#sapphic september | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sapphic-coded · 8 months

Note

hey beautiful could u write about a nat x reader break up and there’s so much tension between them until they both break at a dinner party with the team and their dates 😋

Hey Friend! You're so sweet. I hope this lands somewhere in the ballpark of what you were hoping for. Thank you for the request!

No Use In You Trying, Baby

You are invited to a dinner party. Reluctantly, you go and run into your ex.

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Hurt feelings. Language Cap wouldn't approve of.

Word Count: 2.8k

You were content to spend all your time in your lab. It was your happy place. Your playground. This was where you could think clearly, and where all your best ideas originated from. Plus, it wasn’t as if you were hiding away in some basement cut off from the outside world. Your lab at the Compound was huge and had plenty of equally huge windows that allowed plenty of bright, warm sunlight in. And if you needed to socialize, there were plenty of people who walked by your lab daily.

But you didn’t want to socialize. You wanted to focus on your work because for the first time in months you were finally making progress. Broken equipment and weapons that had just been sitting in your lab were finally leaving polished and new. Projects that had just only been sitting nestled in the back of your mind were suddenly finding life. It was amazing what you could accomplish in a single day without any distractions.

You rolled backwards on your black swivel chair as you stared at your notes on the yellow legal pad in your hands. You were curious what Clint would think of your idea for this new arrow. The idea had come to you last night, and you had been thinking about it ever since. The back of your chair pressed against one of the many lab tables. You lowered your notepad and turned. All thoughts regarding your new arrow idea fled at the sight of the batons laying on the table.

You held the batons in your hands and your brow furrowed as your thumbs pressed down on the button built into the base of the weapon. The usual quiet hum of the electrical discharge was silent. You tapped both of the batons together as if that would fix the problem, but nothing changed.

A pair of arms wrapped around you from behind. Familiar, warm hands settled against your stomach while her chin came to rest over your left shoulder.

“I tried that too,” her voice brushed against your ear.

You sighed as you studied the twin weapons. “It shouldn’t be too hard to fix. It’s probably a broken conductor or…” You trailed off when you felt her hands travel lower. Her fingers slipped underneath the hem of your shirt.

Who the hell put those there?

“Incoming call from Mr. Stark,” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice penetrated the quiet of your lab.

You stood up and collected the batons. “Put him through.” You listened as Tony’s voice echoed throughout your lab. You carried the batons over to a growing stack of boxes running along the right side of your lab. You opened up the lid on one of the cardboard boxes as Tony went into detail about partnering up on another project he had in mind. You listened for key words while your thumb pressed down on the button at the base of one of the batons. You frowned. Still broken.

“I also need you at the Tower tonight,” Tony said.

You dumped the batons into the box. “Why?”

“Because I’m throwing together a little dinner party,” Tony replied. “Just the team. We haven’t done one of those in a while.”

“I’m busy,” your reply was automatic.

“You finished your last official project two weeks ago.”

“I’m working through my backlog,” you replied.

“Fine,” Tony said. There was a moment of quiet when you wondered if he had hung up the phone. Your question was answered when you turned your back to the boxes. “I’ll be very interested to see how you manage to do that without any power.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Trust me, I’m wearing my serious face,” Tony replied. “I can demonstrate if you want.”

The lights in your lab flickered.

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

– – –

You used to spend most of your time at Avengers Tower. This was where you got your start working for Tony Stark. When you first arrived at the Tower, you thought the labs there couldn’t get any better. You had been allowed to play around with tech you could only fantasize about. The amount of resources you had at your disposal was endless. It was fun. You loved creating weapons and upgrading equipment for the team. There were few things better than challenging yourself to create something better than the perfect project you just finished.

When you entered the Tower, you were tempted to just go to your old floor. You hadn’t been able to move everything from your old lab to your new one at the Compound. Playing around with what you had left behind seemed like a better idea than attending a dinner party. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see the team. You did. But it hadn’t even been a month since your last conversation with Natasha. The one that had ended badly. You knew she would be here, and the last thing you wanted to do was see her. Because then everything you had been ignoring would come rushing back. You wouldn’t know what to say, and everything would just be easier if you kept your distance.

Too bad you weren’t going to get what you wanted.

When you reached the top floor, Tony was the first to greet you. It seemed you were the last to arrive as the rest of the team were talking amongst each other. You spotted familiar faces. Most of the team had brought along their dates. It made you want to leave even more, but you put on your best smile as you made small talk with the team. Thor was in the middle of telling you a tale of his most recent battle when you saw her.

She was standing near the bar talking to Laura. Despite trying your best to focus on Thor’s story, you couldn’t help but notice that she looked beautiful. Then again, Natasha always looked stunning. The black dress she wore now only complimented her features. Or rather, the dress acted more like a reminder of a lost privilege. You gripped your glass of expensive wine tighter at the thought. Privilege? You hadn’t lost anything like that. Just a relationship that was bound to crash and burn.

“...and then he went flying off the mountain,” Thor’s laugh drew your attention back to the god. “Never thought it’d end like that.” He shook his head and then took a long drink from his flask. “So, I hear you spend your time forging new weapons.”

“Uh, yeah,” you looked past Thor. Natasha smiled at something Laura had said. Stop it. You focused back on Thor and started talking about all the projects you had completed recently. You chose to only talk about the projects you knew would keep Thor’s attention: equipment upgrades, a very close to being completed laser sword, and an attempt to copy his hammer. He found that last bit very funny.

You were grateful when everyone was summoned to the table for the actual dinner. All you had to do now was eat the food, make a tiny amount of more small talk, and then you could leave. You already had your excuses prepared. But as you approached the table, you realized that Tony had thrown a curveball your way. Tony had gone through (or rather he had someone else go through) and assigned the team seats. You already had an idea of where this was going, and your suspicion was confirmed when you found your seat right next to Natasha.

You looked over at Tony. He winked at you, and you were tempted to leave. Instead, you sat down in your seat and set your expensive wine down on the table. You could do this. She hadn’t approached you yet this entire evening. The feeling of not wanting to interact with each other was mutual. You both could talk to other people. This was fine.

The smell of her perfume hit you first. It grabbed hold of you and yanked you back through countless memories. You remembered the smell of jasmine with the barest hint of vanilla flooding your senses when she pulled you in for that first kiss. You remembered how your legs turned to jelly, and you were terrified that you were going to fall. You didn’t fall. Somehow, you stayed on your feet until the kiss was over. Your mind had gone blank. You had felt painfully dumb. What were you supposed to do?

She smiled as her hands settled at your waist. “Aren’t you going to kiss me back?”

You looked to your left as she sat down in her seat. She looked gorgeous and happy. As if nothing life altering had happened. You felt a spike of jealousy. She probably had forgotten all about you by now. Breaking off your relationship hadn’t changed anything for her. You had been right to doubt your relationship all along. You had only been a convenient fuck. You were so stupid to believe all those promises she made you. She certainly couldn’t keep many of them.

You looked away and took a good, long drink of whatever Tony had poured into your glass. A wait staff appeared and set plates filled with delicious smelling food down in front of everyone. You set your now empty glass down, and another waiter appeared to refill it. You picked up your knife and fork and began cutting into the meat. You could do this. You should just pretend she isn’t here. Rogers was sitting to your right. You could always just make conversation with him.

“Is this what we’re doing now?” her voice was low enough for only you to catch.

You forced yourself to keep your focus on your plate as you continued to cut into the meat. Red juices leaked from what was probably a delicious cut of meat. “Yup.” You stabbed your fork into the tender meat and pushed it into your mouth. You chewed. Fuck. It was good. You heard her sigh, and you didn’t need to look at her to know she was also, most likely, shaking her head.

“It’s a bad move,” she said.

You bit back the first thought that came to mind and continued to eat.

“This is obviously a setup. They’re trying to fix things,” she continued when you didn’t respond.

You looked around at the table as you chewed. Everyone else was busy talking amongst themselves. You swallowed and still refused to look at her. “There’s nothing to fix.” She didn’t respond right away and you reached for your glass. Maybe this was all about to end.

“Then I suggest we play along unless you want to go through this again,” she said.

You set your glass down before you could take a sip and finally looked over at her. “I’m not going to play along.” You spotted the familiar look of frustration cross her face. It didn’t surprise you. Whenever you refused to go along with any of her plans, she got annoyed with you. You should have known from the very beginning that this relationship was never going to work. You felt stupid for even trying.

“Fine. I guess I’ll see you at the next dinner party,” Natasha looked away from you.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you stabbed your fork into another piece of meat. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be too busy to attend the next one.”

“Didn’t you already try that excuse?” she asked.

You shoveled the piece of meat into your mouth and chewed. You didn’t bother to ask how she knew that. It was Natasha. She knew everything about you. You hated it. You hated that she was right. You hated sitting here so close to her. Every minute that passed was just more reminders of what had made you happy. It was gone, and you just wanted it all to stay dead. Why hadn’t Natasha shown up with the date? Why didn't you? You could think of a dozen ways you could have approached this whole stupid thing differently.

“Y/N,” her voice was softer now and you felt a burning behind your eyes.

“I can’t do this,” you heard the waver in your voice. You shouldn’t have come. You knew what would happen. You knew you would see her. You knew you would feel all these things. You weren’t sure if you couldn’t hear the other conversations happening around the table because people had stopped talking or because your quickening heart beat was now filling your ears. “I can’t.”

You felt her hand fall over your own, and you quickly snatched your hand back and stood up. You felt the rest of the team’s eyes on you as you quickly left. You heard their voices all rise up as one, but you didn’t look back. You just needed to leave. Get some fresh air. Go back to the Compound and forget about all of this.

Your pace quickened as you left the team behind and hurried towards the elevator. You were grateful that the doors parted immediately upon pushing the button. You stepped inside and pressed the button that would take you down to the garage. Your vision blurred and you felt a hot tear spill down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away. Stupid. This had been stupid. The doors started to close and just when you thought your escape was complete, Natasha slipped into the elevator.

The doors shut completely and you shook your head. “No.” Your hand reached out towards the panel of buttons. You went to push the button that would force the elevator doors back open, but Natasha grabbed your hand before you could. “Let go, Nat. I’m not going back to that stupid party.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said and released your hand the moment the elevator began to descend.

Your hand dropped back down to your side. “Then why are you here?” You realized that was the wrong question to ask as her red lips parted to answer. You shook your head. “No! No. I don’t want to know. Just leave me alone.”

She took a small step closer to you, and you instinctively stepped back and felt your back pressed against the cool wall of the elevator. “You’re not even going to give me a chance?”

“A chance to do what? Lure me back to your side with more fake promises of some happy life together? You can’t use that bullshit on me anymore. I was just a convenient fuck for you,” you felt another tear slip, and you used the back of your hand to wipe it away.

“You broke up with me,” she argued.

“Because you pushed me away,” your voice wavered again, and you hated it. “Every time I tried to help or understand, you kept me out. The only time you let me in was when you wanted to fuck me. The only time you wanted me around was if you wanted to have sex with me. I wasn’t your girlfriend. I was your toy.”

“I know.”

You were ready for anything. You had replayed all your arguments in your head hundreds of times. You were ready for any of her arguments. Except for that. Those two words caught you completely off guard.

“I messed up,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”

What was happening? This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to argue back and forth until you were both spent and upset and eager to get away from each other.

“Please let me try again.”

She had somehow managed to get even closer to you. Her voice was soft, and her olive green eyes were searching your face. She was trying to gauge your emotions. You could only wonder what she saw because you didn’t know how to feel. Tears still threatened to spill down your cheeks from all the pain you had been shoving down these past few weeks. Walking away from her had hurt so much. Because you did love her, and it had killed you to realize that she didn’t love you.

You wanted to leap at this chance. You wanted it so badly, but you were hesitant. You had barely been able to walk away from her last time. You weren’t sure you would be able to do it again if all of this happened again. But you wanted to believe it wouldn’t. You wanted to believe that there was still some life in this dying husk of a relationship.

You didn’t realize what had happened until her lips were pressed against yours. It felt like your first kiss all over again, only better. It felt familiar. The kiss was soft but needy. It reminded you of all the other ways she had kissed you before. The smell of her perfume flooded your senses, and you just wanted to collapse into her arms. You were tired of being angry. Tired of being upset. You wanted this. The kiss ended far too soon, and you started to lean forward to chase her retreating lips.

You saw her smile when the elevator reached the garage floor, and the doors opened. You didn’t make any move to leave. Instead, you waited for the elevator doors to close before you leaned forward to kiss her back.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #fanfic request #sapphic september #i'm tempted to write a part two but i'm not sure

685 notes · View notes

sapphic-coded · 7 months

Text

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and said something stupid to Nat. Childhood trauma. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: This chapter was both weird and fun to write. I hope you guys enjoy! As always, thank you for all the love and support. I see all your likes, reblogs, and comments and they make me smile.

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox

Chapter Six: He's Killing Me For Mercy

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1992

“Please don’t stop on my account,” your father’s heavy gaze that pinned you firmly in place turned towards Nat’s father. The white, plastic fork was warm in your tightening grip. “In fact, I apologize for intruding like this. I thought I would be occupied for the rest of the night with my company, but a friend called them away. I suddenly found myself with free time.” He smiled, and you felt yourself begin to tense as he laughed. “Such an elusive thing. So, I figured I would finally meet the only person Y/N talks about.”

His eyes swept past you and landed on Nat. You shifted a bit in your chair. Your father’s smile was natural. His laughter sounded genuine. But you knew it was only a performance. The same one he put on whenever it was necessary. And the times it was necessary were few which meant–

“Would you like something to eat?” Nat’s mother asked.

“That sounds wonderful,” your father looked at Nat's mother. “It smells delicious.”

You watched as your father settled into a chair directly across the table from you. You felt chained to yours. You didn’t know what to do. You felt as if you were watching one of those nature shows on television. You were watching a predator slowly creep up on its prey. And all you wanted to do was act. You felt a buzzing beneath your skin.

“Give him some of the rabbit,” Nat’s father called to her mother.

Your father’s brows rose. “Rabbit? Fascinating choice. Unfortunately, it's not a very common one in this neighborhood.”

The buzzing continued. You wanted to act. You needed to. But you couldn’t figure out what to do. You felt trapped. You could only watch as the predator slowly creeped closer. You felt something warm and soft brush against your hand that gripped your plastic fork. You tore your attention away from your father and looked over at Nat. She was looking at your hand. You followed her gaze.

“That’s something we discovered after moving here,” Nat’s father replied.

You heard both of Nat’s parents chuckle warmly. Nat’s green eyes lifted to meet your stare. Despite the buzzing you felt, slowly your tight grip on your fork loosened.

“But apparently we are in good company,” Nat’s father continued. “Y/N tells us that you like to hunt.”

“Did she?”

You lifted your head and met your father’s stare. You saw a flicker of a twitch in his casual smile. The single crack in the mask he wore. Yet, the stinging coldness of his stare persisted. It was relentless, and you just wanted him to leave. This piece of the world was yours. He could have everything else. He did have everything else. Why couldn’t he just let you have this?

Your fork dropped from your loosened hold as every loud, piercing thought died on the tip of your tongue.

“Well,” your father said as Nat’s mother placed a plate down in front of him. “It is a cherished hobby of mine.” He picked up a plastic knife and fork and looked over to Nat’s dad. “It’s a bit of an old family tradition. My grandfather taught my father, and in turn he taught me.”

You watched as your father stopped to take a bite of the rabbit. You remembered the first time you saw your father throw together a believable tale with just a couple spare tidbits of truths and an imagination that stretched ever onwards. It had amazed you then. It was like a magic trick. Everything about it was fake, yet the audience applauded as if someone really could pull a rabbit from a hat.

And all that amazement and wonder twisted into a simmering anger as he sat there and corrupted this day.

Your father closed his eyes briefly and sat back in his chair. “This is absolutely delicious. You must send me the recipe. I would love to try it at home.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Anyways, I wanted to carry on the family tradition. Not only do I find the sport enthralling, but it instills important values. A well rounded education is what our children deserve.”

“Then let me join you,” Nat’s father said.

Your father’s attention shifted entirely to Nat’s father.

“Please,” Nat’s father insisted. “It’s been too long since I’ve done a bit of hunting.”

You sat back in your chair and looked over to Nat. You already knew what your father’s answer would be. Your father allowed no one but you and your siblings on his hunts. Your interest shifted to crafting your escape plan. You wanted to spend a little bit more time with Nat before your father dragged you back home. Perhaps if you–

“I’d be delighted.”

What?

You looked across the table at your father, but his interest still remained entirely on Nat’s dad. Did your father just…no…no that didn’t make sense. You watched as your father spoke, but you couldn’t hear a single word he said. This didn’t make sense. Your father wouldn’t let someone he just met intrude on a hunt. He…he wouldn’t…he didn’t.

This wasn’t right. That’s not what your father said that day.

REDACTED – 2010

You wake to a slow, steady, clinical beeping sound. Your vision is a blur of varying shades of white. Your entire body is sore, and something is wrapped around your arm. You squeeze your eyes shut and listen to three steady beeps before you open your eyes again. Your vision clears, and you stare up at bland, off white ceiling tiles. Your mind barely has time to form questions before the answers come rushing in.

The job in the middle of nowhere. The weight of your gun in your hand. The warm droplets of your target’s blood hitting your cheeks. The stupid thing you said to Nat.

You close your eyes again. Fuck. She probably doesn’t even want to talk to you now after that. Fuck! You open your eyes as you let out a breath. You lift your head up from the thin pillow you’ve been laying on and see your arm nestled in a blue and white sling. Oh right. The tree. You try to move your arm. The sharp, stinging pain from before has dulled considerably. Someone has taken the time to shove your arm back into your shoulder socket. It would still take awhile for your arm to heal completely, but at least it wasn’t hanging uselessly at your side anymore.

You lay your head back down against the pillow as your attention shifts to your father. He sits in a chair next to your hospital bed. His stare meets yours, and you don’t know what to say. This hasn’t happened before. You have never not completed a job. You also have never seen your father look at you the way he does now. The hard steel of his gray eyes has softened. Something you thought was impossible.

“When my clients ask about you, do you know what I tell them?” he asks.

A couple answers spring to life within your mind, but you stay silent. You lay there and wait. Observe. You can predict so much about your father. But not this. This is new and strange.

He looks down at his hands in his lap. “I tell them that you are the best.”

You want to say something. You want to smile. You want to savor this sweet affection, but you don’t. It’s tantalizing bait. He wants you to follow its scent.

“You are the best, Y/N,” he looks at you. “Your brother never had the stomach for it. Your sister’s quiet hatred kept her from achieving her potential. But you excelled. Your accomplishments eclipsed your siblings in a way I did not think possible.”

You look away from him. You need to change the subject. Better yet, when is he going to yell at you for not finishing the job?

“I am proud of you.”

You roll your head to the side to look over at your father again. He stands and reaches for your hand. You feel his warm calloused hands wrap around yours and your mind goes blank. You don’t like this. What is this?

“I am proud of how far you have come,” your father says and gives your hand an uncomfortable squeeze. “And I cannot wait to see how far you will go when they are done.”

They?

The door to the hospital room opens. You pull your hand from your father’s hold and sit up as a doctor and three nurses enter the room. You see the syringe in the doctor’s hands. The slow, steady beeping from the heart monitor you are attached to picks up rapidly. You look at your father as he steps away.

“No,” your voice is hoarse and you immediately fight against the many hands that reach for you. “Get off! Stop!” You see your father calmly walk towards the open door. More hands shove you back into the bed as something sharp pierces your neck. Your world disappears.

Your House – 1992

The front door shut behind you. The last dwindling rays of the setting, golden sun were cut off as you stood in the familiar muted, stale light of your home. You looked towards the dark gray walls. They were painfully empty. Just a still sea of occasional marks and chipping paint. Your father’s voice carried throughout the house as you followed him into the family room. He pointed to a spot on the brown couch, and you sat down without question.

You flinched when your father’s voice boomed like a deafening crack of thunder. You thought back to Nat’s room. You remember the calm you felt when she slid those headphones over your ears. The whole world had melted away. The memory slipped away from you when you felt a dip in the couch. Your sister sat down next to you while your brother stood next to the couch.

The ringing in your ears muted your father’s words. His mask of pleasantries was abandoned. There were no smiles or laughter. The frown you were accustomed to had returned. The cold stillness of his steel gray eyes had melted into a passionate frenzy. You watched as spittle flew from his thin lips as he yelled. He pointed at you, but he didn’t look at you. His attention shifted between your sister and your brother, but he seemed to favor your brother more.

You saw your brother tense as he stood next to the couch with his arms folded in front of his chest. He was staring at Father and you noticed the slight shake in your brother’s hands. Pieces of your father’s yells were beginning to break through the constant ringing.

“...jeopardize…stupid…weak…”

Your brother’s arms unfolded and he stepped forward. You’ve never seen your brother this angry before. You’ve never seen him yell like this. You watched your brother’s advance as his yells triumphed over your father’s. And just as your brother got close, your father’s fist slammed into your brother’s head. Your brother collapsed, and the yelling stopped.

Far Away – 2010

It all comes rushing to you at once when you wake. The job. The lack of fear in your target’s eyes as they choked on their own blood. The way his body shook when Nat shot him twice. Waking up in some hospital with your father. You try to move your arms, but you can’t. Something keeps them pinned down. You remember the nurses coming into the room. You remember your father’s retreat.

You open your eyes, and you have no idea where you are. You are strapped down to a large, weird looking chair. The light of the single light bulb that hangs directly above you does a poor job of illuminating the room. Darkness swallows up the edges of the room. You can’t tell how big the room is, and you can’t see any doors or windows. But you got in here somehow.

You look down at the thick, brown leather straps that keep you firmly in place. You thought you were well beyond your father’s ridiculous tests. Oh well. You’ll get out of this and finally go home. You pull on the bindings that keep your right arm bound to the arm of the weird chair. The bindings hold. Okay. Fine. It wouldn’t be a test if there wasn’t a challenge involved.

Footsteps steal your attention as a man you have never seen before steps out from the shadows and into your small bubble of pale, white light. The first thing you notice is the white lab coat he wears. You remember a doctor entering your hospital room with the nurses. You remember the syringe they were carrying. You can’t tell if this is the same doctor or not. He stands tall above you with a long, angular face. His thin, dark hair is combed neatly to one side. His brown eyes examine you for a moment before his hands dip into the front pockets of his lab coat.

“I’m certain you have some questions, Y/N,” the doctor says.

You do, but you know voicing them would be a waste of energy. Your father has concealed your escape somewhere. You just need to figure out the puzzle.

“I guess I’ll begin by welcoming you to the team.”

Your brow furrows. The team? You look up at the doctor as he pulls a pair of pale blue latex gloves out of his coat pocket.

“Not everyone makes it this far,” the doctor pulls the latex gloves over his hands. “We’ve seen some real promising candidates, but you blew your competition out of the water. I’ve met so many people who do what you do. People I wouldn’t want to cross because their skills are frighteningly accurate. But you,” he pauses as his eyes examine you again, “you have a talent for killing.”

Whatever this shit is that your father put together, you hate it. You just want to leave.

“You’ll fit in comfortably once we correct one small problem,” the doctor says.

“I’m more of a solo act,” you finally reply as the doctor walks towards the front of your chair and reaches into the thick darkness outside your bubble of light. He pulls a black cart into the light. Sitting on top of the cart was a wide television screen. He takes a moment to position the cart and television exactly how he wants it before moving back towards you.

Despite being unable to move, you lean your head away from the doctor’s outreaching hand. This doesn’t seem to matter to the doctor as his hands grab hold of your head and shift it back to where he wants it. You feel cool leather press into your forehead as the doctor straps your head down against the chair’s headrest.

You pull again against the restraints as you hear more movement happening behind you. You can’t move, and someone turns on the television. Blue light floods the room as the doctor attaches some cold metal contraption to your face. You feel the skin below your eyes pull downwards by tiny metal hands. Identical metal hands pull on your skin above your eyes. When the doctor steps away from you, the only place you can look is at the strange blue images on the television screen.

“We are going to begin in just a few moments,” the doctor says.

You hear more movement behind you, and you try to hold onto your one singular focus: escape. There’s a way out. There’s always a way out in all of your father’s tests. And once you find it, then you can take whatever contraption the doctor put on your face and smash it into his head. Maybe stab out his eyeballs with the tiny metal hands.

“I need you to take a deep breath, Y/N,” the doctor continues. “Calm your mind.”

You’ll cut out the doctor’s tongue too. You hate his voice. You’ll cut it out, stab out his eyeballs, and then shove all three down his throat. That would be funny. Then you would leave wherever the hell you are and find your father. It wouldn’t be too hard to find him. He left you in that hospital room.

He left proud of you. He left when the nurses and doctor came.

He left you to them.

“You know what is best.”

You stare at the blue shapes on the screen. Why did he leave you to them?

“What is best is you comply,” the doctor’s voice drowns out the other footsteps in the room. “Compliance will be rewarded.”

Everything – ????

The rabbit squirms in the trap. The sharp blade of your hunting knife is bigger than your hand. It was made for an adult yet your father shoved it into your small hands the moment you spotted the trapped rabbit. It feels so heavy in your hand as you near the frantic animal. Once you are close, you look over your shoulder. Your father stands behind you flanked by your brother and sister. Mud is caked across the faces of your siblings.

When you look back down at the rabbit, you find a terrified man huddled at your feet. He looks up at you, shaking, and suddenly the hunting knife fits comfortably in your hand. The man’s face changes with every blink. First he’s barely older than your brother. Then he wears the deep wrinkles of a man far older than your father. Then his wrinkles smooth out into a rounder, heavier face.

Then you recognize the face of one of your classmates. One of the many who stare and laugh when you aren’t looking. You see them about to break out into a giggle when your small hand reaches out and grabs a fistful of their hair. The strands of hair wrapped around your fingers are so soft. You hear their plea. You see their big black eyes begging you not to do it. But it’s all trapped inside your small body, and you need to do something. You need to let it out.

You bring the heavy knife down and plunge it deep into their chest. The warm rush of blood wets your hands as you jerk the knife free. When you bring it down again, the young man trapped in your grip cries out. You breathe deep as the body goes limp beneath you. You kneel over them and pull the knife out. The bright red blood on the blade drips onto the fallen leaves that cover the hard ground. You bring the knife down again, but this time your target doesn’t make a sound. You only hear the sounds of your heavy breaths and the ripping of skin as your knife plunges into their chest again and again and–

The television screen goes dark. You are back in the strange dark room. The light bulb hanging above you continues its dull, endless whine. You can’t move. You can’t look anywhere except at the screen. Your clothes feel different. They don’t feel like your clothes. You stare at the blank television screen and the stranger standing next to it at the very edge of your light bubble.

He wears all black. A black t-shirt hugs his brawny chest, and black cargo pants covers his legs and disappears into his black combat boots. His dark hair is pushed up and back away from his face. A dark stubble coats his chin as his brown eyes meet your forced stare. He turns and reaches into the darkness for something. He drags a plastic folding chair into the light and sits down next to you. He positions himself in a way that you don’t have to turn your head to look at him because you can’t.

He slouches forward a bit and rests his arms against his thighs. “Did you really drown the mayor of Charleston in a toilet bowl of his own piss?”

The memory comes back clear as day. The weight of your toolbelt hanging around your waist. The sound of the mayor following you down the hallway of his impressive house. The nonsense you made up as you led him into the foul smelling bathroom. The mayor didn’t seem to catch on that you weren’t really a plumber until you shoved his face into the toilet.

The barest hint of a smile curls your lips and it is all the man needs to see before he smiles and shakes his head. He sits back in his chair.

“Welcome to the team,” the man says. “You will call me Rumlow. I’ll be your handler.”

You don’t need or want a handler. You don’t even care about this team they keep mentioning. But you don’t get any time to voice your opinions as the doctor steps into the light and switches the television back on. You see the doctor hand Rumlow a black journal before your attention shifts to the strange blue shapes.

Rumlow speaks, but you can’t hear him. All you hear is the sound of muscles tearing as you yank your knife free from the rabbit. Crimson red blood stains the creature’s soft white fur. Slowly, your small fingers uncurl from its fur. Its blood is dark and warm and the sight of the dead animal eases the tension that had pounded against your chest.

You look over at your father, and he stands alone. Dry, dead leaves crunch beneath his boots as he starts towards you. You start to stand, but the ground beneath your feet shifts. The knife in your small hands disappears as the whole world rearranges itself. You are suddenly on your back rolling down a hill. The taste of dirt fills your mouth as you roll downwards. When you finally come to a stop on your back, you spit out the stray bits of grass and dirt that made it into your mouth.

A weight settles on top of you. You feel warmth begin to seep into your cold, numb skin as you look up at Nat. The ends of her red hair tickle your cheek. You smile as you feel your body relaxing beneath her. Your hands are still wet with the rabbit’s blood when you hear someone approach.

You’re standing in the basement of your house. A hooded man is tied to a chair. He is sobbing. Begging. You had just walked out of your high school for the last time. You had come home hoping to sink into the blessed relief that all the pretending was over. You could finally escape. You could finally stop staring at the empty house across the street. Instead, your father hands you your first gun. Not one to borrow while on hunting trips or during training. This Beretta was yours. As long as you killed the sobbing man in your basement.

You’re back with Nat on top of you when you feel the familiar weight settle into the palm of your hand. You don’t do anything. You just lay there looking up at your friend. Another pair of hands forcefully curl your fingers around the grip of your gun. They lift your hand up the same time you take aim at the sobbing man in your basement. You try to rip your hand free, but you can’t. All you can do is watch as the hands aim your gun towards Nat. You feel the hands press your finger down onto the trigger.

You sit up screaming and find yourself back in the strange room. Strapped down to the same chair. Different scratchy clothes. The television is still on, but the blue screen is gone. Instead, news footage plays. Sitting next to you with a remote in his hand, is Rumlow. He seems completely enraptured by the footage, so you watch it. You read the headline running along the bottom of the screen. Aliens Invade New York City.

What?

You watch bizarre footage of aliens pouring forth from giant holes in the sky. People screaming and running. Large alien ships, at least that’s what you think you see, crashing into buildings. Your attention drifts to the timestamp on the bottom corner of the screen. You feel your stomach twist. You’ve been trapped here for that long?

The footage cuts to a street cluttered with smashed cars and fallen debris. You spot her immediately. Her hair is shorter. You like it. She fights off advancing aliens, and you wonder if you’re dreaming. But you can feel the tiny metal hands forcing your eyes open. You are awake.

“This is a recording of what happened last week,” Rumlow says. “It didn’t feel right to keep you in the dark since you were down here while everything happened.” He presses a button on the remote he holds and the footage freezes on a shot of her fighting off an alien. Rumlow stands up. “She’s an Avenger now, Y/N. She’s onto bigger and better things. You should do the same.”

As Rumlow leaves, you memorize every inch of her image on the screen. You ignore the date. You fight back the burning behind your eyes. You focus only on her, and you imagine what it would have been like to run into her again. Would she have ever found you, or would she have stumbled into your path again? You wish for the former. You smile when the screen changes back to the same blue shapes.

Her touch is soft when she takes your chin in her hand and gently turns your head so she can see the cut better. It’s just over an inch long going across your cheek. You struggle to meet her gaze so you stare at her blue hair instead. You feel her run her finger across your cheek right underneath the cut.

“He did this?” she asks.

Your silence stretches until you’re back in the strange room again. Two nurses are pushing the cart with the television on it away. You watch it get consumed by the thick shadows as the tiny metal hands are removed from your face.

Rumlow comes to stand in front of you. “You have your first mission.”

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

You are sweating beneath the multiple layers of clothes that hug your body. You hate the rough, navy blue fabric of the SHIELD uniform. It itches you, and you just want to peel the clothes off and wear your own. The black, tactical bulletproof vest that wraps around your chest over your uniform is heavy. It’s the first thing you plan to ditch the moment you leave for extraction. You’ll move faster without it.

The black face mask feels suffocating, and you know your hair is slick with sweat underneath your black helmet. You stare down at the assault rifle you hold in your gloved hands through your black goggles. You listen to the idling engine of the SHIELD transport van. You are sitting in the back of the van with one other SHIELD agent who isn’t fond of talking. The back doors of the van are hanging wide open. Beyond the idling van is a large parking garage. You shift in your seat. It’s hot. You didn’t realize it was the middle of summer. Then again, you hadn’t chosen this costume to wear. Rumlow had tossed the uniform at you and waited for you to change before going over your first mission.

You didn’t like that word. It didn’t fit you.

The sound of approaching footsteps draws your attention to the back of the van. A minute later, two SHIELD agents appear with their prisoner in tow. The prisoner’s ugly orange uniform looks far less comfortable than yours. It doesn’t make you sweat any less, but it makes you feel a tiny bit better. When the prisoner lifts his head up to look into the transport van, you fight to remain calm. Erik Braun. He looks the same as the last time you saw him. Except for the shackles and horrible clothes.

The SHIELD agent accompanying you in the van gets up and helps Erik into the van. The chains that link the cuffs around his feet clatter against the van’s floor. As the SHIELD agent gets Erik settled into one of the van’s seats, you see the two SHIELD agents outside the van turn their attention to something else. You feel your muscles tense as your grip tightens on your gun.

“Are you kidding?”

Your tightening grip on your borrowed assault rifle relaxes at the familiar voice. You ignore Erik completely and stare out into the parking garage. You hear approaching footsteps. You’re tempted to get up and run out of the van so you don’t have to wait any longer. It’s been…actually time is hard for you right now. It both feels like it’s been so long since you’ve seen her and barely any time at all. You stay in your seat and you wait.

She steps into view, and you feel your teeth bite into your bottom lip. Something begins to simmer to life deep in your gut. You decide that you really like her short hair. It reminds you of her blue hair back in Ohio. She’s wearing the same jacket she wore during your London job. The black shirt she wears underneath looks far more comfortable than the heavy uniform you are trapped in. The black jeans that cover her legs reminds you of when she straddled you during the Amsterdam job.

“I’m not done with him,” she says before looking into the van. She looks first at Erik, then at the other SHIELD agent in the van, and then at you. You stay completely still as you hold her stare. Not that she could tell with the black goggles covering your eyes. You are covered head to foot in your disguise. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone to recognize you. But you wonder if she can. You get your answer when she looks away and doesn’t make a move towards you. The bitter taste of disappointment starts to creep in.

“We have our orders,” one of the SHIELD agents outside the van says.

The agents and her go back and forth mentioning names you don’t recognize. You hear the growing frustration in her voice. She’s ignoring you completely, and you’re tempted to bury a round or two into the heads of the arguing agents to get her attention. From where you are seated, it wouldn’t be hard at all. A target standing mostly still? Easy. Then maybe you could toss the heavy helmet, peel off the suffocating face mask, and continue where you two left off. Minus the annoying smoke.

When the arguing eventually stops, you stand. Your heavy footfalls are loud against the van’s floor. She looks at you again when you reach out for the hanging doors. You stop. You wait. You’re dying for her to somehow see you. She folds her arms in front of her chest and turns away. You want to jump out of the van. You want to call out to her. You want to see her reaction.

You pull the van doors shut. The van starts moving once you sit back down in your seat. You lean your head against the cool wall of the van. You already regret following your orders. You don’t know when you’ll see her again. If you will. You are no longer a freelancer. You are part of a team now. The scope of your freedom has shrunk. You need to see her again. You can’t leave things like that. Not after the stupid thing you said to her.

You look over at Erik. He still looks a lot like the picture your father gave you. He doesn’t make eye contact with you until the driver up front bangs against the wall dividing the front of the van from the back. Erik watches as you casually lift your gun and aim it at his bald head. The other SHIELD agent merely looks away. Your finger rests over the trigger, and you watch as Erik opens his mouth to say something.

A single gunshot snaps him back against the wall of the van. His eyes roll up into the back of head as a stream of thick blood runs down the length of his nose. His mouth hangs open. The new hole in Erik’s forehead is a satisfying dark red circle. You lower your gun as the van continues to drive on as if nothing has happened. You uncurl your fingers from around the gun’s grip.

Second target down.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun #sapphic september

183 notes · View notes