korgidorgi

[korgidorgi]

Ten points for you

pairing: officer!maria hill x reader

summary: you and maria are sent undercover as a married couple for an operation, the problem? you’re both too competitive, too good at your job… and way too stubborn to lose the game of one-upping each other.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fake dating, kissing (but not explicit), sarcasm, emotional confusion, mentions of danger, men

an: I fully believe maria hill is out there, somewhere, hanging out with natasha and fury, alive and having fun.

☀️ Summer with A masterlist ☀️

You adjust the stiff collar of your blouse, glaring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror like it insulted your tactical instincts. "Married," you mutter to yourself, "to her, of all people."

Maria Hill walks in like she owns the world, because let’s be honest, she kind of does. Crisp navy blazer, holstered glock at her hip, and a smug little arch to her brow that says she already knows you were talking about her.

"Still trying to psych yourself up, sweetheart?" she asks, voice velvet-smooth and laced with mock sympathy.

You snort, turning to face her fully, “just making sure I don’t accidentally punch you in the face during the vows."

She smirks, "please, you’d ruin your manicure."

"My manicure is a strategic weapon."

"Right. Just like your snoring is a tactical advantage?"

You blink, "excuse me?"

"Oh, don’t look surprised," she says, brushing past you to fix her lipstick. "We’ve been married for five minutes and I already need earplugs."

You scoff, unable to hide your grin, "this is going to be a long mission."

The assignment is simple on paper: infiltrate an elite, private security firm suspected of trafficking intel to foreign entities. They’re only interested in recruiting "power couples", such as military spouses, ex-CIA duos, that kind of thing. Which is how you and Hill, somehow the two most stubborn officers in the agency, ended up with matching rings and a shared apartment in a penthouse with far too little personal space.

On the first night, you fight over who gets the left side of the bed. Naturally.

"I prefer the left," you argue.

"I outrank you," she counters.

You squint, "this isn’t a debriefing, Hill. It’s a bed."

She lifts one brow, "then act like you’ve seen one before."

You lunge for the left side just as she does. You both land on the mattress at the same time, laughing a bit.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, already sprawling defiantly across the middle.

She lays beside you, arms behind her head like she doesn’t have a care in the world, "and yet, you’re still here. Married to me."

"Under duress."

"Mm-hmm. Denial’s the first stage, babe."

The operation ramps up fast. By day, you’re both the picture of tactical perfection, running drills, charming suspects, and subtly gathering intel like the professionals you are. By night, you’re bickering over dish duty and trying to out-do each other in ridiculous "spouse-like" displays.

"Did you really bake muffins for the neighbors?" you ask one morning, eyes narrowing.

Hill casually pours her coffee, "I’m making friends. You should try it sometime."

"You poisoned them, didn’t you?"

Her lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile, "would I do that?"

"... yes."

Thankfully she didn´t poison them.

There’s a running scoreboard on the fridge now. A literal one. You started it as a joke. Points for who gets the most intel. Points for who can be the more convincing spouse. Points for public affection that makes the other one flinch.

Maria earns six points for kissing your cheek at the firm’s cocktail party without warning.

You earn four by calling her baby in front of the director and not cracking a smile.

She gets three for whispering, "let’s go home, darling," in your ear during a fake argument that nearly made your knees buckle.

You're up to ten when you dramatically feed her cake at a company picnic and she almost chokes.

Neither of you has mentioned how close the score is. Or how blurred the lines are getting.

But you both feel it.

The way her gaze lingers a little too long when you’re getting ready. The way you press just a little closer when you pose for undercover photos. The way neither of you will admit that maybe - just maybe -you’re enjoying this.

"You know," she says one night, sitting on the balcony with her wine glass tipped toward the moon, "you’re not half bad at pretending to be in love with me."

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, heartbeat annoyingly loud in your ears, "please. You’ve been fake-swooning over me since day one."

She grins into her glass, "maybe it’s not all fake."

Your breath catches... just briefly.

You smirk to cover it, "well then, maybe we should up the stakes."

She looks at you, dark eyes gleaming, "what do you propose?"

You shrug, "first one to actually fall for the other… loses."

Maria Hill stands, steps closer, and lowers her voice just enough to make your skin hum, "game on, darling."

The mission starts to crack.

Not because you’ve gotten sloppy, you and Maria are still terrifyingly effective. But the longer it goes, the tighter the wire you're both walking. The closer the line between fake and real gets. The more often you catch her looking at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention. The more often you pretend you don’t.

The scoreboard now has tally marks scratched in the corner, labeled emotional damage. Neither of you will admit who added them.

You’re three weeks in when things get messy.

The dinner party is sleek and sharp, much like Maria in that black suit you pretended not to notice her adjusting three times in the mirror. You’re mingling in enemy territory, crystal glasses in hand, listening to millionaires talk about shell companies and laundering schemes like it’s small talk over brunch.

You and Maria are playing the married game tonight. Just enough public affection to be seen, not enough to be watched. Her hand is on your lower back when it needs to be. Yours rests on her thigh when you’re sitting. It's all part of the act. Points awarded for subtlety.

You're about to excuse yourself to plant a tracker in the host’s office when the room dips in temperature.

One of the bigger men the 'muscle' type who somehow still wears a gold chain under his suit answers a call, walks into the middle of the room, and raises his voice just enough for the tension to snap.

"I’ve got confirmation. Someone here’s a plant. Couple, supposedly. From an agency. They’re here to take us down tonight."

Your heart skips. Maria’s hand brushes yours under the table.

No names. No photos. But enough for everyone to get suspicious.

Around you, laughter slows. The champagne tastes stale. Eyes begin scanning the room, looking for anything too polished. Too posed.

Too fake.

Maria leans in, low voice in your ear, "time to earn those points, darling."

You glance at her and almost forget you're supposed to be worried, "go big?"

"Always."

You're walking through a corridor you’re definitely not allowed in, but you have to go there, to put the mic there, to get at least a bit of the info. After few minutes of setting things up, you can hear steps in the same hallways you came in. And the only exit from this room. Shit.

You and Maria freeze. There’s a pause.

Then you mutter, "we could fight-"

Maria interrupts, "we could make out."

You blink, "wow, was that a suggestion or a dream come true?"

She’s already crowding you into the wall, mouth ghosting your jaw, "I’m multitasking."

And then she's kissing you like you’re the only thing that exists. You barely get a breath in before her hands are on your waist, and yours are in her hair, and you’re putting on a show so convincing it deserves an Oscar.

"Hey! You two- this area's off-limits!" Boots echo behind you. A guard turns the corner. Stops.

"Uh- sorry- I didn’t realize... I didn’t mean to interrupt." He should tell you that the area is off-limits once again, but... how can a guy say to the two beautifuly women to stop making out?

Maria stop for a second, looks at the guy, then back at you. She pulls you closer, breath hot against your lips as she murmurs just loud enough, "We’re busy."

The guy practically runs away. The door across the hall clicks open.

You both stop kissing, eventually, and grin at each other like lunatics.

"That’s gotta be at least five points," you say, trying not to gasp.

"Ten," Maria pants, "I tasted commitment."

The mission ends with fireworks. Figuratively. Though you do blow up one of their getaway cars.

You and Maria take down the operation clean, data stolen, assets frozen, and the ringleader face down in a wine cellar. You didn’t even break a heel.

And yet... something in you deflates when the plane takes off, leaving the mission and the mansion lights behind. The fake wedding rings are on the tray between you. The scoreboard is saved on your burner phone. You’re pretty sure neither of you will delete it. Maria is sitting across from you now, sipping whiskey like it doesn’t burn.

You swallow, "well. That’s that."

"Mission complete," she says. "You were a decent fake wife."

"You weren’t so bad yourself. Ten out of ten for tongue tactics."

She raises an eyebrow, "that’s what earned me the win?"

"No," you admit, "that’s what made it a tie."

She doesn’t smile this time. Just studies you for a long moment before finally saying, quieter, "well… I feel like we both lost."

You don’t disagree. Later, when you're almost asleep, she says it again. Only this time, she’s whispering it against your shoulder.

"I feel like we both lost."

You reach for her hand under the blanket. Lacing fingers. "No," you whisper, "we just didn’t win the way we expected."

Thank you for reading!!!

[korgidorgi]

You Have Me

Yelena Belova x Reader You fall out with your Dad [A/N] - Trying to get back into writing after being so horrendously sick over the past couple of days :(

You check your phone worriedly for what feels like the hundredth time this evening and Yelena sighs dramatically “Are you watching this film or not? Because I let you pick and now you’re not even paying attention-”

“Sorry.” You sigh.

She looks at you, raising an eye-brow at your subdued response. You both normally bicker over everything, knowing it’s never serious “What’s wrong?” You don’t respond immediately and she groans “You drive me insane.”

“I’m sorry.” You run a hand through your hair “It’s just… You know the last time I saw my Dad we had that big fight? Well, I text him a couple of days ago to apologise and suggest that we meet up and he hasn’t replied. And I know he’s seen it, it has the two blue ticks.”

Yelena’s eye-brows furrow “He hasn’t replied? What an asshole.”

You swallow “I think maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

Yelena looks at you for a moment before sighing and moving further along the couch to put her arm around you “No, no, you’re over thinking-”

“Well what the hell else am I meant to think? We haven’t seen each other for, what, a month, he doesn’t contact me at all during that time and now I’ve finally reached out and he’s just ignored it?”

“Maybe you need to go see him in person-” You immediately shake your head and she sighs. Yelena knows your relationship with your Dad has always been difficult at best “Maybe… Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

“How can you say that?”

“Well, let’s be honest, whenever you came back from seeing him you always felt like shit, he was never very nice to me, never very nice about pretty much anything-”

You huff “Oh and Alexei is a role model parent?”

“Oh no he’s a piece of shit who helped traffic me and my sister as kids, you know that.”

“So why do you still talk to him?”

Yelena shrugs “Because… Well, because he’s never said he’s sorry but I believe he is anyway. And because I’m not exactly swimming with family members or close friends.” She pushes a strand of hair out of your face “You know that argument wasn’t your fault, right?”

“But I shouldn’t-”

“No, I’m so sick of him thinking he gets the final say in everything just because he’s your Dad. He doesn’t even know the first thing about you! He couldn’t even name your favourite band and they’ve been your favourite since they were twelve, I didn’t even know you back then and I know this.”

“Well he doesn’t-”

“He couldn’t even name your closest friends Y/N! At least Alexei remembered my favourite song-”

“You don’t get it!”

Yelena sighs “Okay, look, I’m sorry. Tell me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You purse your lips together as you think for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts before speaking “It’s not… It’s not that it’s him. If that… Makes any conceivable sense. It’s that he’s my Dad. The only Dad I will literally ever have and he doesn’t think I’m worth the effort. He thinks that one argument- I mean, people cut off their parents all the time but who the fuck cuts off their own kid? I’m not a bad person, right? It was just one fight, one disagreement-” Your eyes water.

Yelena runs a hand through your hair, her expression and voice softening “Hey… Don’t get upset, please... You’re right; you’re not a bad person. Okay? And the fact that you reached out first shows what kind of person you are.  And if he can’t be bothered then fuck him.”

“But-”

“No seriously, fuck him. You have loads of people who love you, you don’t need him.” Yelena presses a kiss to your forehead “We’ll find you another Dad, a surrogate Dad.”

You snort through your tears “Oh yeah? Like who?”

“Bucky.” You snort again “I’m serious, Bucky thinks you’re awesome! And I bet he could name your favourite band!”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m not kidding! And I know he’s not your favourite person but Alexei loves you too, he thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And he’s not wrong.”

You roll your eyes and wipe at a tear on your face “Now you’re being lame.”

Yelena grins and runs a hand through your hair “It’s not going to be easy, okay? It’s going to hurt like hell and you’re going to feel all sorts of things. But I’m going to be here to hold your hand every step of the way, alright?”

You nod and then glance down at your phone again “He’s not going to reply, is he?”

Yelena sighs “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” You both sit in silence for a moment before she speaks again “You’ll always have me. You know that, right?”

You nod and reply quietly “Yeah… Yeah, I know.”

“Good.” She kisses your cheek “Now clearly this movie isn’t holding your attention so let’s do something else.”

You nod, putting your phone to the side “Yeah. What shall we do?”

Yelena grins “Why don’t we play another prank on John?”

You roll your eyes but grin too “He’s going to kill us some day. You know that, right?”

Yelena stands and takes your hand, pulling you up from the couch “Perfect, we can’t be sad if we’re dead. Come on.”

You laugh and follow after her. You don’t know if your Dad will text back or ever speak to you again but right now, you don’t care. It’s going to be a long road ahead but as long as you have Yelena by your side you know you’ll be okay.

[korgidorgi]

Could you write a Zora Bennett x f!reader? Reader and Zora are a couple but no one knows, reader jumps in the water to save the girl Teresa and her and the family get separated from the group ending up on the other side of the island, Zora is calm and composed on the outside but inside she's panicking and wondering where her girlfriend is and if she is okay, in the end they reunite at that old lab site (like in the movie) and kiss

Thanks if you'll write this 😊

Title: Prehistoric

Ship: Female!Reader x Zora Bennett

Warnings: Cannon-Typical violence, Sexual references, almost drowning, possible Jurrassic Park Rebirth Spoilers, and horrible grammar

My everything taglist 💕: @thinking1bee (Let me know if you want to be added!)

[A/n: This is not my best work, I need to learn how to write Zora a little better because god fucking damn.. her ARMS]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Small, desperate, hands gripped blindly at the waterlogged shirt that clung to your skin. The coolness of the rapids nearly took the sensation away entirely, but on instinct, you gripped right back. You could taste the grit of the dirt, the sharpness of blood that had filled your mouth when the raft overturned.

Stay alive, stay alive, stay alive.

It had turned into a numb mantra in the last 48 hours on the island. The fight was slowly threatening to drain from you, even as Isabella clawed in a desperate fear, her cold nose tucking into the small of your throat.

“You’re okay, it’s okay.” The shaking of your voice betrayed you, but the steadiness of your gaze did something to ease Reuben’s own fears. “That’s one hell of a raft.”

Teresa barked out a laugh that was fueled by her own fear and relief mixed into a deadly cocktail. It was hope, a small burst of it in a situation so unbelievably dreadful. The raft was held steady as you attempted to gain footing on the silt base of the river to lift Bella from your arms. She whimpered brokenly and nuzzled in closer.

Reuben shouldered the weight of the raft against the current “Mija, you have to let go.”

She only tightened her hold. With some awkward shifting, you hauled yourself up and out of the water. Your arms burned, your mouth filled with the bitter taste of metal once more as the cut against your cheek reopened. Some relief washed over you when you finally got a chance to untense.

Bella seemed to relax into your hold. Her father was the last to crawl in and took up solace right next to you. Teresa shook in Xaviers arms, and the hush that fell over all of you was comfortable, yet heavy.

“I can take her, if you’d like.” He rumbled.

“That’s alright, she’s kind of like a weighted blanket. I think she’s asleep.”

Instinctively, you hugged her closer when she trembled from the cold. She was just as much a comfort to you as you were to her and Reuben seemed to realize that. These last hours on the island, you had been an echo of safety.

On and off, you’d regretted our split-second decision to dive off the boat and into the ocean waters after the struggling family. Reuben had dealt with the volatility of open water on more than one occasion, but the island had a different story. Dinosaurs were a different story.

The prehistoric creatures were better left in the past. Despite the elated joy on Henry’s face at the first sight of one in the wild. More than anything, the doctor believed in safety and preservation. You hoped that he’d fared well. Knew that he would with Zora at his side.

Your entire body ached relentlessly, but your chest did more.

You missed her.

The natural earth scent that she carried, the softness of the mossy-green in her eyes. You were wrapped against her on the boat, the gentle sway lulling you both into a state between sleep and wake. The salty bite of the sea mixed with the sweat that had dried on your skin. She traced her nails up and down your bare spine.

Kincaid had given one warning knock on the cabin door before barging in. It had given you enough time to drop into the space between the wall and the bed that was much too small to begin with. You’d bit your hand to keep from laughing as Zora stumbled through her words.

She thanked him for updating her on the coordinates before ducking out with an apology for interrupting her sleep. There was a tightness to his voice that gave him away, one that you would poke fun at for the rest of eternity. But giggling as you popped back up would have to suffice for now.

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“Why don’t you make me, Zora Bennett?”

She had made you, multiple times, in fact, until you stopped shutting up and started getting louder.

Now that you were out here, without her, you wished so desperately that you’d savored the last press of your lips against her own, the way she sighed in content and you swallowed the noise just as contentedly.

“You love her?” Rueben asked.

You chuckled dryly “Well, she’s quite cute, but we’ve only known each other for a day.”

He lifted an eyebrow and reminded you too much of a disappointed father in this moment, but his lips quirked up at the edges and there was a mirth to his soft eyes. You had wondered if he sailed full-time. He had the calluses on his hands to support your theory.

Your eyes darted to Teresa and Xavier. They had slumped into exhaustion, a water-logged sweatshirt covering them both. The rushing water around you was an even push and pull. You tried to mentally will the feeling in your stomach towards peace instead of nausea. The last thing you needed was your vomit attracting some type of prehistoric water creature.

“Yeah, I do.” You winced as you straightened one of your legs. If you got out of this, you’d need stitches. One of Bella’s t-shirts had been soaked through with your blood. Teeth had gnashed through sinew and skin. “We met at a job in Strasbourg. We were both sent in by separate employers to retrieve the same package. Safe to say, Zora bested me.”

Rueben laughed, shaking his head. “She gave me that impression, yes.”

“She’s headstrong. Especially then. Eventually I broke her walls down after we realized we had Kincaid in common. He’s a good judge of character. The driving force of getting us to turn around yesterday. You can thank him for that.”

“Oh, you mean I shouldn’t grovel at Martin’s feet?”

It was your turn to laugh, wincing when it jostled your leg. Now that you were off of it, the movements seemed to ebb into something more painful. Isabella whimpered against you, fingers tightening against the fabric of your shirt.

“Get some sleep.” Rueben advised, lightly tracing his fingers down his daughters spine. “I’ll keep watch until we get to the end of the road.”

You wanted to object, but a soft noise of agreement came out instead. You let sleep overtake you. If you tried hard enough, you could pretend that you were lounging on a beach. Zora’s whispers of ‘one last job’ thick against your lips.

The lab site was nothing short of eerie. The lights were run from a whirring generator, the semblance of something that used to be a convenience store rested at the center. Daylight was fading too fast for your liking. Your leg had stiffened and was close to being unusable after the two-and-a-half-mile trek here. You’d sorely missed the comfort of the raft.

You pulled your gun from your back, pointing the muzzle at the ground with safety that was drilled into your mind when you were no more than nine. You led the pack, creeping into the cement settlement with stealth.

“Zora has a failsafe. She never does anything without one. She dispatched a helicopter to fly over the island twice at sunset. If they don’t see us, they’re meant to leave.”

“What does that mean?” Teresa asked, a noticeable tremble to her voice.

“That we have to make them see us. If there’s anything left of the other group, they’ll be here. Zora will lead them.”

You knew you were putting too much faith in your girlfriend. It was by a fault. After the many excursions you’d been on with her, you trusted her with your life. The further you fell for her, the more you knew she’d always have your back, and you hers.

Your chest grew tighter and tighter by the minute. The lab site was oddly silent other than your footfalls and the panting breaths of the family behind you. Bella stuck close enough that each time you stopped, she ran directly into your legs.

A clatter on your far left made you pause. You held your hand out, stopping the rest of them where they stood. Your hand pushed towards the ground. All of you remained completely silent. You waited for any type of signal of beast or human.

The cocking of a gun gave away the latter.

You brought your own weapon up with a quickness unmatched, squinting into the darkness. It took you a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the pitch black. The figure crept closer with adept silence.

It took you a second for your mind to catch up with what you were seeing. Who you were seeing. When it did, there was a wash of relief that soaked all the way to your bones. You dropped your weapon, knowing the safety was on and that the leather strap attached to it would catch anything you released your hold on.

Zora Bennett looked worse for wear.

Dirt stained her tank-top, sweat soaking through the collar. Her hair was easily ran through and her lips parted in a moment of relief. She holstered her pistol against her hip. She seemed to forget herself, closing the distance between you.

Warm hands cupped your face, her usual birch scent was seeped with the metal of blood and sharpness of sweat. Tears pooled in her eyes as she patted against your shoulders and your sides before landing on both of your hips. Her nose nudged your own.

Zora’s breath was hot as she exhaled against you’re lips. You wanted to chase the warmth, but clenched your jaw and swallowed the river taste against you tongue. A soft noise culminated in her throat that signified displeasure.

Zora grasped your chin and led your mouth to her own. You tensed for half a second before melting into her touch. Her hands rested against your cheeks, steadied you as you whimpered against her. The relief that flooded your veins was instantaneous.

“You’re alive” You chuckled, “Fuck, Zo, you’re alive.”  

“You have no faith in me.”

“I’m repeating it for my sake, not yours.”

When she laughed, it sounded too much like a sob. She collapsed into your arms; nose pressed into the small of your neck. You held her like she was your lifeline, and god, in this moment, it felt like she was.

Your eyes met Kincade’s over her shoulder. His eyes were joyous. Shit-eating. You’d raise a certain finger to him if there wasn’t a small child a few feet away. Instead, you held her closer, felt her purr against your chest.

“Right,” She pulled away, but not entirely, her hand still touching your own. “Right. Well. We’re still fucked.”

“Nothing has growled at me for the last hour. Not after the T-Rex.”

“Huh, good sign.”

[korgidorgi]

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x medicreader

Warnings : blood, wound

Note : It’s my first time writing, and english isn’t my first language, so i apologise if it isn’t any good, i wanted to try it out :)

—————————————————————————

Natasha Romanoff hated medics. She loved the job, -or at least, it was all she’d ever known- but she didn’t like getting hurt. Not because she was scared, or hated pain. She couldn’t care less about that. But she hated being hurt because it made her vulnerable. Made her feel weak. So she tended to her own wounds, and she did it well. Stitches, sutures, bandages… she’d been used to doing it all from a very early age, and hated it when anyone had to do it for her, which, unfortunately, happened more often than she liked.

Usually, she’d hiss at medics. Swear at them just for touching her. She would limp for a week if it meant avoiding a check-up.

But all of that changed one day.

She had just come back from a mission in Japan, which, if you had to guess, hadn’t exactly gone to plan. She’d taken a stab wound to the abdomen, making it impossible for her to walk, or do anything, really. So, with gritted teeth, she accepted being taken to the infirmary. She came in bleeding out, annoyed, limping.

“Hi, Agent Romanoff. Please sit down on the bed, don’t just stand there.”

“Just stitch it up,” she said, like pain wasn’t a thing.

You rolled your eyes. “Just sit down and shut up,” you replied, gathering supplies from the table.

And for the first time ever… Natasha smiled at a medic. At someone who had to touch her skin and help her. Because you had dared to joke with her.

Taken aback, you gave her a small smile in return. You’d only treated her once before, a few months ago, and for no longer than a few minutes. But of course, you’d heard your colleagues talk about her ‘terrifying and mean,’ they said. The rumor was she hated medics, or anyone below her rank. But you’d always preferred to make your own opinions of people, not listen to gossip.

You started treating her wound. “It might sting,” you warned softly, beginning to disinfect the deep, harsh gash.

She didn’t even hiss. You looked up and saw her biting her bottom lip, repressing a sound.

“You’re allowed to make a sound, y’know. If it hurts i mean. You don’t have to hide it. We’re literally in the med bay, only hurt people come here,” you murmured.

“I’m fine,” she groaned.

“Okay.” You didn’t push.

You took a few quiet minutes to clean the blood.

“I can do that,” Natasha murmured, unsure why you were doing something she could do herself.

“It’s fine. I like cleaning blood- wait, did that sound weird?” You weren’t sure why you were even engaging with her. After all, you’d heard the stories. But you felt the need to ease the tension. To maybe, just maybe, make her more at ease with getting help.

“A little,” Natasha replied. “But I usually wipe off blood that isn’t mine, which is also weird, if that makes you feel better.”

You both smiled at that. A small connection.

“I didn’t catch your name, by the way?”

“Y/N,” you said with a smile. The silence between you wasn’t tense anymore, something you silently celebrated. You looked up again and saw her suppressing another sound.

“Romanoff, I promise, it’s okay to be in pain. That’s why we’re here, us doctors.”

“Call me Natasha,” she said softly. Then gave you a small smile. “And I usually don’t really like doctors.”

“No way??? I would’ve never guessed!” you gasped in fake surprise.

“Oh, so you’ve heard about me?” A crease formed between her eyebrows.

“Everyone’s heard of the Black Widow. But don’t worry, I don’t care enough to make an opinion based on gossip.”

She smiled again. It surprised you, how much she seemed to be smiling at you. For someone so known to be cold and cruel.

“It’s just… I prefer to do it myself. Stitches and all. I don’t like someone having to do it for me. I don’t like feeling helpless and…” She trailed off, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Vulnerable?” you guessed.

Her eyes met yours. “Yeah,” she sighed.

“Being hurt doesn’t make you weak. Especially in this line of work. It means you fought like hell. Fought for a good purpose, and you were ready to get hurt to make the world better. And given your past… it’s the world that owes you, not the other way around.”

You didn’t know what came over you. But you needed her to know. To feel safe. Here. With you.

Natasha looked slightly shocked too. “Thank you. That… that means a lot,” she whispered, a bigger smile spreading across her lips.

The next few minutes passed in silence. You finished the stitches and wrapped the wound carefully.

“You’re very delicate,” she murmured. Natasha wasn’t used to this kind of gentle touch. Even medics were usually rough with her, scared of her, trying to get it over with as fast as possible.

“Thank you.”

“Would it-“ Natasha hesitated. “Would it be possible for you to treat me? If I get hurt again, I mean. Can I ask for you in the med bay, if you’re not working on someone else?”

You could see the softness in her eyes. The hesitation.

“Of course,” you said gently, blushing slightly. “And I’ll always make myself free for you. If I can.”

“Good to know,” she smirked.

——————

From then on, Natasha started appearing more often in the med bay, sometimes for a simple scratch. You never said anything, but it made you happy. She felt safe enough now. Safe with you. She teased you, softened around you, and even started bringing you coffee when she had free time, whether she was injured or not.

Still, you told yourself Natasha didn’t feel the same. You were just a medic. A quiet little thing in scrubs.

And she was Natasha. Beautiful. Deadly. Magnetic. Everyone wanted her, she could never like…. you.

So you smiled. You stitched her up. You kept your voice steady and your hands from shaking (mostly). You stayed her friend.

Natasha liked you. She had realized that. She didn’t know how, but she knew why. You were soft. So soft. She liked seeing your smile in the med bay. Liked sitting with you after missions. Liked the way your fingers felt against her skin. She even stopped caring if she hissed in front of you, it didn’t matter. You didn’t judge.

She was used to your presence now. Steady. Calm. Safe.

And god, she hated how safe you made her feel.

Because it was dangerous. So dangerous. She was scared to get attached. But she didn’t know how to stop.

And maybe, maybe she didn’t want to.

——————

One random Thursday, you were called for a ground mission. The Avengers and SHIELD were breaking into an active HYDRA facility. A lot of blood was expected.

You were nervous.

You were used to fieldwork, but HYDRA? HYDRA always meant chaos. Always meant bad. And lots of work for you.

You got ready, jumped in the quinjet. Germany. HYDRA facility.

Everything went fast. One moment everyone was loading up, the next they were inside the building. Fighting. Shooting. Avenging.

You stayed on the quinjet. Waiting. Until you were needed.

That’s when it happened.

“A medic! We need a medic, now!”

Clint burst into the jet, carrying someone in his arms. You rushed into action.

“Shot in the abdomen. The bullet’s still in. I have to go back, will you be okay?”

“Of course,” you replied, not even looking up. You grabbed your tools.

“Take care of her, please.”

And then he was gone.

You turned around-

“Fuck.” Your heart dropped.

It was Natasha. Of course it had to be her.

You rushed to her, grabbing a hoodie from the floor and folding it under her head like a pillow.

“Nat? Nat! Natasha! Can you hear me? Please! say something.”

Panic rose in your chest. You knew she’s had worse, but never like this. Never in front of you.

“Y/N?” Her voice was faint.

“Yes! I’m here. You’re going to be okay, Nat. I need to take the bullet out, okay? It’s going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

“Just do it, please,” she whimpered. A sound you never wanted to hear again.

You worked fast, trying to keep your hands steady. “Take my hand. Squeeze as much as you need.”

She did. Hard.

Once the bullet was out, you saw how bad it really was. How deep. How much blood she’d lost. She was shaking.

“That… that can’t be good, right?” she whispered.

“Fuck.” Your bottom lip trembled. “It’s going to be okay, Nat. It’s all going to be okay.” You didn’t know if you were trying to reassure her or yourself.

You stitched the wound, as fast as you could.

“Y/N… in case I don’t mak-“

“Shut up, Nat. Shut up.”

“No, please, listen. I need to say it. I like you. I like you a lot. I think I have for a while. But I was too scared to do anything about it.”

“What?”

“I like you.”

“I heard you the first time, but- what? I’ve always liked you too, Nat. But I thought you’d never feel the same.”

“You do?” Her eyes went wide.

“I really do,” you whispered, squeezing her hand tighter.

“Well… if you get me back to the compound alive, I’m taking you on a date.”

“Once you’re out of bed? Yeah. I’d really love that,” you chuckled, tears streaming down your face, overwhelmed.

You finished the stitches, hooked her up to the blood supply machine, and finally looked at her properly.

“I can’t believe you chose that moment to confess,” you laughed through your tears. “Did you really think you were gonna die?”

“No,” she smirked. “But you needed motivation.”

——————

A few days later, Natasha kept her promise. She prepared a rooftop picnic for the two of you. It went better than either of you expected.

Now, you were walking hand in hand through the compound gardens.

“Is your stomach okay? You really shouldn’t be walking this much, you’re still healing,” you said, concern written all over your face.

“I’m okay, darling, I promise,” she whispered. “But you know what could make me feel even better?”

She stopped and turned to you.

“Mmh?” You tilted your head.

“A kiss.”

Her smile was small. Almost shy. And she’d never felt like this. So soft. So light.

“I’d really like that,” you whispered back, stepping closer.

And then she kissed you. Gently. Pouring everything she didn’t know how to say yet into the touch. Onto your lips.

You tasted sweet. Maybe from the berries you shared earlier.

You smiled into the kiss.

And Natasha knew, right then, she was never letting you go.

——————

(I really don’t know what to think of it but i tried :))

[korgidorgi]

Off Your Game

Summary: a solo mission goes sideways, and you come back injured. Natasha takes care of you and wants answers, even if you won’t give them right away.

Pairing(s): natasha x gf!reader

Warnings: fluff, injury, angst (if you squint)

Word Count: ~1.6k

a/n: one-shot to hold u guys over bc part 3 is taking longer than i thought. ALSO i hear some people are interested in a taglist??? so if you're interested enough in my writing to want me to tag u when i post smth, pls just shoot a message into my inbox. (if u wanna be tagged only in specific posts pls lmk)

---

It was a simple recon mission really. So simple you were sent in solo, Fury having enough faith in you to trust that you could handle it alone and make it back in one piece. The mission was straightforward: gather intel, avoid detection, and report back. You didn’t know what was up with you. Lately, your focus had been less than ideal and you certainly felt the repercussions now. It had been going on for a few days, your best friend — Wanda — assuring you that it was just a minor slump, “Happens to the best of us,” you remembered her saying, not knowing that the situation was deeper than you let on. You thought that taking this assignment could be a way for you to refresh, man were you wrong. 

You didn’t know what was occupying your mind as you walked thoughtlessly into the building, barely focused on your surroundings, until you were ambushed by enemy agents. You quickly realized that the situation was far more complex than you initially thought. They had anticipated your arrival, and the stakes were suddenly much higher. You usually prided yourself on your keen sense of hearing so you really weren’t expecting any company that you didn’t already know were coming. Luckily, your ability to think on your feet allowed you to get away, but not without a bullet in your calf and a stab wound on your shoulder.

You assumed that there would be more agents to come if you didn’t move fast, so — despite the stinging ache in your leg — you rushed back to the jet and made your way to the tower.

If Natasha, your girlfriend, had nothing to do, she would wait for you by the helipad after your missions, always embracing you in a warm hug at the end a long day. Today was one of those days, except the second you stumbled out of the jet, a concerned expression plastered all over her face.

“Hey love, a little help?” you asked, your voice laced with friendly sarcasm. Something that Natasha found endearing and sometimes infuriating. At least you were still cracking jokes, meaning that you were okay, or as okay as you could be while slowly bleeding out.

“You look like hell,” your girlfriend muttered, already closing the distance. Her eyes swept over you, taking in your battered state. She quickly took your arm over your shoulder, on the side that wasn’t injured to avoid causing any further harm to the laceration. “What happened?” She tried to keep it casual, but her voice dipped lower, littered with care.

You kept the conversation going as you walked over to the med bay with her help. “Nothing, just—” you were cut off by a wince that left your mouth faster than you could stop it. “Just got distracted for a sec,” you continued.

“That’s unlike you. Anything I should be worried about?” she asked, but before you could answer her question, she continued. “You should be more careful, you’re lucky you’re not dead. If any—”

You cut her off before she could finish. “Can we continue this later, I’m really not in the mood.” You were way too tired and in pain to listen to her scold you for your stupidity. In all honesty, you had no clue why your brainpower hadn’t been up-to-par. Although Natasha was upset that you interrupted her, she respected your wishes and kept quiet the rest of the journey. 

Your arrival at the med bay had turned many heads, immediately warranting the attention of Bruce who was running some blood tests in the lab. With his help, along with the advanced medical technology that you had access to— courtesy of Stark Tech — you were stitched up in no time. Albeit, you were still walking funny and were banished to bedrest for a week or so.

---

Your girlfriend insisted on staying with you as much as her busy schedule allowed her, despite you constantly reassuring her, telling her that you were fine. She made sure you were drinking and eating enough, while also tending to your wounds and replacing the bandages every now and then.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What do you mean?” you answered, despite knowing exactly what she meant. You’ve been off your game. You were met with silence, Natasha staring at you, waiting for you to give in and start talking. After a few seconds of silence, you finally let up.

“I’ve been all over the place lately. Can’t focus on anything.”

Natasha nodded slowly, as if she’d already figured that much out. She sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle your injured leg, and rested her forearms on her thighs. Her gaze didn’t leave yours. “Yeah, I noticed,” she said, her voice low. “And you’re lucky it didn’t get you killed.”

You sighed, looking away, suddenly feeling very aware of the dull ache in your calf and the tightness of the stitches in your shoulder.

“I thought getting back out there might help,” you admitted. “Reset my head. Get back in control.”

Natasha let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Right. Because throwing yourself into a recon op while your brain’s fried is definitely the best way to recover.”

You gave her a sideways look. “I’m aware, thanks.”

She didn’t smile. Instead, she leaned in slightly, her voice softening. “Look, I’m not mad. Okay? I just…” She hesitated for a second. “When I saw you limp out of that jet, bleeding, trying to play it off like it was nothing — that worried me.”

That shut you up for a moment. You hated the idea of being a liability, being the cause of that flicker of fear in her eyes. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” you murmured.

“You didn’t think,” she corrected sharply. Then, softer, “Because you’ve been in your head too much, and you didn’t tell me.”

You glanced at her again. The anger in her voice wasn’t real anger, it was concern, thinly disguised behind habit and sharp edges. You knew it well. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it,” you said honestly.

Her expression eased up, just a little. “I already know you can handle it. But you don’t have to do it alone.” She reached over and gently took your hand, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. “You’ve got me, remember?”

You looked at her, eyes a little tired but finally meeting hers fully. “Yeah. I know.” There was a pause. The air between you felt a little less heavy.

Then she smirked. “Good. Because next time you try to hero your way through a mission with a bullet in your leg, I will tase you.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and it felt like the first real one in days. “Noted.”

The laughter faded slowly, but the warmth it left behind lingered in the room — soft, tentative. Natasha didn’t let go of your hand. She just waited, eyes steady on yours, giving you space. You hated how easily she could read you. Hated it, but also needed it. You sighed, letting your head fall back against the pillows. “It’s not just a slump.”

She didn’t say anything, but you could feel her shift, giving you her full attention.

“I’ve just been off,” you said finally. “Not sleeping. Can’t focus. I’ll sit down to work and suddenly it’s like I’m not even there. Like my head’s already moved on to something else, but I don’t know what.” You stared up at the ceiling, trying to find the words. “I keep thinking, what if I freeze up at the wrong time? What if I don’t hear something I’m supposed to, or I get someone else hurt because I’m not fast enough?”

You swallowed. That thought had been crawling around in your head for days now. It wasn’t just about you. It was about her, too. About the team. About all the people who’d put their trust in you. “I think I’ve been trying to outrun it. Like if I keep pushing forward, maybe it won’t catch up to me.”

Natasha was quiet for a long beat before she spoke, “You know that’s not how this works.”

You nodded without looking at her. “I know.”

She reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, gentle, careful not to graze the bruise on your cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said. “You’re just burnt out. And you’ve been trying to fix it by acting like nothing’s wrong, which — shocking no one — only made it worse.”

You gave her a look. “Are you lecturing me right now?”

“Absolutely,” she said, deadpan. Then, a touch gentler, “But only because I’ve been there. And I know how easy it is to pretend you’re fine when you’re not.” You let out a breath. There was something comforting about her voice. Grounding.

“So what now?” you asked, a little helpless.

She gave your hand a squeeze.  “Now we take it slow. You rest. I keep nagging you. We figure it out one step at a time. Together.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just looked at her, the strength in her gaze, the steadiness of her grip. The way she was already pulling you back from the edge without demanding you be perfect.

“Okay,” you said finally. “Yeah. Together.”

[korgidorgi]

Yelena Belova x Reader - Fanny and the Rabbit

You're Yelena's dogsitter for her akita, Fanny. Theres never been any big issues. That is, until today...

Warnings: minor injury, other than that, none :)

Barely proofread lol (gods I haven't written in FOREVER)

Word count: 2357

It’s a regular occurrence. Ever since you’ve first sat for your newest client, Yelena and her dog, Fanny, she has continued to return to your services, dropping her old sitter. It’s a brilliant gig and she pays way better than you could ever have imagined or could ask for. She’d watched you interact with her dog, who had taken a quick liking to you, which is rare. The akita is very well trained already, but clearly has attachment issues.

You’ve taken a liking to Yelena, and not just because of her dog. Her alluring russian accent captivates you, and every now and then she’ll mutter something in her native tongue. Her hair has always been nice, but then she cut it just above her shoulders and boy does she know how to style it. She’s always kind, but doesn’t take any bullshit from anyone, and can keep a conversation going forever if you let her. The two of you get along well. Sometimes too well.

It’s not too often that Yelena goes away on business, (what business, you don’t know,) but she’s usually able to bring her dog with her. However, some trips she’s unable to. Which is where you come in, with a very flexible schedule and animal centric priorities. The first gig was damn near perfect, aside from a few fits the dog threw being without her owner. But she’d returned to your services a couple months later. And she kept returning until it seemed to fall into a sort of schedule. She’s only gone for a week or two at a time, but you get free housing and food with it, as well as all the time to play with Fanny.

So that’s what you’re doing this week; sitting for Fanny and making sure the dog doesn’t have a meltdown with her mom gone. 

It's about time you go play with Fanny, patting your leg as you make your way to the door to let her out. Fanny follows, smiling happily as she trots alongside, tail wagging in anticipation for play time. As soon as the back door opens, the dog tears off, getting a lap in around the fenced yard. She then pauses for a moment, stopping to stare at a rabbit before tearing off after it at full speed.

“Fanny! Hey!” You call out sharply, hoping to steal her attention from the rabbit.

Fanny disappears behind the shed briefly before finally returning, having lost the rabbit. However, this time she’s holding one of her back legs up, refusing to put any weight on it. Your heart drops.

“Shit.” you mutter, racing over to the cream colored akita.

She pauses, letting you stoop over her and inspect her paw. You just pull off a piece of grass from her pad, having feared it to be a thorn. You gently probe the dogs foot, her toe beans, flex her leg, and… nothing. No reaction. Letting her go, she finally puts her full weight on it as if nothing had happened.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You coo to the dog, watching her closely.

You watch her walk around, not noticing a limp, but your eyes do catch a spot of blood as she steps on the stone patio. Concern immediately washes over again and you quickly usher the dog inside, sitting her in the mud room while you grab a bunch of paper towels, wetting a few of them with warm water.

“C’mere, baby, lemme take a look,” you coo as you kneel in front of her, gently lifting her bleeding paw.

Fanny stays, letting you fiddle with her front paw to wipe the blood away and inspect the paw. Her outer claw is cracked, misaligned. She must have snagged it on something and broke it. She doesn’t protest as you fuss over her, praising her for her good behavior and letting you look at her paw.

You quickly shoot Yelena a text once the bleeding has nearly stopped. You make sure to keep some paper towels and pressure on the paw while you text her owner.

“Hey, so I’d just let Fanny out the back to go play with her and she tore off after a bunny I’d failed to see. She came back but she’s managed to somehow crack one of her nails. I’m cleaning it and it’s stopped bleeding now. Not sure what she caught it on. She’s okay otherwise. What would you like me to do?”

You continue to tend to her paw, murmuring soft praises to the dog and telling her what a good girl she is.

Your phone finally dings after five minutes.

“Is it her paw or just the nail?”

“Just the nail” you text back quickly, snapping a clear picture of the damage and sending it as well. “It’s stopped bleeding now”

“Alright, give me a moment to unbusy myself”

“Do you have any gauze or wrappings?” you text again, your mind working on overdrive to care for her beloved dog.

“Should be in the cabinets under the bar area with her medication” Yelena finally shoots back. “Could you clean her paw off a bit more and send another pic?”

“Yeah, ofc, gimme min”

You quickly grab a bowl, filling it with some warm water before bringing it back over to Fanny. You gently swish her paw around the water. Side to side, back and forth, around in circles. You then put the bowl down, grabbing a couple dry paper towels, and clean the rest of the blood from the dog's cream colored fur. Once the red is virtually gone, you’re able to snap another picture of it and send it off to Yelena.

“(Attatched an image)”

“Here it is, all clean. Bleeding’s stopped”

“Okay, looks like it's a bit cracked” Yelena writes back before the texting bubble pops up as she types again. “There’s a nail grinder and clipper in the cabinet with the wrappings, not entirely sure what to do about that sort of injury, but if you could remove anything that could get caught that would be great.”

“Gotcha” you shoot back, setting your phone down to go grab the materials.

“You’re such a good dog,” you praise Fanny, rooting around the cabinets for the materials. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

You finally find what you’re looking for, except for the wrappings. You root around a few more cabinets, coming across human first aid but still finding none.

“Can’t find the wrappings” you text Yelena.

While you await a response, you begin clipping Fanny’s nail, getting as much of the damage off as you can without clipping the claw too short.

“Damn, must be out” Yelena messages back.

“I can put a sock on it if you want” you suggest to her. “The more I look at it, the better it seems to be”

“That should be fine” she messages back.

So that's what you do. You grab one of your socks, rolling the top of it down a bit, and head back over to Fanny. She lets you put her paw inside the sock, however it's not long before it slips right off.

“Okay, uh, I think I saw some tape,” you mutter to yourself before beginning to open some cabinets to find said tape.

You locate it and return to attempt the sock once more.

“You’re such a good dog, y’know that?” you coo to Fanny, giving her head a quick scratch before slipping the sock on and wrapping a strip of tape around the sock to keep it from slipping off.

Satisfied with your DIY attempt at a covering, you rest your hands on your hips, watching as Fanny walks around the house just fine now that she’s been tended to. The sock slips on the floor occasionally, but she quickly recovers and learns how to walk with it on the hardwood flooring.

“(Attached an image)”

“Fanny’s doing great now! She’s not limping or complaining, so that's great!”

“I’ll keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t lick or bite at it :)”

“Thank you so much!” Yelena writes back.

“Ofc! I want to give her the best care possible” You write back, relieved that she doesn’t seem to be upset at you for the incident.

You let her know about one task you have in a couple hours, which she seems to be fine with. So the time comes for you to do that. You’re just worried about Fanny pulling the sock off and ruining your hard work while you’re away.

On your way back, you stop by the pet store, picking up some wound spray, stiptik powder, and some wrappings. The closer you get to the house, the more tense you become, hoping you don't come back to a bloody scene.

“Hey, Fanny, I’m back, babygirl!” You announce, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

Fanny is right there at the door, wagging at your return. Thankfully the sock is still on and you can breathe a sigh of relief.

“Oh, you’re such a good girl, Fanny!” you praise the dog, closing the door and locking it behind you before turning to give her some attention and scratches. “Thank you for keeping the sock on and not fucking it all up! Such a good girl! The bestest girl ever!”

You then make your way through the house to stash the supplies you’d picked up in their rightful place. It’s a good fallback for if you need to rewrap it for whatever reason. For now, the sock will do. You then shoot a quick text to Yelena.

“Fanny is such a good girl, she has not removed the sock at all and there is no evidence of any more bleeding!”

“I also did stop by my store on the way back to pick up some wound care stuff just in case, so I’ll put that with the other dog stuff in the cabinet :)”

“Thank you so much!” Yelena writes back quickly.

“(Attached an image)”

“Baby is doing great!”

You’ve sent a photo of her cuddling with you on the couch, sporting her new (your) sock. The print on the sock is that of a cat’s paw.

The last half of the week goes by, and at some point you’ve had to swap the sock for the wrappings as it had gotten dirty from walks outside. No more bleeding, no more bunny adventures, no more panic.

Saturday rolls around, your bags are packed into your car, and you’re just awaiting Yelena’s return with Fanny draped over your lap. The sound of jingling keys, twisting locks, and tired grunts grabs both of your attentions. Fanny bolts up, ears pricked, head tilting slightly before she leaps off onto the floor and scrambles for the door.

“Heyyy, Fanny, baby,” you hear Yelena’s hypnotizing voice carry through the small house.

The jingle of the dog tags and the excited tippy tappy’s rings through the house as well. Rounding the corner, you see Yelena bent over the dog, giving her scratches as the dog covers her face with kisses, whining excitedly.

“Lemme see your paw, Fans,” she says, making the dog sit while she goes to inspect your wrapping job. “Very cute choice of bandage.”

Fanny shows off her paw printed bandage to her mom, panting happily now that her mom has returned home. Yelena finally looks up at you, noting the guilt just under the surface in your body language. You’re hanging back a bit, giving her more space to fuss over her beloved companion.

To your surprise, she strides over and engulfs you in a hug.

“Thank you for taking such good care of her,” she says, hugging you tight.

“It's-- It’s nothing,” you reply sheepishly, yet you find yourself relaxing a bit at the display, knowing that she’s not as upset at you like you thought she’d be.

You’re still expecting some chastising from her, but the longer she’s home, the less likely it is to come.

“It’s not nothing,” she replies, pulling back, her hands resting on your shoulders and giving you a small squeeze. “I know first aid isn’t an easy thing.”

“She’s been such a sweetheart,” you reply, giving her a small, nervous smile. “She hasn’t really bothered the sock or wraps. You literally have a perfect dog.”

“Of course I do, I trained her myself,” she quips back with a small laugh, giving your shoulder a pat before finally letting you go. “How much did you spend on the wrappings and stuff, I’ll reimburse you--”

You wave your hands in the air, shaking your head as you rush to answer her. “Oh, don't worry about that, it’s totally fine.”

“Nonsense,” she replies, shaking her head. “You’ve been nothing but an over-the-top carer for her, it’s the least I can do.”

“I’m serious, it’s not a big deal, it wasn’t expensive at all,” you continue to insist. “I promise, it’s fine.”

“Well, if you won't accept money, how about I treat you to dinner?” She suggests this casually, yet there’s a subtle undertone in her voice.

“I--,” you stammer slightly, feeling your cheeks and ears heating up.

“Please?” Her eyes get a little bigger as she gives you her own puppy-dog eyes.

Fanny whines from in between you two, giving you a similarly pleading look.

“You too?” You ask the dog, who just gives you another small whine, resting her chin on your leg as she looks up at you with her huge, pleading eyes.

You look back up at Yelena, giving in to the sight of the both of them.

“Yeah, dinner would be lovely,” you reply finally, biting your lip as a grin tugs at your lips.

“Great, how about tomorrow night? 7?” She suggests. “I’ll pick you up.”

“7 works perfectly,” you confirm to her.

“Great, it's a date,” she replies, grinning and giving you a wink. “Now, you get home safe. Text me when you do.”

“Will do,” you reply with a nod, biting your lip once again, trying to keep yourself from grinning like an idiot.

Once the door closes behind you, you're practically skipping to your car, unable to stop grinning to yourself.

[korgidorgi]

The First Spark

Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: A story of how you fell in love. How it was before and after she showed up at your door, broken.

It was never meant to be anything serious.

She was a little too guarded, you were a little too open, and the flirting started with sarcasm, drinks, and a mutual agreement to not ask too many questions.

But something changed the night she stayed over after a botched mission.

You had patched her up without asking, kneeling on the bathroom floor with shaking hands and whispered reassurances.

She had tried to brush it off with her usual bravado, but her eyes kept drifting to your lips when you concentrated, and she had gone suspiciously quiet every time your fingers lingered too long.

“You’re fussing,” she had muttered.

“I’m caring,” you’d corrected.

Her eyes flicked to yours. 

Dark. Studying. Guarded.

“Why?”

You smiled at her, soft and unbothered. “Because I want to.”

She had said nothing at first. Just stared. Then, she moved, so gently it barely registered, her hand rose and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Her thumb lingered on your cheekbone, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

That was the first time she kissed you.

Not a rough, desperate kiss like you had imagined. It was quiet. Testing. Like she didn’t quite believe she was allowed.

But she was.

And when you kissed her back, something inside her cracked.

You felt it in the way her hand curled around your neck. 

In the way her body melted into yours. Like she had been holding her breath for years and finally let it go.

That night, you slept on the same sofa she now sat on, legs tangled, her head buried in your neck, whispering half-conscious Russian as you traced circles into her back.

She was still Yelena.

Still strong, sarcastic, stubborn.

But she had found a soft place to land.

The next morning after she returned to you, the sunlight filtered in soft and slowly warming up the room.

You slept wrapped around her like a shield, and when you woke up, her eyes were already open.

She didn’t speak at first.

She just watched you.

Like she was trying to memorise the curve of your face in the morning light, the way your lashes touched your cheeks, the breathy sound of your sleep.

You could tell she was hurting.

Her thumb brushed your collarbone. “You didn’t lock the door.”

“I never do.”

“I hurt you.”

You reached up, letting your hand slide into her now shorter hair, It was the way grief had demanded change.

“And you came back.”

She leaned in, resting her forehead against yours.

“I didn’t think I deserved to.”

“You do.”

A breath shuddered out of her. “I lost the only person who ever stayed.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Tears pooled in her eyes, and you kissed them before they could fall. She let you, no longer flinching from the tenderness.

She let herself be held.

Later, you made her tea.

She sat at the kitchen counter wearing your jumper and socks.

She looked smaller somehow. Tired. But alive.

“I’ll tell you about Natasha when I’m ready,” she said quietly.

“I’ll wait,” you replied.

“I thought I had to protect myself from love. From needing someone. But it turns out…” She reached for your hand. “Loving you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just walked around the counter and wrapped your arms around her, burying your face into her neck.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “Always.”

She nodded.

And in the quiet kitchen, with sunlight spilling across the floor, her head on your shoulder and your heartbeat in her ears, she finally started to believe it.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[korgidorgi]

Pro Surfer Marvel AU

Chapter one

Synopsis: After a day of cameras and competition, you and Wanda retreat to your beach rental, where soft touches and quiet intimacy replace the noise. Just two athletes in love, finding calm in each other.

Pairing: Pro surfer!Wanda x Pro Surfer!fem!reader

Warnings: light competition; flirting; they eat fish; and are soft girlfriends;

Word count: 1.483

Masterlist | part two

It’s on — classic, perfect Australian waves.

Maximoff is right by your left side, defending the Sokovian flag as she sits on her board — just like you. Both of you wear lycras stamped with the LGBTQIA+ flag, eyes locked on the horizon, scanning for those blue lines slicing through the ocean. The final round is about to begin.

As the first waves roll in, you're better positioned on the inside — the priority is yours, and you take it. A good-sized wave with a tall wall rises, and you go for it. With radical, progressive surf, you slice the wave apart with clean cutbacks and send sprays of water flying — style, precision, power. You land an excellent score on your first wave, and paddle back out proud, adrenaline high.

Maximoff follows on the next wave, putting on a show of strength, talent, elegance, and experience. She’s not about to let you get too confident. Her wave is bigger, longer — and her score, a bit better than yours.

You two put on a show. Huge waves. High-level performance. Pushing each other to the edge. The audience is thrilled — this is exactly the kind of final round everyone came for.

Maximoff sits calmly, breathing slow, focused on the horizon. She’s got priority and is holding first place with the highest scores. She’s in control now, just waiting for the clock to run out and secure her third Bells Beach trophy.

But you don’t want to give it to her.

With ten seconds left, you catch a wave just under her priority. You dig in hard, determined to show the judges how badly you want this. The Sokovian legend comes in on the wave behind you, delivering another strong performance. But you're focused — this is your moment. You unleash your full repertoire: massive laybacks, critical turns, and a flawless backside air reverse to close it.

Both of you wait anxiously for the scores.

Maximoff posts a 9.54 and a 9.17 — a combined total of 18.71. Even a perfect 10 wouldn’t beat her now… but pride pushes you.

You get it.

A 10.00 and an 8.48 — totaling 18.48. Your best heat ever. Your first perfect score. And still, you came second.

It stings.

You need space. Just a moment to cool down.

But you don’t get it.

“Head up, rookie! You surfed face-to-face with her — head up!” Natasha greets you the moment you step out of the water, throwing her arms around you. She’s your coach, your best friend. You’re holding back tears. But you raise your chin, give a short interview with Carol Danvers, and just as you’re finishing, Maximoff appears, grinning.

She hugs you, warm and genuine. “That was such a fun heat — thank you!” she says, before the two of you head to the awards ceremony, champagne spraying everywhere. You wave your country’s flag, trophy in hand, happy and exhausted. Especially after that heat — and especially with her.

⋆⋆⋆

Back at the beach house, after your shower, the door creaks open.

It’s her.

Wanda looks into your still-wet, puffy eyes, and without needing a word, pulls you into a hug.

“You did so well, babe. I’m so proud of you.” She kisses the top of your head, nuzzling your freshly washed hair.

“You did too,” you whisper, resting your hands on her waist, eyes locked on hers. That look she gives you — like you’re enough, like you belong — warms something deep inside you.

“You’re such a talented baby girl,” she coos. “Getting a ten in the final ten seconds? Oof!”

You smile softly and lean into her neck, breathing in the scent of peaches and citrus. You kiss her there, light and grateful. “Thank you, love. It’s not easy surfing a final against the Maximoff. She’s… kind of incredible?"

“She is.” Wanda laughs gently, then leans in for a tender kiss — all kindness and reverence. Her left hand slides to your neck, her right to your jaw, her thumbs softly stroking your cheeks.

You melt into it, your hands brushing over her abs beneath her shirt.

“I’ve got some interviews and quick business stuff to do,” she says, pulling back just enough to speak, “but tonight? I’ll cook you dinner. Romantic and fluffy. Deal?”

“Alright.” You kiss her again, smile, and let her go.

⋆⋆⋆

“I’m really proud of this result — my third trophy here. It’s… an amazing feeling!” Wanda says on the livestream. You turn up the TV’s volume, watching her face.

“Oh, I bet,” Carol Danvers says playfully. “But come on — you surfed the final heat against your wife. And she was literally flying. What was going through your head, sharing this moment with her?”

Wanda laughs, brushing her hair back. “We have to be professionals. It’s bittersweet — she’s the love of my life, and of course I want her to win her first champions tour event. But I want to win too. That’s our job. And I love cheering for her… almost as much as I love winning.”

“Fair enough! Okay, last question — say something to all the fans watching.”

Wanda smiles into the camera. “Thank you to everyone who cheered, no matter where you were watching from. It’s a privilege to be here, and I’ll keep giving everything I have to win more events. And last but not least — I love Y/LN with all my heart. Love you, babe!”

You grin, text her:

“You’re the cutest, babe. ily.”

Then you shut off the TV, grab your laptop, and head to the balcony — time for your interview.

⋆⋆⋆

“Baby, I’m starving,” you whine, flopping into a chair. “My stomach’s eating itself!”

“Hold up, dinosaur,” Wanda says, laughing behind the stove.

You raise a brow at her perfect, muscled back, her perfect arms, and perfect round ass. “Can’t believe you’re laughing at me,” you mutter, eyes trailing over her body. “It does smell amazing though…”

“I’m almost done,” she calls over her shoulder, the smile in her voice obvious. When she finally turns around, your heart flips at her expression. “Just finishing cooking for you.”

Smirking, she turns back. You nearly combust. There she is — the softest person alive, making you a romantic dinner. You play it cool, walking over to kiss her cheek, then quietly start setting the table.

Dinner is grilled pescado with orange sauce, sautéed mushrooms, and fresh salad with olive oil. Wanda drinks non-alcoholic beer; you have coconut water.

“Oh my god,” you moan after the first bite. “This is so good.” You whine, full of joy, fully aware she’s watching your every movement like a hawk.

“That good?” she teases, clearly fishing for praise.

“This is perfect! I love you.” Her eyes shine, watching you eat like you’ve been starved. Just sitting here, talking about the heat, the intensity of the Australian leg, missing each other, and everything in between.

Just you two — and this little universe you built together.

⋆⋆⋆

As you're drying the last dish, she sneaks up behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Wanna have a night walk on the beach?” she asks, voice low, eyes half-lidded with comfort.

You lean into her warmth, humming contently. “Mhm.”

“I’m down for that açaí bowl from that little market down the beach,” she adds, brushing her lips over your cheek.

You laugh softly. “Let’s go.”

The air outside is a soft hush of salt and breeze. You slip your hand into hers as you walk, sandals in the other, the cool sand between your toes.

On the way, two fans recognize you and stop you with wide smiles and excited chatter. Wanda beams as you pose for a quick picture, both of you used to this — both of you grounded enough to still enjoy it. You chat a little, thank them, wish them well, and keep walking, fingers tangled again.

You kiss under the moonlight like you’re teenagers, barefoot in the cool sand, the only witness being the sea and the stars. You stop again just to breathe it all in — the sound of the waves, the rhythm of her beside you, the simplicity of the moment.

Later, you sit cross-legged on a wooden bench by the market, sharing one big açaí bowl between you — full of granola, strawberries, banana slices, and more laughter than either of you expected. You feed her a spoonful, and she does the same. It’s silly, and it’s perfect.

You rest your head on her shoulder as you both watch the dark line of the horizon blend into the sky.

After a night like this — after the rush, the loss, the triumph, the adrenaline, the tenderness, the comfort — all that’s left is her.

The feeling of belonging, of being completely seen and loved, is all you can hold in your chest right now.

Guess this is what life looks like when you find the love of your life.

[korgidorgi]

Did you know?

You can attack ableists with your cane. If you currently do not have a cane, you can purchase one online or at a local retailer. Hold the A button to charge your attack power to unleash a powerful and devastating swing to the genitalia.

[korgidorgi]

love looks pretty on you

long distance relationship!kate bishop x fem!reader

summary: seeing kate at a christmas charity event after not seeing each other all semester

content warnings: pure fluff, you are described as pretty, reader wears a dress, kissing, pda, pet names (i can never figure out if that counts as a warning or not, but i suppose it can be)

notes: sighs dreamily cause kate bishop. just a lil drabble cause i'm rewatching hawkeye for the seventeenth time!! (i've been counting, i'm not exaggerating)

you met in high school, when she made a wrong turn and wound up in the auditorium, rather than in the science lab like she wanted. she knew her way around, she was just so distracted, she didn't even realize she was on the wrong side of campus.

she hadn't noticed you sitting in the third row at first, she was too frustrated. but then you spoke up, an amused look on your face, “lost?”

you walked her to her class, she'd thanked you profusely as she rushed inside and had forgotten to get your number after that! you made her nervous, she could barely think around you those first few months of dating. you tracked her down the next day after meeting her, asked her out and giggled at how she stuttered out a yes.

the entire time you've been dating, you haven't had many issues. you've only had a handful of fights and no break ups, no bumps in the road at all. it was perfect.

even when you both went off to different colleges, you still made it work. it was hard at times, but you weren't too far apart, so you could always see each other if things got too bad. and kate was the kind of person to show up at your front door if you had that rare argument, or if she made you sad, or if you'd just had an awful week.

now it was your senior year of college, first semester was over, which meant you and kate were closer than before and more available. the first time you'd seen each other in a few weeks was at a christmas charity event.

and kate didn't mean to dress like someone who works at the event, she just didn't want to wear a dress. but now, here she was, standing alone beside a cocktail table, people watching and waiting for her mom to finish her conversation.

she hadn't heard you come up behind her, but she felt the tap on her shoulder, “excuse me, can i get another drink?” and heard your teasing voice.

she rolled her eyes playfully, the tension leaving her shoulders as soon as she realized it was none other than her insufferable girlfriend, “ha-ha,” replied kate, her tone dry but not cold, “i didn't know that this is how the waitstaff dressed. it was an accident.”

you smirked at the defense and stood beside her, “you didn't know, or do you secretly work here and just haven't told me about it?” you stifled a laugh at the scoff she let out, and bumped your shoulder against hers, then looked her up and down, “either way, you look great.”

she finally looked over at you, her breath catching when she saw just how pretty you looked tonight. you had on a dark purple dress, one that suited you so well it had her heart was skipping in her chest.

you saw her staring out of the corner of your eye, and smiled, turning back towards her, “you're staring, babe,” you murmured, feeling her put her hands on your waist to tug you closer to her.

“you're just too pretty not to kiss,” she said simply, her voice softer than it was before, then she leaned in to kiss your forehead, then nose, and finally, your lips. you kissed her back immediately, without even an ounce of hesitation, smiling from the affection.

your hand slid to the back of her neck, trying to keep her close when she pulled away for a breath, “stop. stay there,” a breathless laugh left her, caused by your whine, but she obliged. she leaned back in to capture your lips with hers, circling her arms around your waist when yours went around her neck, “missed you.”

kate's lips curved upward, “i missed you, too.”

she was about to kiss you again, when the sound of someone clearing their throat popped the little bubble you'd happily trapped yourself in. you groaned and tipped your head back in frustration, and your girlfriend just laughed at your reaction, kissing your cheek and looking behind you at her mother, who gave the two of you a playfully disapproving look, “you know you're at a public event, right?”

your girlfriend nodded, and shrugged her shoulders, “so?” you were about to agree, when kate just kissed you again, effectively cutting you off.

eleanor just playfully rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath about pda, and walked away from the two of you with a reluctant smile on her face. kate's mother had seen every milestone of your relationship, she considered you and kate already married from how long you've been together.

you're perfect together.

i know i'm supposed to be writing for other women sorry kate bishop has just plagued my brain 😣

[korgidorgi]

I Tried to Fight it

Summary: Growing up you were never loved the way you wanted to be. You figured you were broken and that type of love was never going to find you. Until Kate Bishop fell in your life.

Warning: Emotional neglected parents, touch starved reader, injury, fluff with small amount of angst.

Word Count: 1.4k

Everyone said you were broken. Damaged. Cold and cruel. These insults were thrown at you for as long as you could remember. The first hateful word was when you were 5. A game of tag was innocent enough until you accidentally tagged the girl a little too hard, and she fell. Her cries were loud, bone-chilling. All you could do was stare, not offering her a hand or an apology because you couldn’t understand why she was crying. The shove wasn’t that hard, and she landed in the grass. Why apologize for something that wasn’t on purpose? When you refused to, your teacher called you mean and sent you to a time-out.

After that, no one wanted to play with you anymore.

Emotions confuse you. You knew people had them, but there was no logic behind it. People who acted on emotion were irrational. Everything could be explained.

When people called you heartless or mean, they would never understand that the way you acted was because of how you were raised. Father was a doctor. Mother was a lawyer. The housekeepers and nannies raised you under the strict rule of no coddling. The first time someone hugged you was at 3. You stood there, awkwardly with your arms to the side because you weren’t sure what to do. You tried to study how your parents acted, but they treated their relationship as a business transaction.

They gave you everything. A great education. A healthy inheritance. Every door was open for you. Truthfully, all you wanted was their love.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Love was something you taught yourself. Every Christmas, you watched movies on the Hallmark Channel. You observed couples in Central Park as if it were your job. Even subjected yourself to annoying love songs on the radio. The conclusion you came to love was subjective. Subjective, adjective. Based on or influenced by personal feelings, taste, or opinions. To use it in a sentence, ‘his views were subjective.’

You were never going to find love. Well…until Kate Bishop fell into your life.

You and the archer had a unique meeting. You were leaving work late, and she was on a stakeout. One thing led to another, and she crashed on top of your car from 4 stories up. Logically, the impact should have killed her. But Kate liked to defy logic, and you stood there, looking at your destroyed car while a girl wearing purple, bow in hand, was groaning on top of it. “Shit,” she finally said. “I don’t think they’ll be able to buff this out.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke as she tried to defuse a rather tense situation. All you could say was, “My pudding cups were in there.”

“Bishop!” A voice from a nearby alley called out. It got the girl’s attention and sat up quickly, hissing in pain. Father was a doctor. There was a shortness in her breath. Coughing. Her ribs were no doubt broken. Somehow, she dragged herself off the car.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said, limping her way to the alley, and the duo disappeared into the darkness. You weren’t sure how she was going to ‘make it up to you’ when you gave her no personal information. Now you had to figure out how you were getting home.

The next morning, there was a knock at your door. You opened it, and there was the girl from last night. She was smiling, with flowers and a box of pudding cups in her hand. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Kate.”

Kate. The name became woven into your life. She was like a pest you could not get rid of, and you tried. Somehow, someway, Kate slithered her way into your life and became a staple of it.

Kate was warm, bubbly, and unapologetically herself, so that she scared you. You were going to become a persecutor like your mother; nothing frightened you. Besides Kate, who took your dry humor and flat comments in stride, smiled at you like you meant something, and would rather spend her Friday night in your apartment than at the bar with her other friends. With all that, the archer was a touchy person. Her hand would go to your lower back as she walked past you. Her head seemed to gravitate towards your shoulder during a movie night. She always had to be touching you.

The problem was, you would flinch. No matter how soft or slight the touch, you recoiled as if the touch burned or stunned. You reacted as if her touch would hurt because it did. Kate never brought it up. Never called you broken or damaged. Instead, she became more aware of how she touched you. A quick hug when she left. Pinkies barely touching as you walked side by side. Fingers grazing as she handed you a mug.

As much as you wanted to hate, you enjoyed it. A warmth would hug your bones. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. It was a strange feeling, and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

It was Saturday night. A documentary was playing on the screen. You were tucked into the corner of the couch with Kate on your right. Somehow, your hand was in her lap as she traced the veins and lines on your palm. You tried to pay attention to the voice of the narrator, but there was static in your ears, and your body was stiff. You were afraid that if you moved or breathed the wrong way, it would ruin everything.

Kate broke the silence. “You are always so tense when I touch you.” It felt like instinct to pull your hand away from her, but she kept hold of it. The trail of her fingertips went up your arm and back down. Slowly. Carefully. Her movement seemed calculated. “Do you not like it?”

That was the opposite. You liked it too much. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s strange. I can’t comprehend it.”

“What is there to comprehend?” She questioned. You huffed and focused on the TV. You let her question exist in the silence between you and her.

“Logically, it does not make sense,” you told her. “Why would you want to touch me?”

“Do I need a reason?” Everything had a reason. Every question was supposed to have an answer. That was how the world worked. “Maybe I just like to.” You frowned.

That made no sense. You were abrasive. Hard-headed. Cold. No one as soft and warm as her should like someone like you. “I don’t know what to do with that,” Kate giggled, and the sound caused your insides to go fuzzy and melt like molten lava.

“That’s okay,” she said. “We can figure it out. Together.” Her attention went back to your TV, but something felt missing, hollow deep within your chest. Slowly, you migrated closer to her and set your head on her shoulder. A soft sigh escaped from Kate like she was holding onto this and could finally let go.

“My mother and father never hugged me,” you admitted. “I think they loved me, but it felt very transactional. No matter how hard I worked, I could never earn their praise or affection.”

“You don’t have to earn love, sweetheart. It should be given with no strings attached. Love is unconditional.” You sighed and burrowed your face into the crook of her neck. You took a few deep breaths in and out. Kate’s scent engulfed you. She smelled of the floral perfume she always wore with the faint scent of linen.

“I think I’m broken,” you whispered against her skin. You saw goosebumps form from your breath. “It’s like my head and heart are divided.”

“You aren’t broken, babe, just very touch deprived.” You huffed. “Do you trust me?” You gave her a slight nod. “We will take this slow, okay? Whenever you feel uncomfortable, we can stop.” You weren’t sure what her plan was, but her arms went around you, and she began to lie down. Your body went with her until your weight was entirely on top of her. You tensed up. Her hands began to move up and down your back. The sensation was foreign, different, but not unwelcome.

“Just feel,” Kate whispered. “You deserve to be loved, to be held without judgment or fear that it will be taken away.”

Everything about this seemed wrong. You never understood feelings, could never make sense of them. When someone asked how you felt, you would stare blankly, unable to string together words to describe it. Just feel. Just feel. And you began too.

Her hands traced mindless patterns on her back. Her breath was warm against your skin. But Kate’s heartbeat was against yours. Slow. Soothing. Calm. You hid your face and whimpered. A sound like that was so foreign. But Kate did not comment. Instead, she held you tighter. “There you go,” she whispered. “You deserve this.”

And you believed her.

[korgidorgi]

First Kiss

Wanda Maximoff x Reader You've been on a few dates with Wanda and things are going well... Except you haven't kissed yet

You sit in front of your mirror and run a hand through your hair. You think you look okay – or you hope you do anyway. You’ve had a shower and gotten dressed in one of your favourite outfits. Tonight’s your fifth date with Wanda. Things have been going well. Really well. You both get on, you like a lot of the same things and from that first date you’ve both had plenty to say to each other. Except – you haven’t kissed yet.

It’s not that you don’t want to – that’s definitely not the problem. But you want Wanda to make the first move. You know things have been difficult for her. Everyone came back after the blip but her first love, Vision, is still gone and will remain that way forever. She’d talked to you about him several times. And that was part of the problem.

You’re beginning to grow worried that she’s not ready to date yet. That she’s slowly starting to think you’re better off as friends. But with each date you can feel yourself starting to fall in love with her. You’d dated before too, you know how it felt to lose someone you loved but of course not as tragically as Wanda had.

The doorbell rings and you’re pulled away from your thoughts. You answer the door and there she is, looking as beautiful as ever in a black dress and red jacket. Wanda gives you a wide smile, pleased to see you “Hey! Are you ready?”

You nod and lock your front door behind you as you take her hand. Wanda intertwines her fingers with yours and as usual, you feel it. The spark, the electricity between you… You smile at Wanda and wonder if she can feel it too. You’ve organised today’s date and you walk hand-in-hand with Wanda to a local park with a river. You find a cute spot under a tree and unfold the picnic blanket you’ve brought with you. Wanda helps, looking at you with a fond smile “Picnic date today?”

“Close! It’s actually a craft picnic date.” You smile, sitting down on the blanket and pulling the picnic basket in between you “I saw a cute idea where we each have a canvas and we paint for five minutes before swapping over and then we keep swapping until we each have a picture that we both worked on.”

Wanda’s face lights up “That sounds like fun! You always think of such cute things for us to do.”

You like thinking up fun things to do on dates – you love arts and crafts so you’ve been trying to incorporate those into your dates, something Wanda seems to appreciate. You don’t have loads of money and neither does she so you both appreciate a cheap but fun date.

You open the picnic basket and pull out two canvasses and some paint, getting you both set up “What are you going to paint?” Wanda asks you.

You shake your head “Can’t say – you’ll have to see.”

She grins and you both start painting, pausing to have a bite of the picnic you’ve packed every so often. For the first five minutes you both work in comfortable silence until you swap canvasses and then you both start talking.

You tell her about your week – you work in a coffee shop and you take evening classes in Film Studies, hoping to break into the industry in any capacity one day. Wanda tells you about hers – you know she’s been feeling a bit lonely lately. With Steve, Tony and Vision gone and the other Avengers having not really kept in touch Wanda has been feeling lonely and a bit low with nothing to do. You’ve been encouraging her to get back into hero work or at least find a hobby or group to fill her week but so far she doesn’t seem to have taken that advice.

You swap canvasses a couple more times and then you work up the nerve to ask her something you’ve been wondering “Do you ever think about the future?” You ask her.

Her eye-brows furrow as she concentrates on painting “The future?”

You nod “Where you see yourself… Not necessarily just work but like… Family and stuff.”

Wanda gives a small smile “Well… I’d like kids one day. I’d love to have twins, like me.”

You stop painting and look at her “Wait, you’re a twin?” She nods “Wow, I didn’t know that! So you have a sister who looks just like you?”

Wanda laughs “No, I’m not an identical twin. My twin was a brother, Pietro.” Your heart drops as she talks about her brother in past tense. Surely not? How much heartache did this poor girl have to suffer? She sees your expression and gives a small smile “In Sokovia. He died saving Clint’s life. He named his son after Pietro, Nathaniel Pietro Barton he’s called. I send him gifts sometimes.”

You stop painting and reach out to put your hand on her arm “I’m so sorry Wanda. That’s… Wow, that’s so unfair. I had no idea.”

She keeps painting, her brush stroking over the canvas “My life has been pretty unfair. First my parents, then Pietro… Then Vision.”

Your stomach drops as she mentions Vision. She misses him. Of course she does. She probably always will.

You swap canvasses one more time and then finish. You are left with a forest, with small fairies, butterflies and flowers whereas Wanda has a beach landscape with a sunset and a mermaid lounging on a rock. She smiles at the canvas then looks at you “I love this, thank you so much.”

You smile back though your heart aches a little. You both stay by the river, laughing and chatting until the sunsets – both of you are surprised as it slowly turns dark. When you’re together the time just disappears without either of you realising.

Your paintings are now dry so you pack up and you insist on walking Wanda home – she’s been staying in a small apartment in the city. You’d only been round once and you’d been surprised at how bare her apartment was with hardly any decorations or personalisation as if she didn’t plan on staying long. There had been a bit of an ulterior motive behind your date idea – at least she’d have something to put up, something that was part her… But also part you.

You hold her hand in yours and you both talk until you reach her apartment building. She turns to face you and gives you a small smile “I had a really nice time.”

“Me too.” You rock on your heels a little, hoping she’ll invite you inside but she says nothing “We’ll have to meet up again.”

She nods enthusiastically “Yes! Yeah, I would like that.” You both stand there for a moment longer before she says quietly “I’d better go in-”

Wanda puts her hand on the doorknob and you think ‘fuck it’, quickly putting your hands on her shoulders and leaning forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. She seems surprised for a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing you back.

You pull away and look at her, your hands still on her shoulders, her arm around your waist. She looks at you, her smile slightly shy but her eyes shining with affection “I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

You gape at her “I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move! I thought maybe you weren’t interested-”

“What? Of course I’m interested, I thought maybe you weren’t-”

“I didn’t want to rush you! I know you’re still mourning Vision, I-”

She puts her free hand on your cheek “Well, yeah, I am, but… Things between us are… They’re good. They’re better than good. I really like you. And I’m glad you kissed me.”

You smile “It was okay then?”

Wanda laughs and nods “Better than okay.” She squeezes your waist “In fact… Do you… Wanna come upstairs?”

You grin, relief flooding through you “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Wanda beams back and your heart soars. You made the first move and it paid off – Wanda does like you. She might miss Vision – but she still has room in her heart for you.

[korgidorgi]

Red means trouble

pairing: machanic!yelena belova x reader

summary: your ancient little red car gives up on a scorching summer day, you don't expect to meet a sharp-tongued, golden-hearted mechanic

word count: 1k

warnings: a bit swearing, but fluff

an: i hope you don’t mind the length:)

☀️ Summer with A masterlist ☀️

You were standing awkwardly in the middle of the small, grease-scented garage, the heat outside doing its best to melt you through your thin shirt. Your ancient little red car sat in one of the bays, hood popped, steam long gone but the shame still hot.

"I don’t know what happened," you said, rubbing the back of your neck. "I was driving and then it started making this… squealing noise. Then it stopped moving. And now it’s here."

The blonde woman crouched under your car straightened up slowly. Her coveralls were half-zipped, tied around her waist, white tank top streaked with engine oil. Her hair was messy yet perfect in a way and she looked at you with the kind of amused smirk that told you she was used to people like you.

Yelena Belova. The name stitched into her patch and somehow hotter than it had any right to be.

"Anything else I should know about?" she asked, grabbing a rag to wipe her hands.

"Uh…" You tried. You really did. "It´s um old red car."

Yelena blinked. Then snorted. Then actually laughed, as she leaned against the side of your car like it wasn’t actively dying. "You mean the only thing you know about your car is that it’s red?"

You flushed, "I mean, it’s a very nice red."

Her grin widened as she looked back down at the engine, "you’re lucky it's cute. The car. And you."

That second part slipped out so casually, so lightly, you almost missed it. Almost.

You blinked, "...did you just say-"

"Yup," she cut in, popping a tool from her belt and ducking under the hood again. "And now I get to impress you with how good I am at fixing very red cars."

You watched her work. The way her hands moved without hesitation. The way she chewed her lip when something was stuck. The way grease looked somehow good on her.

It took you two seconds to fall in love.

Or maybe it was longer. Maybe it was back on the road, when your car gave out and fate decided to send her instead of a tow truck driver named Bob.

Whatever it was, you stood there smiling like an idiot while she muttered in russian at your engine. And suddenly, you didn’t mind the breakdown so much.

"This thing’s old," she said, tapping the hood lightly. "Like… charmingly ancient. What were you planning to do with it?"

You smiled, half-embarrassed, half-defensive, "a road trip."

Yelena tilted her head, squinting, "road trip?"

"Yeah," you nodded, leaning against the fender. "It’s summer, I had time off, I thought- why not? Just me, the car, open roads, some bad playlists…"

She chuckled, a low sound from the back of her throat, and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, "cute."

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself, "it was supposed to be."

Yelena studied you for a second, like she was weighing something, and then said with absolutely zero hesitation, "give me your number."

You blinked, "what?"

"I’ll drive you."

"What?"

"Well," she said, gesturing at your car, "your cute little car may have spirit, but she’s got about one toe left in the grave. I can’t, in good conscience, let you drive her across state lines. Not without backup."

You squinted, "so why did you fix it then?"

She smirked, stepping closer, "so I could see your pretty smile."

You opened your mouth, then promptly shut it, hiding the ridiculous warmth blooming across your cheeks.

"Was that cheesy?" she asked, mock-serious.

"Extremely."

"Still worked."

You handed her your phone, and she took it with a smug little grin that made you want to throw something soft at her.

"Alright, road trip partner," she said as she typed, "but I get to pick the first playlist."

You laughed, heart light in a way you hadn’t expected when your car had died that morning, "fine, but if you play russian death metal, I’m walking."

"We’ll see," she winked.

And just like that - you´re not gonna enjoy your roadtrip alone.

Few weeks later the sun was melting into the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of peach and rose gold. Your legs dangled out of the passenger-side window, toes catching the breeze as you leaned back on the worn seat, a bag of half-eaten gas station chips on your lap. The radio crackled between songs, the static oddly comforting.

Yelena leaned against the open driver’s door, sipping from a bottle of iced tea, watching the sunset like it was something she could punch if it ever stopped being this beautiful.

"So," she said, glancing over at you with a crooked smile. "Was this what you imagined?"

You tilted your head toward her, "not exactly. Originally, I was supposed to be alone, probably crying in a motel room over my dying car."

Yelena chuckled, eyes warm, "and now?"

You gave her a soft shrug, a little grin tugging at your lips, "now I’ve got a co-pilot with a questionable taste in snacks and a weirdly attractive laugh."

She narrowed her eyes playfully, "weirdly?"

You hummed.

Yelena walked over, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered just a little too long, and your breath caught.

"Get used to it. We’ve got a few more states to cross."

You looked at her, at the dusty road behind, and the endless sky ahead. This is already becoming the roadtrip you’d never forget.

Thank you for reading!!

[korgidorgi]

Be More Careful Next Time

Yelena Belova x Reader Yelena returns injured from a mission

You and Yelena had been dating for a year now and things were going well - so well in fact that you’d moved into the Avengers Tower with her, despite John’s protests about ‘security’ and ‘confidential information’ which Yelena had quickly shut down with a few firm words. Everyone else had been welcoming enough and you enjoyed living with your girlfriend.

The ‘New Avengers’ or ‘Thunderbolts’ as you still called them had gone on another mission whilst you and Bob held down the fort at the Avengers Tower. You and Bob had become good friends over the past couple of months and were watching a movie together – Bob had an interesting taste in films, having a preference for indie foreign films that always ended up being not as boring as you thought.

As the movie was coming to a close the door opens and in walk Ava and Bucky, both with grave expressions “Y/N?” Ava says gently “You might want to go to the medbay, Yelena-”

That was all you heard before you were on your feet, rushing through the tower to get to the medbay. Your mind was racing a mile a minute, hoping that Yelena was okay.

When you get there Yelena is sat up in one of the beds whilst a medic works on her. Alexei is stood next to the bed but steps back when you get there. Yelena sighs “I knew they’d do this, I told them, I’m fine, I didn’t want them worrying you-”

“Shut up.” You look at the medic “What’s going on? Is she okay?”

“A couple of bruised ribs and a broken arm.” The medic replied “She’ll be okay, she just needs rest and to take it easy.”

“See! I’m fine!” Yelena sighs “I can go now, this is-”

“You’re staying right there until we hear otherwise.” You say “What the hell happened out there?”

“Nothing! Nothing out of the ordinary! It’s our jobs, sometimes we get hurt, I don’t know why everyone is turning this into such a big deal!”

“It was amazing!” Alexei calls out from behind you causing you to sigh “She went down like a true warrior! We were victorious!”

He opens a bottle of vodka, takes a sip and then holds it out to Yelena but you push it away. You’ve been trying to work with Yelena on her drinking “I told you to be careful-”

“And I was! But there were too many and I got overpowered, just for a second.” Yelena looks embarrassed, as if the injuries were more of an embarrassment, a sign of weakness rather than being worried about the pain and damage “I knew you’d overreact.”

You scoff “You think I’m overreacting? You’re telling me that if I was in here with bruised ribs and a broken arm-”

“You teach kindergarten! It would be pretty strange if you were in here injured, this is a regular job hazard for me-”

“You shouldn’t have tried to take on so many people at once-”

“Oh for- I was handling it, I couldn’t help-”

“If I find out you were trying to take on more than you can handle just to prove a point-”

“This is cause for celebration!” Alexei shouts, causing you to jump. You’re not still used to your sort of father-in-law’s over the top personality yet “We are all alive! And we are victorious! I’m going to put together a party.”

“No, no, we’re not celebrating, we-” Before you can finish your sentence Alexei has already left the medbay.

The medic looks down at Yelena “We’d like to keep you in here overnight for observation, if that’s okay?”

She shakes her head “No, that’s not necessary-”

You frown “I’ll make sure she stays here.”

Yelena sighs as the medic disappears “Bossing me around now?”

“Someone has to! You better not be thinking that you’re going to continue working whilst you’re in this state. No more missions for you until you’re fully recovered.” You tuck the blankets in around her, trying to make her comfortable despite the anger and irritation you’re feeling.

She watches you for a moment before sighing “I really was careful. I just… I got overwhelmed. Ava saved my ass.”

“Well I’ll have to say thank you to her later.” You look at Yelena. You can see the exhaustion in her eyes, the bruises on her face “I’m sorry that I snapped but you drive me insane, you know that? You’re right, getting hurt is a hazard in your job but you don’t have to be so careless about it and try and brush it off like it’s nothing.”

“Compared to some of the injuries I got in the Red Room it is nothing.” Yelena’s mouth quickly snaps shut after her outburst and you say nothing. She very rarely mentions the Red Room but you’ve been woken by her nightmares more than once. Eventually she speaks again, her voice quiet “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You nod slowly and mumble “Okay.” Neither of you says anything for a long moment before you look at her again “I love you Lena, I just… I hate seeing you get hurt.”

She groans “Stop making me feel guilty, it’s so annoying.” She looks at you “I love you too. I might come back bruised and beat up but I’ll always come back. I promise.”

You nod, sitting down in the chair next to her bed “That’s as good as I’m gonna get, right?”

Yelena smiles and nods “’fraid so.” She reaches out and takes your hand with her good arm “Thanks for worrying about me.”

You roll your eyes and squeeze her hand “’course I worry about you, idiot.”

Yelena meets your eye and gives you a sad smile “I guess I’m not used to that yet… People worrying about me.”

You sigh “Lena, lots of people care and worry about you. Me, Alexei, Ava, Bob, Bucky, John, we all care about you. Just… Try and be more careful next time.”

Yelena looks away “I just… We needed a win. People online are doubting our ability as the ‘New Avengers’ with everything going on. I wanted… I need to be stronger, faster-”

You shake your head “No Lena. You won but you could’ve just as easily lost if you overloaded yourself. You need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself. Who cares what people online are saying? You’ve still done so much good, saved so many people-”

“And hurt just as many.” Yelena keeps her gaze on the ground.

You sigh “You’re a hero Lena; I don’t care what those assholes on the internet have to say. Or what you have to say.”

She turns her gaze back to you, her eyes teary and vulnerable “You mean it?”

You nod, giving her hand another gentle squeeze “No more risks Lena. Be more careful next time.”

She brings your hand to her lips, pressing a small kiss to your knuckles “Okay. I promise.”

You smile. Luckily Yelena’s not seriously hurt and in a few weeks she’ll be back to her normal self. And you’ll be by her side every day until she is.

[korgidorgi]

family dinner

summary: clint's not very happy about what goes on under his roof.

warnings: barton!reader, fluff fluff fluff, suggestive if you squint really hard, family shenanigans, not very detailed making out, gf!kate, might be ooc clint, mostly narrative at the start, not proofread

wc: 1.4k

a/n: so when do i introduce her to MY parents??

dinners with kate over are never uneventful.

it always starts with you in the kitchen, helping your mom prepare the meals for the night. she's at the stove, humming softly as she sautés, while you're by the cupboard, wiping down dishes from the rack with a rag that more often ends up hanging over your shoulder than on a clean plate.

your sister's always outside until late, practicing archery with your father while the boys play baseball. it's a domestic enough scene, quiet and serene. sometimes you plug in your phone to a speaker and the kitchen dissolves into a half-concert that features your mother, but usually the air is filled with nothing but the sounds of ceramic clinking and something sizzling on the pan.

then the peaceful atmosphere is broken when you hear heavy footsteps coming up the porch. kate still rings the bell every time she visits even though you'd bestowed a key to the house upon her long ago. the door opens, reveals the face that's ever-so-cheerful and grinning before she's even set her eyes on you.

"hi, family!" she chirps, and she invariably reveals the bags wrapped around her arms as she shuffles toward the dining table. with an overdramatic flourish, she pulls out a new toy for nate, a book for lila, and yet another shirt for cooper. it's routine for you to watch her place these items at their designated seats, followed by a pout that's meant to mimic sulking. "where's mine?"

that's her cue to brighten up and charge at you, scooping you up in her arms with a giggle and a shriek. your mom smiles knowingly from the sink as kate peppers your face with kisses, teasing and deliberately avoiding the place where you want her the most until, hands still damp, you cradle her face and connect her lips to yours.

for the rest of the evening, her hands are permanently planted on your hips. kate helps you set the table and offers to call in the rest of the family. there are exclamations of joy and appreciation at her 'peace offerings' before everyone quiets down and laura places the pot in the middle of the table.

kate's seated across from you, lila in between. it's not a choice — it's a regulation imposed by clint as a result of you and kate's relationship. he'd claimed, amidst grumbled protests, that it was to 'prevent tomfoolery under the table.' if it weren't so inconvenient to the two of you, you'd have found it amusing.

the actual meal is usually filled with questions about kate's job as the new ceo of bishop security, or stories from nate about baseball camp, or lila's announcements about a new archery competition or championships. sometimes you all just team up and take turns annoying good ol' dad.

"is it just me, or did three weeks make you look older?" kate teases, pointing a fork at clint. lila snorts. "cooper's been stressing dad out."

the boy gasps in offense. "me? if anything, it's y/n who's adding those grey hairs!"

"i'm literally the most obedient child!" you scowl disapprovingly. nate giggles happily from his chair.

lila turns you into her target. "no, actually, i think dad's scared you'll run away and elope with kate."

"that's enough," clint says firmly, and the siblings erupt into bouts of laughter.

"oh, come on, that won't be happening," kate reassures that scowling man at the head of the table. "wouldn't wanna get in the bad side of my future father-in-law, eh?"

his downturned mouth draws lower.

laura smiles at her. "no one's ever on his good side, you won't have to worry."

"i have people on my good side!" clint insists, and you wrinkle your nose in disagreement.

"you won't even let me have friends over!"

"your 'friends' are annoying kids who won't stop lurking around me. i'm retired. i don't want to be perceived."

"and kate doesn't do that?"

"kate falls under that category. especially the 'annoying kid' part."

"hey!"

the conversation flows smoothly, quips scattered in between serious discussions and light-hearted banters between you and your younger siblings. feet kicking at kate's from under the table and suppressing snorts when you glimpse her pained expression from getting hit in the shin.

you'd love to stay here longer, in such a cozy, warm scene, but you haven't seen kate in three weeks, and you're longing to lie in bed awake in her embrace alone, so you scarf down dinner today without a care about your dad's narrowed eyes and flickering gaze. he watches you declare apparent tiredness, yawning theatrically. you quirk your eyebrow meaningfully at kate, and she clambers out of her seat and claims the same.

clint stops the both of you halfway up the stairs. "wait."

with a groan, you turn on your heel to face him and dejectedly drop kate's hand from your hold.

his eyes narrow in on the movement. "doors cannot be locked."

"yes, i know." you roll your eyes. "i have a literal terms and conditions taped to my door, dad."

"if i hear any weird noises tonight," clint threatens in kate's direction, "you're dead to me and you're never seeing my daughter again."

kate's eyes widen. "um."

"doors will stay unlocked," you sigh. you scamper up the stairs, half-dragging kate behind you, before he can make any more comments.

she has that look on her face again, sighing contentedly as she falls back on your bed. you close the door and, smirking, you settle comfortably on top of her, straddling either side of her thighs. her hands, ever-wandering, find themselves resting on your waist.

"missed you," you murmur, dropping your weight so that you sat on her lap. "you're gone too long."

"sorry, pretty girl, been busy." her tone never loses it's brightness, even in the lack of light of your room. "missed your room, though."

"just my room?" you raise an eyebrow questioningly.

she grins at that. "and you."

she kisses you then, fully and in a way you can't do around your parents — especially clint. her head tilts and her tongue swipes over your lower lip, thumbs dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to caress the skin of your stomach.

your hands rest comfortably around her shoulders, the tips of your fingers tickling the nape of her neck. you deepen the kiss as best you can, breathing heavily when you part but not for long if she chases after you again.

"love you so much," she breathes out, pulling away from you just enough to latch onto your jaw. "missed you. mmm. and this."

her palms venture too high up your sides. although you don't really want to you hold on to her wrists and place them on a more appropriate location. kate lets out a grunt of disappointment but understands your message.

hours pass. minutes. seconds. you're not sure exactly how long it's been since you'd escaped dinner. time stops when you're with her, when she's touching you like this. when you can feel her skin on yours and intertwine as best you can. when hushed giggles are exchanged under the watchful eye of the moon peeking through your curtains.

neither of you don't hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. not the scuffling of shoes against the floor. not the click as the doorknob turns. "hey, honey, can you drive your sister to the-"

clint stops short. his eyes fall on you, on top of kate, your shirt exposing your midriff as kate is midway through her act of pulling it off.

you blink. kate blinks. then you hastily push her away and roll over so that you faced the window instead of your father's burning disapproval. "y/n."

"hi dad." your voice is muffled, engulfed by the cotton of your pillow.

"i thought i said no weird noises."

"we weren't being loud!" you groan at the ceiling, discarding your makeshift mask.

"weird actions count!"

"oh, come on, it's not like you and mom have never done it! you have four kids, for goodness' sake."

"don't talk to me like that. doors cannot be closed!"

"what?"

"no closed doors!" your dad repeats with glee.

you shoot up to stare disbelievingly at him. "that's a safety hazard!"

"you're a health hazard!" he returns. "you'll give me a heart attack. no closed doors! you're bringing your sister to archery tomorrow!"

he makes his way back downstairs. you lock eyes with kate, whose cheeks are visibly burning despite to minimal light in the room. "um."

"you say that a lot," you comment, grinning. "um." at the sight of your undeterred demeanor, she slowly mirrors your expression.

she reaches for you again, a glint in her eye. "i think we'd have start making out outside."

she pulls you in again and both of you disappear under the covers.

[korgidorgi]

The Bone Collectors ·˚ ༘

PAIRING: Yelena Belova x Joaquin’s Sister!Ex-Red Room!Reader

SUMMARY: When Yelena meets Joaquin, they click instantly. You, ever the protective older sister, ensures the chaos stays controlled. You take a shine to Yelena even when she remembers something about your past you’d rather never uncover.

WARNINGS: Reader is an ex-Red Room assassin but it isn’t really talked about in detail, otherwise playful and chaotic ft. mutual pining.

NAVIGATION | PROMPT LIST | WC: 3K

The first time Yelena meets Joaquin Torres, she thinks he’s a whole lot of energy in a very nice package. It’s during a training exercise, and they’ve been paired together.

Joaquin is light on his feet, too quick for someone his size, and loud, especially for someone who’s supposed to be focused on not getting knocked down. Yelena can already tell he’s the kind of guy who talks with his hands and thinks personal space is overrated.

Yelena tries to bait him. It’s simple stuff, just little jabs, teasing commentary about his stance, and offering him advice. Instead of getting annoyed, Joaquin grins and responds with a dramatic move, attempting to counter her strategy with his own ridiculous plan that he’s clearly making up as he goes along. He’s chaotic, but he’s also incredibly fun.

And then, of course, they high-five each other in the middle of a fight.

“Best. Team. Ever,” Joaquin says, clearly winning.

Yelena pauses, letting the tension slip away in a laugh. She grins back at him. “Not bad for a golden retriever man.”

Joaquin raises an eyebrow. “Golden retriever? Nah, I’m a German shepherd, obviously.”

They’re both full of it. Somehow, they immediately click.

A few days later, Yelena finds herself at a little café on the edge of town, sitting across from Joaquin while they wait for you to arrive. You’re his sister, and he’d been hyping you up for days.

“She’s the best,” Joaquin had said, more than once. “You’ll love her. She’s like me, but with more bite. She keeps me grounded.”

Yelena can’t resist the urge to test that theory. When you finally show up, it’s clear you have a similar energy. But, where Joaquin’s chaotic golden retriever vibes are just fun, you exude something sharper. A German shepherd who’s got boundaries.

You don’t acknowledge Yelena right away. Instead, you give Joaquin a swift, pointed stare before smacking him upside the head.

“You’re two hours late," you say, voice deadpan, but the irritation is familiar. Sibling irritation, the kind only someone with the exact same DNA can dish out.

Joaquin looks unfazed, still grinning as he rubs the back of his head. “I was waiting for you to arrive so we could meet together,” he deflects easily. “You know, getting the sister approval and all that.”

Yelena watches you both, intrigued. There’s a comfort in the way you interact. The familiarity, the effortless way you tease each other, and the obvious deep bond you share. You both clearly get each other in a way that, well, no one else really does.

Yelena is trying to make sense of all of it when she suddenly finds herself on the receiving end of your direct, cutting gaze.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you must be Yelena,” you say, clearly sizing her up. “You don’t look like the kind of person who can keep up with my brother.”

Yelena laughs, throwing a glance at Joaquin, who’s clearly not quite delighted by your bluntness. “I know I can keep up with him.”

“Do you now?” You smirk, folding your arms. “Prove it.”

With that, Yelena realises that maybe the dynamic between you and Joaquin is a little more complex than she initially thought.

Over the next few weeks, it’s the same story. You, Joaquin, and Yelena form an odd little trio. Joaquin’s outburst of energy is contagious. He’ll race around the compound, challenge everyone to impromptu competitions, and generally act like a giant puppy. Meanwhile, you find yourself in the position of trying to corral him and Yelena like a very frustrated, very tired parent.

“You’re not a dog,” you grumble at him one afternoon, after he’s convinced Yelena to play an impromptu game of tag in the gym. “Will you please just sit still for five minutes?”

But of course, Joaquin grins. “I can’t help it! She’s too fast, and it’s fun, c’mon, you can’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

Yelena bursts out laughing. “He’s right. You are having fun.”

You let out a long sigh, rubbing your temples. “I was enjoying some peace and quiet, but now I have you two idiots in my life.”

You finally give up. You know you can’t win this game. Not with two hyperactive idiots bouncing around like this.

Joaquin and Yelena burst out laughing, making this their new favorite pastime. They drag you into whatever ridiculous game they’re playing. If it wasn’t so annoying, you’d probably be laughing too.

One day, Yelena looks at you a little too carefully. Her eyes are searching, probing, like she’s waiting for something.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “So, you used to be a Red Room girl, huh?”

The words are soft, but they hit you like a punch. You weren’t expecting her to know, but she’s been through it too. She’s seen that kind of darkness.

You nod, barely looking at her. “I used to be,” you say, your voice cool. “Not anymore.”

There’s a pause, but then Yelena says something that catches you off guard, “I always thought you were too sharp for the Red Room. Even back then. You never belonged.”

You finally glance up at her, meeting her eyes. “You think so?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes. I could see it. You weren’t the type to break. Not like the others.”

Your throat tightens slightly, but you quickly mask it with a scoff. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Yelena nods, a small, knowing smile forming. “Doesn’t matter to me. You’re your own person now. But, you don’t have to pretend with me.”

For a moment, the weight of the past is heavy between you two, but, it’s also comforting. For once, someone sees you, not as a soldier, but as just a person. You offer Yelena a smile, genuine and soft, the first one in a long time.

A few days later, after some more banter-filled days and nights, Joaquin, Yelena, and you end up in a group chat that Joaquín titles ‘🦴’.

You sigh the second you see it. “Really?”

Yelena laughs. “He’s been on a kick for weeks, trying to get us to adopt the ‘Bone Squad’ lifestyle.”

“God, I hate the way that sounds. You two are the bone squad,” you grumble. “You’re both loud and destructive.”

Joaquin sends a series of dog pictures with bone emojis plastered across them. “True, true! You’re just mad because you’re the only one without a bone.”

“Stop sending dog pictures,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

But when Yelena chimes in with a picture of a tiny dog looking way too serious, you can’t help but laugh.

“Oh my god, Yelena. What even is that? It looks like a tiny assassin dog.”

“Exactly,” Yelena replies, winking. “That’s you. You’re a little assassin dog who needs a bone.”

And for the first time, the chaos feels right. You’ve finally found your place with these two dorks. Maybe you’ll be their German shepherd, maybe that’s not so bad after all.

[korgidorgi]

Dreamwalker (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: You'd always thought your powers were mundane compared to the others in the Avengers... until it saves the woman you love.

Words: 2157

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, almost death

A/N: Reader has the power to dreamwalk.

-X-

You’d always hated the medbay.

It was too sterile, too quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor connected to Natasha’s temple. She was lying motionless on the cot, hair fanning over the pillow, chest rising and falling steadily—for now. She’s paler than you’ve ever seen her, lips parted just enough that it almost looked like she’d speak, eyes flickering behind their lids like she was dreaming…

Intel had said non-lethal. That the gas wasn’t meant to damage, but it’d been days and she still hadn’t woke up.

“If we can’t wake her mind, her body will follow,” Bruce had told you grimly.

So here you were, staring at her from the chair beside her bed, clutching her cool hand between both of yours.

“You sure about this?” Steve’s arms were crossed, jaw tight. “You said it yourself. The deeper someone goes, the harder it is to pull them back. You mess around too long in there…”

You swallowed dryly, studying her face. “I have to try, Steve. What good are my powers if I can’t save the woman I lo—if I can’t save her?”

“She might not be the only one in a permanent nap if you linger too long,” Tony pointed out, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “If you go under and we can’t wake you…”

“Let her go.” Clint’s voice was quiet and pained, his eyes never straying for Natasha. “She has to try. And if anyone could wake Nat, she’s the best option.”

Bringing her hand up to your cheek, you closed your eyes. “Thirty minutes. Just give me thirty minutes. I have to try… I can’t leave her in there.”

And then—

You were falling.

-X-

There was always something so terribly disorienting about dreamwalking. Sometimes it was hard to remember what was real and what was simply a dream. And as the world reformed around you, colors bleeding into view like spilled inks across papers, for a moment—

“There you are,” a soft voice met your ears, a familiar laugh trickling into your ears and you turned around.

You were standing in a field, rows and rows of white folding chairs lining the grass around you. Birds were chirping cheerfully above you, the sun drenching your skin in warmth. No one was here yet…

Except her.

Standing near the makeshift altar in a white and red dress, laced up the back and a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand, was Natasha. Her hair was swept up into soft curls and her lips were bare, but tugged into the prettiest smile you’d ever seen on her face.

She looked…

Happy.

She didn’t seem startled by your presence. In fact, she was staring at you like you’d hung the damn moon and stars just for her.

“I was starting to think you were going to leave me at the altar,” she teased, eyes glittering in the too-bright sun. Her smile shifted into something shyer as she walked towards you. “I never thought we’d get here but we made it.”

Your breath hitched as her lips ghosted along your cheek, her hands finding your jaw as her forehead rested against yours.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispered.

And for a moment, neither could you. This moment was one you’d thought about in your darkest nights, when the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud, but now it was right here, in your hands—

Until you heard Steve’s voice, distant and muffled but brimming with panic:

Her vitals are spiking. Something’s happening!

Reality clawed at the edge of your awareness, like an infected splinter you couldn’t quite scratch out. Some piece of you not caught in the haze of the dream knew this wasn’t real. Knew that the real Natasha was lying on a cot in the medbay, wires connected to her body like roots—

But for a moment, you wanted so badly to bleed into this lie with her. To have this moment, even if it killed you both.

“Hey,” she whispered, thumb brushing along the edge of your mouth. “We’re okay. You’re shaking…”

“We’re more than okay,” you promised quietly, tilting your head to kiss her palm, her breath catching in her chest at the gentle display.

Stepping back, she offered her hand like it was a declaration and a question in equal parts. “Ready?”

The breeze jostled the train of her dress and somewhere, someone was calling out your name though it was simply static in your ears. Because right now, you were hers.

Whether it killed you or not.

Her eyes trailed over your body, the lines around her eyes softening as she drank you in.

“God,” she exhaled. “You look good in white.”

You looked down at your suit. It was fitted, cleaner than just about anything you’d ever worn before. It wasn’t something you’d ever owned but it was what Natasha had imagined you in and that knowledge just made your chest ache.

A slow smile touched her mouth, crooked and bittersweet. “I always thought if I ever got married... it’d be running from something. Guns in the background... dress soaked in blood...”

You almost said, Well, there’s still time.

But then she leaned into you again, resting her head against your shoulder like it had always belonged there. Like this was the shape the world was always meant to take. “I never let myself picture this,” she admitted, voice low. “I didn’t think I deserved this…”

The ache in your chest kicked hard. Your hand moved instinctively, sliding up her spine. And for the first time since stepping into this field, you felt her tremble.

Just a little.

She whispered, “Tell me this isn’t a dream.”

Your mouth opened but froze as you noticed the edges of the field wavering, the colors flickering and desaturating, slowly creeping towards you. It was barely noticeable but to you, it was a warning sign. Her subconscious was slowly dragging her deeper…

And you were running out of time.

Your hand shifted to cradle the back of her head, eyes never leaving the corners of the straining dreamscape.

“Tasha… baby, I need you to listen to me,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I need you to open your eyes for me. You’re in a coma at the tower…”

She stiffened in your arms and then her hands slowly uncurled from around your waist. “What…?” her voice was distant, disbelief meeting heartbreak. “No. No, I… we’re getting married. We were just together a few minutes ago.”

“You were gassed during your last mission. You’ve been asleep for over a week,” you replied, tears flooding your eyes, the crack of her voice leaving your heart in splinters.

You watched her eyes cloud, the field dimming at the edges like dusk rolling in fast, the color draining out more as the wind died.

A line formed between her brows, and when she looked at you again, the warmth was laced with fear. “Detka, no. Don’t—don’t say that. This is real. We’re here. We’re getting married. I-I remember writing the vows…”

She touched your chest, her fingers desperate now, as if grounding herself with your heartbeat could keep the illusion intact.

A sharp jolt hit the sky, the dream tearing open beneath her grief.

Your connection to her flared. You could feel the pressure in her subconscious spike—panic setting in. Not just emotional. It was as if her brain was starting to fight you, locking down, sealing itself off the way a dying system would.

And somewhere, just beneath the surface, you heard Bruce's voice, muffled like he was underwater, from the medical bay: “Whatever you’re doing—it’s destabilizing. You need to either bring her up or risk losing the connection altogether.”

Natasha’s grip tightened. “You’re not real,” she whispered, eyes suddenly wide and glassy. “You’re just a—just a projection. I’m…”

Your hands found her cheeks, forehead pressing to hers.

“Listen to me,” you pleaded. “Right now, we’re in the medbay. Your hand is on my cheek and I’m right beside you. But—” you tilted your head upward, kissing her forehead. “I love you, Natalia Romanova. I do. This is a dream but it doesn’t have to be. And if you open your eyes, I will tell you that to your face a thousand times until you believe me. I love you. I am so stupidly head over heels in love with you and I have been for months.”

You saw it—the shift behind her eyes. The haze didn’t vanish all at once, but it wavered. Her lips parted, breathing shallow as a visible tremble worked through her chest, your words rooting deep beneath the layers of illusion.

“I need you to calm down and come home to me… because I promise you—we’ll have this someday. I mean it. I want to spend the rest of my life with you… but that can only happen if you open your eyes, baby.”

Your breath was a ghost across her lips, silently begging her to listen.

Her hands gripped your wrists, not pushing you away but clinging to you—and to this moment.

“I thought…” she whispered, voice thinned and hoarse, “I thought maybe I had finally died and this was the last nice thing my brain would let me have.”

The field flickered again. A gust of wind blew through, violent this time, scattering petals and bending grass like something was coming for her—like the dream knew it was ending but wanted to keep her anyways.

But she didn’t look away from you.

“You love me?” she asked, not disbelieving, but frightened to believe.

“So much,” you reiterated fiercely, kissing her forehead. “And the moment you open your eyes, I’ll tell you again.”

And as she stared at you—really stared—you saw her pupils contract. Focus sharpening. Her breathing evened out, and one single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek.

And far off behind her, through the blur of golden light and too colorful flowers, you saw the field starting to collapse in slow, dreamlike ripples—reminiscent of the world becoming like a watercolor painting. But Natasha didn’t flinch. She reached up, hand curling around the back of your neck, forehead pressing hard against yours.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay… I’ll come back.”

Then her grip tightened.

“But when I wake up…” Her voice dropped low, fierce with the kind of quiet that tried to mask the sheer panic in her chest, “...don’t you dare take that back.”

And the dream—

Shattered.

The world split apart into white. And your body jolted—your spine arched, muscles locking as your consciousness ripped from the dreamscape like it’d been dragged out against its will as the world you’d once stood in dissolved into darkness.

-X-

Your mind wrenched back into your body as monitors screamed around you. You could hear the team yelling around the medbay but all that mattered was her, the hand pressed against your cheek twitching as Natasha’s body bowed slightly, the sharp breath reminding you of someone breaching water after being under too long.

“Ngh… d-detka?” she rasped.

The chair shrieked in protest as you bolted up, closing the tiny gap as your hands found her face, an echo of the dream you’d just barely escaped.

“I’m right here, baby,” you promised, trying to ground you both. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. I meant every goddamn word.”

Your forehead met her temple gently. “You came back to me…”

Her lips parted like she might speak but her voice caught, snagged in the back of her throat as the weight of reality came crashing down around her. Monitors beeped furiously beside her. The overhead lights were too bright. The bed far too sterile. The lingering fog of induced sleep still clung to her eyes.

But you were here… you had meant it.

Her chest hitched as her fingers curled into your collar, pulling you down, grounding herself against your skin. She pressed her forehead hard into yours, breath uneven, face wet with tears she hadn’t even realized she’d started shedding.

“You meant it,” she choked out, half in disbelief, half in reverence. “You meant it.”

“I did,” you choked, laughing wetly. “Every single word…”

Natasha reached up and touched your lips with her fingers like she still didn’t trust that this wasn’t another dream.

“You pulled me out,” she whispered. “I didn’t think anyone could.”

“There was never a single chance in Hell I’d leave you there, Tasha,” you whispered, kissing her fingers. “I have no future if you’re not here with me.”

You gasped as her lips replaced her digits, melting into the kiss as her fingers slipped along your cheeks before settling in your hair. Her lips were chapped but you couldn’t have cared less, sinking into the gentle embrace. There was no heat, no lust. This was relief—

This was coming home.