Emerald Eyes - Natasha Romanoff x Reader Oneshots

To The Ends of The Earth

This one isn't exactly the happiest one shot, forgive me😬 It's how I cope with saying goodbye to Nat, if you read this before I post it on tiktok act surprised, okay? thanks, anyways here's the full extended version :)

TW: Death, mentions of violence

Context: Life with Natasha Romanoff was everything you ever needed. From the Battle of New York to the Battle of Earth. You follow the blossoming story of y/n and Natasha, navigating through life, love, and loss. But not everyone gets a happy ending.

Inspired by the song "Meteor Shower" by Cavetown and @Lesbihonestguys

To The Ends of The Earth

Finding Natasha Romanoff was possibly the greatest gift God has graced upon you. Before her, you couldn't remember a single thing as memorable as she was. She bled through every moment of your life and every thought in your mind. She was the missing puzzle you had longed for. The missing ballad in your life. She meant the world to you, and you made sure she knew every chance you got.

You first met her the day of the Battle of New York, being a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent required you on the field. You didn't think you were qualified enough to even help, but they needed all hands on deck and you were the closest unit. One thing was right, you definitely were not qualified enough, yet at least, you barely managed to hold your own before a skilled red-headed assassin had to save your ass.

After that, the rest was history. She moved her training courses to match yours, even though she didn't need them, she managed to get your profile and watched you from afar. She even changed her coffee place to yours just so she got to see you everyday before work. She would pay the barista for whatever drink you ordered without telling you it was her until you started seeing eachother. After 8 months of dating you told her you loved her, and you meant it with every bone in your body. She said it back 2 months after, and once she did, she never stopped. She would whisper it to you every night and morning you awoke beside her and seal it with a kiss. Natasha payed attention to detail, and the one she favored most was the fact your favorite color was blue. She would spontaneously leave you bouquets of blue flowers, from anemones to irises, with a letter attached to each one, explaining the meaning behind each of them. Never letting you forget about how they represented desire, love, and the metaphysical striving for the infinite and unreachable.

And you never did forget. It became imprinted in your mind and soul, just like she did.

Your time spent together was everlasting. Even when Natasha would come home broken and rough from missions, you would wash away her bruises and kiss her scars. She'd let you cleanse her; she'd let you love her. And you promised yourself you would do it a million times over until you both grew old and wrinkly. Until you two would dance faintly to the sound of music with your backs breaking. But it wouldn't matter, because you'd have her, and that was all you needed. You would tell her everyday.

On one particular night, she came home a bit heavier, a bit colder, a bit less of herself. She didn't utter a word, didn't crawl to sleep beside you, didn't stroke your hair and kiss you goodnight. She just layed emotionless on the couch that stood within your New York apartment.

It wasn't until she sobbed in your arms about her mission. Your heart ached at the way she was eating herself away with guilt. You'd done this plenty times before to know what Natasha needed. It didn't get any easier seeing her like this, but soothing her wounds had grown easier, grown familiar, without the fear of her pushing you away. Your hands stroked her hair and the space below her waist tenderly, rubbing soothing circles into her skin. She wept into your shoulder as you hummed to calm her down, biting back your own tears. After she had slowed her breathing, she cracked, telling you how she watched a family fall victim to the cross fire, the hate in this world. Breaking in your arms as she recalled the image of a little boy mindlessly playing on the street until his mother ran out, screaming his name to protect him from their ill fate. But it was useless. Natasha had watched as the mother cradled her son in her arms as a missile landed right on top of them. The words barely making it out of her mouth as she cried, "my fault, my fault, my fault."