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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Stay Ch. 19

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

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

Warnings: A little violence (kinda) and a lot of feelings

A/N: HOLY SHIT I AM SO SORRY! I had no intention for this to take over a fucking month. But Endgame fucked me up so hard (in the best way, I think I earned those hurts with the shit I write here lol) and just life, in general, has been NUTS (also in a really good way).

I honestly cannot thank you all enough for being so goddamn patient and supportive while you waited for this chapter. Some folks have to deal with really demanding and dickish followers but I’m over here getting asks and DMs of y’all wishing me well and shit. HOW AM I THIS LUCKY?!

I hope y’all like this one.

Tags are open!

Post Snap: Wakanda

Shock settles cold and heavy over Natasha’s shoulders.

Her gaze has been on the blank screen of her phone for an unknown amount of time. She’d tried to call… but all communication had been cut off, Wakanda locking itself away… A knock from the door behind her causes her to jump, sending the phone clattering to the floor.

“Sorry,” Bruce’s tone is cautious. “The jets almost ready.” They needed to get home… She knows people need them but…

“I can’t.”

“Nat… we have to-”

“No. I have to find her Bruce…”

There’s pity in his eyes, “Natasha… the odds…”

“Go,” Steve’s voice comes from the hall, rough and low. She steps out holding his haunted expression. A set of keys sail in her direction, “There’s a bike you can take outside…” Steve pauses, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “Outside Bucky’s place.”

A touch of warmth fills her chest. He already knew what she’d need to do. Her fingers curl around the keys. “Thank you.”

The moment she’s outside of Wakanda’s protective barrier she tries to check for the message… still, she can’t get through…

A scream threatens to rip her apart. She may be able to make it through the end of the goddamn world… through watching members of her small family fall to ash… But she would not survive losing you… not again.

October 2009

“Fuck!” Natasha bellows slamming her fist against the wall.

Months of searching… this had been their last lead. It came up empty. She was supposed to be the best and yet she couldn’t find and save the one person she cared the most for… not even with the resources and blessing of S.H.I.E.L.D…

They’d given her everything she could need. Everyone from Secretary Pierce to Fury throwing their weight behind this, pulling strings no one would even fathom pulling with governments and low lives alike and still not a sign of you. It was as if you’d simply disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Nat…” Clint lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugs him off.

“We missed something. There’s gotta be… something…” her voice cracks as he takes her by the shoulders.

His sad eyes break something in her, “There’s not, Natasha. She’s… she’s gone.”

“No,” her voice is thick with restrained tears. “She wouldn’t-”

He shakes his head, “I don’t… I don’t think it was a choice… But someone…” Nat shakes her head like a child denying a very obvious truth.

“Clint-” A sob slips out before she can catch it.

He tugs her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

That’s it. A guttural sob rips from the deepest parts of her being and her knees give way sending them both to the floor. All she can think is how you’d feel this emotion with her, how you’d understand everything without her having to speak a word…

Slowly her sorrow is replaced with a cold rage. Someone took you from her. They likely caught wind that you’d turned your services over to S.H.I.E.L.D. and thinking you’d give something away… They couldn’t even leave her a body, couldn’t even give you dignity in death.

“We’ll figure out who did this, Natasha.” Clint may not be you but he knew her well enough to read her. “We will.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

They never did though…

Fury assigned her to Stark because she was best suited but also because he felt the distraction of deep cover would help. It may have but… Being Natalie Rushman reminded her of your night in Tokyo… There was nothing she could do to escape your memory.

Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long. In less than a year she was back to just being Natasha, back to the Widow, working every job she could. The more exhausted she was the less she felt how hollow she was. The more her body ached the less she missed your touch.

When she stared down a horde of alien invaders she thought that just maybe this was it. She’d go out fighting and save some people in the process. If there was another side well, she hoped you’d be there waiting.

But it wasn’t the end. Somehow they’d pulled off the impossible.

By that point, almost five years had passed. Natasha still missed you on a level that felt impossible to truly convey. But there were days that the ache was less than it had ever been. It wasn’t moving on per-say but it was something like healing.

At the very least now she had the distraction of Steve. She could make him a project. She’d never have the life or happiness she wanted but maybe she could help him find his footing. Maybe one of them could have a chance at happiness, at a life.

There was something she related to in his detachment. She supposed the loss of just about everyone and everything a person knew could be similar to the void you left. So many times she thought of telling him about you, hoping that he’d feel less alone in his pain but… He was a man from the ’40s… She wasn’t willing to risk losing a friend over dated prejudices.

Turned out she should have given Steve Rogers more credit.

When she heard the ballistics on the bullet that killed Fury her blood ran cold. It was him…

So many things had crossed her mind then. Not a single one of them had been that somehow she’d find you because of this.

She’d been so wrapped up in the aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s demise that she didn’t have time to look at the files she’d released. Thankfully Clint had her back and had been scanning them the moment they’d hit the web.

Just after she’d settled into the tower he showed up looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Fear gripped her. Had she exposed Laura and the kids in her haste to topple Hydra… had she sacrificed everything-

“I found her.”

For a minute the words rang hollow and meaningless.

“Found who?” Steve asked from his spot on her couch.

Clint said nothing, just held her gaze until his shot inevitably hit its target. “I think she’s alive, Nat.” He hands you a file.

With trembling hands, she turns the pages. Scarcely breathing. Steve says something but Clint hushes him.

As the words on the pages soak in she thinks she may vomit. Experiments, tests, torture… kill missions… Riots you’d incited at their command, dignitaries dropping from what appeared to be brain aneurisms. Little subtle things she should have looked for and then the last report… February 2014… nine months prior.

Natasha’s knees give out and she hits the hardwood with a thud. They’d had you for five years… Her breath stills.

No.

“Natasha!” Clint kneels in front of her, Steve stands at the ready behind him.

Pieces rapidly click into place. All the subtle ties to Hydra since the very moment the two of you met and they meant one thing. My fault. All my fault. They wouldn’t have gotten to you if it weren’t for her. You wouldn’t have let your guard down. You wouldn’t have trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d had a feeling about them from the start but she’d been convinced you were just being overly cautious.

“Nat…”

A raspy breath sucks into her lungs so fast it almost hurts. “I did this.” She breathes out.

“No. No, you fucking did not.” Clint grabs her shoulders, shaking her.

“I did. She wouldn’t-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up with that I’ll slap you,” she sees Steve shift in the background. “You didn’t do this. They did this and we will get Y/N back.” She says nothing, just stares at a hair on Clint’s shirt, numb. “Do you hear me, Natasha?!”

Slowly her eyes meet his. “Do you hear me?” His tone level now.

“Yeah,” weakly she nods.

This was the last base that could possibly be hiding you. The last little flickering ember of hope. With cell after cell empty or filled with rotting bodies, that ember was fading quickly.

Natasha thought when the inevitable realization that you were gone hit her she’d go mad. Screaming, tearing her hair, the full Linda Blair. Instead, she feels… nothing. Not the calm detachment she’s used to but a nothingness so deep she wonders if it’s actually what death feels like.

“Natasha,” Sam’s voice crackles in her comm, “one floor down from you, south side. We think we got her.”

Tingles creep up her spine, feeling electric against her scalp. She won’t believe it. Won’t hope. All Sam and Steve had to go off of were old photos… Who knew what they’d done to you… Natasha ran faster than she ever had in her entire life. The slightest chance that you could be alive was all it took to drive her forward.

Honey. That’s all she wanted to hear in your rich accent. “Please,” she breathes out to anything that would hear her as she sprints down the hall toward where the guys waited. “Please give me her.”

“Where!?” They’re standing before a glass wall and part as if on cue.

The figure slumped on the floor beyond the glass isn’t the woman she remembers. There are bones where once ample curves had been, supple skin replaced with dull bruised flesh, thick hair traded for thin scraggly locks, pink lips for cracked grey things. Honestly, she couldn’t even tell if the person in there was alive.

A small sound ekes from Natasha’s mouth before her hand can fly to cover it. Why had she dared to hope?

Clint’s warm hand settles on her back. She doesn’t know when he arrived or how long she’s been staring. “That’s her, Nat…” He says it like she really doesn’t know like you aren’t a part of her very soul. She’d know you… she’d always know you. But were you-

Your head rolls on your shoulders, a groan sounding through unseen speakers. Natasha’s breath stops. -Alive.

“Hey,” your voice is cracked, low, and hoarse but still… it really is you. Clint grabs her hand tight. “How about you pieces of shit bring me some water?”

Still very you. Unable to wait a second longer she rushes to the door. Desperately she tugs at the handle, clearly locked.

“Rogers, a little help?!”

“Are you sure Nat? We don’t know if-”

“If. I know that if you don’t help me open this door I will break your super-powered body in ways you can’t even imagine.” Every word drips with conviction.

Steve holds up his hands in surrender. With a swift tug and a touch of effort, he pries the door open.

Your head rolls in the direction of the door, “About fuckin’ time. Was beginning to think y’all were just gonna-”

Eyes Natasha has missed for far too long fly wide open. Instead of the joy and love, she was hoping to see, terror floods your features.

“No,” your voice is barely a whisper. “God no please, no.” You bury your face in your knees, covering your ears with your hands, “I’ll do anything you want… don’t make me do this, not again, please. No.” Your body trembles, rocking back and forth.

Natasha doesn’t even hear Steve and Clint warn her to hold back as she kneels before you, tugging your hands from your head. Caution a long forgotten skill. This is you. You need her.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s ok. Look at me, feel-”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Your head shakes back and forth, “They lied, whatever they promised you is a lie. You won’t win, just go. Go. I can’t… I-”

“Y/N,” she tilts your chin up. Red rimmed, fearful eyes, gaze at her. “It’s me.”

“No. Leave, they’re gonna make me… just go. Go now. Tell ‘em I’ll do whatever it is, just leave… please… don’t make me do this…”

She shakes her head, “Do what? Baby, I-”

“Go!” You roar. Behind the word is something else. A force so strong it knocks the wind from Natasha’s chest. “Get out!”

She can’t breathe, her heart begins to trip over itself. Panic, terror, pain, all combine making her brain misfire in every direction. A low keening rises from you, with the sound the emotions become more and more pronounced. Natasha can’t even reach her concern for you anymore, there’s only this, this inescapable feeling of pure fear. Curling into a ball she tries to focus.

Slowly you rise, looking down at her. When her eyes meet yours she’s struck by how black they are, the pupils so huge they seem to take up more space than your irises ever did. They look… inhuman. For a second it quells the suffocating fear.

“Please…” Desperately Natasha reaches up for you, silently begging you to know her, all of her, in that way only you can. Instead, your hand slowly lowers, aimed for her head.

This is fine, Nat thinks, eyes closing. Strangely, she’s at peace with the thought that if she died here, by your hand, at least then you’d feel her, know she came for you even if she was too late.

The distinct crackling of electricity followed by a thud beside her meets her ears. Breath begins to fill her chest as her heart slows. Something happened to you… A new sense of panic breaks her from the stupor she’d fallen into.

You’re unconscious, one of Clint’s shock arrows stuck to your back. Vaguely, Natasha is aware of the shuffling feet near the door. Someone grabs her shoulders. Logically, she knows they’re helping her up but she isn’t operating on logic. Without thought, she blindly lunges at this faceless person. Flesh contacting flesh with an effective smack.

Ignoring everything and everyone else she crawls to you ripping the arrow off your limp body tugging you into her arms. With every ounce of strength, she has she clutches your back to her chest. Your head lolls on her shoulder as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha whispers against your skin. “I’ve got you. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok, baby.” Tears burn the backs of her eyes, pricking like a thousand needles. She refuses to allow them to fall. Tears won’t help you.

“Nat?” Clint’s voice is level like he’s speaking to one of the kids. “Nat, we need to get her some help. Will you let us do that?”

Clarity dawns. Her eyes scan the room to find Steve rubbing his neck. It was Steve who she’d lashed out at. “St… Steve?”

“I’m ok,” his smile is weak but he’s sincere. “Will you let me carry her?”

The thought of letting you go… but Clint was right. Your skin feels clammy, your breath shallow… scarily so… Natasha nods and he cautiously approaches, not wanting another fist to the throat.

Steve lifts you from her arms like you weigh nothing. Despite his bulk, he’s so gentle, ensuring you’re supported properly. Clint and Sam flank her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before trekking to the jet.

Immediately Sam begins hooking you up to oxygen and a saline drip. He says something about your oxygen levels and heart rate that doesn’t sink in. All Natasha can do is stare at you, horrified and amazed in equal measure that somehow you’re back with her. Somehow after all these years, she has you again.

“This isn’t fucking necessary, Tony!” Natasha shakes with rage.

“I think all present parties would disagree.”

Her eyes desperately scan the room for backup but even Clint averts his gaze.

“I don’t know if you blacked out back there but all of us damn near flipped shit when your girl in there did. She’s a bomb and we have no idea what the trip wire is. Until we know exactly what’s going on we need to control the environment she’s in.” Tony collapses in a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t like it either, Nat but he’s right. We have to play it safe. For her sake as much as ours.” Clint looks so tired…

She shakes her head, “She… she won’t know she’s safe… that-” I’m here… Natasha can’t finish the statement though because she knows that’s part of the point. Seeing her had set you off.

“We’re gonna have to keep her partially sedated for at least a few days anyway, Nat.” Sam offers a half smile when she glares at him. “The withdraws from whatever they had her on will be rough, it’d be cruel to keep her fully conscious while she goes through the first part of them. She’ll come to slowly so the change doesn’t shock her.”

She knows Sam’s right. They’d had you on some sick mix of heroin and other chemicals for longer than they knew. It was the perfect combination to keep you desperate and pliable without harming your mind, leaving you an effective weapon for them.

But when she looks at your unconscious form through the view screen she just wants to hold you. Truly it feels as though her whole body is aching to wrap around yours. She wants to be the first thing you see when you wake up but… they took that from you both.

Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, “I’ll make sure she knows she’s safe, Natasha. Promise.”

Post Snap

The rain had slowed but that only meant that cold could settle in. That kind of cold that makes your insides ache.

You can’t bring yourself to move, all you can do is focus on the pain and what it reminded you of…

November 2014

Your whole body throbbed with pain. A deep, aching, hungry kind of pain. It was familiar but you weren’t certain of it until your stomach clenched.

Without ceremony, you lean over the side of the bed and heave, nothing but bile burning up your dry throat.

After you refused to kill the woman they sent you should have known they’d do this. It never took very long for withdrawal to set in and the last time it had been enough to break you… They’d send her in soon enough… And Natasha’s face or not you were fairly certain you’d end her life if it meant stopping the pain.

Anyway, it wasn’t Natasha… Hell, sometimes you wondered if there ever was a Natasha. Maybe your brain, in hopes of surviving, crafted some fantasy to comfort you…

You heave again, abdominal muscles screaming from the effort. “Fuck,” you groan, wiping your cracked lips on your arm.

It’s not until you collapse back into the bed that you realize you’re in a different cell, and this bed… well, it’s possibly the most comfortable thing you’ve felt in years. Interesting tactic for them to take.

The door opens cautiously. A dry laugh tumbles from you. Even if you wanted to attack whoever was on the other side you don’t have it in you. It’s strange though, caution isn’t usually their style.

Slowly a man with a kind smile comes into focus, a tray in his hands. He’s not in uniform, just plain street clothes. Your head cocks to the side, trying to put these pieces in place.

“Hey, thought you may want something on your stomach. Better than heaving up nothing.”

You say nothing, eyes narrowing. Focus, Y/N. Read him, come on. But your brain isn’t in the mood to obey you.

As he approaches, instinctively you curl into yourself. Thoughts of other men, other cells, flash rapidly through your mind setting your heart to thundering. The familiar feeling of your chest splitting open begins but you fight to maintain control. If they thought you attacked him…

The man clears his throat shaking his head a bit as if to fend off a fly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly he sets the tray of food at the end of the bed. “You can tell if I’m lying right?”

He extends a hand just close enough for you to reach. For a long moment, you just stare at it, confused, trying to work out what the trap here is. It’s always something there’s always something. But maybe if you played along they’d give you want you needed to make the aching stop. Fuck, you just want it to stop.

Hesitantly you let your fingers graze the back of his hand.

Quick as though you touched a hot stove you withdraw. Bad idea. You couldn’t control it. So many images tumble in your mind. Faces, names, voices. A small sound comes from you as your hands grasp your head, trying to keep it from flying apart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you ok? Can you open your eyes?” Sam, his name was Sam, is kneeling beside the bed looking up at you with earnest eyes.

Slowly things come back into focus and you know one thing for certain. He’s not lying to you. This Sam, whoever he may be, does want to help you. You don’t trust him, he could be being used, but it’s been a long time since someone was near you that didn’t mean you harm.

“I… it was too much at once…” Your body relaxes a touch, “Thank you, Sam.”

There’s that familiar flash of surprise before he responds, “Wanna tell me your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Good to meet you,” his smile is true. “Think you can eat something?” Blankly you stare at the trey, the thought of eating making your abdomen clench. “If you can eat a bit I can give you something that’ll help with the pain.”

Saltine crackers had never looked so appealing and horrifying all at once. Taking a deep breath you scoot down the bed and pick one up with a shaky hand.

The salt explodes on your tongue as though it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Your stomach growls demanding more. In an instant you’re reaching for another cracker.

“Take it slow,” Sam smiles brightly as he pulls up a chair close enough to be personable but not uncomfortable. “If you’re feeling hungry that’s a good sign. Means your system is getting closer to being clear.”

“What’d they have me on?” You ask before taking a deep drink of water.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, “It was a cocktail. An addictive one.”

You didn’t really need the details, nor did you want them in all honesty. Knowing wouldn’t change anything. One thing you did want to know…

“Where am I?”

Sam holds your gaze, clearly weighing his response carefully. “Somewhere safe.”

“That’s a shit answer.” Your hands shake as you sip the oversized mug of broth. It’s hot and stings your chapped lips a bit but you nearly groan from the taste.

“True.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in New York. With people who want to help you. Can that be enough for now?” His sincerity hits you, a warm wave of emotion, unlike anything you’ve felt in so long.

You’re too tired to fight, “For now.” The half-empty mug clatters to the trey as it slips from your hands. Mindlessly you itch at your arms, every nerve feels like it’s tingling, almost enough to drive you crazy.

Sam stands, crossing the room. Your eyes follow him as he places his thumb on a pad causing a small door to open. “This will help that.” He holds up a vile and syringe.

Fear chills your over-warm body instantly. However, your eyes light on your arms, scratch marks red and irritated, and despite the food, everything still hurts… badly. Plus, who gave a fuck what you wanted. He may be kind but you were still in a cell, still a prisoner.

Habitually you hold your arms out. With a gentle touch, he grips your wrist, locating a non-ruined vein and injects whatever new concoction these helpful people have for you.

As it works its way through your blood the aching does quiet some, your nerves stop their incessant tingling. A deep sigh escapes you. Whatever it was it felt good. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the food, or just soul-deep exhaustion but your eyes flutter and you sway.

“Here,” Sam grips your shoulders, guiding you to the plush pillows. Suddenly you see a flash from him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?” Through your half-lidded eyes, you see his confused expression and feel just a touch of fear.

“Your friend. Riley. I’m sorry.”

He looks away, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” When he looks back his eyes are glassy, “Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll check back in on you soon.”

It had been six… no seven days… They blurred together into one purgatorial haze.

Natasha hadn’t left the observation room off your cell the entire time. Sleeping on a cot next to the viewscreen just to feel closer to you… when she slept that was. But after Sam had assured her that his exchange with you earlier was an excellent sign she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. That little touch of relief better than any sleeping pill.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out but a sudden cry instantly pulls her from sleep.

You’re still in the bed, very much unconscious, but… You’re thrashing, so much so it’s hard to tell if you’re not seizing. The only thing convincing her that you’re in the grips of a terrible dream is the cries of terror filling her ears. Then…

“Natasha!” Your desperation and pain feel like a bullet straight through her heart. A red light flashes in the observation room, the others are coming, she has to get in there now before anyone can stop her.

“Natasha! Don’t!”Clint’s voice barely hits her ears as the door to your cell slams shut behind her.

For a moment she can’t breathe or move. The air of your cell is thick, swamp-like with your emotions. Taking a deep breath she gathers herself.

With effort, she focuses on every good memory she has of you, every happy moment, every safe tender night and… love. She pulls that core emotion around her like a cloak hoping it will somehow reach you.

“Get out of there, Natasha!” Tony’s voice is harsh through the speaker. She ignores him, almost to you.

A scream accompanied with a wave of abject terror and images of a lab almost send her to her knees. She doesn’t falter though, tears stream down her cheeks, her body shakes but still, she moves toward your thrashing form.

Slowly she lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, laying on her side. Her arms wrap around you, pinning your arms. Her legs do the same around yours holding you steady.

“No!” You screech as your head flings back. She barely avoids the hit.

She’s not feeling the fear you’re pumping out though, not anymore. All she feels is relief. It springs from some part of her she had forgotten about. You’re in her arms, the ache she’s felt for years quieting.

“Y/N, you’re dreaming baby.”

“Natasha, no!” You sob as an image of her own bloody body slams into her. She just holds you tighter.

“That’s not me. I’m right here. I’ve got you, Y/N.” She feels a shift in your body. “Do you hear me? Focus on my voice baby… Come back to me, Y/N… please.”

You gasp, “N… Natasha…”

“That’s right.” You’re no longer thrashing so she slides her hands to grasp yours. “It’s me.” Natasha keeps her mind focused on all those good memories that got her from the door to the bed. Focused on the love she feels for you.

A thick sob bubbles from you causing your torso to shake. You try to turn in her arms and panic grips her, remembering your reaction in the base.

“Keep your eyes closed ok? Can you do that for me?”

You nod and she helps you turn to face her. You’re so gaunt, so clearly battered, but somehow still so fucking beautiful to her.

A trembling hand releases hers rising to find her face. Natasha hears the speaker click, but her free hand shoots up, signaling them to shut up. Your fingers lay gently on her cheekbone, from there they slowly trace her features stopping on her lips.

In a movement as natural to the both of you as breathing you pull one another even closer, your lips fitting together perfectly.

Natasha nearly cries out with joy at that long forgotten warm feeling of love that always flowed form you when your lips met hers. It was thick and golden like-

“Honey.”

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

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