This will be a primarily Natasha Romanoff oneshot book, but I'll sprinkle in some Scarlett Johansson ones as well. SJ stories will be labeled with her initials.
It will be female reader.
Started 10.14.2021
Ended TBA
It will be updated as frequently...
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"A part of me will always be broken Y/N," Natasha whispered, her body in defense mode as she tried to hide the devastation racking through her. You froze at the sound of premature mourning leaving her, as if she thought this was the moment you'd finally leave her.
Take away the only safety she'd ever found; her heart, she held onto it somehow but she'd lose it with you.
She's mistaken, your throat burned at the thought, as if you could ever do such a thing. You shook your head and smiled away the thought, you tilted her red, snotty face up with a finger beneath her chin to make sure she hears you, "oh honey, that's okay," her auburn brows ticked and you gently wiped away the freshest tears.
"I choked you," she reminded you in disgust, her frame started to shake again so you scooted closer to pull her unusually frail body into yours. She resisted but you trapped her arms between your bodies and she melted into the pressure you applied, she shifted slightly and cried against your bare shoulder in broken strings that fractured your soul, intimately intertwined with hers.
"These cracks you speak of, they offer me the chance to love you harder my dear," you paused and reached out to wipe her face clean with aloe infused tissues. Then you pecked her bitten lips, ignoring the salty taste as a smile bloomed as you finished your thought out loud, whispered on her cheek, "all it is, is extra space to fill."
Natasha's barely beating heart stuttered in her chest as your happiness electrified her back to life. "I love you."
A humorless laugh left your lovers lips, she was in total disbelief of your never ending well of compassion. You watched her go to reach for you but then her hands retracted—eyes despondent as she caught sight of the oxidized red that etched the skin of her hands and arms. Her eyes traced over the bob in your throat, the one pained by the imprint of her hand on the muscle.
"Don't slip backwards Natasha," you begged even though your voice was hoarse, "I am okay, this is not the end of our love story—I trust you with all of me."
You kissed your teeth when her cold fingertips traced over the heated skin of your throat, tracing the outline her fingers left behind and she offered you a promise in her soft touch—she was here to stay. "I love you too."
