Shelter From The Storm

title: frfrblackwidowgf’s tiktok drafts

notes: sfw, suggestive content though, fluff, being in a stupid goofy mood with ur superhero gf who is also ur dom gf who’s so sick of ur shit, the mommy sorry tiktok meme (yes this is very targeted)

Keep reading

🌻Meditating🍃

Stony bingo submission for breath! Mcu stony being coerced by Nat to solve their anger issues and just their issues with each other in general through ~meditation~

Shame

Warnings: mommy kink, size kink, smut, swearing etc

Natasha loves the fact that you’re smaller than her, she absolutely revels in it but, of course, she’d never tell you that... The redhead has always been the smallest of the avengers so when you came around she would always tease you about your height (even though you were only a few inches shorter than her).

It was always “hey tiny” or “how’s the weather down there?” with Natasha. You assumed she taunted you about your height because she genuinely didn't like it. She probably thought it was childish to be a full grown adult and 5’2. And at first you didn’t say anything, not wanting to anger the intimidating woman, but after a while you two became quite close and you started to fire your own taunts, “well you would know considering we’re the same height, Tasha.”

Those words stunned the assassin; she didn’t expect the nickname so her cheeks flushed a deep red, which you picked up on. Not long after that, you started dating. Obviously, you confessed your feelings for the woman first- you knew if it was up to her, she would never come clean- and she returned those same feelings.

As the relationship progressed and you started to learn about her characteristics, you made the assumption that your girlfriend had a somewhat kinky side. With the way she carried herself around the others, she definitely had a dominant personality in the bedroom...which you was most certainly correct about!

You had discovered a whole different side to Tasha that only you knew about. You felt privilege and yet confused; you felt as if there was a whole new depth to her character you haven’t seen until now...

Here you were, ankles and wrists wrapped in red silk attached to each bedposts. If it wasn’t clear, Nat liked you tied down; completely and utterly helpless to her touch.

Lewd noises of the redhead’s strap thrusting into you at an inhuman pace-accompanied with your whorish moans- filled the almost silent room. Tasha’s sex playlist playing from the sound system with her red led lights on display. The occasional grunt from the woman above you joined in whenever her clit brushed at the right angle against the strap.

“Fuck, baby. Your tight pussy is gonna make me cum. Such a sweet pussy. All for me.” Natasha loved sex talk; always reminding you about how good you look, feel and taste. She was always calling you cute little nicknames as she brings you to climax, and even when she allowed you to return the favour.

On the other hand, she adored degrading you. She adored making you cry at her venomous words as she fucked you stupid. But, she only reserved those titles for when you were a bad girl and needed to be punished...

“Oh. Shit, Tasha. I-I’m gonna cum.” Your first orgasm almost washes over you; however, she had different ideas and pulled out before you could slip. Snaking a hand around your throat she applies little pressure, letting you know she was pissed.

“What did you call me?!” She seethes through her teeth. Sheer fury with a tinge of lust swirling in her eyes as she pins you beneath her weight like a predator with its prey.

You don’t know what you did wrong.

You always moaned her name as you came.

You thought that was what she liked...

Countless thoughts raced through your mind about what you had allegedly done wrong and Natasha had seen, so she relieved you of your mounting stress.

“When we’re in here doing this...” She harshly snaps her hips, driving the head of the toy up against your sensitive walls. You throw your head back in euphoria, unintentionally letting a carnal growl escape from within.

“It’s mommy, little one.”

Mommy...that’s new. You whisper to no one, anxious she might overhear you. Fear brews in the pit of your stomach, but excitement overpowers it, and a wide grin forms on your face. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“I’m sorry... mommy.”

Your girlfriend groans audibly at the way you whine her new name. She couldn't stop herself from thrusting back into you, slowly at first but gradually picking up the pace. She couldn’t rip her eyes from you; the way your tits bounced in time to her thrusts, your gaping mouth as threads of incoherent words and moans tumbled, your shuddering muscles that rippled beneath her finger pads.

The hand pinning your thighs apart moves to grip your jaw. She pushes her thumb in your mouth, waiting to see how you react. But you know what she wants. So you suck the digit, swirling your pink tongue around it, lathering it with your saliva as a light “hmm” vibrates against the pad. Natasha’s light green irises turn into a dark emerald shade, raging lust even more evident.

“Open.”

She spits in your mouth, no need to instruct you what to do next since you've already swallowed, your eyes rolled far back in your head.

“Look at your pretty little pussy. So pink and fluffy...hmm, take me so good, baby.”

“Only for y-you, mommy.” You whine out with her thumb still deep in your mouth, on the brink impending orgasm. Unfortunately, Natty pulls her entire body away from you once again and this time you can’t help but let out a loud whine of frustration.

“Hey! Don’t start that shit with me, little girl.” Your head jerked to the side, and your cheek burned from the connection of Tasha's palm, as well as the fresh tears - mixed with your running mascara - streaming from your eyelids. Her poisonous words stinged even more so than the slap. It seems as if you’ve discovered another one of her kinks...

“For that, you’re gonna ride my cock...like a good, little slut.” She trails her fingers over your reddened cheek before releasing you from her silky restraints and situating herself against the pillows, so she can yank you onto her lap.

Still stunned from the slap, you failed to notice her aligning your core with the strap until she pushed you down, stretching your tight walls once again. You cry out - the loudest you had done this whole night- which spurs on the redhead to rock your hips agonisingly slow.

“Oh no, pretty girl...you’re so tight. You’re too little for me, huh? So small and precious... let mommy help you.” She moves to rub fast circles on your swollen clit. Involuntarily, you rut up to meet Tasha’s fingers, wedging the strap even deeper.

Ahh so she does like my size...she likes it a lot more than she lets on. You wonder to yourself. You wouldn’t dare say your thoughts aloud unless you wanted the assassin to spank your ass black and blue, and still not let you cum. The addicting pleasure of her cock inside you, her digits circling harder on your bundle of nerves and her powerful hips rolling into yours knock you out of your deep trance.

“That’s it, printessa. So beautiful. Riding me like this. So eager...fuck, I could cum just by watching you.” Her praises spur you on and you start to bounce, holding her shoulders for support, suddenly desperate to make yourself and mommy cum. Her eyes remained glued to your marked breasts, shoved in her face as they move rhythmically. She removes her fingers from your bundle of nerves and brings the drenched digits to her lips, checks hallowing as she sucks them feverishly.

“You taste so sweet, baby.” She moans gently at the taste of you. Peering up at you,she silently commands you to keep your eyes trained on hers. No matter though because if she kept looking at you like that, you weren’t gonna last long...

“Mommy, ’m gonna cum.” Your bounces become more out of rhythm with her thrusts: tits grazing against her face, moans and whimpers echo the bedroom walls and your pussy gushes around her thick cock.

“Beg me.”

“Please, mommy...oh, let me cum for you. I’ll do anything please, can I cum? I’ll be good, promise, please please...” You weep out, praying she’ll have mercy on your soul and finally let you finish. She remains silent for a few moments, compelling you to hold on a little longer before she decides. She grabs your hips instantly, forcing you to bottom out as she fucks up into you harder than ever.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for mommy.” She pants out- a little tired from her rapid thrusts- and you immediately clamp on her, back painfully arching, making it difficult for her to continue her ministrations.

You can hardly even moan since you're struggling to breathe, and yet she pulls you down to kiss you as if she's stealing whatever little air you have. Pulling slightly back, you attempt to take some deep breaths before letting out a string of promiscuous wails as she soothes your convulsing body.

“You’re all good,baby. That’s it, good girl.”

She coos as you finally crash, collapsing forward into Tasha’s chest, hissing at the strap moving still deep inside. She tilts your heavy head up, forcing you to look into her eyes. The flicker of green descends from your eyes to your lips which lets you know that she wants you to kiss her. Tiredly, you lean forward, pressing your lips against hers. You don't slip a tongue. You merely push your lips against hers.

She doesn’t like that and roughly spanks your ass twice, your body jolting forward in painful surprise. If you were going to kiss Tasha, you had to kiss her properly...

To be honest, you loved this rough side of Natasha. During the early stages of the relationship, she was timid and entirely selfless. Not sure how far she should go or if you loved her as much as she loved you. But she was ravenous now, using your body for her pleasure- and yours.

You lean forward again, this time parting your lips allowing the redhead to slip her tongue into your mouth. Her hands- still on your ass- massage the red globes. She drives her tongue deep; as assertive as she wishes because you belong to her. Only her. Releasing your muffled moans into her mouth allowing her to swallow them whole, your palms cup her breasts as you gently pull them towards you and then back to her; playing with them as a sort of comfort instead of pleasing her.

The kiss becomes more sloppy, more messy as both of your saliva moistens the kiss and dribbles out the side of your mouth. At one point, your tongue slips from hers and splashes against her cheek but she’s too engrossed in the make out session to care; your enamouring whimpers depriving her of her senses.

Her hands at your ass- squeeze it softly- beginning to make you rock against her; completely forgetting about her cock still inside you. You shriek at the stinging ache and Nat silences you with another long kiss before slowly lifting you off her, and tossing the toy somewhere for her to clean later.

“Sorry, honey. I forgot.”

Her hand brushes the sweat-drenched hair away from your forehead and she leans over your frail form, pressed delicately against the sheets, to grab you the bottle of water she got beforehand.

“Here, drink this before you go to sleep please.”

You gulp down the water as if you had been neglected of the clear liquid for a long period of time. Small drops end up dribbling from the corner of your lips and down your chin. Nat notices, leaning down to lick away the residue, a subtle whimper escapes your throat and you suddenly remember she never came.

“But, y-you didn’t finish, Tash.” You pant, voice still hoarse from your cries of ecstasy.

“It’s okay, baby. Today was all about you anyways.”

Still selfless, I see. You wanted to reply but you were too exhausted to open your mouth. Your fatigue suddenly washing over you as your eyelids droop, too heavy to keep open.

“Go to sleep, kotenok. Promise I’ll be here when you wake. I love you.” She kisses you once on the cheek, then twice on the forehead ...your favourite types of kisses. Bathing in her radiating warmth, you shuffle fowards, limbs locking around her waist, your naked flesh flushed against each other.

“Thank you. Love you too, mommy.”

As expected, Tasha was peering down at your dishevelled form the next morning: hair thrown everywhere and puffy eyelids. To her, you looked beautiful.

“Good morni-”

“So mommy, huh?”

The Russian was taken aback by your unexpected question. Of course, she forgot about how she made you call her mommy the previous night. She didn't even bother asking if you were okay with it. She simply told you, and that was the end of it. When your words finally register in her brain, a dark red blush - almost the same color as her tresses - appears on her chiselled cheeks.

“Don’t kink shame me!” She leaps on top of you, blowing wet raspberries onto your exposed stomach. Your contagious giggles ring sweetly in her ears, and your limbs flail incessantly, attempting to push the much stronger woman away. Once she finally lets go, she returns her attention to your face, only to find you grinning up at her with pure adoration in your eyes.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that... mommy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: i keep getting carried away with these but here’s this. i worked on this like all day so hopefully y’all like it <3

Taglist: @teenwonder @wandasugarbby (bc i used one of those prompts you talked abt but it’s nat sorry sjshsjd)

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.

the holidays with older!nat

It's okay 😭 anyways ive been feeling a little sick recently which sucks because it's almost christmas

That must feel terrible, at least we're suffering together I guess lmao sore throat vibes🥲 looking forward to christmas? :)

Fleeting

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 561 words

A/N: Have forgotten how to write because I have the mind of a fish. trying to get back into it. Fluff.

You notice one day that Natasha is insecure.

 It’s almost funny to you, the concept is so surreal.

Her confidence is why you started talking.

She’s driving you home and she glances over.

Her smile is nervous and you don’t understand why.

Before she pulls up outside your building, she tells you thank you.

Her voice is hoarse and you’re surprised.

You give her a gentle smile back.

Your eyes meet. 

Understanding settles between you.

Natasha kisses you.

Your voice is hoarse when you murmur thank you too.

Natasha stays over that night.

Your lives starts tangling together.

It feels good.

She taps your waist when she walks around you. 

The gesture is light as air, it makes you feel settled.

Natasha sings when she cooks.

You ask her if it makes the food taste better. She sticks her tongue out and offers you a forkful.

Natasha tells you that you’re shit at video games. 

Her voice is so pitying that you feel like you’ve been diagnosed with ineptitude.

She plays Mario Kart with you every single night.

She teases you about your driving, but her smile is excited.

She keeps asking you to play again.

She straddles you on the sofa and tells you that you’re a danger behind the wheel.

You are her friend. 

You are more than that too.

But, being her friend feels special.

You want to celebrate every part of loving her.

She trusts you.

You don’t realise at first.

She starts telling you about the missions she goes on.

At first, she only tells you vague locations.

Then, she starts to debrief little fragments. 

One day, you find her caught in a silent storm of tears.

She lets you hold her.

Things are different then.

She invites you to sleep over more and more. 

You start splitting your time between apartments.

One afternoon, you arrive earlier than expected.

Natasha glances guiltily at the sofa when she lets you in. 

You see your usual pillow lying there.

You realise that she holds it when you’re not here.

That night you tell her that you love her.

Her smile is wide. 

Her eyes fill with relieved tears.

She was waiting for you.

Natasha starts holding your hand when you walk together. 

She asks your opinion about everything.

She starts playing your favourite music.

Natasha gives you her favourite book. 

The pages are worn and you feel like she’s written on every page.

You borrow her laptop and learn that she’s looking at new apartments.

You think she’s moving away. 

Natasha finds you crying.

She starts crying too.

You’ve never seen her so scared.

Her words are disjointed when she tries to tell you about family.

About what she’s never really had.

About what you mean to her.

Natasha tries to tell you that she wants to live with you.

She can’t meet your eyes.

Her fingers are tapping, and the sound slips from rhythmic to compulsive.

You wonder if she’s counting out your last seconds together.

You watch her wait for you to leave.

Things slide into place.

Your voice is careful, but it’s also certain.

You ask if you can be her family now.

Natasha cries harder.

You touch her tapping fingers and they stop moving abruptly.

You kiss her knuckles.

Natasha is not a time or place.

Natasha is not fleeting.

Natasha is your family.

Clint Barton’s House of Strays, by me and @geeodes

A whole one person said they were interested so get fuckin ready

In a post-S.H.I.E.L.D., post-Sokovia Accords world, where is Natasha to stash dozens of newly freed child assassins?

- is what she says when she shows up at Clint’s door with Yelena, Melina, Alexei, and five widows under the age of 20 trailing behind her

Clint:

Natasha:

Yelena:

Melina:

Alexei:

The widows:

Clint:

Clint: So are you guys staying for dinner, or…?

They did stay for dinner

And dessert

And breakfast the next morning. Clint’s kids come downstairs to find five child spies asleep on the floor in living room, and the five child spies wake to see three kids in matching pajamas openly staring at them

Clint and Laura talk, and soon enough, Widows start flooding in.

Sent by Yelena from all over the world, girls ranging from six to thirty show up in droves

After a while shoving Widows on couches and mattresses and guest bedrooms, Clint convinces Laura to let him start a new project.

With Natasha, Alexei, Melina, and eventually Tony’s help, he builds a lodge beside the farmhouse.

Bedrooms go in on the top floor; bunk beds for reunited sisters, singles for girls who have never known a quiet night’s sleep, a wide kitchen on the main floor stuffed with food the girls have never had the chance to eat.

Widows who don’t want to stay at the farm are sent to the Avengers Tower (which Tony did not sell, *cough*) and are given access to therapy and job opportunities, and anything else they could need while they adjust to life outside the Red Room

It brings more controversy down on Tony, but what else was he gonna do? Say no?

He considers it after one particularly indoctrinated 6-year-old tries kicking his ass and has to be pulled off him by Natasha

The lodge becomes a safe haven for Widows, even after they’ve found their places in the world.

It takes a while for some to forgive Melina for her part in their enslavement, but she does her best every day to earn their forgiveness.

She becomes friends with Laura Barton, their relationship awkward at first but eventually effortless. The two share looks that are indecipherable to others, but they conduct entire conversations without saying a word. Natasha is befuddled.

Alexei warms up to the Barton kids immediately. They hang off his arms while he booms war stories and nonsense, shrugging off Clint’s concerns

“Relax, Robin Hood. They are soft and squishy, they learn to be strong!”

“… Whatever you say.”

Thanksgivings at the Barton farm start moving outside. Long tables are stuffed with Widows of all ages, Avengers, agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., families, and anyone else who will fit, crowding around in the kitchens and living rooms and fields, swapping stories and inside jokes

Nowhere in the world is totally safe, but the Barton farm feels pretty close

Holy shit. Just saw Shang-Chi and it is IT. Before getting into the Chinese cultural parts of it, I'd like to note that it had a solid plot and wonderfully developed characters. The worldbuilding and CGI and the relationship building was absolutely phenomenal and I was absolutely hooked. The fight choreography was THE best choreography I've ever seen in the entirety of the MCU and the cinematography is amazing.

Now, onto the Chinese cultural references.

My god. I've never felt so seen. As a Chinese woman living in a western diaspora I've genuinely never seen something that so genuinely felt right and that truly felt like it connected to me personally. There were so many little details that I could connect to that made me feel emotional because I've never had any media that connected to me this way. It was so well done and it was so obviously done by people who lived through it.

(minor) Spoilers ahead! Just small details about the Chinese Diaspora experience in the movie.

Some little details that stood out to me included:

The food! All the food shown on screen was Chinese food - be it homemade food or dim sum platters - and those were exactly the types of plates that I grew up eating.

When Shang-Chi took off his shoes to go into Katy's house and she was wearing slippers inside the house

When he was walking through the little Chinatown area and there were the fruit cardboard boxes outside the Chinese groceries and the white sketchy dim sum sign with English on top of the Chinese

Katy struggling with her Chinese as a diaspora kid because she's only a heritage speaker and her first language is english

When Katy was struggling to pronounce Shang-Chi's Chinese name asldhhdjskala I felt that

Katy sticking to her English name despite also having a Chinese name bc she's a diaspora kid and is used to using the English name

Every single one of the magical creatures inside Ta Lo were inspired by Chinese mythology.

THE DRAGON IS A PROPER CHINESE DRAGON

Katy's parents comparing her to others and asking her to "get a better job" with her H. B. from Berkeley (I felt that)

The whole thing about familial expectations and relationships in Chinese families?? Bro. I felt that. Holy shit.

So. Much. Mandarin. I can't explain how happy I am to hear that language. Many western movies have a tendency to mainly use English with an accent but this movie used a LOT of (accurate!) mando and it makes me so happy

The architecture?? The art?? Phenomenal. Amazing. So accurate.

The shrine to the mother and the other deceased looks EXACTLY like every single Chinese cemetery I've been to, down to the photos and the incense and the fruits and all the people paying tribute to it.

The martial arts?? Oh my god. So good. I recognize it. Having trained in it and having watched multiple family members practice varying Chinese martial arts over the years I can't express how fucking happy I was to see arts such as Tai Chi and Wing Chun and Wushu on screen. I could recognize it. The forms, the movements - I can't explain how, but it felt right. It felt familiar. It felt so wonderfully connected to me.

There's probably more but it's late at night so more to come later, maybe. I'm going to just bask in the fact that this was a fantastic movie for chinese representation and I felt so seen. I went to see it with several other Chinese friends and. We came away so happy. We felt seen. We felt heard. I can't express how much this meant to us.

Representation matters.

OPF request, natasha braiding R's hair after a shower together with some discussion about their past during the braiding? Also some of the head lean backward, pulling on braid for a kiss please :) If you'd like (I would also love it) the showering scene with them both being dumb and nearly getting soap in their eyes or something lmao

yesssssss, this is beautiful!

| natasha x fem!reader | only pretty faces |

warnings: mentions of death

You hear Natalia switch the shower on, the water thundering through the pipes, and you slip out of bed and pad down the corridor to the bathroom. Still no lock on the door: you push it open with your fingertips and inhale the steam that billows out. You step in and shut the door with a click behind you: Natalia’s shadow twists in the shower.

“Hey,” she says, from behind the half-drawn shower curtain. “You scared me.”

You pull your clothes off, let them crumple in a pile next to hers, and tie your hair back.

“I’m not scary,” you say. You lift a leg over the lip of the bath and step into the spray: it’s hot and forceful. Natalia reaches for you, grabs your elbows and pulls you closer. She kisses you, her face warm and wet. Her hair is soaked down, soap bubbles drifting off her shoulders - you reach out and smooth them away with your palm.

“No,” she says. She runs her fingers over your eyebrows, dripping water into your eyes.  “You’re not. You’re cute.”

You pull an awful face at her, but you don’t draw away. Eventually, she smiles at you, kisses you again with that smile still on her face.

“Want me to wash your hair?” she asks, palms flat against your sternum. 

“Yes,” you say. You push your forehead against the strong bridge of her nose. She presses her lips to the space between your eyebrows. “Let me sit down. It’s early.” She laughs.

“Okay.” She presses lightly on your shoulders and you go willingly, sinking to the floor of the bathtub. You trace her thighs with your fingers as you drop, and then you twist so your back is to her, your knees up to your chest. The spray of water is rapidly wetting your hair. Natalia tugs it gently out of its hair tie and digs her fingers into it, sorting through the snarls and knots. Then she sits behind you, lays her legs out alongside yours, and starts the wash.

Her hands are strong and steady, lulling you back into a steady doze. You lay against her chest, allowing her to enclose you, less like a cage and more like a shield against the wide white wall behind the two of you.

Each cycle of the wash is gentle and thorough. You must sit there for at least an hour, but she doesn’t complain of wasting the day or sitting in discomfort in half an inch of warm water. This intimacy is strange, close and naked but not sexual, easy in a way that makes you want to sink into her, crack her open and climb inside. You grip her legs to ground yourself from those images.

Natalia’s hands paused in your hair. “You good?” she asks. The spray beats down on your shoulders

“Good,” you say. You squeeze her knees playfully and in retaliation, she smears bubbles over your cheeks.

“Idiot,” she says, affectionately. You lay your head back on her shoulder and she grins down at you.

“You’re dripping soap in my eye,” you say, blinking rapidly. Your eye begins to burn.

“Oh, God,” Natalia says, sticking her hands into the shower stream quickly to rinse them off. “Sorry, sorry-” She cups her palms and splashes water over your face, too much, and it goes spilling into your mouth and up your nostrils. You splutter, scrambling up into a sitting position and scrubbing at your face. Behind you, Natalia begins to giggle in between her apologies. You twist and spit a stream of water in her face.

When the two of you step out, washed and scrubbed pink and breathing hard from your little water fight, Natalia grabs her towel. You tug it out of her hands. She raises her eyebrows at you quizzically.

The words almost stick in your throat. “Let me,” you say. Natalia hesitates - hesitates like she never does - and you grip the towel, so fearful of her withdrawal.

“Okay,” she says. You nod.

You dry her, feet first, then shins and strong calves and thighs, and as you progress, she watches you carefully. Observes you like she’s learning. You dry her stomach, her ribs, her spine, pausing to touch the rise of muscle beneath her skin. You keep your touch deliberately gentle. Her shoulders lose their tension when you wipe the water from her collarbones.

“Done,” you say, and you fold the towel over the rail and step away. She’s watching you still, hands in fists by her side. She seems to shiver, and you crouch to pick up her fresh clothes and offer them to her. She takes them, but doesn’t put them on, rather holds them out in front of her as if she’s afraid they contain a spider or a venomous snake. “Nata,” you say. Her eyes are wet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she says faintly. “I-” she cuts off her words and stares down quickly at her feet. “Nothing’s wrong. That was sweet. That’s all.”

Those words break your odd little trance, shrugging off the moment like a gossamer layer. You grab your t-shirt and pull it on over your head, your hair dampening the collar.

“Do you want cereal?” you ask, moving past her out of the bathroom door. 

It seems an age before she answers. “Yes,” she replies, her voice soft, frail like an icicle.

● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● 

You fix her cereal for her and by the time she’s dressed and wandered through the door of the kitchen, your hair has dried in tangles down your back. She surveys it instead of your face.

“Do you want me to braid it?” she asks, without making eye contact. You shove her bowl towards her and she sinks into a chair, receiving it with both hands. “You remember? We used to braid-”

“I remember,” you say. “I remember most of it.” That’s not at all true. You remember gentle fingers in your hair, your own hands fumbling through soft red and black and blonde locks. You also remember the snap of a neck in your hands, the dead stare of a little girl with her hair still in braids, fresh from the night before. And you remember pain and pain and pain.

Natalia lifts her spoon to her mouth.

You chew meditatively on your toast. You want her legs around your hips again, your head on her shoulder. You want to lie against her, within her, forever. “I’d like that,” you say. 

She smiles at you, relief dawning on her face.

She sits you down on the floor in the living room and switches the TV on. The punch bag is laid underneath the window like a sedan. Then she sits behind you, knees around your shoulders with a comb and a hairbrush and bends your hair to her will.

Natalia is gentle with you: always gentle. She pulls knots apart with her fingers, brushes your temple with her knuckles. 

“I remember this,” you tell her, and her hands still in the half-done braid. The TV twitters on. “This was one of the good memories.”

“One of the only ones,” she says softly. She carries on, twists and turns, locking your hair into itself. “You really remember this?”

“Only the concept,” you say. That at least is true: the braids are your memory, not the hands that made them, not the faces they framed.

“I braided your hair,” Natalia says, after a long pause. Far too casual. “You wouldn’t let anyone else touch it. Except for Kira.”

“Except for Kira,” you echo. You don’t remember Kira. You don’t want to ask: some sickening part of you imagines broken bones and blood in the snow. Natalia finishes the plait and gathers up the rest of your hair.

She pauses.

She tugs lightly on your hair and you tip your head back obediently, until your crown is in her lap and she’s staring down at you. Your neck stretches and strains.

Natalia leans down and kisses you, a touch more like a steal. You reach as far as you can to kiss her again, but she withdraws and pushes your head back up.

Her fingers card gently through your remaining hair, gathering three strands. “You don’t have to remember if you don’t want to,” she says quietly. “God knows I’d rather be ignorant.”

“I’m not ignorant,” you reply. You watch the TV move and flicker with dazed eyes. “I remember the pain. I remember that I don’t want to go back. Anymore.” You’ve dragged yourself from the mud: no, she did. She rescued you.

“I know,” Natalia says. She strokes your cheek with her thumb and you lean into her touch. “I’m grateful for you.”

requests | masterlist

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @rysnwilder @ima-gi–na-tion @paryl @picnicmic  @smallestavenger @lainjupi   @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115

notes: listen guys, I am so unmotivated right now. I’m so close to finishing TPTF and I’m so frustrated about this but here’s a little thing to keep you hooked. (also I linked my ko-fi in my bio if you felt like giving me money UNRELATED to fic writing because I am NOT MAKING MONEY OFF this, okay marvel?)