Can We Imagine Seggsy Time With Nat And She Puts A Vibe On Your Clit But Then Straddles You So It’s

The Elements Of Us || Masterlist

Author's Note - SURPRISE!! Me and the absolutely fabulous, and talented, @p0orbaby have decided to work together to do a collab! We've had this planned for a little while, but we're now ready to reveal it to you lovely lot. Please follow them if you haven't already!

Summary - When an unexpected misunderstanding turns into a blossoming relationship, it’s hard to remember that the outside world exists. Follow the journey of two idiots in love as they navigate their new lives with each other, but not without their pasts rearing their ugly heads.

Pairing - Older!NatashaRomanoff x Younger!Fem!Reader

Warnings - Each chapter will have its own individual warnings. but adult themes will be written throughout.

Prologue || 22/01

Chapter 1

more chapters coming…

--

unironically want that mediocre gfs w u stuck and just the 'nat 😳😳😳what r u doing'

you know. you know what. i make myself laugh. thats what matters.

title: you dirty, dirty girl

summary:

Nat chuckles. Her hands, calloused and hot, squeeze your cheeks. Spread them. Her mouth hovers over your tailbone. “Seriously? You got yourself stuck in the laundry machine in this get-up?”

“It was not on purpose. Pull that back up, so help me-”

content: nat/f!reader, dom/sub, cum filled strap, anal, anal plug

(ao3)

Fate is cruel. So very cruel. You have never wanted to die this badly.

For over ten minutes—you can tell based on the number of songs that have played, you have been stuck in your laundry machine. In your fucking underwear like some lousy porn. What’s worse is that you decided that today of all days, you would invite Nat over. Nat, who only ever takes two-hour naps at most and went to sleep on your couch an hour and a half ago. Nat, who will laugh so hard she dies from oxygen deprivation when she sees you. And then you will die because you’re stuck in a laundry machine with no possible escape.

At least you’ll die next to each other. How romantic.

Picture this: blades at the inside of the laundry machine, cut up into strings. What bliss.

You stick your forearm into your mouth for the third time so far so you can muffle your scream of pure frustration. You will not be surprised at all if you lose your voice tomorrow.

It all started because of Nat’s stupid fucking sock. She’s always complaining that your laundry machine eats her socks, so you’d made sure to fish them all out. Except when you tried to grab the last one (patterned with cartoon spiders hanging off a faucet—a gag gift you got her for her birthday), you had leaned too far in and now you couldn’t squeeze your shoulders back out.

How does this happen in real life?

The rim of the laundry machine is starting to bite. You smack the inside of the machine with your fist, kicking your legs out. Another infuriated cry into your forearm.

Another song begins playing. You hate this song.

You close your eyes, feeling your head throb, and then suck in a deep, long breath. The air is humid, disgustingly so.

It’s time.

It’s time to suck it up.

You prepare a lungful of air, and— you screech.

Thud!

“Fuck!” comes Nat’s sleep-raspy voice.

That felt good. You scream again, making sure there’s a real guttural note to it.

“Baby?” Nat yells, confused, slightly panicked. Rapid footsteps. The door swings open. “Are you okay?”

“Get me out,” you grit lowly.

She doesn’t react immediately. You imagine she didn’t hear; she’s taking it all in. Maybe, she’s still rubbing her ass from falling off the couch. Then: “…what the hell.”

“Natasha.” Your knuckles blanche with how tight your fists are clenched. You speak louder, enunciating: “Get. Me. Out.”

A warm hand on your lower back, where your spaghetti top has ridden up. The music from your phone pauses, and Nat crouches next to you. “Is there a spider in there or something? I told you I’m not going to kill spiders for you. The joke is old.”

“I am not.” You inhale. Hold. Exhale. “I am not fucking joking right now, Natasha fucking Romanoff, if you do not get me out of here-”

“You’re really not funny. You’re not.” Nat pokes your ass cheek. “I could be sleeping right now.”

“Natasha!” you screech, thrashing your lower body. “I’m fucking stuck in the laundry machine! Get me out. Get me out!”

Another lengthy pause. Nat puts both hands on your back and leans down, presumably to peek into the laundry machine because she’s an asshole who doesn’t believe you. Which is just so—

“Annoying piece of shit! Fucking-” You slam your palms down, metallic clanging grating against your ears. You feel like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

“For real? For real, dude. You’re…” Nat presses closer and breathes down your neck. So not helping. “…wow.”

“I will break up with you.”

“But…”

“Don’t.”

“But step-sister-”

“Natasha,” you grind out between your teeth.

Her body warmth withdraws, and you sigh in relief. Then, she hooks her fingers into your panties and slides them down to your knees.

“I will kill you. I will kill you. I will kill you.”

Nat chuckles. Her hands, calloused and hot, squeeze your cheeks. Spread them. Her mouth hovers over your tailbone. “Seriously? You got yourself stuck in the laundry machine in this get-up?”

“It was not on purpose. Pull that back up, so help me-”

“I don’t believe you.” She removes a hand. Only to bring it back down in a spank.

You yelp, flushing deeply, abruptly. “I don’t care,” your voice hikes up a pitch on another spank, “Nat, please.”

“That’s more like it,” she husks, breath fanning across your back. “Begging.”

It must be a Pavlovian response to that specific tone of voice. No other explanation for why you’re moments from getting wet. You did not do this on purpose.

Nat noses along the curve of your ass. You feel her lips curve into a smile; you can just picture it: impish, cocky, shit-eating. She digs her nails into your stinging ass cheek, bites the other one, and gives it another harsh smack.

The ass bad airflow in the drum must be fucking with your head. You bite your lip to prevent a whimper from escaping. To your great shame, you feel arousal gush out. Perhaps Nat won’t notice immediately, so you have time to brace yourself for the incoming humiliation.

Nat leaves a wet mark on your ass, and it prickles on your skin as it dries in the air. She sighs very contently, and you know, at that moment, the game is over.

“Sweetheart, do you want to safeword?” You slot your teeth into the bitemark on your arm and groan into it. Her hand rubs your smarting cheek as if to console you. She’s unbearably smug when she says: “I didn’t think so.”

You move your arm to your forehead, leaning heavily onto it. This is happening. It would be fantastic if those blades appeared now.

To your horror, Nat pulls away entirely and takes a few steps back.

You make a noise of alarm, body taut like a bowstring. “Don’t leave me here. Nat, please, don’t. Please.”

Footsteps returning. Hand patting your spine. “Just for a minute, okay? I’ll be quick.”

“Promise?” you whisper, afraid for a second that she won’t hear.

But she pats you again and says, “Promise, sweet girl. Be good.”

And she’s gone for ages.

The embarrassment from this whole situation makes you heat up, makes you tense, makes you wet, and the latter makes the humiliation greater. It’s a vicious cycle. You’re definitely not thinking clearly anymore, pulled into that happy, fuzzy space where anything Nat does gets you off. Where time moves nonlinearly.

You sigh, biting your lip and waggling your foot as you wait for her. It feels like too long, but you can’t trust your sense of time, and you can’t trust Nat to not take forever just to fuck with you. But she did promise—she doesn’t usually break promises like this.

“Nat?” you ask, voice meek. Pathetic.

No response.

You brace your hands on the end of the drum and push. No go. Still.

Unfortunately, this is when Nat decides to come back. Pitter-patter of her feet incoming fast. You knew she wouldn’t lie. She wasn’t trying to drag it out—

“Well, well.” Nat stops at the door. “I was going to be nice, you know?”

You drop your arms with a sad moan. “You were gone.”

“Good girls are patient.” Her voice comes closer. “Good girls get their pussies filled.”

“Please.” You practically claw your way deeper into the machine in an attempt to appease her.

She tsks, and her hands grip you by the hips, pulling you back in place. “Hold still now. I’ll fuck you if you listen.”

“Okay,” you eventually mutter.

Nat hums. You hear clinking and rustling. She’s tampering with something. You wish you could twist around and see her, gauge her mood. Alas, the tight space does you no favours.

Anyway, you did agree to hold still, didn’t you?

For a long time, nothing happens. This time, you’re sure Nat’s fucking with you, but you don’t know what to do to get her moving. Your slick is trickling down your thighs now. The odds are stacked against you.

“Nat, please,” you whine.

A huff. “That was your second chance.” She’s still not touching you. You curl your toes, tensing up. “How many spanks for the impatience?”

“…um, five?” you attempt.

“We’ll do five times the number I was thinking. Better luck next time.” Her palm comes down out of nowhere and with a punishing force. You cry out, trying to twist into the drum. She just drags you back out. “Count for me. No mistakes, and I’ll halve the number.”

Were you not so horny, you would’ve asked her why she’s acting like a primary school math teacher. Instead, you choke out: “One.”

She hums and hits at your thigh this time. You wriggle, count, and she resituates you. Repeat. The spanks land along your ass and thighs, and, every so often, she pauses to massage your stinging flesh. By the time she hits twenty, you’re a snivelling mess.

She shushes you, squeezing a hand through to rub circles between your shoulder blades. “Five more, okay?”

You nod, though she might not see it. Still, she takes it as a go-ahead to give you five more swats, alternating spots with each one. You spit out the last five numbers in quick succession, voice small and wobbly.

Nat squats low to kiss at your tender skin, murmuring praise and encouragements to you until you sigh. “I’m okay now. Mostly.”

Her hand rests gently on a bruise. “Mostly?”

You nod again, head drooped into a pile of your arms. “Yeah. Green.”

A thoughtful hum. Then, she’s gone, and there’s the pop of a cap being opened. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

With a keen, you do your best to slacken. Even then, when cold fingers touch your still sensitive ass, you jolt and hiss.

“Sorry, baby,” Nat soothes. Gingerly, she tugs you open. “Come on. Deep breaths. You know how prep goes.”

You do. Your clit throbs.

You do as you’re told, trying to count out each breath. You begin to appreciate her cool touch, overheated as you are.

When she’s deemed you sufficiently calm, she presses her lubed thumb against the ring of your ass and makes tiny circles on it. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“You’re my good girl,” she coos, ghosting her other hand along your inner thigh. “My baby. Good little slut for me, hm?”

Tiny: “Mhm.”

Nat rewards you with the first knuckle of her index finger. You gasp, and she cuts it off with one of her own. “No matter how many times I fuck you, you’re still this tight,” she says, almost like she’s musing to herself. Another press of her lips to your ass, then she pushes her finger all the way in. “So good for me.”

Yes. Good. You nod, eyes clenched shut.

Before she slips her second finger in, she gives you a few thrusts that have you groaning and dropping heavily into the laundry machine. Nat’s patient with you, waiting for you to settle back down before pistoning both fingers into you. Once, twice, three times.

She scissors her fingers, curls them, twists them. Each time, you try not to writhe. Your earlier screeching has your throat too raw to make sounds louder than a breathy wail, so you’re left whimpering and heaving for breath.

Overlaying all of this is Nat’s filthy whispers. She calls you good, her precious baby. Yet, every time your cunt leaks more arousal, or it clenches on nothing, or your sphincter spasms around her fingers, she’s groaning out greedy whore, aching for cock. Your head spins from it all.

After an age, she drags her fingers out of you with a sound that verges on forlorn.

“I’m fucking you ‘till I’m bored,” she informs you.

“Please, please, please,” is all you can say.

She laughs, probing at your asshole with the head of her strap-on, and you’re instantly babbling out pitiful sounds, and she just laughs a bit more. Your arms are damaged from how hard you grip onto them, from the occasional snap of your jaw around them.

The cock splits you open slowly, rubs against your hypersensitive skin, and you hiccup midway through a cry. Nat stops when she bottoms out, cursing under her breath at the sight of your ass wrapped tight around the girth of her piece.

Then, the sound of a shutter.

Your sound of confusion sounds like a mewl.

“Don’t think,” she says lightly, jerking her hips into a grind, “just take it.”

Your lungs run ragged, trying to take in enough air for your brain.

She strokes over your waist, down your thigh, and exhales softly. Pulls out halfway and drives the cock back in. “Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs. “Yes. Just take it.”

“Yes,” you echo, eyebrows crinkling as she starts up a snappy pace, “yes, yes, yes-”

The fit is tight, excruciating in its pleasure. The friction of your muscles around her girth has you drooling on your arm, mouth slack and open.

After a particularly loud whimper, Nat plants a hand on your back and presses you into the rim of the machine. With the leverage, she can fuck into you harder, faster. Her other hand flits around your body and slithers down your navel to cup your mound.

You buck down into her hand.

“Stay,” she barks. With her assistance, you’re returned to your previous height, much to your chagrin.

“Please,” you moan brokenly, “Nat, please.”

She pinches your ass, ignoring your mournful yowl. Somehow, she fucks you harder, your bodies swaying forward with every shove. The ache, the sound, of her front meeting your backside has you needier. Somehow, needier.

So full. Alight with sensation. Just not where you need it.

Nat takes pity. She reaches around and, this time, sweeps the pad of her finger over your clit.

You wail.

The finger draws tight circles around your clit, pressure becoming more deliberate, harsher, as your cries escalate into—nothing.

Your mouth falls open silently, overworked throat failing at producing noise.

And you’re full—so full—more full. Nat releases into you with a grunt, a gasp, and then a long groan. Fingers splayed out on your back, the other hand slipping away from your dripping cunt.

Fake cum pools heavy inside you, fucked deep inside you by the strap that Nat keeps pushing into you.

Afterwards, she drapes her body over yours with a puff of breath.

“Thank you,” you mumble eventually.

She barks a laugh. It’s a cute sound, you hate to admit. “You’re welcome for using you as a fleshlight.”

You manage a smile. “Any time.”

Another exhale as she hikes herself up using the edge of the machine and inches her cock out of you. She hums in sympathy with your quickened breathing.

You make to wiggle out after, but she stills you with a hand.

“What’s the rush, baby?” There’s a hint of mirth in her voice that you don’t trust at all. A very familiar click of shutters. “Look at you, gaping for me. Leaking for me.” Her thumb whips out to catch the cum dribbling out, pushes it back in. “Better not waste, though.”

Your clit throbs with your pulse. “…Nat.”

“What?” But she doesn’t give you a chance to continue, bulldozing on: “You know, honey, the absence of your humongous mommy kink has been quite disappointing.”

“My god.”

“Laundry machine? Anal? Coming inside? Check, check, and check. Weird familial-”

“Please stop.” Your temple throbs with your pulse.

Nat’s laugh, cackle, really, is much less charming this time around. “Hold onto this for me, will you?” she basically croons. And then she sets the tip of what you assume is a plug at your asshole. “Anyway, don’t act like you don’t love this whore that you are.”

“Nat,” you whine, but then you stop because you can’t deny her. She makes a point of holding the plug in your ass at its widest point and then releasing it, enjoying the view of your ass swallowing it.

“Greedy little hole,” she notes. Then, she claps her hands together, makes a sound like she’s dusting them off, and gets up. “Well, that was fun- Oh, you didn’t start the dryer.”

“You- Nat, you’re not leaving me-”

“Sure am.” Beep. Beep-beep. The dryer starts loudly. Obnoxiously. Nat’s shadow passes over you, and then there’s the sound again, of camera shutters. “These are great. Can’t believe this is real life. Can you?”

“Nat! You are not leaving me here!”

“Thanks for letting me borrow your phone. Let me just send that over to myself…” The fact that she used your own goddamn phone to get a picture for this really drives the shame home. “Anyway, see you when the dryer’s done.”

Footsteps receding.

You shriek, shrill. Your ass closes tight around the plug, around the cum inside you, and you feel how utterly soaked your lower half is. And your upper half, from the laundry water.

“We’re fucking over!”

Nat’s laugh rings through the house.

a late spring masterlist

How can knowing someone be so destructive yet so vehement at the same time? You and Natasha know it far too well in the journey of your relationship

WARNINGS: bestfriend’s mom!nat x younger!reader, unspecified age gap relationship, eventual smut, established relationships, and angst!

First Love / A Late Spring

Naked Truths (COMING SOON!)

Be Kind

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1K Words

A/N: Smut. You're naked in bed with your girlfriend Natasha.

Natasha didn’t have to tell you about her long day. You already knew. You kissed her shoulders as she walked through the door. Her arm wrapped around you easily, filled with affection and relief at the sight of you.

It was late evening, you’d both eaten already. It seemed natural to lie in bed together. Sleep wasn’t coming. You watched the lingering stress in her body. 

You watched television for a little bit. Letting her hold you, letting the warmth of her press up behind you. Being here reassured her. You knew that. Still, you wished you could do more.

You told her so.

You felt Natasha’s smile as she kissed your shoulder. 

‘You are beautiful.’ She told you. ‘I just want you here.’

‘I would carve these thoughts into your skin if I could.’ She added lightly, teasing you with the slight scrape of her teeth.

You turned in her arms readily.

You let your finger follow the weighted curve of her breast. 

You smiled as you kissed over her nipple lightly. 

‘Maybe I will too.’ You pretended to consider. Letting your teeth scrape the sensitive area. 

Natasha’s breath caught. 

‘No.’ She decided for you, carding her own fingers through your hair. ‘Be kind.’

‘Okay.’ You mumbled obediently enough, taking her nipple between your lips and sucking slowly. 

Goosebumps ran flush across her skin. You touched them with a heady mix of awe and curiosity at your effect. Natasha sighed, her voice keening at the slow pressure of your palm on her breast. 

You sucked lightly again. You felt her hip buck into your abdomen. You turned her on her back, smoothing her hair away from her face. She watched you with the slight uncertainty of anticipation. Attraction rushed through you.

You let your cheek fall against her tight nipple. You smiled at the feel of it pressing into you too. 

You turned your attention to her other breast. Watching the same goosebumps coat her skin as you rubbed her other nipple between your thumb and forefinger. 

Natasha let out an incoherent sound under her breath. You glanced up to see her bite her lip.

You frowned automatically, tugging her lower lip free with the pad of your thumb. 

You crawled forward over her front and kissed her slowly. 

Kissing Natasha felt like you were falling. You loved it. Maybe it was because your eyes were closed. You felt alone and safe. You could taste her, and feel her chest move beneath you. You could hear the hums of pleasure she made at the taste of your tongue. 

Her fingers slipped between your legs. Her hand slid against your vagina roughly. You jolted in sudden pleasure. Your own taut nipples brushed against hers. 

Natasha swore at the sensation. Her breathing was erratic. You watched her face, her eyes raised up to the ceiling. The pink flush on her cheeks. 

You slid back down her front. You sucked at each nipple before letting your thumb pads take up a steady rhythm of tugging and teasing.

You slid lower.

Natasha said your name. Low and soft and wondrous. Her body curved as she sat upright with you between her thighs. Her hands gripped your shoulders tightly then. You felt the strength she never showed, slowly coming free at her fingertips. You knew there’d be bruises on your skin in the morning. 

You ran your tongue from her belly button down her left thigh. 

Natasha whined as your lips brushed past her vagina.

The sound curled like heat between your legs.

You sucked at the skin of her upper thigh. There was a small scar here. Tiny, faded and secret to the world. 

You kissed the mended skin reverently. You could smell her wetness this close. It caught in your throat, like something extravagant you wanted more of.

You moved your tongue closer to her vagina and Natasha sighed in relief. Her fingers slid expectantly into your hair, ready to hold your mouth where she wanted it.

You teased her more. You couldn’t help it. Every panting breath of her anticipation made you wet between the legs too.

You licked lightly along her labia. Natasha gave a small cry. You lapped at the soaked wetness she couldn’t help. You savoured the taste of her again in your mouth. 

Natasha fidgeted with desperation. You felt her thighs twitch as she barely resisted holding your head tight between them. You smiled at your own effect. 

Natasha said your name again, this time she was pleading. 

You ran your tongue along her labia one more time, resting with the slightest pressure at her clit.

‘Be kind.’ Natasha moaned suddenly, and the desperate order made you smile wider. You moved your hands to slide up and down her thighs. 

With sudden intent, you slid your tongue between her folds and caught the edge of her clit. 

Natasha held your hair tighter than ever. You could feel the muscles in her thighs twitching uncontrollably now.

‘Be kind.’ She whispered breathlessly, obviously sensing she’d found the magic words.

You obliged, again gliding your tongue lightly over her clit. 

Natasha let out a barely muffled scream. 

‘Be kinder.’ She pleaded tensely.

You pressed your tongue harder against her clit, swirling slow circles against it. Natasha’s ragged breathing pierced the room, stuttering along with your vacillating touch.

Every part of her tightened in anticipation. You felt the nearness of her orgasm and licked faster. 

Natasha mumbled incoherently. You dipped your tongue inside of her and dragged it out slowly. 

Natasha screamed your name.

Her legs tightened immediately around you. She fisted your hair suddenly as her stomach coiled and uncoiled. 

You tasted the final rush of wetness and lapped at it eagerly. You stayed gentle, Natasha’s soft panting telling you how sensitive she was to any more touch.

As the orgasm slipped away, Natasha lay back against the bed. You crawled forward again, missing the feeling of being flush against her. 

Her eyes were closed. All subtle signs of stress were gone from her face. You revelled in the moment. Her lips were parted. You licked your own before you kissed her. 

Natasha gave a lazy grin as she looked up at you. She reached up to touch your cheek with her thumb.

Love spiralled up inside your chest. 

You could hear the affection and relief in her voice.

‘You were kind.’ She praised you gently.

Tagging:

 @whofan88 @lostandsearching @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @xxromanoffxx @b-5by5 @peggycarter-steverogers @iblameitonclint @natasha-danvers @reminiscingtonight @mindofwesley @blackxwidowsxwife @wandaromanova @wandavixen @peabrain112 @theperfectlovestory @wellsayhelloaagin @owloftheshadows​ @wickedmuses​ @strangegardentaco​ @hallecarey1​ @marvels-writings​ @alexzz13​ @ic-4u​ @007giuliastonem​ @natashabelovas​ @iliketozoneout​ @chasethemoon​ @p0orbaby​ @tastetherambeau​ @rightwereyouleftme​ @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday​ @whataloadof​ @fxckmiup​ @333hhm @women-am-i-right @pleasantbearscissorstoad @blackwidow-3 @nowthisisliving27 @wandastan-2

I just realised that nearly EVERYTHING would have to be ordered online..,, lol rip reader I mean at least Nat gets those gift points😭😂??? I just wondering if Natasha ever let reader out of the apartment? Like what if they got severely injured or something? Also yes.,, mommy kink please👀

I would send this as an ask but my tumblr wont let me send anything😭

slowly making dark nat lighter through my dumb headcanons because the whole situation is just so ridiculous. so stupid. so alluring. she gets insane cash back for the amount of online shopping she does on her card because it’s not like she can take r out to go clothes shopping, asos is the best you’re getting baby

Interlude

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: This is part of another fic challenge with @quietlyimplode. This is set after Black Widow for Natasha and after the Raft for Wanda.

Wanda could feel the aching sting of where the dampening collar had once sat around her neck.

Her skin buzzed as she stumbled to her feet. 

Her mind buzzed too. Power flooded back into her veins like a broken dam. She stretched out each of her fingers unsurely. The relief was overwhelming, but it wasn’t enough.

Keep reading

Timebomb

Adoptive Mom!Natasha Romanoff x Child!Reader + Avengers

Word Count: 5.3K

A/N: A kid!reader develops powers after being attacked in New York. The Avengers have to decide what to do with them.

Also part of a March Madness event run by @missmonsters2 This is loosely based on Matilda. :)

You’d had a life. A whole life, with parents who loved you and an apartment that you called home. That’s what you liked to imagine anyway. It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was over now.

Aliens had attacked New York. You didn’t remember your family, but they’d been collateral damage. You didn’t remember the apartment, but you’d seen the blasted brick and mortar of where it might have been.

Your first memory was a light. Blue until it touched your skin. You’d glowed golden for a minute, felt an uncomfortable warmth trickle underneath your skin. You hadn’t been sure if you were alive or dead.

You’d been scared, but, in truth, it had been over quickly.

When they found you, lying in the rubble, you hadn’t been human anymore.

Before that, you’d been just like everyone else; running for your life. Then a blast from Loki’s scepter had caught you in the chest.

A police officer had found you first. He’d run towards you with the steady diligence of an emergency responder in the middle of an unthinkable emergency.

His hand had touched your shoulder and, just like that, you’d gone off like a bomb.

The next person to come close, did not touch you.

You’d woken from your own explosion to see several figures emerging from the clouds of dust. Every one of them had a gun. Every gun was trained on you. Every breath stung as you inhaled fragments of the rubble around you.

You tried desperately to remember who you were, but all you could think of was your fear. There was a low thrum of constant pain around your chest. You brought your hands to your ribs instinctively, recoiling at the instant rush of pain.

You tried not to look at the guns. You tried not to think about the cold determination of those holding them. You tried, instead, to listen to the one woman who was speaking.

Clear and direct. You cried as you complied with her instructions. You knew that you wanted your parents, but you didn’t remember who they were.

You were directed into the back of a black van. Panic flooded your chest as you sat on the metal bench bolted to the floor. Your feet did not reach the ground.

You tried to look at the faces of the people pointing the guns. Each was obscured by a black gasmask. The van tasted like dread. You felt sure now that you were going to be killed or tortured.

Hot panic rose in your chest when the van doors slammed shut. Your eyes darted between the strangers in gas masks and the small hatch just across from you.

You watched as slow plumes of white smoke began to seep through the hatch. You couldn’t catch your breath. The gas tasted sweet on your tongue. The pain in your ribs faded as you lost consciousness.

—--------------

When you next woke up, you were strapped to a hospital bed. Tears sprung to your eyes as the disorientation returned. All you knew for certain was that you were alone.

The restraints on your wrists were heavy. You felt painfully explosed.

You were not alone in the hospital room. There were two others.

Somehow, you knew this before you looked over.

The two strangers’ emotions seeped into your mind unbidden.

You looked over to the far side of the room.

There was a tall woman with dark hair standing by the door. A tight pitying feeling curled in your chest. You realised that it was coming from her. You didn’t like the sensation.

There was also a man, sitting in the chair opposite you. He wore an eye patch and stupidly you thought first of a pirate. You watched his one eye warily. His emotions were colder, closely held and calculating. But, there was also something greedy there.

Fear spiked inside you. You didn’t trust this man. You didn’t understand how you could sense his feelings, but you were sure that your instinct was right.

The extra sense you’d developed whilst you were unconscious was brand new, but it felt undeniably strong.

As you processed these radiating emotions, you became more aware of your surroundings.

There was a low hum coming from the floor below you. It sounded like engines, but that didn’t make sense. You didn’t feel like you were moving. You glanced out the window. There was only blue sky and clouds.

You weren’t in New York anymore. The panic you felt was phantom. You couldn’t remember why New York was your home.

‘How old are you?’ The man asked you gruffly. You opened your mouth, coughing automatically to try and clear your throat. Your mouth still tasted like the dust and rubble.

‘I don’t know.’ You told him. ‘I don’t know anything.’ Tears began to run down your cheeks. The man’s expression didn’t change and you felt his clear distrust. You wondered if he was going to kill you.

Your eyes darted to the woman in the corner. Her expression was neutral. A careful calmness covered her earlier pity.

‘Three people died in the explosion you caused.’ The woman informed you in a cool tone. You recognised her voice with a jolt. It was the only voice in the world that you knew how to recognise. This was the one woman who had pointed a gun at you. Somehow, the familiarity reassured you.

She hadn’t killed you before.

‘I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to’ You told them, and your chest heaved with a shaky sob. ‘I was running and I got hit.’

‘Hit by what?’ The man asked you bluntly. You scrambled uselessly as you tried to sit up more in the bed. The restraints kept you in place.

‘There was this blue light.’ You mumbled, feeling stupid and useless with your explanation. ‘And then everything was yellow, and it knocked me over. I don’t remember anything before that.’

The man assessed you silently and you tried to control your breathing. You were too scared to look at him. You glanced nervously up at the woman every few seconds. You imagined that her eyes had softened, but you weren’t sure. It was hard to untangle anyone else’s emotions, not when your own had become so overwhelming.

The silence was oppressive, and then it was gone.

The only door to your room slammed open and you startled once more against the restraints. Four men and one woman entered the room. Your eyes trailed each one in turn. They all looked dirty, scraped and exhausted. You sensed that they felt the same too.

You only recognised the man who spoke first.

‘Thor’s keeping an eye on the Wicked Witch of the West.’ Tony Stark announced casually. ‘The rest of us were free to answer your summons.’

You stared down at the white hospital bed sheets, feeling strange shame as the group turned their attention to you.

‘Care to explain why there’s a kid in handcuffs?’ Tony Stark asked again, a fresh kind of steel in his voice. You couldn’t tell if the distrust he was radiating was aimed at you.

‘I thought Shield didn’t recruit kids.’ A blonde man murmured. His quiet pity seemed out of place.

‘They don’t.’ The woman answered quietly. ‘Or, they didn’t.’

You looked up at her voice. Despite her softer tone, her emotions were the strongest that you could sense.

Her eyes caught yours and you could feel the overwhelming concern that was hidden within them.

Other than that, her casual expression betrayed nothing.

You realised abruptly that she was scanning your face too. Nervousness forced you to look back down at the bedspread.

The eye-patch man started talking evenly. He described you as infected by the powers of someone called ‘Loki’. The dark haired woman picked up the conversation, with a succinct description of the explosion you had caused.

You started crying silently. You were painfully aware of growing distrust from everyone in the room. You didn’t feel human anymore.

Your wrists tugged instinctively once more against the handcuffs and this time they clanked. The room became brittle with tension.

‘How can we keep her contained?’ A third man asked seriously, adjusting his glasses.

‘Some of our own precautions for your green friend could become useful, Dr. Banner.’ The eyepatch man noted wryly.

You had seen the green monster rampaging on the city’s streets. Your mouth went dry. You couldn’t imagine the methods that were used to keep it under control.

‘Is that enough?’ The blonde man asked. Quiet concern emanated from him. ‘How many civilians are we putting in danger?’

‘Are we all seeing the same kid?’ The red-headed woman commented neutrally. Her words seemed passive, but you felt a strong kick of protectiveness from her.

You exhaled shakily, desperately clinging to the safety that her emotions brought you,

‘Red, I nearly died sending all the other aliens into space.’ Tony Stark noted, his anxiety clear enough in his voice. ‘You want me to keep this one as a pet?’

An unspeakable rage flitted out from the woman. Somehow, her voice stayed even.

‘Not a pet, Tony.’ She corrected in the same neutral tone. ‘A child.’

Tony rolled his eyes.

‘Or a timebomb.’ The man with the glasses countered. You could tell that he trusted you least of all.

The man who hadn’t spoken at all yet cleared his throat. His face was the most grimy, but his blue eyes were piercing.

‘Tasha’s right.’ He said simply. ‘That’s a scared kid.’

‘Please don’t kill me.’ You whispered at last, eyes darting to the man with the eyepatch who seemed to be the one making the decision.

Like before, your words had no impact on his cold emotions.

‘You don’t remember your parents?’ He checked directly.

You shook your head. You wished that you could wrap your arms around yourself. You didn’t remember them, but you felt their loss in your gut.

‘Stark Tower.’ The man determined suddenly.

Tony Stark opened his mouth to argue But, the eyepatch man continued.

‘It’s got the security and the surveillance capabilities. But it’s not a prison.’ He explained, eyeing the red-haired woman pointedly.

There were protests and debates that happened after that. The whole group left your hospital room still arguing between themselves.

But, from that moment, your future had been determined.

—---------------

Stark Tower was impressive. You felt more scared with every step you took. Curious eyes watched you from all directions. You were hard to ignore with your security detail.

You walked alongside the eyepatch man, now known to you as ‘Director Fury.’ You had to half-run to keep up with him. Agent Hill walked directly behind you.

To anyone else, the escort would have looked unusually protective. You hated yourself for the danger you were inflicting by being near others.

As you all stood together in the elevator. Director Fury told you about the Simulated Home Environment. The building’s AI would constantly monitor you, following detailed instructions given by Tony Stark.

You would be allowed a semblance of a home life. Any actions outwith the enforced rules would result in a different containment method.

Maybe he caught your confused look.

‘Behave.’ He intoned at last, and you nodded nervously.

The elevator doors opened at last.

Tony Stark and a professional looking woman with light auburn hair were waiting.

‘Didn’t blow up the building then.’ Tony noted dryly as you stepped into the living room space. Wealth dripped from every furnishing in the room.

The woman shot him a reprimanding look, before turning to you with a polite smile. Her expensive suit was undermined by the careful kindness that radiated from her. She extended her hand.

‘Nice to meet you.’ She said clearly. ‘I’m Pepper Potts.’

You took her hand shyly, it was the first normal contact you could remember. It calmed the skin crawling feeling of your touch starved existence. You pretended not to feel the spike of distrust from Tony at your touch.

‘I run Stark Industries, and I live here too.’ She supplied, confirming the relationship between her and Tony.

‘Nice to meet you.’ You whispered, scared now of ever making too much noise. Everyone had warned you not to cause damage, but no one had told you how to avoid it.

Whatever powers you’d been given. They were as unknown to you as they were to anyone else.

Despite her kindness, Pepper looked slightly relieved as she let go of your hand.

‘Jarvis.’ Tony called out suddenly, and you heard an answering voice from above.

‘Good evening (Y/N).’ A British voice intoned from the ceiling.

You jumped sharply at the unexpected noise and, in response, a deathly tension filled the room. Everyone’s eyes were on you.

‘I’m fine.’ You mumbled embarrassedly.

‘Keep it that way.’ Fury warned you in a low voice.

‘I’ll leave you to play Happy Families.’ He addressed Tony and Pepper, before reentering the waiting elevator with Agent Hill.

All you were left with was nerves. You tried to pretend that there wasn’t hope mixed in as well.

‘Dinner?’ Pepper suggested with forced lightness.

You nodded. A primal, desperate wish for family made it hard to breathe.

As you walked forward, Pepper’s hand moved automatically to touch your shoulder. She pulled back at the last moment. You pretended not to notice.

Tony seemed the most brooding as you ate together in silence. You worked through a plate of salmon, greens and rice even though you weren’t hungry.

You drank your water, unable to lose an aching thirst at the back of your throat.

Pepper and Tony both scrolled on StarkPads as they ate robotically. You wondered if they were always like this, or it was their attempt to ignore the tension.

The prickling thirst in the back of your throat made you desperate to cough. You fought the impulse, not wanting to make any sound. You knew they’d both startle if you did. You hated how easily you scared people. You hated being so unwanted.

When you offered to rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher, Pepper acquiesced unsurely.

They both moved over to the open plan living room space. You didn’t need to see their worried glances to know they didn’t trust you around knives.

The unrelenting feeling of thirst was almost entirely distracting.

You tried to focus on your task. Any little thing to pretend at being normal felt good.

You wondered if it was moments like this that Agent Romanoff had been advocating for when she’d spoken up for you in the hospital room. You tried to decide if this was what family meant.

Just as you finished the chore, you heard a clinking sound from behind you. At the same time, your feeling of thirst began to abate.

You turned slowly, savouring the silent relief you felt.

Tony was standing by the window, staring out as he drank a large whisky with ice. Pepper was sitting on the sofa, talking with quiet purpose into her phone.

Every sip Tony took, lessened the feeling of thirst for you. It scared you to think that his thirst was so strong.

Tony turned back to you. He watched you with a look of mild distaste.

Suddenly, you thought back to his comment about having a pet. You wondered if that’s why his stare made you feel so small.

‘Come on.’ He announced at last as she drained his glass. ‘I’ll show you your room.’

Despite leading you forward, he kept you carefully in his sight.

You kept your eyes trained to the floor.

It felt stupid to be scared, when you were the dangerous one.

Tony pushed open the door to your room.

It was clean, fresh and dripping with the same wealth as the rest of the penthouse.

The walls were a steely kind of grey. They reminded you immediately of the reinforced Shield ones. With a jolt, you realised that they were made of the same material.

You blinked back tears of shame.

You’d had nightmares in the hospital. You’d heard the nurses talking about how you’d glowed red when you dreamed.

You felt like a freak.

‘The door will be locked automatically by Jarvis when you go to sleep’ Tony informed you tersely. Just being alone with you had made his anxiety spiked noticeably. His thirst was rising again. His emotions undercut any facade of nonchalance.

You nodded.

‘It’s getting late.’ Tony added, and you felt his rising anticipation to be away from you.

You pretended that what he said was true.

‘I’m quite tired.’ You lied, watching Tony’s expression relax with relief.

‘Night, kid.’ He muttered as he shut the door behind him.

You went to sit on the large bed. It was comfortable, but the coral pink sheets clashed ridiculously with the rest of the room.

You took off your shoes and paused unsurely as you scanned the room. You hurried over to the chest of drawers in the corner, opening the drawers until you found one filled with pyjamas.

You changed robotically. A new listlessness distracted you.

Tony’s dismissal had thrown you. Despite the awkward tension in the living room, it had been more social interaction than you could ever remember having.

You were sick of feeling so isolated. You were sick of being so completely alone.

More than anything though, you knew you didn’t want to sleep.

You could hear screams in your nightmares sometimes. The last second of life for the people you’d killed.

You thought a lot about the families that you’d ripped a hole into. You worried that you were spreading pain, like some diseased consequence of Loki’s weapon.

No one missed you though.

Agent Hill had been factual when you’d finally got the courage to ask. No family members were looking for you. They must have died too.

Or. A little voice whispered in your head. Or no-one’s ever wanted you.

You hugged your legs as you sat back on your new bed. It was the closest you could get to a hug. You pretended that you weren’t crying, but you didn’t know how to stop.

You could hear Pepper laughing in the other room. She sounded relaxed, relieved. It felt lonelier being this close to happiness, knowing it could only happen when you weren’t there.

‘Will you be sleeping soon Y/N?’ The disembodied voice of Jarvis, spoke again into the room. You stared unsurely upwards, trying and failing to see any marker of where the voice originated.

‘No.’ You breathed your answer, worried that your response might be breaking the rules that Fury had warned you about.

‘May I suggest a book?’ Jarvis offered. His voice was polite, inherently friendly. Even without emotions for you to read, it was easy to trust him.

You walked obediently to the bookshelf in the corner and picked up the first book you saw.

The book was dry, but it was better than nothing. At the hospital, there’d been nothing to occupy you at all.

You fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, too tired for even the screams.

—------------------

Jarvis opened the blinds in the room at exactly 7 am.

Your eyes screwed tight shut at the brightness. It did no good, you were awake.

Your head pounded with sleep deprivation as you got ready, before heading through to the kitchen.

Pepper was sitting at the table, wearing a white skirt suit. She was sipping coffee from an oversized flask.

Her attention snapped to you as you walked through the door.

‘There you are.’ She said politely, and you were surprised by the feeling of stress that she was hiding. ‘I was hoping you’d be up soon. What can I get you for breakfast?’

Pepper’s smile was welcoming, but you caught the way she glanced at her watch.

‘It’s okay.’ You mumbled, feeling awful as you realised that she was running late on your behalf. ‘I can make my own.’

Pepper hesitated.

‘Are you sure?’ She checked, and like with Tony the night before, you could sense her anticipation to leave.

You nodded, trying to seem confident.

Pepper nodded once before leaving. Like yesterday, you watched her half-hesitate about touching your shoulder.

Instead, she picked up her StarkPad and gave you a small wave.

‘Have a good day. Tony’ll be around for lunch’ She said with another polite smile, before the elevator doors closed.

Alone in the penthouse for the first time felt both scary and exciting. You should have expected Jarvis’ immediate interruption.

‘Babysitter protocol has been activated.’ He informed you.

‘Great.’ You said with a friendly smile toward the ceiling. Jarvis wasn’t real, but at least you weren’t completely on your own.

Patiently, Jarvis walked you step by step through a pancake recipe. It was nearly an hour until you’d progressed far enough to eat anything. Still, you couldn’t stop the proud grin when you found out the pancakes were edible.

‘Thanks Jarvis.’ You called out shyly. The ridiculousness of talking to the ceiling was quickly being overwritten by the thrill of talking to someone.

‘Of course.’ He responded succinctly.

It felt good to have someone to talk to. It didn’t let up the skin crawling feeling, but it helped. When Jarvis suggested that you watch some television, you agreed obediently. Easily distracted, you found yourself asking the AI questions as you watched

Jarvis told you the history of every artefact that you pointed out from the movie about a Night At The Museum.

Secretly, you wished more than anything that Jarvis was real. He sensed your need to keep talking, even when you ran out of questions.

He told you stories about earlier versions of himself. The funny glitches that had been patched over the years.

The only painful moment had come after you’d asked about the best museums in New York.

There had been a slight pause before Jarvis had answered.

‘You’re not permitted to leave the apartment without Mr. Stark or Director Fury.’ He answered clearly.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. It was hard not to feel like a prisoner sometimes. You stared out the floor-length windows. You wished that you could remember fresh air, without the taste of rubble or debris.

A new idea hit you as the end credits played on the TV screen.

If Tony was your best chance at going outside, you had to get him to like you.

Agent Romanoff’s words about being a pet, struck you again. It didn’t seem so bad to you now. Even dogs were allowed fresh air.

Getting to your feet, you checked the time. It was nearly lunch. You asked Jarvis what Tony’s favourite meal was.

—---

When Tony arrived at 2pm, you were as prepared as you could be. A whiskey coke and a burger were sitting ready on the counter.

Tony walked over to the counter and observed the food. He made no move to sit down on one of the stools. His heightened distrust told you exactly what he was thinking.

‘Where did that come from?’ He said in a voice that was more accusation than question. Before you could speak, Jarvis cut in.

‘I have monitored and instructed Y/N.’ He informed Tony matter of factly. You flushed, sure you could hear an element of pride in the AI’s voice.

Tony sniffed the glass and you felt the same choking thirst as you had last night as he smelled the whiskey.

The tension in the room eased as he took a sip. He nodded and you fought a smile.

Tony downed the glass efficiently. Then, he lifted the burger bun slightly, examining the meal with an unimpressed look.

In one quick move, he lifted the plate and emptied it into the trash.

A feeling of acute hopelessness made you grip the counter to stay standing.

‘You’re only allowed to cook for yourself.’ Tony muttered. ‘Don’t get smart with the rules.’

He picked up his Starkpad and walked back to the elevator.

You ate the burger that you’d saved for yourself. The half blackened first attempt to Tony’s. A numbness filled the cracks in your heart. Even Jarvis stayed silent.

After you’d cleaned the kitchen, you went back to your room.

No space felt welcome anymore, except perhaps in here. Without prompting, you picked up the next book on the shelf.

Jarvis spoke softly.

‘As part of the Simulated Home Environment programme, I can order you more books.’ He offered.

You closed your eyes as tears started falling again. Instinctively, you understood that it was the closest he could offer to a hug.

‘Thanks Jarvis.’ You whispered.

You resolved in that moment, to avoid Tony and Pepper as much as possible. Guilt plagued you as you realised that you were ruining their home. Jarvis made the decision bearable, even artificial kindness was better than rejection.

—-------------

It is very easy to forget someone you don’t care about. It is even easier when you are barely reminded of them.

You adjusted immediately to a schedule of isolation. You only ate meals when the apartment was empty. You did your best to stay occupied in the room you’d been assigned.

Pepper made a half-hearted effort initially.

She would come to your room in the evening, checking in with her careful kindness and polite smile. Just feeling her exhaustion after a long day of work only made you feel more guilty for existing.

Soon, you started making sure you were in bed before she returned. You heard her try your locked door once or twice. Soon, she left you alone.

Tony’s method was much more efficient. He made no attempts to see you.

You were sure he tried to put you out of mind as much as possible. Any messages from him were relayed through Jarvis.

Sometimes, you only knew he had returned to the apartment, because of the pang of thirst that would only last a few moments after arrival.

—-------

Jarvis became your best friend. Grocery orders soon included as much tailoring to your wants as he could manage. You tried making new recipes together.

You weren’t allowed any internet access, so every book he provided you with was a welcome relief from the unrelenting listlessness. He found a loophole to buy you educational materials, and soon enough you had lego kits and engineering kits to trial.

The best part about Jarvis was that he talked to you. He learned to wake you from nightmares, before the red glow knocked your furniture over.

Your skin never stopped crawling from the lack of touch. But, as the world carried on better without you in it, you learned that isolation was what you deserved.

—----------

When Tony took Pepper on a surprise Christmas vacation, you were surprised by the disappointment you felt.

You’d been looking forward to seeing a Christmas tree more than anything.

You tried to see the positive of unrestricted access to the whole of the apartment. You watched Christmas movies and commented on them to Jarvis. You built your own tree out of green lego, and placed it on the side table.

Loneliness was a feeling that had started to drag. You tried to put it out of your mind.

You weren’t expecting anything for Christmas, least of all what you got.

At 7pm on Christmas Eve, Jarvis announced that an authorised guest had entered the elevator.

Electric fear had sent you into a tailspin. You were sure it must be Director Fury. You worried he’d found out you were home alone, and was ready to move you somewhere more secure.

You’d had that exact nightmare more than once.

When Agent Romanoff stepped off the elevator, clutching her side in obvious injury, your mouth dropped in shock.

‘Hi kid.’ She said with a reassuring smile clearly intended to keep you calm. ‘You happen to know where the first aid kit is?’

The instruction grounded your shooting anxiety. You hadn’t been face to face with another person in months. You nodded, hurrying over to the cupboard under the sink for the nearest kit.

You offered it out to her from a careful distance, embarrassed by the way your hands trembled. She noticed the shaking, but she didn’t comment.

‘Thanks.’ She murmured and you couldn’t help the rush of relief at her praise.

You could feel her curiosity at your reaction. It sat with her muted pain, just below the surface.

‘Happy Christmas.’ She said with another kind smile, nodding down at the lego Christmas tree on the side table. ‘Did you build that with Tony?’

You shook your head as fear constricted your heart. You knew Jarvis had found a loophole in his instructions to even get you the lego in the first place.

‘You built it yourself? That’s impressive.’ She commented. You let out a shaky exhale at her reassurance. Her head tilted imperceptibly, but you felt her sudden confusion.

‘Do you need help Agent Romanoff?’ You stumbled unsurely, gesturing towards the first aid kit.

‘No, that’s okay.’ She assured you, as she started walking towards the nearest bathroom. ‘And you can call me Natasha.’

You didn’t reply, you felt rooted to the spot. You hugged yourself, but you weren’t sure why.

‘You got big plans tonight?’ Natasha called out from the bathroom, leaving the door open as she placed the first aid kit on the sink and began addressing the deep gash above her hip.

You stared at the ground, not wanting to seem intrusive. It wasn’t hard to focus on something else during a conversation. You talked to Jarvis all the time, and he wasn’t even in the room.

‘No.’ You answered quietly. Short answers felt safer.

‘When are Tony and Pepper getting home?’ Natasha asked, pausing to hiss as she wrapped a bandage around her front.

‘Jarvis said a few more weeks.’ You answered promptly.

There was a clatter in the bathroom.

‘Jarvis?’ Natasha asked the ceiling, with forced calm.

The tension in her voice made your stomach flutter with nervousness. Jarvis responded without hesitation.

‘Babysitter protocol is anticipated to last until the 11th of January, but Mr. Stark has not confirmed his return.’

There was an extended silence.

‘Fuck.’ Natasha said quietly. She walked out of the bathroom and back towards you. You felt ashamed, but you weren’t sure why. You held yourself tighter.

‘When was the last time you saw Tony or Pepper?’ She asked you, her eyes scanning you with renewed attentiveness.

You hesitated, trying desperately to remember an instance.

Natasha shook her head, taking your silence as answer enough.

She reached out to touch your shoulder.

You flinched violently and startled backward in alarm.

Natasha’s shock was obvious.

You stared down at the ground as you started to cry.

‘Sorry.’ You whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you.’ Natasha told you gently. You were too scared to meet her eyes.

‘I know.’ You assured her as you tried to brush away your tears. ‘It’s me. I’m dangerous.’

The silence extended out again.

Natasha broke it with a renewed certainty in her tone.

‘You’re coming with me.’ She decided quietly. ‘And then, I’m calling Tony.’

You fought an instinctive sense of elation as deep-rooted worries floated up inside you.

‘Y/N is not permitted to leave the apartment without Director Fury or Mr. Stark.’ Jarvis supplied immediately, voicing the most obvious problem.

‘My clearance is higher than Director Fury’s.’ Natasha noted in her deceptively passive voice.

‘Correct.’

‘Only seems logical that I should have the same authority.’ Natasha concluded. ‘I do also represent Shield.’

Jarvis didn’t answer.

Suddenly, the elevator doors slid open in the corner of the room.

Natasha understood Jarvis' wordless signal as much as you did.

With a delicateness that you didn’t deserve, Natasha took your hand in hers. You started trembling immediately. She didn’t tighten her hold as she led you into the elevator.

‘Everything is going to be okay.’ Natasha murmured, as you descended the tower for the very first time.

You didn’t answer. You wanted to believe her more than anything.

TBC

Tagging:

@whofan88 @lostandsearching @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @xxromanoffxx @b-5by5 @peggycarter-steverogers @iblameitonclint @natasha-danvers @reminiscingtonight @mindofwesley @blackxwidowsxwife @wandaromanova @wandavixen @peabrain112 @theperfectlovestory @wellsayhelloaagin @owloftheshadows​ @wickedmuses​ @strangegardentaco​ @hallecarey1​ @marvels-writings​ @alexzz13​ @ic-4u​ @007giuliastonem​ @natashabelovas​ @iliketozoneout​ @chasethemoon​ @p0orbaby​ @tastetherambeau​ @rightwereyouleftme​ @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday​ @whataloadof​ @fxckmiup​ @333hhm @women-am-i-right

not to be a hedonist but. pleasure IS the whole point, my loves. we are made for pleasure. humans have not survived out of spite or sheer grit or simply to make more humans. we live for pleasure. the pleasure of licking the last delicious crumbs off your fingers and feeling sunlight on your skin and massaging a loved one's shoulders. we're made to fill our bellies with delicious food, to nap in soft grass, to touch each other in joy and comfort.

there is no shame or guilt in our bodies doing what they were made to do. and we are made for pleasure.

Seera-Li Marvel Masterlist

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Natasha Romanoff

Show Mommy What You Got  NS*FW

Natasha your mommy, decides that you look stunning in lingerie she chose on a vacation in Amsterdam and decides to do something about it.

Warnings: Mommy Kink, WLW sex, implied age gap, reader has a pus*sy, reader wears a bra + panties, no pronouns are used for reader, edging, fingering, clitoral play, Natasha romanoff is referred to as Mommy multiple times, reader is called a sweet thing, Kotenok and sweet heart, author has no clue what Amsterdam is like

At Her Altar, As Her Worship Fluffy

Ever since your turning you have been succumbing to the cold. Your faithful mentor and vampiric 'mother,' Natasha would never allow it to happen.

Warnings: General blood themes because of vampires, Natasha gets bitten consentually on the breast by reader, reader drinks breast milk and blood, reader sucks on Natasha's breasts, no pronouns are used for reader, reader gets called little love

Speak up baby NS*FW

Mommy decides to test your limits. It will of course, be fun for you.

Or

Natasha fucks you until you cry.

Warnings: Heavy general NS*FW themes, presumed mutual consent, presumed safe word, mommy kink, use of a vibrator on reader, use of a strap on- on reader, use of bondage (ropes) on reader, reader gets breasts played with, overstimulation, reader gets manhandled by Natasha, reader cries from pleasure and overstim, mentioned edging, reader begs to stop, clitoral and gspot over stimulation, reader sucks on Natasha's breasts, multiple orgasms, reader gets called a sl*ut, sweet heart, baby and kotenok, Natasha gets called mommy once, no pronouns are used for reader, reader has a pus*sy and breasts

Naughty girls NS*FW

You and your mommy, Natasha, have some fun during movie time. Until you misbehave.

Mommy kink, man handling, se*x toy usage (dildo), implied age gap, reader gets penetrated, vaginal penetration, coc*k warming, grinding, thigh riding, sex with clothes on, WLW sex, Natasha gives reader neck hickies, Reader gets called puppy, baby, honey and little girl, reader comes without permission, implied mutual consent, degradation, squirting, light begging, implied punishment, reader misbehaves, implied rules

To be continued...

Honestly I love this fic so much but I'm not sure what else to write- AMAZING!! :)🥰🥰💕

Kiss Me (With Tongue)

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: This is a Smut fic. It has a fluff sister story that you don’t need to read.

The birthday party started in thirty minutes. You were a 15 minute taxi journey away. 

Wanda was ignoring you, looking instead in the full length mirror that made up the middle panel of the wardrobe. 

You watched her fingers as she scraped her hair back into a high ponytail. The reddish brown hair colour of it shone under the bedroom’s overhead light.

Your stomach twisted with an automatic rush of attraction for Wanda as she focused carefully on her reflection.

Keep reading