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wandasnatasha · 2 years

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Where the Hearts Are

Pairings: Wife!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: domestic life with Natasha and your daughter:

You have built a home and a family with your wife Natasha. Using terms of endearment for each other is common for you two. Hence why your 3 year old daughter thinks your name is "(my) love" and Natasha's name is "darling".

Word count: 2k

Warnings: you and Natasha have a kid (Anastasia/Ana), mention of sex at the very end if you squint.

Specks of dust float in a stream of light as the first rays of sunrise spill through the curtains, bathing two bodies in a warm golden glow. The clock on the bedside table shows you have a small window of time before a tiny, energetic human visits your bedroom, ecstatic to start the day way too early. Just five more minutes, you promise yourself, refusing to leave the covers just yet. You turn your back towards the morning sun, and you come face-to-face with love. Even after three years of dating and four years of marriage, you still pinch yourself every day to see if you’re dreaming.

Natasha is sound asleep next to you. She’s sprawled on her back with an arm above her head and her red hair spread over the pillow. Her face is slightly angled towards you, her expression calm and peaceful as quiet puffs of air leave her lips. You admire her little details, from her eyelashes to the beauty mark on her cheek adjacent to her nose. Your heart grows.

Things are very different now compared to when you first began spending the nights together at the start of your relationship. Natasha used to sleep on the edge of the bed as if she was afraid to take up space. Back then, she always felt far off from you, even if she was just an outstretched arm away. Seven years have gone by and Natasha’s definitely not afraid to claim her spot on your shared king-sized bed. She has the tendency to roll over in her sleep, abandoning her own side of the bed for yours. You have to fight her for bed space and you like to tease her about it. Luckily, her sleeping habits don’t take away from you getting a good night’s rest, and at least she miraculously stopped being a blanket thief. You fall asleep with a full heart every night knowing you can reach her easily and that her face will be the first one you’ll see in the morning.

Natasha stirs from her slumber when you nestle yourself into the crook of her arm, resting a hand on her chest. Your wife instinctively wraps her arms around you before drifting back off. Her steady heartbeat and slow breathing serve as a reminder that dreams do come true.

You went through the tiresome motions of life before you met Natasha, yearning for tenderness and love. You thought that coming across those things was something that only ever happened to other people. A part of you accepted that you would always be on the sidelines, a witness to others finding their person, but never yourself being the one to experience this deep emotional connection with someone. Natasha ended up proving you wrong. You've found what you were looking for, and infinitely more.

Five minutes turn into ten, and you reluctantly detangle yourself from Natasha’s embrace when you hear the expected pitter-patter of little feet rushing to your door. Anastasia - Ana, for short - the 3-year-old daughter you share with Natasha, is an early riser. She always runs to your room immediately after waking up, missing her parents after a whole night apart. She likes to wreak havoc on your sleeping schedules by jumping on the bed. You want to prevent that from happening today. Natasha usually wakes up before you to entertain the overactive toddler. The fact she’s still sleeping tells you she needs the extra rest more than you do this Saturday morning.

You press a featherlight kiss to Natasha’s nose before sneaking out of your warm, comfortable bed to meet your daughter halfway.

“Hi, love!” The 3-year-old in your doorway exclaims, thrilled to see one of her favorite people.

Her words pull a bright smile out of you.

Ana has brought her most beloved stuffed doll with her. It goes where she goes. Yelena had given it to her a few months ago, with a mischievous grin thrown Natasha’s way. It’s supposed to represent a miniature version of your wife, but everyone (except Ana) agrees that the manufacturer has done Natasha terribly wrong. Natasha has called it an insult to her existence on multiple occasions when Ana was out of earshot, even going as far as to say that farmers could use it as a scarecrow. She’ll deny it, but you’ve caught Natasha hugging the stuffed doll to her chest during the rare times she’s found it laying abandoned somewhere around the house, thinking no one was there to catch her in the act. She also can’t contain her fond smiles whenever she sees it tucked under Ana’s arms, which is often. Your daughter adores the toy because it’s her mama. Natasha knows this.

Ana is about to dart towards your bed to greet the real-life version of her Black Widow plushie, but you gently stop her before she can do so.

“Hi,” you whisper, putting your index finger in front of your lips. “No jumping on the bed today. We have to be quiet for mama, okay?” You point to Natasha, reminding Anastasia to be mindful of her sleeping mother.

Ana’s gaze lands on Natasha and her eyes grow wide. She gasps dramatically, bringing her hand to her heart. You’re certain she learned this from her uncle Tony. You chuckle at her antics and clearly Ana thinks you laugh too loud, because she copies your earlier gesture by pressing her own finger to her mouth as she lets out a quiet “shhh”, not wanting you to disturb her mama.

She recently entered a new phase. Her latest favorite pastime is mimicking those around her, imitating everything she sees and hears.

“Darling sleepy,” Ana frowns, referring to Natasha by using the same term she often hears you address the redhead with.

“Yes, I think darling’s very tired,” you keep your voice low lest you face the wrath of Natasha’s fiercest protector yet again.

Ana beams back at you as you boop her nose before scooping her up into your arms.

“Let’s go brush our teeth and have breakfast. Pancakes sound good?“

Ana nods her head enthusiastically.

“You can help me make mama’s favorite sandwich,” you add, making your way to the bathroom with Ana in tow.

“Yay!”

Natasha wanders downstairs, following the sound of idle chatter and the delicious aroma that makes her stomach growl. A pot of coffee is brewing, pancakes are served on plates alongside a bowl of freshly cut fruits; her favorite girls are waiting for her in the kitchen, and Natasha hasn’t flinched in years. She plays with the wedding band on her finger as she takes in her surroundings, looking in awe at her beautiful family existing within it.

Ana is poking a finger into a slice of bread, muttering "uh-oh” at the dent it leaves behind while you try, and fail, to twist open a peanut butter jar.

Sometimes it still feels surreal to Natasha that this is her life; that she can hold the world in her hands.

Your face lights up when you become aware of Natasha’s presence, and Ana squeals in delight when she spots her, waving excitedly. Natasha returns the gesture with the same enthusiasm and her green eyes go soft when the 3-year-old offers her a chewed, mushy piece of pancake.

“Good morning, my love,” Natasha turns to you, taking the jar from you.

She gets this tiny smile she’s reserved just for you. It’s the same smile you can even hear through the phone whenever she greets you or says goodbye with a ‘love’ at the end.

Natasha never thought she’d become the type of person to use terms of affection so easily. She’d always considered it somewhat cheesy whenever she heard people address a loved one in such a manner. That is, until years ago she started finding herself on the receiving end. It hadn’t taken Natasha long to realize that you embody the concept of love for her. Still, the very first “my love” she uttered to you had lingered in her throat for quite some time before she let it out. One day it had finally rolled off her tongue, and it hasn’t stopped since.

You bask in the small moment Natasha’s having with Ana. You notice how the lid turns easily, but Natasha pretends she’s having trouble with it. She makes the silliest faces and the most exaggerated noises, causing Ana to break out into contagious giggles.

“Thanks, darling,” you say when Natasha eventually puts the opened jar down.

“No, thank you.”

When Natasha kisses your forehead and lingers there briefly, you can feel her smile. She slips her arms around you and you nuzzle into the warmth of her neck. You’ve found the safest place on earth, wrapped in the arms of your wife. When Natasha pulls away, she holds your face in her hands to press her lips against yours. She hopes it conveys her gratitude.

Without words, Natasha says, "Thank you for letting me sleep in, for breaking into a sweat just to make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, for cutting Ana’s pancakes into smaller pieces. Thank you for saying ‘yes’ on the day I got down on one knee. Thank you for getting annoyed, but not angry when I forgot the grocery list at home and returned with a lot of items missing yesterday. Thank you for sharing the responsibility with me of raising Anastasia, and for helping me give her the childhood I never had.”

Natasha feels incredibly fortunate to have found someone to love and to hold, a life partner who takes care of her and who she can take care of in return. She’s delighted that she gets to see the world in a different light through Ana’s eyes. She’s thankful for the pictures hanging on the walls of the house that you’ve bought and turned into a home together. She’s grateful for the warmth and the laughter that this family brings.

Her family.

Your family spends Saturday afternoon in the park, chasing after a cheeky Ana. You and Natasha plop down on a picnic blanket after ten minutes, trying to catch your breath. It's hard keeping up with a toddler who has more energy than the tesseract.

Your head is in Natasha's lap and conversation flows easily, the way it does when you've known someone a long time. You doze off with a familiar sense of happiness as she strokes your hair, keeping a close eye on Ana. When you wake up, it's to the sight of Natasha with daisies in her hair and Anastasia fast asleep against her.

Natasha's eyes crinkle at the corners when she looks at you. She holds out a bouquet of the same tiny flowers that she has in her hair. And, uh, is that grass with the roots still attached?

"Ana made this for you."

On Sunday, Natasha makes love to you. She'll tackle the never-ending pile of laundry much later in the day. Having her name fall from your lips until you're too sensitive to continue, is far more important.

When Monday arrives, the Romanoff household will wake up before any alarm goes off. Anastasia will bounce onto your bed with glee, nervous, but excited to start her very first day of kindergarten. She can't wait to have 'homework time' like her friends Billy and Tommy. When you drop-off your preschooler, it'll be with her Black Widow doll in her arms. Natasha will fight back tears, not wanting to worry or upset Ana, but she'll reach for your hand as you walk back to the parking lot and she'll bawl her eyes out as soon as you reach your car. Natasha will wipe off the tears you've cried with her before going your separate ways to work.

As you close the front door behind you and take off your shoes after a long tiring day, Natasha waits with her arms wide open, ready to ask you about your day and to say:

"Welcome home, love."

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow #where the hearts are #mystories

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mistswalker · 4 months

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Meet The Purple Menace

So, this character of mine has been part of a lot of memes and comics and art over the years but I don't think I've ever properly introduced him. So here goes! (Art above by @tricksterpale and @king-there0f ❤❤)

Meet Daimine! (Pronounced DAY-minn) My ridiculous, chaotic, hedonistic, Soundless mesmer.

He's a deeply talented illusionist whose specialty lies in stealth, clones, and deception. He prefers blinking from place to place rather than walking, getting a special delight out of startling people when he appears.

He tends to mentally "collect" features he considers beautiful or interesting about a person to work into a future disguise. He likes to make a game of mimicry, quickly learning the ins and outs of a given lifestyle and performing them back until his interest shifts. He even has a personal "sona" appearance fashioned after each of the other races stocked for blending in, and will hold those appearances for sometimes weeks on end if it suits him.

He's not very good at understanding complex emotions, especially those of other people, and so instead will explore them through the concept of storytelling or performance. Day to day, however, he dons a perpetually jovial facade, preferring to just dip out when a situation becomes less fun, or at minimum, entertaining, than he thought he signed up for.

Though his motivations may seem rather straightforward, woe to anyone who tries to use this knowledge to control him. The only thing more powerful than his desire for a good time is his loathing for authority or control. He can and will be a contrarian little shit the second he thinks someone is trying to manipulate him without his enthusiastic consent.

Prior to the start of Hope's Legacy, he had spent the last year in the Fields of Ruin, trading back and forth between moonlighting his humansona as a separatist, and his charrsona as a renegade to sow chaos on both sides of the war in Ebonhawke for his own enjoyment. Previous occupations include: Assassin, bounty hunter, bandit, and adopted skritt.

#mypost #gw2 #guild wars 2 #guildwars 2 #guild wars #guildwars #sylvari #gw2 oc #daimine #character post #Hope's Legacy #HL #mystories #Cas #my characters

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frostedlemonwriter · 3 days

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Coming Out

A piece of flash fiction I wrote based on a prompt that @magicaurum gave me. I am not saying it is good but it helped my creativity. So have a read!

On Sundays, a somber shade of blue enveloped everything, which today blended with the gray weather. Amidst the burdensome weight of our college studies and demanding jobs, my cherished friend Sara would always find time to visit. Her presence brought a sense of comfort, as if a gentle breeze had swept away the heaviness. Even when I mustered a feeble “I’m fine,” she knew the truth, peered into the depths of my emotions. With gentle embraces, and softer words, she would, if not cure, but help my mood. She would never pry into my deepest thoughts; those things that we hide from one another. Even those closest to us, we would wear masks. The air filled with the scent of secrecy, like a faint whiff of smoke from a distant fire. Sounds of distant laughter echoed through the room, mingled with the soft rustling of cheap curtains. The weight of my hidden truth pressed against my chest, made each breath feel heavy and burdened. It was as if I stood on a stage and played a part in a Greek tragedy, where the masks we wore concealed our true selves. Looking back, I realized how foolish I had been to keep such a trivial secret in those times. “Sara,” I said one Sunday. “Can I tell you something?” A smile crossed her beautiful face, the kind that could light up an entire room. “You can tell me anything you want, whenever,” Sara said, crossed her legs at the ankles. Why did I fear so much? Something is such a big part of who and what I am. To hide it from family and friends, and for a while, I hid it from myself. How long had I been sitting here in silence? I didn’t know. “Earth to Aimee. Are you okay?” She asked. “I’m gay,” I blurted out. “Well, I know. I mean, I’ve known since tenth grade.” There, right there at that very moment, a crimson heat tinged my pale cheeks. “A-and you never said anything?” “Wasn’t my business. I figured if you trusted me enough to come out you would, and if’n you never did. Then fair enough, right?” Her smile grew so much larger, and goddamn, did she look like an angel at the moment.

My usual taglist:

@cljordan-imperium @ashirisu @leahnardo-da-veggie @olivescales3 @erraticprocrastinator

@pb-dot @illarian-rambling @ryns-ramblings @stonesandswords @sender-paulson

@roach-pizza

#creative writing #flash fiction #writeblr #lgbt #mystories

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chiscribbs · 7 months

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This was a little impromptu collab between me and my best friend in the whole world, @koilada - I say "impromptu" because it really wasn't planned, I was just spamming her with sketches one day and she decided to give this one a ✨glow-up✨

We wanted to see how well the color palettes of our respective characters would work together, and wow - do they ever!

The lovely lady with the poppy in her hair is mine, her name is Ludwika (Lulu, to most) and she's a phoenix in human form. The sharp-dressed cutie on the right is my friend's, his name is Koen, he's a mer-prince experiencing the world of humans up close for the first time. Some time ago, my friend and I simultaneously got the idea to revive our old characters and give their stories a little much-needed updating. In the process, a joke was made about incorporating them into each other's stories, and uhhhh... a few months and several RPs later, they're now each other's best friend (and well on their way to being more, ehehe). They have a really fun, sweet, and playful dynamic that I just adore and have quickly taken hold of my heart. They're our babies. 💕

Sketch & clothing design - me Coloring, color palettes, and BG - Koi

#I never know how to tag OC art uuuuuugh.#my: ludwika #mystories #koilada #adventures of fishboy and firegirl #...that's their jokey tag. Not the actual name of their collective stories. Just to clarify LOL.#koen (koi's boy)#chiscribbs #chicollab

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madeofcc · 10 months

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It’s time for love, breakups … And lyrics 🎶

One year after the events of DH2, the gang is back to Britechester to enjoy the fun and drama of student life. While Destiny and Aïssa are living the perfect love, fighting for their civil rights, Leïla and Hiro are still fighting with each other. He blames her for being obsessed with magic while she just wants him to act more like an adult now that they live together. Milo, on his side, is tired to experiment the trauma of the Grindr life and wants to find true love.

One night, the gang is having a drink and Leïla/Hiro start arguing about an ancient book she found earlier that day. Meanwhile, Mindy finally admits to Chloé that she applied to the Lambda sorority, which could lead their friendship to an end.

As the night and relationships are coming to difficult choices, an ancient spell will make everyone reveal their truth for 24 crazy hours. Are you ready for it ? ♫

This is a special episode that is introducing the characters, places and major plots for DH3 : Nightmare at Britechester !

This is a musical, which means that the story will include songs that you can already discover and enjoy just below (Spotify playlist)

Remember that this is an adult story, even more this time with serious issue like rape, harassment, male toxicity ... I'll put the proper trigger warnings for each chapter.

Destiny Harbour : Melodia starts HERE

#DH #Destiny Harbour #DH special #DH Melodia #DH musical #DH Melodia main page #DH Melodia Playlist #DH playlist #mystories #I can't wait !!!!#This is going to be the main page for the story #Going to update it through the story #intro is almost done #there's three part in several post

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lilyunad · 9 months

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Diluc on Liliput 3

As he sat he looked around, at these little houses, at these small people hiding but also obviously looking at him. He was getting so much attention, his heartbeat quickened. Though his face showed a stern cold look, Diluc was anxious.

Never had he got so much attention and fear directed at him. He was the cause, and that made him uneasy too.

He looked again at the little person he'd placed down earlier. They were cowering behind a cart, afraid and also curious.

Instead of saying something reassuring, Diluc reached for them again. A huge mistake, as they sprinted away and...

Fell, butt first on pavement.

The person sat up and rubbed their face, Diluc sighed in relief, they are okay; but that didn't stop him from taking advantage of it and reaching for them.

However the bartender did not pick them up. He merely placed a hand down in front of them, forming a wall so they wouldn't escape further.

He also slowly shifted his body and crouched in their general direction. His shadow was looming over them now. Great, he wanted to calm them down but that only proved he scared them even more...

"It's okay. Told you, I'm not going to hurt you."

Diluc said, not removing his hand. The small person placed their tiny hand on his, rubbed at their eyes. Oh they were crying...

But it also hit Diluc on how real that was.... Again.Their fingers felt so fragile against his skin.

He crouched down further, wanting to have a real good look. Before, he felt like he was looking at their size and not really at their details. Green hair, furry ears, a hat...

However before he could register more, another person joined them and screamed as they looked up.

Diluc tilted his head to the side, curious, and also tilted his head so it would slide under these two.

He gently raised his hand to his eyes, and looked at them.

They were terrified. They looked like girls, sitting on their knees and holding each other hands in support, they were obviously shaking in fear.

The green-haired girl had a uniform-ish dress and wore round glasses, and as she started to hide her face into the other's arms he looked at her. A white dress, curly blonde pigtails, wait... he knows her...

"... Aren't you Jean's little sister ? Barbara ?"

Barbara eeped but she stopped crying, hugging Sucrose and trying to comfort her.

Hey, were they thinking that he was some kind of monster the abyss order sent them, so saying her name was a life-saver ? They were obviously still scared of him...

But then wouldn't have the Anemo archon appeared if he was a threat ? Or maybe it was a prank that went bad ? This archon probably would say that he totally meant for it to go that way, hehe.

He looked at the girls and his gaze seemed to scare them... What to do now...?

#Mystories #giant #tiny #genshin impact #Fluff #Sfw #Cute #gt #diluc #Liliput #gentle giant #Genshin #impact

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faekishi · 1 month

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Back to writing again. This one is a small one though. A warm up to help me get back into writing again. Decided to post it in case anyone would like enjoying to read it.

A pokemon fusion as there is a lack of pokemon/MHA and I am starving.

I hope you enjoy! Expect more postings soon.

#mystories #mha #aizawa shouta #midoriya izuku #my hero acedamia

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cerseimikaelson · 2 months

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If anyone told me I would be making my first ever Tumblr account on Valentine's Day of all days, I would have laughed, but then I shrugged and said why the hell not.

It's wonderful to finally be a part of the community, guys.

Here is a little something from one of my stories in honor of the day.

"If you ever wonder whether or not you truly love someone, ask yourself: what is it that you love? Their life as a whole, or simply their role in yours?"

The story is called Collision of Parallel Lines and I actually just updated it (yay). You can find me on ao3 as Cersei_Mikaelson

#a03 #mystories #author #collision of parallel lines #new user #cerseimikaelson

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kerkosims · 5 months

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First night out in the town, Khai and Nika found themselves at Rosalita's where Khai tried alcohol for the first time and won the darts game. The girls made it to their dorm at 5AM and slept the day away.

Credits:

This build is the Pepper's British AF Pub by @harrie-cc You can find it in the gallery under: hey_harrie.

#ts4 #sims4 #greenburgtwins #khai greenburg #thegreenburgs #thefosterhousehold #thefosters #nikafoster #mystories #mysims #thesims4 #simblr #rosalitasbar

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venusiansim · 29 days

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More from this day

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wandasnatasha · 2 years

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If You Run, Run To Me (18+) PT. 1|2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's been six months since you and your friend Natasha started sleeping together. When Natasha catches wind of your feelings for her, will she run?

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: angst, smut (thigh riding, fingering)

Natasha. Natasha. Natasha.

All your senses are taken over by the woman moving herself back and forth on your bare thigh.

The sound of Natasha's labored breaths reaches your ears. They turn into soft sighs and moans whenever her body meets yours at just the right angle, offering her the perfect amount of friction. She lights your skin on fire. You feel her everywhere. You feel her in the warmth of her skin against yours and the wetness she spreads across your thigh. You feel her between your legs from when - not even less than five minutes ago - she relentlessly pumped and curled her fingers inside you. You feel her in the grip she currently has on your shoulders.

Natasha lets out something akin to a whine when you pinch an erect nipple one last time before you move your hands away from squeezing her breasts. She craves and needs your touch on every single part of her body, but she particularly enjoys the attention you always give to her breasts. Taking your time, you trail down the path from her chest to her waist and the curve of her hips until both of your hands reach their destination. When you grab a handful of her ass, Natasha doesn't remember what she was complaining about.

You gently knead her skin before you start helping Natasha with her movements. Backwards. Forwards. Slower. Faster. Repeat.

"I want-" Natasha almost loses her balance, lost in the chase of the pleasure that's been building up, both threatening and promising to overflow. You don't let go of her. You keep her in place as her nails dig into your shoulders. It's only in moments like these that the redhead truly allows you to steady her, and that she allows herself to hold on to you.

You like to think you know Natasha well, but you don't know her fully. You wish you did. You have gathered bits and pieces of her here and there, but there are many parts of herself she tries to keep hidden. Naively enough you hope she'll let you uncover them all one day. You do know her body, intimately. If you were to trace a finger from the spot right beneath her shoulder blade to her lower back, it would send a chill down her spine. You do exactly that, and she shivers.

It takes some maneuvering, but it isn't long before Natasha finds herself on her back. You crash your lips against hers and she lets out an appreciative grunt. You taste a hint of yourself and the sweetness of her strawberry-flavored lip balm. You fight back your smile as your fingers go from between the valley of her breasts to her navel. The taste on her lips is a reminder of what led you here.

Something you do know about Natasha is that she always loses her lip balm before she can finish it. She either misplaces it or she forgets to take it out of a pocket before doing laundry. Back when you were still just friends, and not yet friends who regularly make out and sleep together, Natasha had frequently complained your ears off, annoyed at having chapped and dried lips because she lost her lip balm yet again. After her umpthieth complaint, you'd gifted Natasha a multipack with 10 lip balms to put her out of her misery, each a different flavor. She'd have a back-up now for at least a little while. Natasha's eyes and mouth had perfectly captured the joy she felt while accepting your gift. In that moment she had appeared so unlike the Natasha she presented to the world. But she let you see.

You run two fingers through her wet folds, coating them with her arousal. Natasha gasps into your mouth when you easily slip those same fingers inside her. You know what makes her tick. You know that if you twist your fingers just so, she'll get louder. Her volume increases slightly. If you were to apply the same amount of pressure to her center that you would when snapping your thumb and middle finger together, she'd silently throw her head back further into the pillow. You're filled with pride when Natasha exposes her full neck to you, her lips forming a quiet "Oh".

You could get her to a point of utter desperation if you wanted to. Natasha Romanoff begging, nearly sobbing, pleading with you to give her the release she craves. You've done it quite frequently, actually. You don't want to do that today. You don't want to make her wait. You decide to give her everything she wants as you increase the motion of your fingers.

Natasha willingly sharing any part of herself with anyone is like winning the lottery, and you might have hit the jackpot. During the course of your friendship you've seen different versions of her she rarely shows. The woman who scarcely complains about anything, not about her aching muscles after training hours on end, and never uttering a word about her exhaustion after returning from a mission, did voice her irritations about minor inconveniences to you. Maybe if she were anyone else, you'd consider it barely a small gesture. But with Natasha, it means the world, and you love her for it. In fact, you love many things you've noticed about her.

You love how Natasha can command a room with her mere presence, how she seems to tower over men triple her size, how she's the one to calm down the team when your voices rise during heated discussions, how she stands up for what's right. Her selflessness. You love how sometimes she surprises you with an even lewder joke than Tony Stark himself could come up with. You love how she passes you by in the kitchen only to abruptly turn around with a cheeky grin as she dares to steal both the spoon and the pint of Ben & Jerry's out of your hands, leaving you speechless. You love how she quietly recites the lines during every James Bond movie and how her cheeks turn pink after being caught. You love how none of that timedness was present when she ripped open your present, immediately trying one of the flavored lip balms. You watched on as she had licked her lips. She had looked back at you unwaveringly.

"What flavor do you have?" You had asked her. Without uttering a single word Natasha had told you to see for yourself when she had grabbed the front of your shirt and crashed her soft lips against yours. That was nearly six months ago now. Since then you've tasted 9 out of 10 flavors directly from her lips.

You release your mouth from Natasha's pink nipple with a pop. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. You thrust your fingers upwards, continuously hitting the spongy spot inside her. The bedsheets are curled in her tight fists as the noises she makes continue to fill up the room. She thrusts her hips up every so often. You feel her clench around your fingers. When you return your thumb to rub her center, her body tenses briefly, and then you watch how her face contorts into pure bliss as she's finally rewarded with the waves of pleasure washing over her. Your fingers don't seize their movements, slowly helping her ride out her high.

You move away the hairs that stick to her forehead as you wait for her to come back down to earth. You gently rub the frown between her brows, eventually resting a hand on her cheek.

Maybe this is your favorite Natasha. No, you don't necessarily mean the one that's thoroughly fucked, although it's a close second. You mean the Natasha who gives herself the permission to let go, to just be. The Natasha who isn't so hard on herself, who's not weighed down by the responsibilities of saving the world or buried beneath the guilt and shame she feels when she thinks she has let others down. It's the version of Natasha that you desperately hope exists: the one that despite normally believing she's undeserving, hopefully asks herself, what if just maybe she does deserve tenderness and all things good? You believe she's in there.

Natasha is present in every corner of your mind, and maybe that's why you speak without thinking.

"You are breathtaking."

The whisper leaves your mouth before you can even consider the consequences, before you can guard its meaning and keep it close to your heart. You curse yourself the moment you realize what you've done. You hope the words haven't reached her. But Natasha has heard you. You know this by the way her body grows stiff. Her relaxed expression is replaced by something else. Panic? Anger? At you or at herself? You don't know.

Your heart pounds in your ears. You should've known better. Natasha doesn't say anything, but her silence speaks volumes. It's not what you said that ruins everything. You've called her beautiful and given her compliments on multiple occasions, albeit under different circumstances. She doesn't mind it. It's the way you'd said those words that bothered her. Like you meant three different words entirely.

Natasha is spent, but she always has a fight left in her. You hold back your tears, knowing that you love that about her too, even if now, she uses it against you. Natasha pushes you off of her, and you have to keep yourself from landing on the floor. You sit up straight, desperately wanting to reach for her, but you look on as Natasha gathers the clothes scattered around. She's in such a hurry that she puts on her shirt inside out.

All your senses are overloaded by Natasha. She is everywhere. She's here in her touch you crave and the absence you know she'll leave behind instead. Your lips still taste of strawberries. The pillow behind you probably smells of her shampoo. The grief of losing something you never even had puts a weight on your chest that makes it impossible for you to catch your breath. You want to lie to her and tell her that you didn't mean it like that. You want to tell her the truth by saying you would gladly take whatever she was willing to offer. You wish to grab her by the shoulders, look her square in the eyes and say, "You don't have to love me back and you don't have to accept my love, but you deserve to be loved, Natalia Romanova."

Sobs shake your body before you even see Natasha run out of your room. It's over.

PART 2

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