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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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I devoured this. Your writing is so good! I can't wait for more!

a galaxy stands between us

part 1 l masterlist

summary: five years ago, a monster from another world attacked. though it was entrapped and kept hidden from the world, a secret that dangerous can only be kept for so long before it finally gathers the attention from the avengers, but what they find is the last thing anyone could have expected

word count: 3.6k

warnings: imprisonment & confinement, unethical use of sedation, institutionalized abuse, shock collars, straight jackets, themes of schizophrenia, marvel canon violence

In, out. In… out. In, out. Your breathing had changed. It was different somehow, harder to pull the air into your lungs and expel it.

The material that was somehow classed as a blanket scratched at the palm of your hands, every fibre catching on the flecks of skin that were almost as rough as the grey material beneath you. Even if you could speak, you wouldn’t complain because the alternative was having no barrier between you and the floor which became so impossibly cold at night. Besides, it was hardly the object of your main discomforts.

The chains weren’t so bad. Although they made your wrists and ankles raw until they bled only to be placed back on twelve hours later, they were still preferable to the straight jacket you would be placed back in once the morning came. You hated that. You hated the way it managed to confine every movement that you could possibly wish to make should you have the control to do so. It was unnecessary and humiliating even after all those years. You knew that. They knew that. Still, it was the collar that was the worst, the obnoxious bulky ring that they never turned off so at a moment’s notice you could be struck by those lightning bolts that came from within.

The sound of mechanical movements, clicks and a long beep broke through the silence of the room and a sudden stream of light flooded the space just as swiftly. You winced, even though you were expecting it to happen any moment, having been interrupted from the blanket of darkness that you had been immersed under for an excessive amount of time. You blinked, registering the solid shadow that filled the orange glow on the wall you were facing, until it grew larger and its physical body reached your side.

“...if the blood pressure is too low we’ll have to stop…” you heard the shadow say.

“...stop it being a pain in the ass…” another voice joined. You recognised them both but didn’t think you could match their voices to a face.

“...keep it sedated…” they continued as you felt another thick material being wrapped around your arm. You realised it was the one that squeezed your arm uncomfortably though it was nothing compared to the way you were handled by the people.

“Claw their eyes out,” another voice joined, far clearer and instantly recognisable. If you let your eyes fall to the far corner of the room, you would see the bear man lurking. He always made his appearances at that time, just as you were being given more of the fluids that came in needles, and left once all of your senses dulled once more. Nothing lingered once that happened. You ignored him as you always did because he only lived in your head and that was the single most unreliable source there was.

“Those chains can’t hold you. Kill them and leave,” he continued to instruct, remaining still enough for you to make out the outline of the bear skin draping his body even from the corner of your eye. You weren’t quite sure where your mind had gotten its inspiration when it conjured his attire. “Stop them before they poison you further!” He demanded, apparently your subconscious was playing far closer attention to those beside you than you were. You didn’t have to, you knew what they were doing and that despite what the bear man said, you were powerless to it when they slipped the needle back into you. The contents were swiftly flushed through your system as the man you conjured up grew more enraged. You closed your eyes and ignored the flurry of demands that carried across the room to your ears alone. He would be gone soon.

“We know that at the very least they have information about it but they won’t give us anything. Romanoff, you think you can do some digging?” Steve asked from the end of the conference room.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Natasha agreed, certainly intrigued by the matter she was tasked to pursue. Aliens on Earth certainly wouldn’t be a first, nor would an underground company keeping one be, but actually finding it before it was released? Now that would be new.

“You reckon this is something we should prepare for?” Wanda asked her girlfriend as the pair left the conference room together after the meeting. The rest of the team dispersed in other directions to carry out the tasks they had all been assigned by the captain.

“Maybe. Five years without any signs doesn’t necessarily mean nothing is happening but it is strange,” Natasha considered. “If I had to guess, I’d say this company is waiting for the right moment to play the alien card.”

“So you think they are keeping it?” Wanda continued, always curious to learn what dots the older hero connected to reach the conclusions she did.

“Any bio-company with that much money and that little recognition is something worth looking into, especially if they just so happen to have a fully armed swat team that they don’t want anyone knowing about,” Natasha explained as the pair arrived in the kitchen where Bruce was making himself a coffee.

“But you saw the photos of the scene after it was detained, how did a swat team manage to capture whatever was capable of all of that?” The Sokovian questioned.

“How did they manage to get to it before anyone else?” Natasha added. “These are the things I need to find out.”

“Maybe they made it,” Bruce chimed, having heard half the conversation. Both women turned their heads to the scientist. “Or maybe they found it and it escaped so they captured it again,” he theorised.

“That would make sense,” Natasha considered.

“Either way, once you’ve got any information on it let me and Tony know so we can start preparing the right containment,” he requested.

“You want to keep it here?” Natasha and Wanda said at once.

“S.H.I.E.L.D is no more equipped to deal with aliens than we are, so why not?” It was something Natasha hadn’t even considered, though she had only heard about it half an hour ago, but she knew it made sense to keep the creature in the tower, even if it did unnerve her to think about.

“We don’t even know if this thing is still alive,” Natasha pointed out before she allowed any of them to get too carried away. “You heard Rogers, the only reason we’re looking into it now is because of rumours an agent heard on their undercover mission.”

Aside from the rumours that a creature was being kept by the lesser known bio-company, the photos of an aftermath from a gruesome attack were the only pieces of information the agent had been able to gather due to that not being the sole purpose of their mission. They were undercover in one of the major rising crime rings in the country and had found a connection to the bio-company. There was no concrete evidence for any of it, but even the chance of the intel being legitimate meant that it needed the Avenger’s attention.

“It might not even be real,” Natasha stated. Bruce and Wanda nodded, though all three knew it would be useful to prepare.

By that evening, the Russian redhead had gathered enough intel to work with. She hadn’t made any attempts to speak to the sketchy organisation regarding the alien they might be holding, understanding that there wouldn’t be any transparency on that topic, but she had found a location and a way in. There was only one holding base that they kept so far off of the records that the spy had to call around numerous contacts to even find the start of the trail until she followed it back. If they were keeping a creature from another world, it would be there.

The other issue the spy faced was entry. Sure, the team could storm the place, but on what grounds? What if they couldn’t find anything? What if she was wrong? The legal consequences would be endless and it would give the government more ammunition to attempt to take control over the Avengers as they were always searching to do. Instead, Natasha planned to play the ‘random inspection’ card and thought it would be a good chance to bring Wanda along so that the Sokovian could attain the undercover skills she had been asking for.

The spy finished up her paperwork, requested the necessary team and prepared for the following day, unsure of what exactly they would find.

It was unusual for the bear man to appear when you were being handled. Apparently it meant your medication was being altered, according to him, and it allowed your mind to open more windows for him to slip through and cause problems. You despised how isolated you were in your room, and yet it somehow felt even more lonesome when he was there because you knew he was merely a figment of your desperate imagination. He was your mind’s attempt to ease the pain and in doing so only made you aware of how much of your sanity was falling through your grasp.

“How can you just sit there and let her do that?” The bear man said, watching on as your handler roughly manoeuvred your limbs into the white strapped jacket that clung to your frame. You didn’t have the strength, and hardly the feeling, to help her position your body right. None of them were ever gentle, as evident by the purple blemishes that littered your skin.

“Do something,” the man instructed. “Do something!” He yelled far too loud. You squeezed your eyes shut but that did nothing to block out the endless orders he barked at you. With your hands entrapped between your torso and jacket, you had no way of even attempting the dull the screaming that brutally crashed down on you.

“Go ‘way,” you pleaded, just barely loud enough for the woman handling you to understand.

“What’d you say to me?” Your handler spat, giving you no chance to muster the strength for a response because she was shoving you forwards until your face collided with the unforgiving floor. She wasted no time in placing a heavy boot into the middle of your back to force you down until your body twisted unnaturally in the straightjacket. “You think I want to be in here with you, freak?” She continued in a way you had heard countless times before. “Little fucker,” she hissed, lifting her boot only to bring it straight back down on your head. Your body was numb enough to take the blunt of the force, but you still registered the sickening crack of your skull hitting the floor.

You were left more disorientated than you had been prior to your handler’s arrival, unsurprisingly. Still, you didn’t cry or scream or feel sorry for yourself, you just laid in the relief that the bear man was gone for the time being.

“It’s just that we weren’t expecting anyone,” the manager muttered as he looked at the two heroes sceptically.

“Again, that’s the point,” Natasha said firmly, allowing herself to become irritated by the third person they were talking to in twenty minutes. “Now I can have my boss take time out of his busy schedule to phone your boss to ask why you’re still making us waste our time by standing out here, or you can let us do our job,” she continued with a glare that was enough to make the sweating man back down.

“Okay, okay,” he stumbled out of the way to let the pair in despite the security guard eyeing them with lingering (and well placed) suspicion. “Eugine here will give you the tour.” He shifted uncomfortably to stand behind his subordinates. “My apologies,” he added before scurrying away to let Eugine take over.

“Right this way,” he beckoned and wasted no time taking Natasha and Wanda through the first corridor, most likely with the intention of getting the tour over and done with as soon as possible. Neither complained when Eugine rushed them down one hallway and towards another, simply making notes that they had no use for and pretending to be interested in what little information they were given. It would all be recited again once they had access to the main database.

Once all three passed by an empty office, Natasha and Wanda exchanged a glance that wasn’t difficult to conceal with Eugine paying as little attention to them as possible. “If you could excuse me for a moment,” Natasha said politely as they passed by the women’s washroom. Their tour guide looked to the redhead irritably but she was already making her way inside. After checking that she was alone, Natasha opened up the vents above the sink and swiftly made her way inside to follow the lesser used route back to the office they had passed. It was still empty, but Natasha worked under the assumption that anyone could return at a moment’s notice.

“Bruce? You there?” The Russian asked as she withdrew the unique USB drive that would send any files straight back to the tower.

“Ready and waiting,” he spoke into her comns.

Given how paranoid the bio-company was, it took Natasha some time to gain access to their files while Wanda kept Eugine in place. He, of course, wasn’t happy to be kept waiting, but one subtle comment from Wanda about ‘that time of the month’ silenced any further complaints. She could always resort to her powers if necessary, however she knew there was some importance in learning to navigate missions without them.

“Got it!” Bruce called. Natasha made quick work of covering her tracks as she left the office the way she had come, though this time she didn’t return to the washroom and kept going as per Bruce’s instructions as he guided her through the building towards a room on the building map labelled ‘containment’. There was nowhere else in the building that held any similar labels and the pair agreed it was their best bet. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any vent leading directly into the room due to the obsessive security for it, something else Bruce was tasked with handling.

“A little overkill, don’t you think?” Natasha quipped in an effort to conceal her nerves. If she didn’t know any better, Natasha would have assumed the door in front of her was for a vault of some kind. It was made from what she could only assume was several layers of reinforced steel and a series of locks across the entire perimeter. Whatever was inside clearly wasn’t meant to get out and while it raised obvious concerns over why the bio-company was keeping such a beast, it was also a bad idea for Natasha to enter alone.

“I can’t access the camera footage inside. Nat, you can’t go in blind, we have no idea what’s in there,” the scientist warned.

“I handle you just fine, Banner,” she continued as she eyed the door.

“I’m serious, Nat.”

“So am I. Look, we have no solid proof that they’re keeping anything behind this door so we can’t call the team in for backup, just like we also can’t get Captain America or Iron Man to come undercover here next time. We deal with this now or we let it kick us in the ass later,” Natasha explained firmly, adamant on not leaving the building anytime soon.

“She’s right,” Wanda agreed though instead of her voice coming through the device in Natasha’s ear, the Sokovian appeared by her side with Eugine trailing behind her with a red glaze over his eyes. She looked at her partner sheepishly, knowing she was meant to be avoiding using her powers. “And if you could open this now before security comes,” she added. The pair heard Bruce sigh and grumble a defeated ‘yes’ as he worked on disabling the locks.

“You ready?” Natasha asked her partner as her widow bites began to emit a faint blue as she held them up once the locks began to unravel.

“Sure,” Wanda winced as she produced a swirling red sphere between her hands and stared straight ahead. “We’re long overdue for a fight with an alien.”

Several short bursts of steam escaped from the main locks on the left hand side of the door until an obnoxious ‘thud’ indicated Pandora's box was ready to be pried open. A red glow encapsulated the door as Wanda steadily pulled it open in its entirety, revealing the contents of which neither had expected to find. They shared a stunned glance momentarily and each lowered their respective weapons.

“Is that…?” Wanda trailed off as she assessed the sight of you slumped against the fall wall with only a trace of consciousness behind your eyes.

“Guys? What is it?” Bruce called out.

“It’s a kid,” Natasha stated.

“No,” Wanda said as she took the first step towards you. You didn’t seem to have registered their presence. “She might have come in as a kid, but she’s not anymore.” Wanda crouched down in front of you as Natasha stood back to observe and keep watch, snapping herself out of the initial shock and back to the mission at hand. “Hey,” the Sokovian greeted, eyeing the thick collar around your neck warrily.

“Wanda,” Natasha warned, unnerved by the whole ordeal that didn’t make any logical sense.

“It’s okay,” Wanda assured as she noted the straight jacket you were concealed in and raised a steady hand to your head where a red mist covered your eyes to simply peek at your condition. “She’s sedated,” Wanda stated. “Let’s get her out.” She didn’t leave any room for discussion as the red whisps fully enveloped your frame and lifted you off of the floor. Natasha didn’t object, dutifully leading the way as she pushed all questions to the back of her mind. They could wait. They had to, because they were about to meet the swat team responsible for your entrapment.

“I need the quinjet here, now!” Natasha ordered as she shot at the first few to clear the way all while Bruce tried to direct the trio as best he could. He had no idea which way the swat teams were coming from, he could only direct them to the quickest exit and unlock every door between them.

Wanda tried to aid in disarming and throwing those that followed them, but she needed to keep most of her attention on ensuring that you stayed safe and between them so that the entire mission wasn’t for nothing. Fortunately, Natasha had taken on more opponents than that before and shot anyone that came too close with a prision to they couldn’t rival until they made it through the nearest fire exit. The quinjet was hovering a few yards away with its loading door open, unable to land because of the rest of the swat team shooting wildly and not paying attention to the Avengers behind them. They went down in an instant and Wanda propelled all three of you off the ground and into the jet.

It was difficult for you to understand what exactly had just happened, but you were aware that you were no longer staring at the same four walls that you had been for… well you had no idea how long. With the drugs in your system, all voices and sounds seemed far away and muffled just as everything you could see was incredibly blurred beyond recognition. You had no idea where you currently sat, nor could you identify the figure that was pulling a seatbelt across you as the walls and ground began to shake. You didn’t allow yourself to be hopeful that what was to come would be any better, especially when the bulky collar around your neck woke up and sent an onslaught of electricity through your body.

If you weren’t so sedated, you would have screamed, begged, wailed at the intense pain that struck you. Instead, all you could do was silently cry though it was immediately clear what was happening to the two Avengers when the collar blinked red and your body convulse in response. You gasped, finding it suddenly impossible to breathe until the heavy device was ripped from your burning neck by Wanda’s powers on impulse.

“Shit, it must have been set off by us leaving,” Natasha theorised as the pair inspected the scarred and freshly burnt rings around your neck.

“You think there could be anything else under there?” Wanda asked as she motioned to the jacket covering your body. Natasha didn’t get the chance to answer before Steve’s voice cut in.

“Once you get here we’ll take her to the hulk’s containment room,” Steve informed from the speakers on the jet.

“She’s going to medical,” Natasha corrected at once as she watched you slump in the seat helplessly. Your eyes were still half open, but she could tell you could make no sense of what was around you.

“We have to be careful,” Bruce added. “I of all people know that being locked up is intimidating, but it can also be the best solution.”

“So you want to keep her the same way they did?” Wanda objected, not believing what she was hearing.

“Just until we can get some blood samples and understand-”

“You saw what just happened,” Natasha snapped, glaring straight at the camera in the corner of the jet that she knew Steve was watching. “She’s in a straight jacket and collar while sedated. She’s going to medical,” she finalised. There was a heavy silence for several moments before Steve spoke again.

“Medical first, then the containment room,” he compromised.

“Look at her, she's barely conscious,” Wanda stated to the camera. “What are you so afraid of?”

“What happens when she is.”

#fic recs #wandanat #i've read every part released so far and i need more

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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MCU COSTUME APPRECIATION Scarlett Johansson as Natasha Romanoff | The Avengers (2012)

#visage: natasha romanoff

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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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.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: I Thought You Died A Long, Long Time Ago

Chapter Two: Flower In A Hailstorm

Chapter Three: Would You Like To Hear My Voice?

Chapter Four: Between Fact and Fiction, Which One Of Us Changed?

Chapter Five: Take Me, I'm Bad

Chapter Six: He's Killing Me For Mercy

Chapter Seven: You Don't Know Me

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

#masterlist: i swear that i don't have a gun #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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Girl I’ve been itching and scratching waiting on you welcome back 😼

I know. It's been sooo long. Thank you! I'm going to try my best not to leave you guys hanging like that again.

#answered asks

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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If you receive this, you make somebody happy! Go on anon and send this to 10 of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get one back, even better. ✨✨ 💋

(Tried to send it anon and it didn't work, well-)

I saw this when you first sent it, and I felt far too guilty to reply because I was still only halfway through the chapter I just posted. But this made me smile when I first saw it, and it still makes me smile! I'm glad my fics make you happy. :)

#answered asks

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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I hereby RESUCITATE YOU (however thats spelled) to post ch 8😩😩😩

*loud gasp*

Friend, I thought about this message for months. Thank you for your support, and I apologize for leaving you waiting! Here is chapter eight. I'm hoping to get into a regular posting schedule.

#answered asks

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

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.

#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

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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I wrote so much today, and it makes me unbelievably happy.

#talking when you should be writing #hello friends

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sapphic-coded · 6 months

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Hey fellas, either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil.

Scarlett Johansson as NATASHA ROMANOFF CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)

#visage: natasha romanoff

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sapphic-coded · 7 months

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I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

Table of Contents

Chapter One: I Thought You Died A Long, Long Time Ago

Chapter Two: Flower In A Hailstorm

Chapter Three: Would You Like To Hear My Voice?

Chapter Four: Between Fact and Fiction, Which One Of Us Changed?

Chapter Five: Take Me, I'm Bad

Chapter Six: He's Killing Me For Mercy

Chapter Seven: You Don't Know Me

#fic: i swear that i don't have a gun #masterlist: i swear that i don't have a gun

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sapphic-coded · 7 months

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Girl where is part 7?????😩😩😩

The timing of me seeing this message the night I log in to post chapter seven is simply magical.

Here's chapter seven. I hope you like it friend!

#answered asks

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sapphic-coded · 7 months

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I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and did not choose her codename. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: When writer ADHD hits, it hits. Sorry for the wait friends. Been working on this for a comically long time. Thank you for all the love and support for this series. I love that you love this. Enjoy!

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

Chapter Seven: You Don't Know Me

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You counted the small rocks in your black gloved hand. Neither one looked the same. All were varying shades of gray. A few were smooth and round while others were rough with sharper edges. It was the best of what you could find around the neighborhood. You looked up when you heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.

The ends of Nat’s blue hair spilled out of her dark gray knitted hat. Her black puffy jacket swallowed up most of her body. In her white gloved hands was a single stick. It wasn’t very long. Hardly more than four inches. Some pine needles still hung off of it. You watched as she approached while the chill that hung in the air after the first snowfall stabbed at your cheeks.

“Aren’t we supposed to use a carrot?” you asked as she came to stand next to you. You were also pretty sure that you were supposed to use coal instead of rocks.

“My mom already cut up the one we have,” Nat replied.

You certainly didn’t have any carrots lying around at home. Your refrigerator and Nat’s were so different that it was jarring the first time you saw it. You hadn’t realized how much food one refrigerator could hold when you didn’t have to make room for your father’s weekly experiments.

You looked at the headless snowman in front of you. You had spent the better part of the last two hours alongside Nat and her younger sister building the snowman in front of their house. The snowman’s base was large, round, and a bit lopsided. But it supported the slightly smaller packed ball of snow on top of it. You and Nat had done your best to brush off any dirt or blades of grass that stuck to the snow. Now you waited for Yelena to return with the snowman’s head.

You heard Nat shift next to you while you stared at the empty spot where the snowman’s head will go. You wondered what kind of person this snowman would be. It was a shame when your brother told you years ago that snowmen don’t actually come to life after they are built. There’s no singing or dancing. It was as your father put it when he overheard your conversation:

“It is a byproduct of man’s lust for godhood.”

But maybe they did come to life. In secret. Perhaps at night. You read about all kinds of supposedly fake creatures coming to life in secret in your sister’s books. If it was possible, would this snowman end up being a good person or a bad one? Would the lack of a carrot make a difference?

“Are you going somewhere?” Nat asked.

You looked at her and found her looking across the street. You followed her gaze. Outside on your driveway was your father. The trunk of his station wagon hung open while he shoved a couple large bags into it. His back remained toward you and you hoped it would stay that way. The freshly plowed street put enough distance between him and you that you felt like you could breathe normally without him noticing.

Your gaze landed back on Nat. “My father is attending a convention. It’s a tradition.”

“What kind of convention?” she asked.

You shrugged. “One for people like him.”

He would come back giddy from talking with his fellow scholars. You knew that when he returned you and your siblings would be forced to spend at least three hours trapped at the kitchen table with nothing to eat but plenty to listen to. If something particularly interesting happened, you would definitely be trapped at the table for five hours.

“You’re not going with him?” she asked.

You heard the trunk of your father’s station wagon slam shut. You looked over your shoulder and watched as your father started back up the driveway. You looked at Nat and shook your head. “Kids aren’t allowed.”

Yelena hurried around the house from the backyard carrying a mostly round snowman sized head. It was pretty impressive when she reached you guys. Since you both were taller, you and Nat carefully took the soon to be snowman head and set it on top of its cold, round body. You pushed one smooth light gray rock into the snowman’s left eye socket and then pushed a square black rock into its right. You let Yelena help you set the rest of the rocks into a wide smile. Nat pushed the stick into the middle of the snowman’s face. Then, all three of you stepped back to admire your work.

“We should give him a name,” Yelena said.

You tried to imagine the snowman’s rock eyes blinking. You imagined puffs of white mists slipping from between his rocky lips. You tried to imagine him with a carrot for a nose. “He looks like an Ian.”

You heard Yelena giggle and when you looked at Nat you saw the beginnings of a smile curling her lips.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

Being part of a team sucks. There are rules you have to follow. Sure, there were rules back when you were working for your father. But those rules were different. You could bend and shape them into whatever you needed. As long as the job was done, your father was content. Maybe he’d nitpick if the job got messy. But you had the freedom of choice. There were so many ways to kill people. Some days your imagination would run wild with new possibilities. You had yet to surprise a target in their bathroom and drop a toaster into their bathtub while they were bathing. Then there was the old classic you had yet to try. This idea demanded the perfect costume, but tying a target to train tracks and watching a high speed train obliterate their body into nothing more but tiny bloody chunks would be great fun.

You loved that part of the job almost as much as you loved watching your target’s life drain from their eyes. But now that freedom is gone. You don’t get to decide how you are going to do your job. You are told. Ordered. The worst is when you’re not even allowed to kill your target. You remember the first time you were given that bizarre job. You remember how punchable your target’s face was. You remember how easy it would have been to just push the ridiculous man over the edge. No one would have known. But you couldn’t. You watched that opportunity pass you by and you wanted to scream.

You did scream. At Rumlow. You cornered him and demanded to know why. Why did they keep fucking with your head?

He reminded you of your role. The chains that kept you bound to these nonsensical rules. You work for SHIELD. You don’t kill targets unless SHIELD wants you to kill them. You keep to your role and you don’t raise suspicions. You live out the story Rumlow crafted for you. He found you on one of his missions. He saw your potential and peeled you up off the ground like some frozen, sick, dying, abandoned mutt. He molded you into the weapon you are now. A weapon he happily handed to SHIELD.

You hate that story. You hate it more than the stupid suit he forces you to wear. The black tactical suit covers every inch of your body from your neck down to your feet. It had taken a while to get used to the added weight of the black body armor attached to the suit. You still don’t like it. It makes you feel as if you are a child running around with pillows tied to your chest and a foam sword in your hand. But it’s the mask that feels the most suffocating. Despite being able to hear clearly from within the black helmet, you feel cut off from the world. The black tinted visor that conceals your face is full of fancy technology that often gets in the way when you are just trying to watch your target die. You hate the stupid suit. You hate that you can’t do anything without having to wear it. The only time you can strip the stupid costume off and breathe in lungfuls of air conditioned air is in your bunk buried beneath all the levels of SHIELD and fake SHIELD and real HYDRA.

But if you could choose, you’d stick with the stupid suit if you could craft a different story. Preferably one that didn’t include anyone molding you into anything. But that freedom is gone, and all you have is a boatload of memories to distract you from how angry you are. That anger burns deep inside you. It fuels your every step as you walk alongside Rumlow down a bright, busy hallway. You ignore all the data that blinks across the inside of your visor screen with every SHIELD agent that hurries by. In the beginning you had been curious, but now all the data was familiar and boring. Mostly low level clearance agents with spotless records because they never did anything but sit at their desks or hurry around places looking busy.

You walk out into a large hangar and board one of the waiting Quinjets. You spy two empty seats in the cockpit and a black duffel bag resting on one of the seats in the cargo bay. Rumlow hands you a small, black flash drive. You roll your eyes despite knowing that he can’t see your face. If he let you take off the damn helmet you could read the mission briefings perfectly fine. You didn’t need to clog up your visor’s hub with all the unnecessary tidbits of information on your targets. You hate this role.

“This one is routine,” Rumlow begins as you insert the flash drive into the slot along the backside of your helmet. Almost instantly, information clogs up your interior visor screen. “Your target is Tomek Sikora. He’s an arms dealer that SHIELD has kept an eye on.” The picture of your target fills up your visor. Tall, muscular build. Short, dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes. Mid thirties. “We have good intel that he’s operating out of an abandoned storefront in Bardstown, Kentucky. His main clientele is HYDRA.”

Your visor floods with images of your target standing with or shaking hands with other important looking men and women. A few of the faces look familiar, but the images scroll too quickly across your visor for you to be certain.

“Your objective is to shut down Sikora’s operation,” Rumlow says. “SHIELD would prefer Sikora alive, but if you have no choice, do what is necessary.”

The coded orders hidden behind his words brings a small hint of relief. A nice simple kill. You know that if you read more into the file scrolling across your visor that you could piece together why real HYDRA wants Sikora dead. But you don’t care. All you care about is watching your target die. All you care about at this moment is that you won’t be forced to watch your target walk away breathing. A straightforward mission is exactly what you need. Something easy. Sikora will probably put up some kind of fight. You’ll engage and end it when it feels right.

You pull the flash drive from the slot at the back of your helmet. Your visor clears.

“Rollins will accompany you on this mission,” Rumlow says.

Eh. It could be wors–

“Slight change of plan.”

Both you and Rumlow turn towards the open cargo bay door. You see her clearly through your visor screen. You feel the chains of your boredom lift. That familiar energy that buzzes right beneath your skin awakens. You haven’t seen her since you put a bullet through Erik’s head. Even then, you can’t count that as your official last parting. You were buried beneath your costume. She didn’t know you were there. Because if she did, she wouldn’t have let you go like that.

The weight of the costume you wear now feels heavier as you watch her ascend up the Quinjet’s ramp. She’s dressed in civilian clothes. You love the black, leather jacket that she wears over her red shirt. Dark denim jeans cover the length of her legs, and a gun sits in a black holster strapped to her right thigh. You’re envious of her clothes. You want to look into her wardrobe. You want to strip out of this stupid suit and wear anything else.

“Agent Romanoff,” Rumlow greets.

Nat. Your teeth bite into your lower lip. You know you can’t say anything. The rules of your role have been drilled into your head. You don’t speak. You only act. If anyone asks questions, Rumlow has your pathetic sob story ready to share. You know all this. You know you must comply. But you really want to say something.

Her olive green eyes settle on you as she steps into the cargo bay. You instantly miss the recognition as she looks at you. Her eyes travel up and down the length of your body, taking in your forced getup. You want her to see right through it. You want her to say your name and rip the damn mask from your face so the chase can resume.

“What’s the update?” Rumlow asks.

Her attention shifts to him. “Rollins can’t make it. He’s in medical. I’m filling in.”

Now you really really want to say something. You watch as she walks over to where the black duffel bag sits. A smile stretches across your face. You had wanted to start slow. A coffee date scheduled on a day that neither one of you needed to even think about work. But if you can’t have that, then you will happily take this.

“That’s not necessary,” Rumlow replies.

Your smile drops away, and you turn your head to give Rumlow the most threatening glare he will never see. He ignores you as Nat zips up her duffel bag and looks over at him.

“I’ll get one of the other guys to fill in for Rollins,” Rumlow continues. “It’s a routine operation, and you’re needed for more Avenger missions.”

You wonder what would happen if you punched Rumlow in the face. If you swing hard enough, there is a good chance you could knock him out. That would give you a couple seconds to say something to Nat before all hell breaks loose. You’d definitely apologize for the stupid thing you said before. And if Rumlow didn’t go down in one punch, you could always follow it up with a solid kick.

“Fury disagrees,” Nat replies.

The name sparks two recent memories of the Director of SHIELD. Both memories consisted of you standing in this stupid suit and staring at the bald man with an eyepatch while he interrogated Rumlow about you. You played the part of a lost puppy well enough despite wanting to smash your head into the closest wall.

“Besides,” Nat looks first at you and then back to Rumlow, “I’ve been dying to meet your new sidekick.”

Oh god. That one hurt.

“They’re not much of a talker,” Rumlow says.

You have so much to say.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nat replies.

Rumlow shakes his head, but finally relents. He looks at you. “Stay focused. I expect results.”

You watch as he steps out of the cargo bay and descends down the jet’s ramp. For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You thought that Rumlow would have done just about anything to rip you away from Nat. He had made sure to keep you as far away from her as possible. But the reality of your amazing luck settles when Nat comes to stand next to you.

“Has he taught you how to fly one of these?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll fly. You fill me in on the mission.”

This is the greatest day of your life.

The Quinjet, Kentucky Sky – A Short Time Later

You pull the flash drive free from the tablet’s port. The tablet’s screen goes blank while the hub screen built into your interior helmet visor lights up with a selection of unnecessary data about the tablet. Battery at 68%. No security update needed. Software version 3.8.27. You don’t understand why you are forced to tolerate the random extra tech. Rumlow told you it was to make your story more realistic. You still didn’t understand how something only you see makes others believe you more.

You look up from the tablet, and the extra data clears. Bright sunlight floods the cockpit. The sky outside is so blue that it is almost painful to look at. You are sitting in the co-pilot seat. The various buttons and screens stretched across the dashboard mean nothing to you. Nat has been doing all the flying. All you’ve done is find a SHIELD issued tablet and plugged in the flash drive so Nat could review the details of your mission. So far she’s asked you easy questions about the mission. Your answers are simple nods or a shake of your head. You want to say more. You need to say more. But you stay quiet. You comply with your role.

But there is sweet happiness in your forced silence. You look over to the empty pilot seat next to you. Nat left a few minutes ago to change after switching on the autopilot. You are tempted to lift up your helmet and sniff the pilot seat. You want to know what she smells like. You want to peel your black gloves off and touch the cushions of the seat. Feel the warmth left behind by her touch. A couple different scenarios float through your head and each one is far more entertaining than sitting in silence. But at least you get to be near her. You don’t have to hurry off and leave her. Despite all these stupid rules, you’ve discovered a piece of freedom that kept eluding you before.

You turn your gaze forward when you hear Nat emerge from the tiny bathroom directly behind the cockpit. She settles back into the pilot’s seat. Her casual clothes are gone. You miss the leather jacket, but the black catsuit is a warm familiar memory. You tuck the flash drive into one of your suit’s many pockets.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” she comments as her green eyes dart across the various screens and lit buttons. “About fifteen minutes out.”

There’s a moment when you taste that bitterness of disappointment. You don’t want this to end. The two of you up in the sky without anyone else to distract you. But that moment ends when you remember what’s to come. For the first time you won’t be on opposing sides. Sort of. Not exactly. But it sends a thrill through you.

“So,” she looks over at you, “Silent Type.”

You frown at the stupid codename. You know she can’t see your face, but she sees something because she starts to smile. The tablet’s screen comes back to life as you navigate to the application you need. A virtual keyboard pops up along the lower half of the tablet. Your gloved fingers are quick as you type your message. You turn the tablet around so she can read it.

Rumlow’s idea. Not mine.

Your answer seems to amuse her more as she nods.

“That does sound like a name he would come up with,” she says.

You turn the tablet to face you again and delete what you wrote. Your fingers are quick to tap out another message.

Did you choose your codename?

Her smile falls a bit as she reads your question. “What did Rumlow tell you about me?”

It doesn’t take you long to delete your question and type out your reply.

Avenger.

“That’s it?” she asks.

You lower the tablet and nod. It’s not entirely a lie. Rumlow had spent most of his time preparing you for this stupid role. That meant filling your head with a bunch of random bullshit about fake SHIELD and real HYDRA. He trained you to remember your story. He did his best to polish off the grime of freelance and make you seem more refined. He rarely brought up Nat. And when he did, he never let you think about her for long.

“I guess we’ll need to get to know each other better after this mission,” she says.

More time with Nat? This day just gets better and better. Your fingers tap against the tablet’s digital keyboard again. When you lift up the tablet, you are very interested in her answer.

What did Rumlow say about me?

“You’re his pet project,” she says as her smile returns.

You frown. You want to somehow clarify that you are nobody’s pet project, but one of the buttons on the dash lights up and steals Nat’s attention. You watch as she turns off the autopilot and takes control of the Quinjet.

“We’re approaching our target,” she reaches up and flips a switch. “I’ll set us down somewhere close. With our stealth systems engaged, they shouldn’t be able to spot us.”

You turn your head and look out at the bright blue sky. While you love the quality time with Nat, you also need to come up with a plan for this mission. Rumlow’s coded orders had been clear. Kill Sikora. If Rollins had joined you on this mission, you wouldn’t have needed to do much thinking beyond when to kill your target. But Nat’s fantastic presence complicated things. You doubt that she’s part of fake SHIELD. Which meant putting a bullet in Sikora’s head outright wouldn’t go over well. Especially if your target decides to surrender.

Your plan starts to take shape within your mind as Nat guides the concealed Quinjet towards the ground. It’s a simple plan. Draw your target away from Nat and kill him where it is just you and him. It would ruin the foreplay. You probably wouldn’t have much time and would need to kill Sikora quickly. But you’d get to talk to Nat later which seemed like a generous trade.

The bright onslaught on sunlight fades as Nat sets the Quinjet down in a clearing surrounded by eastern white pine trees. Based on the data you had skimmed earlier, the abandoned storefront your target is operating out of is just north of your location. When the Quinjet’s engines fall quiet, you stand. You leave the tablet on your seat as you head for the cargo bay. You approach a metallic box bolted onto one of the walls. Your gloved fingers type in a code on the keypad fixed to the front of the box. The front panel unlocks and opens to reveal a small armory.

Smaller than usual. No fancy explosives. Your usual selection of guns has been paired down to one: a single black Glock. You suspect your limited selection is thanks to Rumlow. You figure this has something to do with your training, but you don’t really care. You’re more disappointed in how the gun feels in your hand. You miss your Beretta. You don’t feel the same without it.

You slide the Glock into the empty holster at your right hip and turn when you hear Nat enter the cargo bay. She holds the tablet you left behind. Her finger slides across the tablet’s screen, and you watch the way her head tilts slightly as she reviews the mission data. You imagine that she looked exactly like that whenever information on you ended up in her hands. Your smile starts to return as you grab the tactical knife left in the armory and slide it into place on your belt.

She turns off the tablet and sets it down next to her black duffel bag. She lifts her hand and speaks into her wrist. “Comms check.”

You hear her voice flood your helmet and you don’t want it to stop. When she looks over at you, you nod. Her smile threatens to break you. You want so desperately to say something. You want her to look at you like she knows you. Like she did before whenever she appeared on one of your jobs. But your mouth stays shut. You comply.

It’s quiet when you both exit the Quinjet. As you make your way through the cluster of trees, you can’t help but think back to your last freelance job in the middle of nowhere. The sound of gunshots ripping apart tree bark. The smell of sweat and blood on your target’s body. The feeling of her hand around your wrist.

You stop when you reach the treeline. Roughly fifty yards ahead of you is the bland backside of the abandoned storefront. The back door is unguarded. You don’t see any cameras either. It’s no wonder why HYDRA wants Sikora gone. The lack of security is almost offensive. It’s as if your target is inviting you inside.

“We’ll split up and sweep the area,” her voice is low and when you look at her, you nod.

Perfect. As long as you find Sikora first, this mission should be easy.

“I’ll take the upper floor while you secure the lower,” she says.

As you nod, you hope that you’ll find Sikora in the storefront’s basement. If you don’t, you don’t know exactly how you’ll get your target far enough away from Nat.

You both step out of the treeline and make your way towards the storefront’s back entrance. By the time you reach the back door and press your back against the wall, you notice that both you and Nat have drawn your guns. You bite your tongue to hold back a laugh at the thought that instantly springs to life within your mind. This must be the first time you both have a gun in your hand and you’re not pointing them at each other. Now would be a great time to take your helmet off.

Nat reaches for the door handle, and it’s unlocked. You decide that it’s your target’s inflated ego that left the door unlocked and not stupidity. Or a trap. You try not to let that last thought get you too excited as you follow Nat through the backdoor.

You enter a narrow hallway. Directly ahead of you is a wide open doorway that reveals a large empty room. Remains of what was clearly a counter mark the worn looking floorboards. Dark colored wallpaper peels from the walls. The room itself is lit only by the light that spills out from the hallway. Large, thin boards are nailed across the windows. Littered about the floorboards is trash, random dark wet spots, and the occasional clothing hanger.

To your right is a set of stairs leading to the upper floor. To your left is the remains of another door. You see the hinges, but the door that clearly once occupied the space is gone. Beyond it is another set of stairs leading down towards the basement. You turn to your left and start to descend the stairs. You hear Nat ascending the stairs behind you. You force yourself not to look back as you lift your gun and keep going.

Your footsteps are quiet on the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you find yourself alone in an empty room. The lights are on. Boxes and crates are stacked against one of the walls. On the other side of the room is another doorway, but this one still has a door attached to it. As you walk further into the room, you hear a loud thud shake the low ceiling. You feel a tiny spike of jealousy that Nat found her targets while you are alone in a basement. Another loud thud shakes the ceiling again. That lingering spike of jealousy flees when the door on the other side of the room opens.

You pull the trigger the second you see someone fill up the space in the doorway. You see the person drop and no one else comes out. You move towards the open door. One quick look down at the man dying on the basement floor at your feet confirms that they are not your target. You step over the dying man and into the room. It’s a small break room with a fold out plastic table that eats up most of the space. Sitting on the table, directly in the middle, is a small, square television. It’s on and playing an old western.

When you return to the dying man laying in the doorway, you find him dead. The man’s lifeless eyes stare up at you. His mouth is slightly parted. His hair looks greasy. He looks about as old as any average college student. The sounds of the western playing on the television fills up the quiet as you stare down at the dead man. The sounds of shouting pulls you out of your odd stupor.

You step over the dead man and hurry back towards the stairs. You quickly climb back up into the narrow hallway and start towards the stairs that would take you up to the upper floor when you see it. You are standing at the base of the stairs when you see a body falling. You see their arms first as they come up, and you see how their legs trip over each other. You notice a mop of dirty blonde hair right before it smashes into the first uppermost step. The body falls hard down the stairs with a series of sickening crunches. You take a few steps back when you notice the body picking up some speed. When the body finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, it rolls over once and stops.

Sikora lays at your feet. His neck is bent at a terrible angle. His blue eyes are wide open. You see a piece of bone poking out from his forearm. Your gun lowers at the sight of your target’s still body. You feel numb at the sight of it. No satisfaction. No sense of pride. Not even relief. You don’t know how to feel when you step over your target’s body and ascend the stairs. That strange feeling persists as you find Nat standing near a table. Littered across the floor are six bodies. You can’t tell if some are alive or not, but you feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. Nat doesn’t have a scratch on her. None of the bodies scattered across the room were a challenge for her and you just want to run up to her and kiss her and hug her tight because it makes sense. One piece of your life hasn’t changed. She’s still your friend even if you can’t act like hers.

As you walk further into the room, carefully stepping over fallen bodies, Nat closes up a black laptop that is sitting on the table. Her smile melts away any lingering numbness hanging on from seeing your target’s body.

“Good work,” she says. “SHIELD will be here in ten to clean up.”

You savor her praise before looking at the laptop again.

“Just a little side project,” she says after following your gaze. She picks up the black laptop and moves towards you. “You ever have bourbon from here?”

You shake your head.

“Then we’re making a quick pit stop before we head back,” she says.

You follow her, and you can’t help feeling like you are back in Ohio. It’s as if school is finally letting out and you two have the rest of the day ahead of you. You want this day to last forever. You’d rather her know it’s you, but if this is all you can have, then you’ll take it.

#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

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