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afewmarvelousthoughts · 6 years

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Stay Ch. 3

[Master List] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: References to murder I guess?

A/N: Ah, my poor OC/Reader. So infatuated. So stressed. So about to be in over her head.

(Also, to my knowledge we don’t know exactly when MCU Natasha graduated from The Red Room so I picked an age that worked for my story.)

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @germansarechill

Natasha didn’t seem to notice the clear signals she projected nor that your unique brain absorbed each and every one. Or if she did she hid it. She sits back on the bed crossing her legs and gathering the rest of the little vodka bottles to her.

“So,” she asks opening another, “just what kind of freak are you?” Your brows raise in a silent question. “Born freak or made freak.”

“Never met a made freak…” Something to dig into, “Though in all fairness never met a born one either. Never met anyone like me.”

“Born, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Alabama?”

You’re genuinely surprised, “Damn, spot on there.”

“I’m a made freak,” she downs the bottle.

“Oh?” You steel yourself, “What exactly…”

“I’m a weapon.” She forms a gun with her fingers and aims it at you, “A damn good one.”

The tension in you releases, you thought she was going to reveal some power, an ability like your own. “Is that so bad?” She just shrugs.

Silence hangs thick for a few minutes. “Alright,” your voice feels like a gunshot, “let’s get to work.” She just stares at you, “I’m good but like any hunting dog I need to be pointed in a direction. You’ve got to have some ideas about who’s put this bounty on you.”

“That’s a long list.”

“I don’t sleep much,” you shrug and flash her a smile. “Come on,” you pull the notepad by the phone to you and the hotel pen, “start listing potentials.”

Over an hour later your head is spinning. “How fucking long have you been at this?” You were both born in ’84… only 20… but you’d lived so many lifetimes by then and there was no question she had too.

“Graduated at 14,” she says nonchalantly.

“Graduated?”

“From The Red Room. Been working since.”

You ran a hand over your face, letting out a long sigh. “So in six years-“

“That’s from the last two.”

“Fuck me,” you groan, she laughs and you can’t help but smile. “Ok, you’re obviously not done, so keep going.”

Natasha takes a deep breath before listing more names of people and syndicates. It becomes like static as your brain searches for pertinent information, “The Yugo Brotherhood, then there’s-“

“Stop,” you hold up your hand to pause. Eidetic memory, was the best word for it, though it didn’t quite cover it. Anything you absorb you can, for better or worse, recall with pinpoint accuracy. Great for your job. Terrible for being a functional human. “You took out the fucking Cobra didn’t you?!” Just a shrug.

“Need another drink?” Natasha asks, a small smile playing on her lips.

You hold out your glass, “Make it a double.” Your fingers brush over her’s as she hands the glass back to you and a shiver climbs up your spine, “Thank you.” After a sip you take a deep breath and close your eyes, pulling up everything you have on the Yugoslavian Brotherhood.

Names and dates begin pouring out, your hand racing across the pages in your short form, scrawling out the information. Tearing off the page and going on to the next, you’re like a machine. Then your hand starts sketching the outline of a face, a man, automatic. You stop yourself as it’s not necessary.

Natasha was hovering over watching, fascinated. You hadn’t noticed her. Three pages in her hands.

“Sorry, I kinda zone out once this,” you tap your forehead, “get’s going.”

“You just… remembered all of this?” She looks at the pages, trying to decipher them.

“Mhm, part of the package.” You reach for the pages, “You won’t be able to decode those.”

She flashes you a side glance, “This is short for, underworld,” she points to the mix of symbols letters. “Don’t assume,” she hands them to you and sits on the opposite side of the table.

“Impressive.”

“Well made,” she says dryly.

- Post Snap -

You stare at the dark screen of your phone. Willing it to light up. Any number, any country, you’d answer. Because maybe…

The sun was setting. A few stragglers had wandered into the hotel, all looking dazed, lost. Did you look like that? Did it matter?

You let your mind wander back.

It didn’t take you long to narrow in on what mercs would have picked up the Brotherhood’s hit the fastest…

- Nov. 2004 -

“That doesn’t sound like a suicide mission at all,” your stare is incredulous.

“I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, no one is disputing that. But you don’t have-“

“Enough,” she pushes past you and it takes every ounce of self-control for you to not grab her.

It turned out that the hit on Natasha had indeed been put on her by the Brotherhood. The day before you had pulled corroborating information from two different men that Europe’s top two mercs had picked up that the Widow was in Vienna. Rather than risk going after her solo they were apparently teaming up, willing to split the sizable bounty for the glory of taking her out. She didn’t want to wait, was instead determined to crash their makeshift HQ.

You had spent the better part of the last three hours pointing out to her the obvious issues. They would have home-field advantage, there were at least two of them, they were both skilled killers. She of course scoffed, she was better than them and would be sending their head’s to the Brotherhood as a clear message.

Leaning against the door you watch her gear up, teeth grinding, brain whirring trying to find any way to get her to stop. Natasha was unquestionably exceptional at what she did, but in this instance, she was being arrogant.

Done covering her body in a small arsenal she stares you down. You don’t move. “Please,” she sighs, “don’t make me move you, Y/N.”

“If you die that’s on me,” she won’t meet your eyes.

“If you feel guilt over the consequences of a job well done you need to find a new line of work.” When she finally looks back it’s as though she’s donned a mask, “Now, get out of my fucking way.” You do, even though you feel like you’re moving through wet concrete.

Natasha opens the door with more force than necessary and steps out before pausing. She looks back at you, “Thank you… for the information. I won’t forget what I owe you.” Then she’s gone.

You collapse into a chair, head in your hands. For three days you had worked to dig up as much information as you possibly could to find just what kind of trouble she had gotten herself into. Unsurprisingly, it was all a tangled mess. But you had also spent much of that time with her.

At first, you thought she would be vapid, boring, just a gun in a pretty dress. Now you weren’t sure if you were happy or livid that she was anything but.

In lulls between research and tracking down sources you both hardly slept, instead, you just ate junk, guzzled caffeine, and talked about your favorite books, artists, music. Turned out she had a soft spot for classic rock and Anais Nin, both of which utterly surprised you.

One of the definite upsides to your ability was being able to tell if someone was lying to you, or fronting, she had done neither. Your exchange was candid, and you felt somehow honored that she chose to be real with you. In return you had been open with her, laying out what your original plan had been, telling her what information you needed to satisfy your S.H.I.E.L.D contact. Rather than having to pluck it from her she willingly gave you the intel.

It turned your stomach. The way The Red Room broke these girls to make them into weapons. Your own childhood hadn’t been a cake walk. Sold off to the highest bidder the moment your dad realized what useful skills you had and that plenty of underworld lowlives would be happy to have a handy little psychic on their side. But none of the brutality you had witnessed was calculated, none of it specifically formulated to break you, which somehow made it all less sinister in your mind.

All that she had been through and yet… deep under it all, there was something there, some spark, of humanity they couldn’t strip away. You felt it there every time she spoke about her own likes, every time you caught her glancing at you, every time you brushed against her (accidentally on purpose if you were being real).

You wanted to know her, really know her, you wanted- fuck. You get up and pace around the room. Anxiety growing with every circuit you make. Maybe an hour since she had left… enough time to get to their hideout… enough time for her to be…

“Goddammit!” You yell to nothing as you begin to gear up. Every sensible part of your brain is screaming at you. Lining up the reasons not to go after her, blasting them at full volume. But your brain wasn’t in control right now. Neither was your heart. This was your gut telling you something was going to go wrong, something you couldn’t live with.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow #queer fic #marvel fic

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 6 years

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Stay Ch. 3

(This is a repost because of tumblr’s stupid thing about links being in posts. I want to be sure the people who wanted tags see this.)

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