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taliiiaasteria · 14 days

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Family dinner

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader, Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova, platonic!Kate Bishop x f!reader

Warnings: a very poor attempt at humour

Summary: your best friend Kate needs backup after a mishap with Yelena's family

Masterlist

“I need you here yesterday!”

“What?” You whisper-shout, looking around the office to make sure no one noticed you ducking away to take a call from your best friend.

“Please, I'm desperate! I can't do this alone, they're like sharks and I just spilled blood!”

“Kate, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Yelena's family! They're scary as shit on a good day, but now we messed up real bad, and I think they're gonna decapitate me,” she whines.

“Okay, let's backtrack. What did you do?”

“...”

“Kate?”

There's shuffling on the other side, a deep sigh and then, “Melina found the handcuffs. With the fur. They were still attached to the bed.”

You snort, loud enough to attract annoyed looks from your coworkers. “Happens to the best of-”

“And the whip. It was on the bed too.”

You chortle, this time not caring about your surroundings, and swiftly move further down the hall. “She knows Yelena's a big girl, she can ha-”

“Natasha was there too!”

You stop in your tracks. Now that's interesting.

“She'll never let you forget it,” you say with all the confidence you have, even though you've never met the woman before. You know just enough from what Kate and Yelena told you to be sure of that.

“She's not letting me forget it now! She got all sneaky and secretive, whispering with Melina and looking at me, and now I'm on my way to a family dinner. A family dinner with my girlfriend's family, while said girlfriend got called away on some emergency mission,” she huffs angrily.

“There's no emergency mission, is there?”

“There better be!”

You chuckle, shaking your head. It's never a boring day with Kate Bishop.

“So,” she starts, aiming for a nonchalant tone, “I'm downstairs.”

“What?”

“Yep. Waiting for you at the front. Better hurry, parking is expensive as hell.”

“Kate.”

“I'm your bestie. And my girlfriend's mom found the handcuffs. I need you.”

You check the time, noting that the workday is nowhere near it's end. With a sigh, you head for the elevator, not even bothering to come back for your bag.

“I love you.”

“I haven't agreed to-”

“I know what that sigh means!”

You groan. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me.”

×××

Turns out, Yelena's family is even scarier then you imagined.

“So, Y/n,” Melina starts, looking at you like you're one of her lab rats, “Do you usually leave your… sexual… stuff after you're done?”

You turn red, choking on the wine. Kate sends you a look of pity.

Natasha smirks.

“I don't… I'm not sure- Um. Well, no.”

Melina hums, nodding to herself. “Good.”

She digs into her food, and you exhale in relief, feeling like the worst part is over.

“So where do you keep your stuff, Y/n?” Natasha asks over the rim of her glass, her eyes full of mischief.

Kate slides lower in her seat, boring holes into her fork.

Melina perks up, once again regarding you like one of her subjects. “I would also like to know. To pass the advice to my daughter and her girlfriend.”

You gulp.

“Well?” Natasha prompts.

You shudder from the intensity of the look she's giving you.

“Can we move on?” Kate whispers, looking around nervously.

“Yes, of course,” Melina nods, her eyes lighting up like she was waiting for a subject change.

Natasha sends Kate an amused smile, and you relax slightly. Now the worst part is over, you're sure.

“So, Y/n-”

Fuck.

“-are you single?”

You nod, shoving a forkful of some meat salad - which mostly consists of mayonnaise - to avoid talking.

“And you're gay, correct?” Melina asks, peering into your very soul.

You nod again, chewing fast.

“Why are you gay?”

You choke on a piece of potato, wheezing and reaching for a glass of water. Kate almost falls of her chair in haste to smack you on the back. Natasha just looks at her mother, unimpressed. “Really?”

“What?” Melina shrugs. “I'm a scientist, I'm conducting research.”

The redhead groans, rubbing her eyes. “Of course.”

You feel a little better now that Natasha is annoyed.

Melina still looks at you, expecting an answer.

You sigh, “Are you gay?”

She blinks, looking like an owl. Natasha chokes on a laugh, sending you a look of appreciation. Kate mutters something about bathroom and darts out of the room, hopefully to call Yelena and fix all this mess.

“Well,” Melina starts, deep in thought. “I suppose I've never given it much of a thought.”

You nod, feeling accomplished in swaying attention from yourself.

“Natasha.” The older woman turns abruptly. “You are gay.”

The redhead groans, sliding down in her seat. “Mother, please.”

“She's gay, and you're gay. You're both miserably single.”

“Huh?” You frown, affronted.

“Fuck my life,” Natasha mumbles into the table, her face pressed tight against it in a feeble effort of disappearing.

“Yelena's on her way!” Kate walks back into the room, triumphant.

“Finally,” you sigh, pointedly looking at the ceiling to avoid Melina's penetrative gaze. “Where's she, by the way?”

“Hiding, probably,” Natasha snorts, shaking her head. “Escaped the scene of crime and left her girlfriend to pick up the mess.” She raises her glass in Kate's general direction, “You're doing good so far, Bishop. Even brought reinforcement - good thinking.”

“Yes-yes,” Melina nods, her eyes darting between you three. “Yelena's a bit of a coward in that regard, but we have an important matter to discuss.”

Natasha glares at her mother. “No, we don-”

“Natasha can cook. Well, she can microwave.”

“What did I miss?” Kate frowns, settling back into her seat. “Actually, no. I don't want to know.”

“As I was saying,” Melina clears her throat, paying no mind to the murderous look Natasha sends her. You'd feel gleeful at that - Natasha's plan came back to bite her in the ass - if you weren't the other victim in this scenario. “Natasha can cook. She's excellent with knives. She's an excellent shot. She can dismantle a bomb in a matter of seconds. She's a… a catch.”

You smile at the miserable expression on Natasha's face, her cheeks dusted with pink.

“Oh…” Kate whispers, looking at you from the corner of her eye. “Well, actually, Y/n is-” she yelps loudly when your heel connects with her toes, and turns bright red at the shooting pain. “-a bitch. She's a bitch.”

The look in Melina's eyes turns gleeful. “That was excellent.”

Fucking hell, no matter what you do, your grave turns deeper and deeper.

Natasha snorts, chugging her wine like it's water. Melina's mouth opens again, and you say a stupid thing to save yourself from further embarrassment.

“Can we go back to Kate's handcuffs, please,” you mutter with a sigh.

The look of betrayal your friend sends you doesn't work the way she intended, because you don't feel guilty at all.

Melina's mouth snaps shut, her eyes widening. The sight alone tells you you said the wrong thing.

“Have you and Kate ever-”

“No!” you both shout, before the older woman can finish the question.

“Sounds defensive,” Natasha chuckles, reaching for the bottle of vodka.

“Wha- What?” You hiss, glaring at the spy.

“She's- Y/n’s not even my type! And I'm not her type either!” Kate splutters.

“Mhm,” Natasha hums, “that I can see.”

You gape, not sure if you're supposed to be offended. “What?”

Natasha smirks, planting her chin on her fist. “You need a firm hand. Your best friend is anything, but firm.”

Her eyes trail down your body, pupils darkening ever so slightly. Your cheeks burn and, suddenly, it's hard to breathe. You clear your throat and gulp down the last of your wine, carefully avoiding her gaze.

“O-okay. That's- okay, yep,” Kate mutters to herself. “Fuck my life.”

“Am I wrong?” Natasha husks, reaching across the table to play with the golden bracelet on your wrist.

Really, right in front of her mother?

The front door opens with a loud bang, and you jump up, relieved to see Yelena. The feeling doesn't last long, because a second later you notice the bleeding wound on her torso.

“So that was an actual mission,” you mumble, missing the way Natasha snorts in your haste to get Yelena to the couch.

Kate looks pale, but swiftly starts helping Yelena undress. Melina's ready with the first aid kid by the time they finally tear off the shirt.

“So?” Natasha whispers into your ear, sending goosebumps down your skin. “Am I wrong?”

Apparently, not even her bleeding sister can stop her.

“No,” you reply, “you're not wrong.”

She hums, satisfied. “I am miserably single, you know?"

You let out a loud laugh, not even bothering to quiet down when Yelena sends you a murderous look.

“I am miserably single, too.”

She smiles, nodding to herself.

“Want to fix that?” She asks after a bit, her eyes glinting in the soft evening light.

“They'll never shut up about it,” you groan, stepping closer to her.

“Yeah,” she hums, her grin stretching wider. “So?”

"A little help?" Yelena wheezes, glaring daggers at the two of you. "Hello? Your sister is dying."

“Yes,” you reply, not taking your eyes away from her green pools.

“Perfect,” she breathes, before pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I'll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

"Fucking unbelievable," Yelena mutters and yelps when Melina shushes her with a pinch and a hissed "don't ruin my hard work".

Kate just looks like she's about to faint.

You grin. "I can't wait."

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taliiiaasteria · 14 days

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Brainwashing a girl into being a good, obedient little slut who drinks enough water and gets 8hrs of sleep every night

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taliiiaasteria · 14 days

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I literally CRAVE your writing.

Love Favors The Misfortunate

Natasha Romanoff x Gender-Neutral Reader

Natasha Masterlist Main Masterlist

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Minor Violence

Summary: Misfortune always seems to follow you no matter what you do. But where there’s trouble, Nat often follows, maybe love was on your side after all?

Disclaimer: This was part of a writing exercise I did so it’s kind of silly and unedited but enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow you always managed to wind up in the worst situations that Earth could possibly experience. You wondered if you were just cursed or something considering last week you were present for not one but two bank robberies.

Maybe that was just the life of a delivery driver?

You hoped the lady behind the bank counters Caesar salad tasted better after death threats and salty tears of desperation.

This time, however, in the middle of checking the GPS during a stoplight, the sound of screams alerts you to the number of people ditching their cars and running past your motorcycle in fear.

Looking up you see the giant rip in Earth's atmosphere, monster-looking creatures spilling out of the hole.

Oh, Good.

You immediately kick your motorcycle into gear, walking the bike through the crowds of people until you can manage to make a U-turn and speed off, weaving your way through the panic.

You spare a few glances into your mirrors as more flying monsters spill out of the sky and it's during one of these glances that you fail to notice the giant alien who has just landed in the street a few feet ahead of you. By the time you notice him you only have enough time to attempt a full stop which results in your bike sliding from under you and skidding across the pavement. Ouch.

Much to your luck, however, the bike collides directly with the monster and sends it straight into its own spear. A weird purple liquid oozing slowly from underneath the unconscious body.

You frown, it was going to cost a pretty penny to get your bike fixed if it was even salvageable and now you definitely weren’t getting paid for the hamburger and fries that were probably still warm in your delivery bag.

Maybe you could see if french fries taste better after near-death and motorcycle debt.

Wincing, you feel your arms already bruising and your jeans have ripped through to your thigh, you're not bleeding as much as you probably should be from that slide but it still hurts like hell. Thank god you were wearing all your safety equipment.

A hand is extended out to you and you graciously take it, looking up to meet eyes with the prettiest redhead you’ve ever seen. She’s giving you an impressed smile and you feel like you could melt right then and there. Although that might also be from the burning pain in your leg.

You probably need to find a hospital. Or maybe you were dead and this was an angel.

You always figured they’d look like the horrendous abomination of eyes and wings that they were described as, not as pretty redheads with striking green eyes but you weren’t complaining.

“That was a good move” There are still people running past you screaming but it feels like time stops when she speaks to you.

“Yep. that was definitely something I did on purpose” Drumming your fingers on your thighs you watch her chuckle and give you a look that tells you she knows you did not, in fact, do that on purpose.

You glance between your bike and the woman in front of you, screaming civilians making the moment almost comical. You felt like you were in some kind of rom-com apocalypse.

Despite it being the last thing you should probably do, you extend your hand out to her and tell her your name. She gives you a very amused look and you shrug your shoulders as if to say ‘Why not? We’re here aren’t we?’

She chuckles again as she takes your hand, introducing herself.

Natasha. Derived from the Russian name Anastasia, which means resurrection. Maybe she was an angel. Damn.

Natasha nods her head in the direction of the crowd and smirks “Shouldn’t you be joining them?” You shrug. “Unless you know more moves like that?” She gestures toward your beat-up bike and you shake your head

“No. Unfortunately, I haven't mastered the art of more than one motorcycle trick yet” Not that you could get that thing to start back up again after that anyway.

She shakes her head with a laugh, glancing over her shoulder at the mess the city is becoming before turning back to you. “ Well I guess until you learn you should probably get running”

You nod, a little dejected, your calmness in relativity to the situation was likely the result of a concussion but you weren’t worried. Unless Nat was not real, in that case, you should be worried. Very Worried.

“Will we meet again?” it’s cliche and you immediately feel like a protagonist in a Disney movie but it’s a genuine question.

She smirks and looks around at the city again, gesturing to the absolute clusterfuck that New York had become “For your sake, I hope we don't”

You know she doesn’t mean anything bad by it and it’s your turn to smirk when you say “Knowing my luck, we will” You hope she finds herself near a few banks in the upcoming months…

She smiles at you and nods her head in the direction of the crowd and you understand what she’s trying to tell you. With one final wave and a small “good luck” you run in the direction of your fellow New Yorkers, occasionally glancing back to see her running in the direction of the main battle.

You didn't know who she was but Damn did you want to.

~~~

The next time you find yourself in a particularly unfavorable situation is not for months later. Minus that one time you witnessed two old ladies get mugged and that time you almost got hit by an ice-cream truck. But you got free ice cream from the second one so you weren't counting it.

You’d taken up a job in a small pizza place to pay for your bike repairs. It didn’t pay much but you didn’t have that many options after New York got attacked by aliens and half the businesses were destroyed or temporarily shut down. This is one of the few places still open which means on Friday nights you were busy as hell.

It was not a Friday night. It was a Tuesday afternoon and your coworker who was supposed to be on shift with you called out sick which meant you were manning the shop by yourself. Your stupid coworker was probably just off cheating on his girlfriend again but you didn’t care because the shop was empty which meant you could play games on your phone without his judgmental stare.

You’re struggling through level 5 of Candy Crush when the sound of breaking glass comes from the front of the shop and you sigh. You would be surprised but it was New York, more specifically it was your life in New York.

What you are surprised by, however, is the sight of familiar red hair covered in glass in the entryway, and you really want to rub your eyes with the squeaking sound effect like in the cartoons but the amount of microfibers that just got released into the air would suggest not doing that.

“Well well well” You realize you sound more like a supervillain than you intended and you freeze when she stands and sharply turns in your direction, gun pointed directly at you. You throw your hands up in surrender immediately. Goddamn supervillain catchphrases always making pretty girls turn their guns on you.

When she seems to recognize you she relaxes only for a man to jump through the already broken glass window and tackle her to the ground again. You want to help but considering you still haven't learned any more motorcycle tricks(or any tricks in general) you figure you would probably be useless.

You watch helplessly as she disarms and renders the guy unconscious in a matter of seconds and then stands and dusts herself off. The guy on the ground looks like some old-timey variation of Hitler and you're pretty glad she knocked him unconscious before he could even notice you.

You focus back on Nat who's looking at you like a wounded animal that could run away at any moment and It’s then that you realize that most people are not quite used to these kinds of situations. Clearly, you weren’t like most people. You point to the body in a trenchcoat on the ground as you crinkle your nose

“Are you taking that guy with you when you leave?” She huffs out a laugh and you feel yourself smile at successfully getting her to laugh again.

You, one.

Hitlerman, zero.

At least you were winning one game. Stupid Candy Crush.

She looks around the shabby pizza place and then zones in on your nametag, only them seeming to realize you worked there. She tilts her head, nodding to your flimsy little name pinned to your T-shirt.

“Why are you working here? Where’s the bike?” You sigh, you knew the question was coming but it’s still a sore subject for you. You internally punch a wall but on the outside, you frown just a little. It’s the saddest expression Nat’s seen on your face so far.

“She’s in the shop. Repairs are taking longer than I thought and now I’m forced to conform to my least favorite type of work just to get her back” Nat gives an understanding nod and then cringes a little, walking towards you until she’s right in front of you. She places a hand on your head and you inhale sharply.

A small frown forms on Nat’s face “You’re bleeding”

The feeling of her hand on your face confirms that she’s not an angel or a figment of your imagination and you don’t realize you’ve voiced that thought out loud until you hear Nat barking out a laugh.

“I’m flattered but, well-” She glances up, then behind her, then back towards you “I wouldn’t be so sure just yet” She smirks and removes her hand just as a ceiling panel falls from the roof. Dust flies into the air and you cover your face to avoid getting more shit in your eyes.

When the room finally settles Natasha is nowhere in sight but there’s a Captain America band-aid on the serving counter and you feel a small smile across your face. What a dramatic exit. Now who was the supervillain?

You take great notice of the fact that Hitlerman is also gone and you wonder how the fuck she managed to do that. But more importantly, you hoped this wasn’t coming out of your paycheck.

~~~

You can’t emphasize enough to most people how much you’re not even trying to be in the situations you get caught in. In fact, the one time you stayed home for a week you ended up catching the Flu. How the hell do you catch the flu from staying home? After that, you just accepted that you were a magnet for misfortune and there was nothing you could do about it.

Although, after meeting Nat you found yourself a little excited anytime something misfortunate happened and that was probably psychotic and you should definitely check yourself into a psych ward but you’d probably end up choking on a crayon and getting deemed a risk to those around you so what was the use?

Still, of all the robberies you’d been a witness to you’d never been a part of a hostage situation. Until now. Stupid Banks!

Usually, you’d assume that the police would handle a situation like this and you’d be stuck in this bank for hours until someone grew a dick and negotiated something but this time circumstances were a little different. To start, the guy who was currently robbing the bank was holding some type of gun that was the equivalent of real-life freeze tag.

Anyone who got zapped by the oddly blue glowing gun was frozen in place, which led you to problem number two.

The police had shown up nearly half an hour ago and someone must not have briefed them on this wacko holding you hostage because the second one of them snuck in the back door with a gun he was frozen in place looking like the idiot that he probably was.

You would attempt to grab his gun but you didn’t feel like doing that shit. Who were you to risk your life and try to be a hero for some money that this poor fellow probably needed considering New York's rent cost.

Maybe if the stupid fucker hadn’t frozen the one lady who knew the code to the very comically large bank safe he wouldn’t be stuck making stupid negotiations and holding people hostage.

Instead, you settled against a wall near a bunch of crying civilians and attempted once again to beat level 10 of Candy Crush. You give up after ten minutes and delete the app. Really you were just trying to kill the time until you-know-who showed up.

She and her band of merry men had grown a reputation for taking care of situations that the regular authorities couldn’t and that’s why you weren’t the least bit surprised when the room began to fill with a cloudy white smoke.

Others began panicking, fearing that it was some sort of poisonous gas and you rolled your eyes. This was not poisonous gas, you’d seen poisonous gas and this was not it.

This was a very dramatic entrance formulated by your absolute favorite redhead. God, you felt like you were in a spy movie. Any second now you’d see a faint figure slowly descending from the ceiling in all black with a gas mask on and spy music would start playing.

Any second now.

Aaaaaany second now-

A scream from beside you makes you jolt and you find the sobbing woman next to you with a hand over her mouth. A gruff-looking man is telling her to keep quiet and your eyes widen for a second as you think ‘Oh shit. Double robbery.’ But from behind the gruff-looking man walks a familiar figure and she pats him on the shoulder as she passes him.

You squint your eyes, what an oddly metal-looking shoulder. Perhaps you were hallucinating. Stress and all that.

By this point, enough white smoke has filled the room that the bank robber is wildly swinging around in fear as he squints to see. He’s probably more on edge after that woman's scream as well. Yeeeeah more of a horror movie than a spy movie now.

The reason you can see everyone so well is due to your superior eyesight and definitely not the science lab goggles that you had in your bag for no suspicious reasons. Hey, you had to be prepared for literally anything considering your luck.

Nat’s wearing some kind of night vision-looking goggles and a mask and when she passes you you poke her leg. She jumps a little, glaring at you until she seems to recognize you despite your flawless Lab Scientist disguise and her eyes widen. Her eyes seem to scream ‘What are you doing here’ but you feel it’s too obvious of a question to bother answering.

Instead, you give her the biggest smile you can muster and a friendly wave, mouthing “Hiiii Nat!”

She rolls her eyes but you can see the smile she’s hiding under her mask and you mentally fist pump. Three for three.

You point to the man wielding the gun and mouth to her “Go! Team go!”

She shakes her head, exasperated by your lack of fear and self-preservation but holds her finger up to her mouth telling you to be silent as she turns to sneak up on the man.

Your body does so love disobeying orders though, so it chooses that moment to sneeze, which has the man pointing the gun in your direction (not that he can see as his eyes are practically watering now) and Nat turns to you with a glare.

You raise your hands up in surrender and in an attempt to help, you throw the nearest object on the floor across the room. Oh, that was your phone- well, okay. Either way, it helps, the man swings back in that direction, blasting his gun in the air and Nat takes the moment to attack him from behind.

She disarms him easily, taking him to the ground and placing him in handcuffs. She inspects the device carefully, flipping a switch and aiming it at the closest frozen person. With a bolt of light, they unfreeze and gasp for breath. Good, at least the idiot had created some sort of Ctrl-Shift Undo button.

You're part of the first few escorted out of the building considering you weren’t frozen or in hysterics and the paramedics look at you a little funny but wrap a shock blanket around your shoulders.

Yes, shock. That's what you were experiencing. Normal people things. You twist back and forth and watch the shock blanket sway as you wait for Nat to be done with her serious business. God, serious business was boring and took forever.

When she finally emerges from the building she ignores the press and police that come up to talk to her and heads straight for you. Ha! Eat shit losers.

She doesn’t bother with formalities, why would she? It's you. Instead, she hands you a small black box as she takes in the shock blanket you’ve tied around your neck to look like a cape.

“Here’s your phone” You take the object from her hands and inspect it.

Oh wow, No cracks, that's great. Wait- “This is not my phone” You turn it over and inspect the Stark logo on the back of it. Yeeeeah definitely not yours.

“No, it’s not” She doesn't bother lying to you at least, and you hum in acknowledgment. Well, you weren’t one to pass up a free upgrade. You pocket the phone and stick your hands in your front pockets, flashing her a smile

“So… you come around here often?” She rolls her eyes at your stupid attempt at a joke. Or flirting. Either one works.

“How do you keep ending up in these situations?”

It’s your turn to smirk “Maybe it’s just an excuse to see you?”

She gives you a look that says ‘It better not be’ and you just shrug, your shock blanket falling to the ground. Fucker. Making you look uncool. You refuse to bend down and pick it up. Recovery blankets were for losers anyway.

Still, she smiles at you anyway and crosses her arms “I’m beginning to think the only way to keep you safe is to keep you with me”

Your heart leaps but you pretend to be nonchalant. You're only blushing because of shock or whatever. Play it cool “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea” A stupid smile forces its way onto your face despite your best attempts to repress it and Nat laughs at your stubbornness.

“But first I think we’ve got to teach you some self-defense” She nods her head indicating for you to follow her and you both begin walking in step to an unmarked black car.

Kidnapper car.

Cameras are flashing around you and you think about how cool you’ll look with Lab goggles atop your head and white smoke in your hair on the news tomorrow morning. The media was going to love you.

Turning to Nat on your way to the car, you have a question that’s been itching at you that you feel the need to ask

“Do you think your sugar daddy can help me fix my bike?”

She punches you in the arm.

A/n: This was initially a writing exercise to write the silliest short story I could think of, but I thought it was cute so I decided to post it~ Starry

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taliiiaasteria · 17 days

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I SAW THAT WANDA X R SERIES WHERE YOU'RE WAMDAS ASSISTANT AND YOU HAD TO MARRY HER, CZ SHE WAS BOUTTA BE DEPLOYED IT'S LIKE THAT RYAN REYNOLDS AND SANDRA BULLOCK MOVIE I NEED ITTTTT. THE PROPOSAL

I ACCIDENTALLY REFRESHED MY FEED HELP

#wanda maximilf #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #help #mavel #au #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff

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taliiiaasteria · 1 month

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“Stop asking me to trust you while I’m still coughing water up from the last time you let me drown.”

— Unknown

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taliiiaasteria · 1 month

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It was real to me, too.

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taliiiaasteria · 2 months

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MORTAL!READER PLESA I BEG OF YOU🛐🛐🛐

𝟒𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | milestone event

hey! to all followers new and old, thank you for your support in reblogging 💞 i've recently hit 4k followers, so i'll be having another milestone event celebration! if yall have stuck around since the previous 2k one, you'll know that we have a poll that will decide what fic i'm writing next!

as always, all fics will be dom!reader. i'll try to keep the fic as a oneshot, but things spiral out of control sometimes, and word count is subject to change.

poll will be up for one day only, so make your decision quick!

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧 see: main m.list

── #01. knight!stark!reader x princess!rogers!wanda

a pair of star-crossed lovers meet at a ball. romeo and juliet, but make romeo a playboy knight lesbian who falls head over heels in love with the princess of her rivalled clan. a classic shakespearean tale, but make it sapphic literature + angsty love + horny queers + u-haul lesbians in medieval times.

── #02. mortal!reader x goddess of lust!natasha

the fifth instalment of the 'my divine goddess' universe. timelines and lifelines have torn you and natasha apart, but the two of you are bound by the child you have created. though subjected to earth, loki, god of mischief, dangles the possibility of a future with natasha by making you a god.

── #03. a kinktober fic - up for your decision!

there are quite a number of kinktober 2023 fics that i have left unfinished, and now is a chance for me to finally finishing writing them... but which one?? from hydra!reader to barbie!wanda, you guys can choose which tale i tell next. (if this is the most popular option, there will be another poll set up.)

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taliiiaasteria · 2 months

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Red Room: Status report on Kate Bishop.

Yelena: The target has been taken out.

Red Room: Very goo-

Yelena: It was a lovely restaurant. Candlelit dinner. She proposed at the end of it. My last name is Bishop now.

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taliiiaasteria · 2 months

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me patiently waiting for an update:

the handmaiden - masterlist

interactive fanfiction

[natasha romanoff x reader]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ CHAPTERS

P.S: please don't try to follow the order of the chapters below! you should start on Chapter I and choose your paths from there!

࿔*:･ Chapter I Summary: Being the new Avenger is hard enough, but dealing with Natasha’s cold behavior and finding out she is the key to uncovering your past, certainly takes the podium.

࿔*:･ Chapter I.I Summary: Your mind has its hidden surprises (Wanda is one to say it)

࿔*:･ Chapter I.II Summary: Wanda has a different approach to matchmaking

࿔*:･ Chapter I.I.I Summary: The good and the bad side of falling in love with a Romanov

࿔*:･ Chapter I.I.I.0 Summary: Wanda could say she had told you so

࿔*:･ Chapter I.II.I Summary: You finally get Natasha to explain you everything (and end up finding one more thing out)

࿔*:･ Chapter I.II.II +18 Summary: Not getting what you want isn't always a bad thing

࿔*:･ Chapter I.I.II Summary: You have decided to not let Natasha run away, this time

࿔*:･ Chapter I.I.II.I Summary: Once again, a meeting of two souls

࿔*:･ Chapter I.I.II.II Summary: Two steps forward, one step back is still one step forward

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taliiiaasteria · 2 months

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YESSS FINALLY! AN UPDATEEE!!

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 misses her gun home. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Hunted animals. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Life has been crazy. It still is. But this series is so much fun to write. Please know that your comments and love have kept my days bright. I read all your comments. Your likes and reblogs make me do my happy dance. It makes me happy that you guys are enjoying this series as much as I am. I apologize for the wait. I hope this new chapter makes up for it!

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

Chapter Eight: You Can't Raise Hell With A Saint

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You watched the station wagon slowly back out of your driveway from your bedroom window. As you watched, you folded and then unfolded the piece of paper in your hand several times. Your father’s departing words echoed in the back of your mind.

“This is vital to maintaining our relationship with our allies. Remember. When the time comes, we must position ourselves on the correct side.”

You waited until the station wagon disappeared from view before your attention shifted onto the snowman across the street. Your father is gone for the weekend. Your assigned homework is already completed and buried in your backpack. You had hoped for two uninterrupted days with your friend. You two had discovered a perfect hill for sledding not too far away. You had hoped you could return to it this weekend with Nat. But before your father had left, he had given you an assignment. One you were not allowed to ignore.

But if you finish it quickly like your homework…

You turned away from the window and got dressed. The house was quiet as you descended the stairs and hunted through the kitchen for breakfast. Your father had given both your brother and sister assignments. You figured your siblings were already out doing them. You found an opened pack of pop-tarts hidden behind the jar of two dead mating frogs. You ate the delicious blueberry pop-tart and washed it down with tap water from the sink. Once breakfast was done, you pulled on your snow boots and put on your heavy winter coat. You unfolded your father’s note once more to reread the words hastily scribbled in fine black ink. Then, you refolded up the note and shoved it into your coat’s pocket.

You left out the back door and pulled on your gloves as the morning winter air scratched at your face. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you headed towards the treeline. The woods behind your house stretched onwards for roughly two miles. It was one of the reasons why your father had chosen to settle here. He could disappear into this patch of quiet woodland and no one but you and your siblings would know.

For a while, the only noise was the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the chirping of birdsong as you left your house behind and walked deep into the woods. The sunlight shone brightly off the surface of the snow and made your eyes water if you stared at it for too long. You felt the wind beginning to pick up and blow against your back as you walked. Your pace did not slow until you reached the base of a tree with a dead hare hanging from a snare.

You knelt down into the cold snow and pulled your hunting knife from your coat pocket. You cut the rope and lifted the dead animal up by the rope’s lead. Its dark lifeless eyes stared at you and you searched for any ounce of pity. When you didn’t find any, you stood up and continued walking. The weight of the hare hanging from the small noose made you feel less alone. You kept walking until you spotted a smooth, round rock. You picked it up and it nearly covered your whole palm.

You tied the end of the rope around the rock as you continued further into the woods. The light of the sun had started to dim when you finally reached a large pond. Your feet carried you to a narrow dock that stretched out over the water. The wooden boards groaned beneath your feet as you came to the end of the dock. You looked down into the dark water. It hadn’t frozen over yet which made your assignment easier. The wind continued to blow at your back as you tossed the dead hare into the water. The lifeless animal hit the cold water with a splash and floated on the pond’s surface for a moment. Then the dark water pulled the dead hare down into its depths. You waited for some kind of response. A sign that your assignment was complete. But nothing happened. So you turned and started the trek home.

Your thoughts returned to your friend as you began following your footprints back the way you came. You would have the whole rest of the day to do whatever you wanted. And tomorrow you wouldn’t have to waste any time with another assignment. Your immediate future was bright and that fueled your quick pace.

But your pace started to slow when you lost sight of your footprints in the snow. The wind that had been blowing must have covered them up. You ignored the first sour taste of fear and kept going. You had planned to just follow your tracks back home, but you could make it back without them. You had only gone in one direction. It wouldn’t be difficult to find your way back home. You shoved your gloved hands into the pockets of your heavy coat as the wind now blew against your face.

The light of the sun continued to fade as you made new tracks in the snow. You were going in the right direction. You had to be. But you spotted new bushes and weird leaning trees that you hadn’t seen before. You felt yourself shivering against the cold as the light faded into the coming dark. You kept walking until you finally leaned against a tree and sank towards the freezing ground. You closed your eyes and tried to curl yourself up as much as you could within the fading warmth of your coat.

You don’t know how you messed up your assignment. You thought you knew your way back. You thought this would be so easy. Your father had dragged you and your siblings out here plenty of times. Yet you’re lost and you don’t know what to do other than sit here and–

“Y/N!”

Nat.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

You miss your little piece of woodland paradise. You had discovered the small cabin during your fourth job. You had been posing as a realtor for your target. The cabin had caught your eye because of its remoteness. It was tucked away along the mountainside and far enough away from all the main roads that all you heard when you stepped outside was birdsong and the wind brushing through the trees. It was the perfect spot to kill your target. The cabin had been left on the market for years and only maintained by a vendor who came out once a season to keep the place from falling apart. You would have no interruptions to deal with. If your target tried to flee, it would be a long run back to a main road. And even if your target got that far, they would need to run from there back to the nearest town. This spot was an open playground. You could kill your target however you wanted. Chase them around if you were feeling energetic. Sever their head with an axe like a lumberjack cutting up wood.

But when you had pulled up to the cabin for the first time, you realized that you couldn’t do any of that here. Sure, you had plenty of space. The cabin was remote. The main road lightly traveled. When you let out a scream to test if anyone would come running, no one did. It wasn’t until you walked through the cabin and into each of the small, cozy rooms that you understood why you couldn’t bring your target here. The cabin felt too much like a home.

The pictures that hung on the walls were snapshots of the owner’s life. Frames full of smiling faces and captured happy moments. You saw the lives of their children begin with innocent, small, round confused faces and stop at handsome young faces decorated in medals and gowns. The furniture bore the nicks and marks of a life used. You could even see the spots of soot left behind in the fireplace where the vendor failed to clean.

You had only ever been in a home like this once before. You had sat down onto the couch in the cabin’s small family room and looked over at the kitchen. You imagined the smell of Nat’s home. You imagined Nat’s mother standing in the kitchen. It was the only thing you could think of. You sat there for a long time. It had been the first time in years that you thought about your friend without all the other stories hanging onto the memory. You thought about Nat. You thought about how happy you had been around her. You tried to imagine her as an adult, but you couldn’t. She was dead, and you were no longer the kid she met back in Ohio.

You ended up killing your target during a private tour of a much larger home far away from the cabin you found. By the time you had bought and moved into the cabin, the new owners of the other much larger home had only finished finding all your target’s missing fingers. The cabin had become your home. Your place to unwind after your jobs. You had filled it with everything you knew that belonged in a home. You loved the feeling of walking through the front door after a long job and just breathing in the smell of your home.

Your bunk is nothing like your cabin. You are buried beneath all the important floors. Your room has no windows. Your room has four white walls, harsh overhead lights, and a white tiled floor. The brightness of the room often gives you a headache which is why your favorite time to be in your bunk is when you are sleeping. All the lights are off and you can listen to the hum of the air conditioner. The best part is that you don’t have to wear that stupid suit when you are in here. You are even allowed to speak, however the only person you ever talk to is Rumlow.

You miss your cabin so much.

The lights in your room come on when the door opens. The twin sized mattress you lay on offers the bare minimum of comfort, yet you don’t bother to sit up. Instead, as you wake and hear familiar footsteps, you drape your arm over your eyes. It successfully blocks out the harsh light, but does nothing to stop the approaching footsteps.

“The bosses up top were impressed with your Bardstown mission,” Rumlow says.

You can’t fight back the small laugh that works its way past your curling lips. With your arm draped over your eyes you can see Sikora’s bent neck clearly. You can still hear each crunch as his body collided down each step. “I killed one person and they weren’t even my target.”

“Which worked out in your favor,” Rumlow says as his approaching footsteps stop. “You played your part. The mission was a success, and no one will look deeper than that.”

You lift your arm away from your eyes and let it flop down to your side. The harsh lights already make your eyes water, but you focus on Rumlow who stands beside your bunk looking down at you. “Do you find your work fulfilling?” Instead of answering you, he turns and steps away from your bunk. You sit up. “Satisfaction is very important to me.”

Rumlow causally makes his way over to a small table. He picks up the half finished bottle of bourbon Nat gave you before leaving Bardstown. You couldn’t drink it then. Removing your helmet around her would go against everything Rumlow has been drilling into your head. But you had ripped your helmet off the moment you returned to your bunk. You had brought the bottle to your lips, and you had drunk so much while thinking of her.

“What are you asking for?” he asks.

“Let me work,” you reply. “Without the suit and the rules. Tell me who the bosses want dead, give me back my gun, and let me kill them.”

Rumlow sets the bottle down. “That’s not how this works.”

You roll your eyes and flop back down onto your bunk.

“I also don’t have your gun,” he adds.

You close your eyes and swallow back the urge to yell. You hate this role so much. If you were impressing these bosses so much, why wouldn’t they let you show them how good you really were? What was the point of all the secrets if most of SHIELD was really HYDRA anyways? Or at least, most of the important people. Or whatever Rumlow had told you during those first few days.

“The bosses were also pleased with how you handled Romanoff,” Rumlow says.

Your eyes open and you stare up at the bland white ceiling. You fight back the smile you know is coming when you think back to the best day of your life. You hope you end up on another mission like that. Just the two of you. The one little new piece of your life that made tolerating this role just a bit more manageable.

“How do you feel?” Rumlow asks.

Like you want to pour over the office directory until you find her office. You’d race up there and sneak in when she isn’t around. You’d sit in the comfortable office chair that you hope she has up there. You’d take your helmet off and wait. And when she finally enters you’d spin around in her chair for a proper dramatic entrance.

You turn your head to look at Rumlow. “Depressed. My favorite gun is lost.”

Rumlow holds your stare. You know what he’s looking for. Perhaps if he could read minds then he would have found it. Instead, you hide all your fantasies and memories behind your little lie. It’s easy. You do the same trick your father always did. String together a story from bits and pieces of truth and mold it into what you need. You know it worked when Rumlow finally breaks your little staring contest. You don’t move when he turns away from you. You don’t want to give away your victory.

“You have training with Rollins in twenty,” Rumlow says before he leaves.

You wait until the door to your room shuts behind him before you get up. You move towards the table and grab the half empty bottle of bourbon. You bring it to your lips and take a sip. The smooth amber liquid washes across your tongue and burns down your throat. You think of when she handed you this bottle. You remember the way her hands briefly brushed across your gloved ones.

You set the bottle down and change while your mind lingers in that memory. Rollins is already waiting for you when you arrive at one of the training rooms a few floors up. Bright sunlight pours through the windows that run along the far side of the training room. You feel uncomfortably hot underneath your suit, and you already miss the cool kiss of the air conditioning that hums in your bunk. When you see Rollins in the training room, your interior visor screen lights up with data you already knew. Except for the healing ribs. That part is new.

Rollins leads you over to a bunch of blue mats. The hand to hand combat drills still feel weird. You know what you are supposed to do. You had learned back when Rumlow first shoved you into this stupid suit that going for kill strikes was not in compliance. You had to work your way up to kill strikes to make everything more believable.

“You’re not an assassin anymore. You’re a SHIELD agent.”

Which wasn’t even the truth. You found that this dance they forced you to do felt awkward. Your movements felt sloppy as you fought not to go for the opening that would put your target down permanently. And when a kill strike was considered acceptable, it always came far too late. It never felt right. These lessons pressed up against the memories of your training back in Ohio, and it often left you feeling more frustrated than anything else.

Your training with Rollins is quickly following the same trend as all the others. Your punches feel sluggish and off. Every time Rollins dodges your hit or counters, you know exactly what you should have done instead. Your frustration grows as you hold back. Your thoughts scream at you in the roar of your father’s voice. You want to give in. Why trade blows when it can easily be only you hitting your target? But you’ve already tried giving in. You had managed to bloody your knuckles a bit before Rumlow had started talking to you about compliance. Everything had stopped despite your urge to keep going. Then you were back at the beginning as if your outburst hadn’t happened.

Rollins dodges one of your punches and delivers a blow to your torso that pushes you back a step. He doesn’t advance. He stands there and waits as you swallow back all the foul words that usually tumble out of your mouth whenever something hurts. It’s hard not to say anything. Especially when he stands there looking bored. But you aren’t eager for them to start fucking with your mind again, so you keep quiet. The sound of your heavy breaths fills up your helmet as you return to your spot in front of Rollins. You duck under his right arm as it swings out. Your fist slams into his healing ribs and the noise he makes is exactly what you needed to hear. His cry is short-lived as he quickly masks it with a grunt. He retreats from you, and you let him. You watch as his breaths become more labored as his hands press against the very spot you hit. You don’t know if you just broke one of his healing ribs. It hadn’t been your intention, but you certainly didn’t pull that punch.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

Her voice steals your attention. She stands by the door dressed in a dark gray sweatshirt and black joggers. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and her head tilts slightly as her question is first met with silence. Well, more like your silence and Rollins’ heavy breaths. You could shatter this stretch of quiet in a heartbeat, and you want to. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you bury the urge. Your eyes greedily take in the sight of your friend. You are grateful for your stupid helmet as your eyes run down the length of her legs and stop at the black sneakers that cover her feet.

“I thought you were heading back up to New York with Rogers,” Rollins finally says.

“Eventually,” she replies with a slight shrug and walks further into the training room. “But I have some stuff I need to take care of first.” She uncrosses her arms as she casually approaches the mats. “You should head back before anyone from medical catches you here.”

“I’m a bit busy training the quiet one,” Rollins says.

You should have tried to break his ribs. He’d be too busy dealing with that pain to put a premature end to this wonderful moment.

“I can take over,” she offers.

Your helmet conceals the wide smile that cuts across your face. You don’t know what you have done to deserve so much alone time with your friend, but you will happily do whatever it takes to keep ending up in these wonderful moments. You don’t hear Rollins leave, and when you look over at the man, you can tell that he is unsure if he should leave. The questions he cannot voice are written plainly across his face and your smile falters. Is he…is he not going to leave? Is he really going to ruin this for you? You want to tell him that his concerns are unnecessary. If you were going to spill the beans, you would have done it the moment you and Nat were alone on the quinjet. Or sometime in Bardstown. Not in some fancy building secretly full of HYDRA agents ready to put you down with just a couple of random words.

“Don’t worry,” her voice pulls your attention back to her. Despite the fact that she is addressing Rollins, her focus is on you. You spot the beginnings of a smirk that stirs up something inside you. Something exciting and warm. “I won’t break her.”

You hear Rollins sigh and you feel the buzz of your excitement grow.

“If you do, you’re the one having that conversation with Rumlow,” Rollins replies. “Not me.” Rollins gives you one last warning look before leaving. You watch the man’s retreating form and feel at ease when you see his hand come up to gingerly touch the spot where you hit him.

When you look back over at Nat, you find her pulling her dark gray sweatshirt over her head. The uncomfortable heat that sticks to your skin beneath your suit returns as you feel your hands begin to sweat inside your gloves. You ignore the information that attempts to clog up your visor. Your focus is first on the black sleeveless shirt she wears. The hem of the shirt gets caught briefly on her sweatshirt and lifts to reveal the barest hint of a firm ab. You blink when the shirt falls back down.

Nat sets her sweatshirt aside and steps onto the mats. “Are they always that serious around you?”

You nod, but you are not thinking about Rollins, or Rumlow, or how painfully serious both tend to be at all times. You are too consumed by the realization that you have never seen this much of your friend before. No. That wasn’t it. You can recall several old memories of warm summer days and cool lake water. But you hadn’t felt like this back then. You are staring at her lean biceps and you just want to touch her.

She steps forward. “Your missions with them must be fun.” She shifts into a fighting stance and raises her fists. “Let’s see what you can do.”

You raise your fists and shift your stance. Your smirk at your friend’s earlier sarcasm falls away as your visor’s screen identifies multiple places to strike first. You know what you want to do, but that option isn’t listed anywhere on the screen. If it wasn’t for Nat standing in front of you, you would have quickly returned to your sour, frustrated mood. But instead, you wait for her to strike first. A few moments pass and all you two do is slowly circle the mats. You realize that she’s waiting for you to strike first. A hint of your concealed smile returns. You happily oblige.

Your fist swings towards her, and you feel her arm quickly block your strike. Your focus is on her face, and you can tell that she barely had to think about her reaction. You continue to move in a slow circle and she does the same. You fall back into the training that Rumlow has been drilling into you since they freed you from that chair. You move in and strike. You frown slightly as she blocks or dodges every one of your strikes. It makes you feel like she’s in your mind. That she knew what you planned to do the exact same time you did. You retreat back a step when your fifth punch doesn’t land.

You wait for her to move in with her attack, but it doesn’t come. You know she can’t see your face, but it feels like she can when she offers a small shrug and that small smile creeps back in.

“I’m guessing that was your warm-up?”

You know it’s bait, but you take it anyway. You move in with another series of attacks. Every single one of your punches feels just as sluggish as before. The rhythm feels off. You feel like each attack is wrong. Your strikes aren’t landing and just as you are about to sink into the seething grip of your frustration, you see Nat’s fist coming towards you. Your hand catches her wrist before her fist can make contact with your helmet.

You watch as her brow arches in a silent question. You ignore the data that races across your visor’s screen and focus on the weight of her wrist in your hand. The familiarity of it lures out pieces of warmer memories. The touch of her hand taking yours. How her touch would melt the rigid cold left after early summer mornings with your father. You abandon the awkward dance you have been following. You can hear whispers of your father’s voice in the back of your mind as you take a breath and move.

Her wrist slips free before you can pull her towards you. She goes on the offensive and the attacks you block send you back a few steps. You spy her foot moving to hook behind yours and you maneuver away from that pitfall only to feel her fist connect with your side. The pain is barely there. You two are sparring. But it lights a very familiar fire inside of you.

You press forward with an onslaught of strikes that feel more natural. She continues to block most of them until you manage to slip past her defenses and successfully hook your foot behind hers. As you sweep her foot out from underneath her, her hands come up to latch onto the fabric of your stupid suit. She lets her falling body pull you down, and you both land on your side. Your one hand reaches to dislodge the grip she has on your suit while your other instinctively reaches out towards her neck. You feel her legs wrap around your waist and in one quick movement, you are on your back. Her hand stops yours from reaching her throat and pins it against the mat. She quickly pins your other hand to the mat, and you stare up at her as your heavy breaths fog up your interior visor.

She doesn’t let go of your hands as she looks down at you. You know all she can see is her own reflection staring back at her, and you want her to pull the stupid helmet off your head. You wouldn’t be breaking the rules if she exposed this game. But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans down just an inch or two closer and asks, “How do you feel about opera?”

You shrug.

Her smile returns as she finally lets go of your hands. She gets up and you instantly miss her warm weight on top of you. You sit up as she returns to where she left her sweatshirt. She digs into her sweatshirt’s pocket, pulls something out, and tosses it towards you. You catch it. You can feel another burst of excitement rush through you as you stare at the phone in your hand.

“That’s yours,” Nat says as she pulls her sweatshirt back on. “I thought it might be easier for us to communicate. I already loaded my number into your phone.”

You have her phone number. You don’t move from your spot on the mats as your fingers wrap tenderly around the phone. Direct access to your friend without needing to go through anyone else or jump through any additional hoops. It feels like you’re back in Ohio. All you need to do is cross the street, and she’s there waiting for you.

“I’ll be in contact soon,” she says as she moves towards the door. “Don’t put Rollins back in medical while I’m away.”

You watch her leave. You wait until she’s gone before you lean backwards onto the mat and let out a quiet, short laugh.

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