from your shoulders to your biceps, holding onto you like a lifeline. "Who knew," she grunts, her voice catching.

"Knew what?"

"That you could..." her sentence cut off with a moan, "reduce me to this." She manages to gasp out the words between ragged breaths, her body arching into your touch. You can feel how close she is, her body strung tight like a bowstring, ready to snap. "Just... keep going.." she practically pleads.

You keep going, your fingers dancing over exactly the right spot, driving her higher and higher until-

Her head falls back, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she comes undone. Her body shivers against you, her nails digging into your arms. Her limbs tremble, her head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as she tries to catch her breath. "You..." she breathes.

"I, what?" you retort, a wide grin playing on your face. She lifts her head, her eyes meeting yours, still swimming in a heady mix. "Why is that look so damn attractive on you?" she mutters, still riding her high while her hands still grip your arms tightly.

You laugh, "What am I, Nat?"

"Annoying," she mutters, her eyes narrowing. "Possibly aggravating," she continues, her breathing slowing down slightly. But despite her words, her hands don't let go of you, her body still pressed tightly against yours.

"Now why would you say that?" you question, feigning hurt.

"Oh, let me count," she muses, her voice regaining some of its usual sardonic edge. "Your smugness when you get the upper hand, your infuriatingly attractive smile-", you watch her with admiration, a smile forming on your face, "-the fact that you somehow always manage to push all my buttons. Not to mention, you're doing a damn good job of driving me crazy right now." Her words are an equal measure of wanting to strangle you and wanting to kiss you senseless.

As if to prove her point, she pushes against you further, her body moulding to yours. She leans in, her mouth at your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "You have any idea what you do to me, huh?" she whispers, the words a murmur in your ear. "And right now, I don't know if I want to kill you or kiss you."

You pretend to pay attention, your mouth slowly finding her neck again, your tongue tracing a path over her skin. She lets out a soft sigh, a shudder running through her at your touch. Her fingers rake through your hair, a possessive gesture as she holds you against her. She's trying to regain a semblance of control, to take back the upper hand.

But despite her best efforts, her body betrays her. She arches into you, a moan escaping her as your mouth finds that sensitive spot below her ear, "Fuck you, L/N..."

"I was hoping you would," you quip. The rest of the night became a blur, the walls of your memory stained with the hazy scent of sex that lingered throughout her apartment as you found... comfort... in each other for the next day.

But for all the passion, there had been cracks in the foundation of which neither of you could admit to at the time. Natasha had always been an enigma, parts of her locked away so tightly even you couldn’t reach them. And you - you had started to wonder if loving her was just another risk you hadn't been strong enough to take.

Tonight, you had faltered.

Your grip on the rifle tightened, and you exhaled, watching your breath curl into the night air. Natasha was always in control, and somehow, despite everything, you had let her slip through your fingers again.

The rooftop was quiet now, but your thoughts were anything but. Because she wasn’t just an assignment. She never had been. And the next time you saw her, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to pull the trigger - or if she’d already have you in her sights first.

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed, there will be a part 3 (i have more to add to their backstory, i just did not want to put it all in one part ;)) the smut will continue!

[widowromanova]

Sniper (part 1) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: mentions of violence (guns etc.)

word count: 1244

You've been trying to catch and stop Natasha for as long as you can remember; you finally see her again, after 3 years.

a/n: inspired by a prompt I saw on TT that suddenly gave me insane motivation to write

Your former work for SHIELD, coupled with the glowing recommendation Fury had written for you, had opened doors you never thought possible. High(er)-level intelligence agencies had practically lined up to recruit you, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself entrenched in a new world of operations and classified missions. Your current boss, a calculating and ambitious higher-up with ties that ran deep, had recently assigned you to a high-priority duty. The mission was clear but personal - the kind that made your pulse race and your resolve waver. After three years of chasing her, she was finally within your grasp.

Natasha Romanoff had become chaos, her cunning mind orchestrating a series of events that threatened to destroy global stability. She manipulated world leaders, sowing distrust among allies and tearing apart her long-standing professional relationships. Whispers of a bio-weapon project capable of targeting populations only added to the growing unease among those who suspected her involvement. Yet, to the public, and even some former allies, she maintained an innocent facade, always frustratingly one step ahead. She had made her plan clear to you all those years ago:

Natasha had locked her piercing gaze onto yours. "You know how bad it's gotten, Y/N. The leaders are puppets, and the people-” she paused, “they don’t even realize they’re asleep.”

“You can’t seriously believe getting rid of all of it is the answer,” you’d argued, the weight of her words settling uneasily. Her lips had curved into a faint smile, not of humour, but of certainty.

“It’s not about belief. It’s about necessity. Only through destroying one thing can we rebuild something that works. Governments, alliances - they don't work. They need to be erased.”

“Erased? Do you even know what you sound like, Natasha? And replaced with what? You?”

She paused.

“If that’s what it takes.” Her voice had been calm, no sense of hesitation, her conviction chilling. “Survival of the fittest. No corruption. No weakness.”

At the time, you’d thought it was just frustration talking, the cynical musings of someone who’d been through too much. But now, you realised she’d meant every word. Natasha wasn’t just dismantling the world’s structure - she was forging it into her vision of perfection. And you had been too blind to stop her then.

From then, you knew every move she made was deliberate - you had known her to be an incredibly smart woman ever since you met her. And of course, your history with her proved to be of convenience to organisations, though you were frequently hesitant to speak her name.

The night air was cold, the city sprawled out beneath you in a labyrinth of lights. The sniper rifle before you felt like an extension of yourself; "That sounds ridiculous," you thought, but every inch of the weapon's polished surface was familiar to you. You leaned into the scope, propped up on your elbows. Silence, broken only by the occasional hum of traffic below. You knew, of course, that Natasha would never trust anyone else to do work for her, she was after all a self-proclaimed "lone wolf" (you had always made fun of her for that). You couldn't see her yet, but you knew she was coming.

Your superior had instructed you simply: to wait, and then take the shot when you saw her. Each minute that passed, the tension in your shoulders grew, your thoughts tightening into a knot of uncertainty.

You adjusted the focus on the scope, making sure every inch of the room was visible, your pulse steady. You felt your warm breath mix with the stinging cold of the air around you, manifesting into a puff of smoke.

There you saw it, her gleaming red streaks of hair.

For a moment, the city below seemed to disappear, the noise fading into a distant hum. All that remained was the image of her, framed perfectly in your sight. Your heart beat a little faster, not from the tension of the mission, but from something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years. The memory of her, the way she used to make you feel. You held your breath, the moment heavier than anything else you had ever done.

And then, as if she could sense your gaze, she turned. Her head shifted slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the window across the street. You froze as her eyes locked onto yours through the scope. The world blurred around her stare, and everything you had told yourself about this mission - about her - faded into the background.

She knew. The realisation hit you like a punch. She had always been sharper than anyone gave her credit for, but in this moment, it wasn’t just about strategy. It was a silent acknowledgment, that you were no longer just playing a game of cat and mouse. Her lips barely parted, as if she were about to speak - though the words never came.

The silence between you was deafening, the weight of it pressing in from all sides. You didn’t know if she would move, if she would even give you a chance to make the shot. The corner of her mouth was slowly tugged up her face, the faintest smirk forming as if she knew exactly what you were feeling: she could sense the panic radiating from your skin. Of course she knew, she always knew.

Your trigger finger twitched, the red spot on her forehead suddenly becoming painfully obvious. She slowly raised her empty hands up to the air as if to surrender, the smirk still prominent on her face. Her right hand began to form a gun shape, her fingers curling into a mock trigger, and with a playful yet mocking precision, she brought it to her temple. She paused, and then, with a small grin, mimicked pulling the trigger, the "pew" sound escaping her lips exaggeratedly. It was a cruel game of control. The image of her - carefree, taunting - causing your finger to tense on the trigger.

You watched as she lowered her hand slowly, the smirk still playing on her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. "Come on, you still have it in you, don’t you?" she taunted through the wiring in the room feeding directly to your ear, her voice a low, amused whisper.

The mockery squeezed at every nerve in your body. Every instinct told you to act, to end this, but you faltered. She was still the woman you once knew, the one who had shared everything with you, and now she was daring you to pull the trigger.

"You know where to find me," she whispered again.

In an instant, the room’s lights flickered, a low hum filling the air. Before you could react, the lights completely blackened, plunging you into suffocating darkness. The only sound that filled the silence was your own breathing, shallow and sharp, as rage set in once again. The weight of the rifle in your hands seemed heavier now as you dropped onto your arms in sudden exhaustion.

The lights flickered back to life, but the room was empty. Your heart skipped a beat as you scanned the space, your eyes darting from corner to corner. Nothing. As if she had never been there at all.

You lowered the rifle slowly. She had just given you the slip again. You clambered up, kicking your equipment out of your way in your anger.

"Fuck."

a/n: part 2 coming soon ;)) (promises of SMUT SMUT SMUT)

[widowromanova]

#30 for the nat prompt list please 🙏

her fucking r in front of Wanda and/or other fem team members

30. Do you like it when they watch?

warnings: natasha x reader, sorta wanda x reader at the end?, smut, fingering, kinda pervy wanda, implied threesome at the end???

You and Natasha started dating almost a year ago, and your anniversary was coming up. You'd known for sure that she was probably planning something big for the two of you, you just didn't know what. Natasha was definitely not opposed to grand gestures - as they call them. She liked big romantic dates, candlelight, long walks in the park, that sort of thing. She also liked surprises, so it's not like she wanted to give you any clues about what she was planning. Little did you know..

"Hey, baby." You felt the soft thud of the door from another room. You came rushing out, almost pouncing into her arms. The both of you laughed together, "Happy anniversary, Nat!" You laid kisses all over her face. She squeezed you tightly, lifting you up as you giggled. She walked you to the kitchen table and sat you down in one of the chairs. She stood next to the table and held your hand as she stared down at you with that gorgeous smile of hers. "Happy anniversary," she kissed you again before she began to unpack bags that she had brought back.

"Oh wow," You watched as Natasha pulled out a small cake. It was covered with chocolate icing, and chocolate drizzled on top of that. You looked up at her, smiling with a hint of sarcasm, "That's quite extravagant." She laughed down at you, pulling more out of the bags. There was a small box of chocolates, a bottle of wine, a candle, and even a bouquet of roses. Your heart warmed. Her hands dropped down to hold yours, rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand, "Can I ask you something?"

You looked up at her, "Sure, anything." She brought you over to the sofa, sitting on the side of her thigh, resting her arm on the back of the couch to play with strands of your hair. She hesitated for a bit before saying, "Would you be up to trying something new?" You smirked up at her, "If you mean what I think you mean.. then of course."

She grinned, moving in a little closer to you, "I've recently found out, that we have a little bit of a.. what do you call it.. a peeping tom." Your eyes squinted slightly in confusion, "Oh?"

Natasha chuckled, "She's actually waiting.." she points to the door, "right outside that door," she looks back to you, "for you." Your eyes widened a bit, feeling nervous now, "She? Do I know her?" Natasha grins, "Oh, almost too well." She leans in to kiss you, taking your breath away in a second and causing your eyes to flutter closed. You pushed her away a bit, "Wait, Nat, what's going on?"

Natasha strokes her hands down your chest, "You don't need to worry your pretty little head, baby. Just focus on me," she leans in again, biting your bottom lip and relishing in the way you let out a small moan. The both of you stand up, slowly staggering towards the bedroom. You hear your front door creak open a bit. Natasha leans away from you for a second, turning her head slightly towards the door, "Don't be shy, Wanda.." she turns back to you, "you weren't that shy when you watched us through the opening of our bedroom door with your hand down your pants." She smiles down at you, almost innocently. You look at Natasha wide-eyed, whispering, "Wanda?!"

She smirks down at you, "Yeah, she seems to have quite the thing for you.." You swallow nervously, seeing Wanda's shadow appear in the hallway. Natasha quickly distracts you, turning your head with a finger at your chin, "Focus on me, baby." She licks her lips, pushing you to the bed and slowly taking off your clothes, fiddling with each button or zip to leave you in just your bra and underwear. She turned her body slightly, making sure that Wanda couldn't see you as to tease her. She listened for Wanda's footsteps adjusting her position in the doorframe before smirking.

Your breath hitched as Natasha's lips attached themselves to your throat, tracing the lining of every vein she could see with her tongue. You couldn't help but look over at Wanda in the doorway, her hand slowly tracing down her own body, her mouth wide open. Natasha moves her kisses down to place them on your breasts causing you to let out an unwanted moan, making both Natasha and Wanda grunt.

Natasha moved back up your body, grasping your lips with hers. Her tongue prods against your bottom lip before entering your mouth. Her hands move under your back, one holding your body up whilst the other unclasped your bra. She slings it off, throwing it in the direction of Wanda before smirking into your kiss. Natasha's hands move up your body tentatively before kneading at your breasts, pulling at your nipples teasingly. You whine.

Her hands continue to travel down your body, one hand travelling underneath the band of your panties to revel in the feel of your wetness spreading over her finger. She groans as she comes into contact with your centre, feeling the cause of the wet patch on your panties, "Jesus Christ, Y/N.." You let out a moan from deep within your chest as you felt her fingertips swirl around your clit, drawing circles. You looked down through your eyelids to see Wanda with her hand down her own panties, mimicking the movement of Natasha's fingers.

You look back over to Natasha who has been watching the movement of your eyes, smirking down at you. She leans closer to your ear, slowly entering you with two fingers whilst whispering, "Do you like it when they watch?" She bites your earlobe, dragging it away an inch as she turns to sadistically grin at Wanda possessively.

Her thrusts into you speed up and your fingers intertwine around her neck, pulling her face closer to yours to kiss you. As much as you would hate to admit it, having someone be so turned on just by watching you did also turn you on, but you would never tell Natasha that, who knows what other plans she would come up with.

Her movements speed up even more, "Tell me what you want, Y/N." She looks down at you, her eyes flicking from your eyes to the way your mouth has dropped open in an 'O'. You watch as her tongue darts out to lick her lips, "Do you want to come?" She rubs her thumb over your clit, pressing against it for a second. You let out a moan, "Please, Nat," She grins down at you, speeding up her movements again, her palm now pressing against your clit deliciously.

Your back arches up towards her as you press your head into the bed, "Oh god, oh god." You start chanting those words, your toes curling into the sheets. You hear the faint grunts of Wanda ahead of you, seemingly moving closer.

"Do it then, baby." She whispers, trailing kisses down your jaw and towards your neck. Her free hand comes to knead your breast and you let out a rippling groan, "God, I can feel how close you are, Y/N.." Natasha's wrist begins to tire with how harshly she has to thrust into your centre, "I bet Wanda would love to feel how you clench around my fingers," she looks towards Wanda, grinning at her expression.

"I'm coming, Nat- Oh God!" Natasha's movement becoming erratic, bringing you to your high. Her pace does not stop, letting you ride out your high as your hips rock against her hand. You hear Wanda let out a shaky breath, whispering "God.."

As you regain your senses, you lean up on your elbows, kissing Natasha on the lips once more before looking at Wanda, "Really? You, Wanda?" Wanda looks to the floor shyly, blush creeping up her neck. You stand up, walking towards her and pulling her forwards suddenly by the collar of her shirt.

You look her up and down, "Well if you're going to be here, you might as well put yourself to use."

A/N: Hope that's good, Anon!

[widowromanova]

Natasha Romanoff smut prompts for you guys to choose from!!

Send requests with the prompt number:

1. You can take it.

2. Hands behind your back.

3. Breathe through your nose.

4. I like it when you talk like that

5. You're really red right now

6. You call that jealousy? Believe me, if you can still feel your legs, then I'm not being jealous.

7. I never thought I'd hear you say that, fuck, that's hot.

8. Keep going, just like that.

9. Be good for me and I'll untie you.

10. You're still horny? Didn't I fuck you hard enough last night?

11. Want some help with that?

12. You're so fucking hot when you're mad.

13. What? Does that feel good?

14. If we get caught I'm blaming you.

15. Tell me again.

16. You have no idea how much I want you.

17. If you don't like me teasing you then why are you moaning?

18. Don't give me that look.

19. Please make it rough.

20. Use your teeth.

21. You can get louder, can't you?

22. I could use a hand..

23. So.. I noticed you're kinda naked.. Is that intentional or..?

24. I think I've made my intentions clear.

25. I know a workout you might actually enjoy.

26. Leave the heels on. Just the heels though.

27. I could just pull your panties to the side.. no one will notice.

28. Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?

29. Let me show you why you should stay in bed.

30. Do you like it when they watch?

[widowromanova]

how about r and Natasha have been friends w flirty/romantic undertones but r being 10 or so years younger than nat, plus r being in a relationship, kept them in some strict unspoken boundaries. But when r’s partner cheats on her, she goes to nat and after some consoling, nat is like “let me show you how you deserve to be loved” and they have some sweet soft sex?

A/N: I started the fic from right after Y/N has found out about her boyfriend cheating!!

warnings: smut!! bit of fluff at the end

Natasha opens the door to her apartment, her expression softening as she sees you standing there with a mix of sadness and anger on your face, "Hey, come in." She pulls you into a comforting hug, holding you tightly.

"What happened, Y/N?" She looks down at you, softly stroking your hair whilst slowly bringing you over to sit on the couch. You walk with her, still holding onto her as comfort. She brings you over to it, gesturing for you to take a seat. She sits down next to you, leaning in closer, her gaze warm and caring.

"Take your time. You can tell me everything. I'm here for you, okay?" Natasha says softly, her tone filled with genuine concern. She holds your hand in hers, stroking her thumb over each knuckle, almost as if grounding you.

You turn to her slightly, bringing your hands over to rest them on your knees, "Um.." You clear your throat "I just found out that my boyfriend has been cheating on me.." her eyebrows furrow, "..for three months."

Natasha places a comforting hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Her emerald eyes shine with empathy as she listens attentively.

"I'm so sorry, love." She shifts closer to you, reassuring you, "You don't deserve to be treated like that," Natasha says, her voice gentle and understanding. Taking a deep breath, she continues, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You stare down at her hand, subconsciously memorising the outline of the bones in it. Her thumb gently caresses your skin, eliciting a slight shiver from you. Something about this felt different, you two have always had a - how do you put it - comfortable relationship, but never have you felt such a deep connection as you did now.

"No, it's ok. Distract me, tell me what's been going on with you." You move your knee up onto the couch, leaning your elbow on it to face her. She tells you about the usual hydra business and her apparently new engrossment in spy thriller books - you can tell she's trying to lighten the mood. Still, she cannot help but feel as if she could do more.

"But seriously, I want to focus on you right now." She brings her hand over to holds yours again, squeezing it while looking deep into your eyes. You crack and decide to open up to her about it. Meanwhile, Natasha's gestures only get braver and braver, going from holding your hand, to rubbing up and down your forearm, bringing the hairs on the back of your nape to stand. Your goosebumps start to raise, your heart speeding up. Natasha's keen spy instincts detect the dilation of your pupils, smirking internally.

She decides to take a small risk, reaching her hand out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear. She leans in closer, her voice lowering to a seductive whisper, "If there's anything I can do to make you feel better, just let me know". Her gaze maintains locked with yours. Her words hang in the air as she waits for your response, gauging your reaction to her "subtle" invitation.

You stare down at her lips then look back up at her face, her eyes still intensely locked on yours, "Show me."

A glimmer of satisfaction dances in Natasha's eyes. She closes the remaining distance between you and captures your lips. The softness and warmth of her lips against yours ignite a gentle fire within you, enveloping you. Her kiss is tender yet fervent.

As her fingers weave through your hair, she deepens the kiss, her tongue gingerly seeking entrance and intertwining with yours. The taste of her lingers on your tongue, intoxicating.

Natasha's touch grows bolder, her hands exploring the contours of your body with a tantalizing expertise. Every brush, every caress, ignites a surge of pleasure. You kiss her back, softly bucking your hips into her part of her thigh before suddenly pulling away. She watches for any worry in your expression. You place a hand on her chest, panting heavily, "Nat," she looks at you tentatively, "I've never.. been with a girl before."

Natasha's eyes soften with understanding. She gently cups your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin comfortingly.

"It's alright, love. We can take things at your pace," she reassures you, her voice filled with warmth. She leans in to kiss you again, slow and deliberate this time, her movements gentle. You feel the intensity of each touch and each caress. The kiss is slower this time, your tongues fighting for dominance, and neither of you giving up. She brings her hands to your hips, pulling you up to straddle her fully. Her hands run down your sides onto your thighs, drawing small patterns that move further and further up, closer and closer to your centre.

At your lack of patience, you let out a small whimper. She pauses her movements suddenly, pulling away from you, resting her hands on your thighs. Natasha's lips curl into a playful smirk. Her fingers lightly trace along the sensitive areas of your body. Her touch is deliberate and unhurried, attentively gauging your responses. She watches your face slightly contort, clearly trying to hide your true feelings.

As her fingers draw closer to your centre, Natasha maintains a steady pace, allowing you to feel every sensation. Her focus is solely on you, determined to make this experience unforgettable in the best possible way.

"Come on, baby.." she moves her hands closer to your centre, "don't try to hide how much you like this.." she smirks up at you, your lips suddenly looking more delectable than ever. She leans in to capture your lips in another passionate kiss, melding her desire with yours as she whispers against your mouth, "I want to make you feel good, show you how you deserve to be loved."

You grin down at her, "Then what are you waiting for?"

Natasha's grin mirrors yours and she leans back slightly, her eyes flicking across your face. Without wasting another moment, Natasha resumes, her fingers finally dipping lower. She starts with gentle, teasing strokes, building up the intensity of them every second whilst watching with her mouth agape at the sounds that you release. She pulls your body closer to her as you arch into her, the hand resting on your lower back almost guiding you to grind against her.

Natasha's eyes remain locked with yours, her lips curling into a sultry smile as she revels in every way your face contorts. Though she's only just started properly touching you, you can already feel an oncoming climax, and she knows it's going to be a big one by the way your whole body starts thrashing against her hand, meeting her movements.

"God, I didn't expect it to feel.." you let out a loud moan as she rams her fingers into your most sensitive spot, "Feel..?" Natasha smirks up at you, aware of her effect on you. You swallow, "..this- good!" The last word ends up a shriek as she increases her pace. You feel the way her breath hits your neck, goosebumps rising.

She leans in to your ear, "Really? I couldn't tell." She smirks against your neck, pecking all the way down it before lining your collarbone with her red lipstick. Natasha speeds up her pace, her touch becoming more insistent. She watches you continuously, her gaze possessive. She's been waiting for the moment when she could finally feel your insides. Every fleeting stare shared in the hallway with that secret spark between the both of you has lead her close to the brink of addiction to you.

She inhales you, smirking up at you as your mouth drops open even further. Her hold on you continues, her strokes inside your walls becoming more deliberate, coaxing you. Her pace increases further, "Ooh, god, yes!" you chant the words, bouncing on her fingers at this point.

With a final curl of her fingers, she feels your release spread across her fingers, travelling down her hand. She lets you ride out your high, stroking you a couple of times more before bringing her hand out and licking her fingers, keeping eye contact with you. Natasha's arms wrap around you, stroking down your back, "How was that?"

You pant against her shoulder, "Is that even a serious question?" She laughs, holding you tighter, "You were great.." she looks up at you, stroking your hair away from your face, her gaze becoming softer, "I'm glad this happened. I hope it's not.." she brings her chin down slightly, looking through her eyelashes at you, "a one time thing, right?"

You cup her face, brushing your thumb across her lip, "Of course not, Nat. This last half an hour with you.. I've felt better than I have in the last year." You smile down at her, seeing a blush creep up her neck. Your mouth opens in faux shock, "Woah, is THE Natasha Romanoff.. blushing?!" She slaps the side of your thigh, rolling her eyes at you.

Suddenly she stands up, holding you on her. You yelp, giggling a bit. She grins at you, "Care to continue this venture in my room?"

You lick your lips before saying, "How could I say no?"

A/N: Let me know what you think in the comments! I haven't written a fic in a long time, so.

[widowromanova]

dm me prompts for natasha romanoff smut fan fics!! going to try and write some more stuff

[widowromanova]

send in natasha romanoff/wanda maximoff smut oneshot requests!!! no limitations

[widowromanova]

Okay so maybe Larissa + reader go to a friend’s wedding (fellow teacher/staff @ nevermore), and the day is just so beautiful and full of love that when they get home, they just have the most passionate, soft, sex. I’m talking lovemaking, with a capital LOVE, and it’s so so soft and happy and sweet🥹

a/n: sorry to those who sent requests in!! i've been low on motivation and time recently but it's the weekend so i should get some of these done!! 😁 also reader is in a bridesmaid dress for this

i hope this is good, i'm not entirely sure if it completely fits with the request!

warnings: smut

It was beautiful. You had never been to a wedding prior to today but you did not expect to shed a full face of tears. You stood near the groom and watched as your friend (a friend who had introduced you to Nevermore academy to begin with) walked down the aisle, wearing the most beautiful silk creation. You smiled at her as she neared you, wiping your tear-stained cheek.

You searched for Larissa in the seats. It wasn't hard to spot her of course, her being her height, but the tone of her hair blended with the white theme of mostly every wedding. Her eyes were locked on yours as she gently smiled before turning her gaze back to the main event.

The bride and groom were on the dance floor. You stood, awkwardly holding your hands in front of you, searching for your dance partner. She came from behind you, wrapping her arms around you and holding you close. You relaxed in her grip, turning your head to silently request a kiss. She did so gently. As you pulled away, you turned your gaze back to the dance floor whilst she leaned in to your ear, "We should probably go, it's getting late." You nodded against her, removing yourself from her grip and collecting your purse.

She had rested her hand atop yours the drive home, stealing glances at your profile. To her, you were flawless. You emerged from the car and headed to the door, rattling your keys about to find the right one. The door creaked open and you found yourself once again in Larissa's grip, hobbling through the door together. You giggled as she leaned against you, "You know.." her hands started travelling further down your body, "all this talk about love has got me feeling," she leaned closer to your ear, "extra romantic."

You smiled and leaned your head back against her shoulder, "Hmm, I don't really know what you mean.." you spun around, resting your palms on her nape, "care to show me?"

"Ooh, I'd love to." She pressed her lips against yours causing you to inhale suddenly and smile against her. You moved your lips against each others slowly as she guided you backwards towards your bedroom. You had wrapped your arms around her neck, pressing her body against yours whilst her arms travelled down your back, approaching your ass. When she lightly squeezed the flesh, you yelped slightly before laughing into her mouth.

She kicked the door to your bedroom open, closing it behind her with her heel. Yet you both continued kissing. One could say it was impressive how long you both had managed to last without oxygen. One could also say that you'd played this game with her many a time. She slowly started unzipping the back of your dress, running her fingertips against the surface of your back ever so lightly, making the hairs on your back stand up.

Her lips broke away from yours, beginning to place loads of kisses all over your face. You giggled, flopping your head back as her kisses began to traverse down your jaw, to your neck. She lightly sucked marks onto your neck, your fingers entangling with her (now messy) bun. Her hands began pulling your dress material down your body as her lips moved down.

She kissed down the valley of your breasts, occasionally pressing some to the supple flesh of them. Her hands kneaded at that same flesh, softly tugging at your nipples. You attempted to move her head down towards your core. She broke away from you, her eyes peering up at you, "Let me love you, baby." She placed more kisses around your chest, some of your skin bruising. She finally began to move further down, pushing you down onto the bed to lay. With her help, you kicked your dress off, left only in your panties. She kept eye-contact with you as she brought your panties down your legs slowly, revelling in the way your thighs twitched at the slight contact. Her hands moved up your body from your legs, "You're so perfect." You smiled down at her despite your growing restlessness.

She blew air onto your core, your mouth opening at the feeling. She began to lick a long stripe up from your entrance, gathering your wetness on her tongue, to your clit. She circled it in her mouth, drawing patterns. In haste, you grabbed for her hands that rested on your stomach, squeezing them as your head threw back. Her licks grew more constant, challenging your breath control.

"Oh, god.." your mouth ran dry, your face scrunched up. She was slow in her movements, eventually bringing your hands onto the bed to trace her fingers across your inner thighs. Her ministrations continued, bringing you closer and closer. Occasionally, her tongue would slip a bit into your entrance and causing you to wish for the full feeling that you so want her to give you.

She began sucking on your clit harsher, aware of your teetering orgasm, your knuckles already turning white. It was rather frustrating how quickly she could make you c- "Oh, yes, Larissa, don't stop.." you grabbed for her head, pushing her closer, "right there! I'm gonna cum!" She sped up slightly, bringing her hands up to knead your breasts.

Your head was frozen in a thrown-back position as your let out a silent moan before loudly groaning as the after effects hit you. She let you slowly buck your hips against her face before she kissed back up your body, pressing her lips against yours.

You kissed her back tiredly, moaning at the taste of yourself on her lips. She pressed her body against yours as you slowly kept kissing. You pushed her away. She rested on her elbows above you, smiling down.

You held your hand on her chest, a 20 second silence between you, "What I'd like to know is.." she yelped slightly as you rolled her over so you straddled her, "if you act like this on someone else's wedding night.." you brought your face closer to hers, holding the collar of her dress, "then how are you going to act on ours?"

[widowromanova]

What are you willing to do for smut with Larissa Weems?

mostly anything (apart from the obvious non consensual stuff)!!!

i will say though, im not a huge fan of mommy kinks but of course i can always find a way to write for that

[widowromanova]

calling larissa weems lovers!!!

please send me larissa smut prompts so i could write them bc i am currently low on ideas 😁

[widowromanova]

all the larissa weems fanfics make me heat up like never before.

what is it with larissa and being so unnecessarily sexy 🙄

[widowromanova]

this picture of them, OH MY GOD!!!!

HER SMIRK?!?!?!?