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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Natasha was a collector, a curator of the finest things the world had to offer. She obtained rare artifacts meant for museums, paintings made by the historical elites, and a very long list of other various means of artistic expression.
If she wanted it, it became hers, even if that meant breaking laws from time to time to secure it. Money is power, so she ruled.
One of the things she collected, what actually inspired her to start her life of curating, was a porcelain doll with the prettiest of features. It was given to her by her neighbor friend, Sara, as a way to say goodbye before she moved.
Natasha loved that doll more than life itself, which wasn't hard to believe with the life she'd been dealt. It broke her heart when she woke up in the army vehicle to find it was gone.
Dreykov grinned devilishly at the little girl, he held the delicate antique in his hands, she sobbed openly knowing of her cruel, twisted fate. Tears cascaded down pale cheeks as the man ripped the doll in two, tearing away her far off dream of a full life, taking away her will to fight for that dream; but it didn't die.
It was a long time before she obtained that freedom, and it's been an even longer time since she escaped to chase a new one.
A dream that lead her right to you.
She remembers the first time she walked down the streets of New York with Clint, he'd taken a strong liking to her. A paternalistic need to show her love, and to show her how life could be; the inspiration for his willingness to walk down the streets of a bustling Manhattan.
He was blabbering on about all he'd planned for the day, just to find he'd lost her attention to a little hole in the wall thrift shop. He had jogged back to her, ready to scold her for not stopping him, but he paused at her expression.
Natasha was transfixed on a doll, he'd seen her reflection surrounding it, slightly muffling its features, but he saw the redheads clearly. There was a spark of vulnerability in her eyes that he knew ran deep, it was the first time he'd ever seen her walls fall like this. It was sweet.
Clint shook his shoulders of his trepidation for the sake of the redhead. Superstition had him in a chokehold but he didn't have it in his heart to break hers so he bought the 'creepy' hunk of porcelain for her anyways. Then he silently vowed to take a bath in salt to placate karma.
Years later he told Nat about that feeling, and his noble act of bravery. She then watched in amusement as the Avenger jumped at the sight of five dolls clustered in a corner. Laughing in his face mockingly as she felt truly offended.
His words of misfortune proved untrue, only a year after she found that doll did she find you.
Her precious Y/N, you were the picture of perfection in her eyes that only sparkled for you. Your gorgeous features showed of an equally as tormented upbringing, but your heart radiated with a joy that was unfazed.
