pigeonp0st

[pigeonp0st]

Could you do an angst Agatha x reader one shot with happy ending? Maybe reader feels Agatha is losing interested in her (reader) in Westview

pleaseeeeeeee

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings:

Can’t think of any, but if you read this and have a thought to one I could put, let me know and it will be added.

Words from the author;

Hi guys. Went on a long train ride and decided to write this. Agatha’s show inspired me. The joy she gives me is unmatched. I want to ask that we all use are imagination and pretend WestView was a thing longer than the few weeks it was, as to give an explanation and a sense of realism to Readers and Agatha’s whole romance and love story. I also ask that we ignore the additional emotional scarring that would’ve given the town. Thanks a bunch! Now…

Enjoy!

—

Agatha had a plan. A plan that hadn’t, and was never supposed to include you. It had everything to do with Wanda, and Wanda, it turns out, had everything to do with you.

That part of it hadn’t mattered. Yeah, Agatha had originally only been prepared to deal with one Avenger, and you coming in would prove to make things more complicated, but she was sure she could handle it.

And she had, of course. Until…until she developed a relationship with you and emotions towards you that went beyond the limits of what she had planned. Not just plannned for this little mission of hers, but planned for her life—after how her last relationship ended.

She loves you. Wanda’s Maximoff’s best friend. The one that’s been keeping Wanda from going even more off into the dark end. The one that’s been interfering with Agatha’s plans by trying to pull Wanda out of the Hex before Agatha has delved deeper into the amount of magic needed to create it.

You. Infuriating— you. Since the moment she met you it was like you had seen through all of Agatha’s facades. Not just the Agnes one.

She made a point—a stupid emotional driven point—to be honest with you, and only you, from the beginning. The thing is… though she had even told you about her interest in Wanda, and the hex, she had left out her plans of draining Wanda of her powers and killing her.

Which is probably an important thing to mention

…Which is definitely an important thing to mention. As much as Agatha hates to admit it— and she absolutely hates to admit it— it’s been eating away at her.

More than she doesn’t want to lose you, she doesn’t want to hurt you. Well, that’s not completely true…she’d rather not lose you…but it’s a close competition.

This relationship with you was supposed to be fake, but her heart doesn’t seem capable of understanding that. She’s been pulling away from you, acting distant, avoidant, and just as it’s been hard on you—it’s been hard on her.

She can’t imagine a world without you in it, but she needs this power…needs to see if it’s capable of—ahem, anyways— she just needs it. She’s sure you need Wanda similarly. That you can’t imagine a world without her. That’s what the gossip magazines, twitter posts, or even tumblr fanfictions want to guilt Agatha into believing at least.

She’s bitter, hates with a burning passion how much the world likes to advertise you and Wanda as this amazing duo pair, hates even more how unknowing fans like to speculate on some sort of secret affair you’re helping Wanda commit, but she’s willing to admit to some truth in it;

Agatha’s supposed to be very fake relationship, used at first to only get close to Wanda—to learn and kill her—has turned into a real one, and the very person she’s in love with is Wanda Maximoff’s platonic soulmate.

The guilt,and thus; avoidance and emotional distance doesn’t take long to be noticed by you. It all comes to a head rather viciously in a way Agatha had expected.

Which is to say; all the avoidance has led to a rather ceremonious break up….she hadn’t had the guts to do it, so she’s sort of forced you into it. That’s what you believe, and it is the truth. Not in the way she guesses you expect though.

Agatha doesn’t want to do this. She really struggles doing things she doesn’t want to do.

She has to do this though. It’s what she’s convinced herself of.

It aches.

“If that’s what you want, okay. Now If that’s really all you had to say…” Agatha hints, turning to make her tea so you can’t see the way her eyes water and betray her, “well have a safe trip home, and don’t forget your things dear.”

“I am not going to beg you to want me.”

Agatha’s jaw tenses. Her heart feeling heavier than anything she’s ever carried. She wants to scream, to break all of the windows in the room. Wants to say, desperately; I have never not wanted you. I have never wanted to be worthy of anything more.

You’re good. Good in way Agatha’s never been capable of. You’re nothing she expected, but everything she’s wanted, and it hurts more, somehow, like this.

Because she can’t give you everything you want, and as that fact kills you, it kills her too.

Agatha glances over her shoulder and looks at you. Your eyes are brimming with tears, you’re shaking with emotion. With the urge to fight. There is a large part of you, Agatha guesses, that knows Agatha doesn’t want this. Conscious or not. She turns away again.

“I know that’s what you want, for me to beg, but I won’t, not anymore. I can’t,” you whisper.

“Then don’t,” she growls, and then winces because even as she’s turned away she can picture the way you wince. The way you hurt.

All Agatha wants to do is protect you, but it’s like no matter what she does you’ll end up hurt. She’s been pulling away slowly so that when she ends up betraying you to kill Wanda, hopefully it’ll hurt less. All it seems to be doing though is prolonging the pain for the both of you. It’s clear to the both of you the war that’s happening in each of you. The want to fight for this. It’s what makes this worse.

“Don’t”, you repeat with a scoff. Agatha hears it right next to her ear and startles, turning around sharply.

You’re standing right behind her, looking down at her with fiery eyes. Agatha moves to use her magic, but you grab her wrist to stop the thought. It makes her heart skip a beat. Makes her smirk.

She loves you. Loves you always, and wants you just as much when you look at her like you are now. You must sense it because you immediately let go of her wrist, with a look of confusion.

“Do you want me or not?” You ask harshly. And despite herself Agatha can’t help the small flicker of annoyance that crosses her face. Annoyance directed at herself.

She masks it a second later with a smirk, gripping your chin. “Of course I do,” Agatha purrs, her voice dripping with seduction. You tense. Eyeing her with complete betrayal.

When Agatha had imagined the moment in which she betrayed you (and she had imagined it a lot), it hadn’t gone like this. It had gone with her standing over the Scarlet Witch, your best friend, and you frozen a couple feet away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it’s better this way. For you to realize who she is now, rather than later. She needs Wanda’s abilities, and she’ll do anything to get it. She thinks it to herself, and it’s almost like a reminder. ‘She’ll do anything to get it.’

You hold her wrist so gently though, even as your eyes blaze with all type of hurt, and Agatha feels deeply who she’s hurting. She’s hurting you. Her love. Her heart. “My heart,” Agatha says gently, and to you she imagines it’s a stab in the heart from the way you wince. Agatha’s face drops further. “I want you,” she admits, despite herself, finding herself not capable of hurting you like this.

“Then why…?”

Agatha kisses you suddenly on the corner of the mouth. Gently. Perhaps she shouldn’t have let her mask drop, because now it seems impossible to put back on. It feels real the moment she stops playing pretend…what a surprise. Still, she herself feels vulnerable. Like a puppy just waiting to get kicked. As she feels both her and your despair she feels a wave of self loathing too.

“Down the road Wanda’s going down now she will hurt you. Down the road I’m doing down, I will too.” Agatha whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. “When I told you I was going to take her power, I meant I was going to kill her, baby.”

Agatha doesn’t expect the laugh you release at that, but more than that she doesn’t expect the simple way you leave. Her hand hands in the air where you once were, as if she had dreamed the memory of you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

—-

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Couldn’t have gone any worse. Every expectation Agatha has—every time she thinks she can predict what will happen you manage to change everything.

That blast was for Wanda, but you had jumped in front of it like it was your plan from the start. It stops both her and Wanda instantly. The blast would have sent you flying into the house, but Agatha had reacted quickly enough with her magic to prevent the collision. Still, as soon she drops the magic holding you, and begins running towards you, you fall.

Agatha sees it a slow motion but she knows it happens much faster than that, because she’s running with everything in her and still doesn’t make it before your head hits the ground. “My heart, my heart, my heart,” Agatha begs with a trembling voice. Her hands are shaking but she moves your head onto her lap and presses her hands into your side to try and stop the bleeding.

Why did it have to be this spell that hit you. Why did it have to be any? It’s been hundreds of years since her heart has hurt like this. Her mind whirls for a spell, for an anything. All she can do is slow the bleeding, and she does, but you still look up at her with fading eyes, and it kills Agatha.

“Ag-”

“Shh, lovely. It’s going to be okay,” Agatha whispers to you, kissing your head. She doesn’t even notice Wanda’s hand on her shoulder, or her coming up behind her at all.

“I’m transporting us to a Hospital,” Wanda says, looking uncertain and scared. Agatha pays no mind, just takes Wanda’s hand and guides her through the spell with her magic.

“Agatha,” you force out, Agatha returns your gaze, too distracted by the spell to stop you again. “Was power…was it that much more important?”

Suddenly you’re all in the hospital, your eyes are falling shut, and Wanda is shouting for a doctor. “No,” Agatha answers. brushing your hair back. Her chest aches deeply at the streak of blood her hand leaves. She wants to say more, wants to curse at you a bit, just to let it out, but a bunch of medics push Agatha to the side and start touching you.

It’s been a long time since Agatha felt this helpless. She wants to protect you, wants to insert herself into the commotion as the doctors pull you away and command that she gets to stay with you, but she’s scared to take even a split second away from their saving.

She’s paralyzed, watching as they roll you away out of her sight. Wanda, of all people, rests a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out it. “She’ll be okay,” Wanda assures, even as she sounds uncertain.

Agatha can’t bear it any longer. The uncertainty, and the assurance coming from the person she envies the most. She turns on her suddenly, eyes blazing with magic, and this is no longer about stealing Wanda’s magic. This is about Agatha, wanting to grab Wanda by the neck and shout that this is all her fault.

Except it isn’t. It’s her own fault. It was her magic that hit you. Hers that caused you so much pain. Agatha feels the blame so deeply she almost refuses to hold it. For your sake, for your words; was it that much more important? She decides to.

She sags into herself just as suddenly as she had turned towards Wanda, one hand waves her off, and the other presses against the burning in her eyes. “Leave.” Agatha says, her voice hoarse and emotional. And Wanda doesn’t.

She just tilts her head and looks at Agatha like a sad, lost animal. Wanda has no where to return to, not after the scandal she pulled, and the one person who would have probably accepted her (the one person that accepted Agatha herself) is now in a hospital bed.

Agatha sighs.

——

They’re sitting side by side. Agatha threatens to kill the front desk lady 3 times, but never once does she threaten to kill Wanda. Agatha doesn’t mind her. She understands the feeling inside her more than Wanda will ever know. In another life, she would have been her teacher.

If you survive, perhaps in this life too. If she can’t take Wanda’s power, maybe she’s able to watch and learn from it as much as she can.

Agatha can’t believe she’s giving up…she has planned and studied for this for so long…but she’s always been spontaneous, always been ready to plan and shift, always been good at changing track. She’ll get what she wants. She’ll get it another way.

It’s a promise she makes herself, sitting in the waiting room of the hospital waiting to find out if the person she loves is still breathing. It’s a promise she makes herself sitting by the person she’s planned to kill since she first pieced together her ability. A promise she makes herself because it means she gets to have you.

—-

“Agnes?” A nurse calls.

Wanda looks at her, her face reading seriously?. Agatha pays no mind to it, she just sits up violently, and holds tightly onto Wanda’s arm.

—-

When Agatha walks into the room it’s like her heart starts back up again and she can breathe. You’re hurt, but you’re okay. Agatha is in shambles, and she won’t be able to sleep without reliving you bleeding out on the floor—but you’re okay.

She breathes out. Once, twice, then she’s crying; hit with the force of her emotion.

—-

POV Switch

—-

Everything hurts, but when the doctor lets Agatha in with Wanda following— for a moment it doesn’t. For a moment it’s Agatha, the woman you love, standing next to your best friend and not killing her.

Then Agatha is crying, and all you feel is concern. “Ag, lovely, are you hurt?” You ask, still full of drugs and delirious enough to be confused about it all.

Agatha who gave up on you. Agatha who you weren’t good enough for. Agatha who you love, who you could never meet the needs of. Agatha who put you in a hospital bed. Agatha who you love so fully despite the heartbreak she’s caused you.

It all comes back to you suddenly, but Agatha is crying— and none of any of it seems very significant compared to that. Wanda looks between the two of you, and says to you, softly, in a language only the two of you understand; “self-sabotage seems to be a language both me and this one speaks. You are drawn to damaged people, huh?”

You look down and Wanda laughs, but she looks like she also wants to cry. She opens her mouth to say something else, but you already know what she’s going to say so you cut her off. “It wasn’t your fault, Wanda, I am glad it was me and not you.”

Wanda looks like she wants to protest that, but instead she nods her head with tears in her eyes and whispers, after glancing at Agatha, “I’ll give you two privacy. Good luck.”

Then she leaves.

Agatha seems lost in her thoughts…well lost in something. Her eyes are distant, tears still running down her face. “Agatha.” It’s only a whisper but Agatha’s eyes snap towards you. She looks…terrified? She quickly tries to wipe her tears but more just fall.

“You idiot,” Agatha seethes, looking overwhelmed. She breathes heavily and you just let her, even as you bristle and begin to feel your defenses rise.

It’s probably best not to add wood to her fire, you think to yourself.

Agatha stalks towards you, angry, kisses your forehead and then sags into the chair next to your hospital bed. “You idiot,” she repeats shakily, her voice and face lined with a sort of devastation you don’t know how to comfort in her. “What do you think would’ve became of me if I killed you”Agatha presses. “Huh? Did you think before you—“

“Usually when people accidentally almost kill someone, they apologize instead of blaming the person.” You aren’t mad at Agatha, not for hitting you at least, but hearing her act as if you had been the one to fuck up was aggravating.

She fucked up. Not you. “You really think I was going to let you kill my best friend?” You ask, angry now too. “You really think I would’ve let you let me go for some stupid reason like that? I don’t know why power is so important to you, but I support you. I would’ve supported you on finding another way, because I support you when you aren’t hurting innocent people to achieve your self motivated ends. I have given up a lot for you, Agatha, but I will not give up that.”

You release a coughing fit after that. You have more to say but your body won’t allow you to. You have an endless amount of words for Agatha. Agatha who you love. Agatha who you don���t quite know how to be enough for.

Agatha who grits her teeth and looks down. “I will not give up power for you. It is more than that I want, which is something I’m not able to explain to you right now, but I hope you understand,” Agatha pauses. Her eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to find another way. I won’t hurt Wanda. I won’t hurt anyone that will make you—or most humans flaky moral code— ache. By that, I mean anyone ‘innocent’” she uses hand quotes then, and rolls her eyes.

The mild bitterness is clearly something Agatha can’t help. The way she changes tract though was something you never thought she would do for you, and you’re not quite able to understand it.

“Why?” You ask softly. It’s what you want, of course it is, it’s even what you asked, but Agatha doesn’t do anything for other people, nothing if it doesn’t come with her own sort of personal gain.

As if reading your mind Agatha straightens awkwardly in her chair and says simply; “I love you. I don’t want to hurt or lose you.”

“But…but power is important to you.”

“So are you,” Agatha says, tilting her head.

You don’t know why you’re almost trying to convince her it’s more important, but perhaps it’s because you struggle to accept or fathom your own importance in her life. It feels like a fever dream, one you’re trying to pinch yourself to get out of.

If you believe it and then are disappointed, it hurts more than if you had never believed it at all.

“I’m sorry,” Agatha says, pulling you out of your thoughts. Not by her voice, but by the tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I was so scared of my own affections for you I denied myself them, and in turn made you feel denied. I love you.” She repeats. “I love you, and you’re important to me, and there’s a billion things I’d sacrifice for you, and I never want to lose you, and—“

“I love you too,” you rush out, shocked by Agatha’s desperation and wanting to reassure her. Agatha breathes out heavily, a breath she must’ve been holding, and shakes her head at herself, wiping at her eyes.

This time, at the quickness of how she composes herself you don’t think of it as her not really caring, but instead as a defense mechanism she’s mastered. A part of your heart hurts for her.

“Thank you, Agatha. For trusting me with your heart.”

Agatha rolls her eyes at that, but she’s smiling and it’s all apart of her recovery. You let her have it. “My heart,” she sighs, leaning over to give you a lingering kiss. When she pulls away the both of you stare at each other. You, trying to commit this moment to memory. Agatha staring like she’s trying to be sure this is real.

“The witch is still mine,” Agatha whispers, completely breaking the moment. “If she thinks she’s off the hook for the amount of emotional instability she has, she has another thing coming. Unstable emotions and magic are never a good combo.”

You snort. Mumbling under your breath, “funny…just learned that lesson.” Agatha glares at you, just as Wanda walks in.

“If we’re all good now I think we should go,” Wanda rushes.

“What did you do?” Both you and Agatha question.

Wanda smiles nervously, surrounding the room in an aura of red magic.. someone walks over to the barrier of it and begins banging. You’re beginning to wonder if it’s a talent of witches to ruin your peace. Especially when about 4 more armed people start trying to shove themselves into the force field. And oh, there are the guns.

Agatha sighs very deeply, and you release a very dramatic groan. Wanda tilts her head sheepishly. “I should go. I released westview but looks like my consequences are still knocking at the door,” she says quietly.

Agatha agrees. “Yes, you should.” She pauses, most likely waiting and taking pleasure in the pointed look you give her. “I probably should go too though, there’s no telling how people want to paint a witch. Most likely another villain…maybe a hero after the scene we pulled. Still, I shouldn’t be in the public until I find out.”

“We’ll see you soon then, Y/N.”

You give them a look, a look that both Wanda and Agatha know to mean; are you absolutely batshit crazy? You don’t need to say it, but you do; “you two are not going anywhere without me.”

Agatha smirks, and Wanda smiles, then a wave of Wanda’s hand and the three of you are somewhere else much more safe. At least until the media and Avengers manages to get the media to unfairly paint what happened in westview as something much more innocent.

This new journey with the three of you should be…fun until then. At least you have your favorite people, and they have you.

[pigeonp0st]

Shattered Edges

Plot: After a mission went south, you come home and try to hide your injuries from Natasha. Your past has taught you to cope with them on your own instead of asking for help. However, your blood loss has made you forget that Natasha is a trained spy.

Warnings: blood, injury, trauma, angst

Word count: 3,3k

Masterlist

Y/n stumbled through the corridors of Avengers tower, each step an excruciating effort. The mission had been a disaster. One of those kinds of disasters where things went wrong before they even had a chance to go right. But it wasn’t the mission that weighed on her. It was the pain that radiated from the deep gash along her side, the broken rib that she could feel grinding against her insides with every breath, and the exhaustion that clung to her limbs like lead.

Her training had kicked in the second she realized she was hurt, long before the others had even noticed. Hydra had conditioned her well, to conceal pain, to suppress vulnerability. In her world, weakness meant death, and there had never been room for mercy, let alone care.

The familiar, sterile walls of the Tower blurred as she made her way down the hall, her vision swimming slightly. But she kept her pace steady, determined. Natasha couldn’t see her like this. No one could. The others were still debriefing, but she had slipped away, not trusting herself to stay upright long enough to make it through the meeting. She told herself she just needed to clean up. Get it under control. She would be fine. She was always fine.

The room she shared with Natasha was just ahead, and the door was slightly ajar, light spilling out into the darkened hallway. Y/n felt a small, sharp spike of panic as she saw the light, Natasha was already home. She had hoped to get back before her, patch herself up, and brush it all off as nothing. Now, the plan was ruined.

Her heart raced, and she tried to steady her breathing, ignoring the burning pain that flared with each inhale. Maybe Natasha hadn’t seen her yet. Maybe she was still in the bathroom or the kitchen. If she could just make it to the bed without collapsing, maybe she could still hide it.

But as she reached for the door, her vision blurred, the edges of her sight darkening. The pain hit her harder, a fresh wave that nearly knocked her off her feet. She gripped the doorframe, her knuckles white, and for a moment, she thought she might pass out. She couldn't pass out here, not where Natasha would find her.

Get it together, she thought, clenching her jaw. You’ve been through worse.

With a shaky breath, y/n slipped into the room, careful not to make a sound. She leaned against the wall for support, every nerve in her body screaming in protest. The door closed softly behind her, the faint click somehow deafening in the quiet of the room. Her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears, and she could feel the blood pooling beneath her suit, hot and sticky as it soaked through her side.

She moved toward the bathroom, her only thought to clean up, to hide the evidence. But before she made it halfway across the room, her knees buckled. She gasped, catching herself on the edge of the bed just before she fell completely. Pain shot through her side, so intense it brought tears to her eyes. She bit her lip hard, willing herself not to cry out.

She collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, trying to calm the panic that clawed at her chest. She was slipping, and she knew it. The blood loss was more than she had anticipated. Her vision swam, the edges of the room blurring and twisting in ways that made her feel sick. But she couldn't let it show. She couldn't let Natasha see her like this.

Natasha had always been the strong one, the steady one. Y/n had seen the way Natasha handled herself in battle, the way she carried herself through life with an unshakable sense of control. She had never wanted to be a burden to her. Especially not now, when Natasha had so much else to deal with. Y/n didn’t want to be one more thing she had to worry about. She had to hold it together, had to clean herself up before Natasha noticed.

But the door creaked open. "Y/n?"

Natasha’s voice was soft but tinged with concern. The sound of her name on Natasha’s lips made y/n's heart clench. She closed her eyes tightly, hoping against hope that Natasha wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t notice the blood or the way she was barely holding herself together.

She forced herself to answer, her voice a weak imitation of calm. “I’m here.” She pressed her hand harder against her side, trying to staunch the bleeding, trying to hide the pain in her voice. She prayed Natasha wouldn’t come closer, wouldn’t see her like this.

But Natasha’s eyes were sharp, always sharp, and y/n could feel her gaze linger on her too long. There was no escaping it. Natasha was already at her side before y/n could blink, crouching down in front of her.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” Natasha asked, her tone too careful, too controlled. Her green eyes locked onto y/n, scanning her with that intensity she usually reserved for battlefields.

“I’m just… tired,” y/n replied, trying to shrug it off. She shifted, but the movement sent a white-hot pain lancing through her side. She stifled a groan, but the strain didn’t go unnoticed.

Natasha’s hand shot out, gently but firmly resting on y/n's shoulder, keeping her in place. Her brow furrowed as she looked closer, taking in the torn suit, the blood, the way Y/n was holding herself. Her expression shifted from concern to something darker, a quiet fury burning beneath the surface.

“What happened?” Natasha’s voice was low, but there was a sharpness to it now, an edge that cut through the fog in y/n's brain.

“I’m fine,” y/n lied, her breath hitching as the pain flared again. She couldn’t meet Natasha’s eyes, couldn’t let her see how much she was struggling. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Natasha snapped, her voice trembling with barely restrained anger. Her eyes dropped to y/n's hand, the one pressed against her side, and her breath hitched when she saw the blood seeping through y/n’s fingers. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s just a scratch,” y/n muttered, trying to brush it off, but the words sounded hollow, even to her own ears. Her vision swam again, and she had to blink hard to keep from blacking out.

“Don’t lie to me,” Natasha’s voice was raw now, the calm veneer slipping away as fear bled into her words. She knelt closer, her hand hovering near y/n’s side as if she wanted to touch but didn’t know where to start. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/n clenched her teeth, her chest tight with guilt and panic. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want Natasha to see her like this, so weak, so broken. She was supposed to be stronger than this.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” y/n whispered, the words barely audible as they slipped past her lips. Her voice cracked, and she hated how small she sounded.

Natasha’s expression softened, but the fear in her eyes didn’t fade. “You think this doesn’t worry me?” she asked, her voice quieter now but no less intense. She gently reached for y/n’s hand, pulling it away from her side to get a better look at the wound. Y/n flinched, biting back a cry of pain as Natasha’s fingers brushed against the torn fabric of her suit.

“You’re bleeding, y/n,” Natasha said, her voice tight with barely controlled emotion. “This is more than a scratch. You should’ve come to me. Why didn’t you come to me?"

Y/n felt her throat close up, the weight of Hydra’s teachings pressing down on her like a lead blanket. She had been trained to handle pain, to endure it, to push through it without complaint. Asking for help had always been a sign of weakness, something to be punished. Even now, after all these years, those lessons were hard to shake.

“I… I didn’t want to…” y/b’s voice faltered. She didn’t want to say the words, didn’t want to admit how deeply ingrained that fear still was. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, her face contorting with shock and hurt. “A burden?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is that what you think you are to me?”

Y/n couldn’t answer. She couldn’t bring herself to look Natasha in the eye, not when she could feel the weight of her disappointment and pain pressing down on her.

“You’re not a burden,” Natasha said, her voice fierce but soft. She cupped y/n’s cheek gently, tilting her head up so their eyes met. The intensity in Natasha’s gaze was enough to make y/n’s heart stutter. “You never have been, and you never will be. Do you understand me?”

Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. She nodded slightly, her chest aching from more than just the physical pain.

Natasha exhaled slowly, her thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped free. “I don’t care what Hydra taught you,” she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. “You’re not with them anymore. You’re with me. And I love you. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Y/n's defenses crumbled, the walls she had built around herself shattering under Natasha’s words. She had spent so long trying to protect herself, trying to be strong on her own, that the thought of letting someone else in, letting Natasha see the broken pieces, terrified her. But there, under Natasha’s gaze, the fear loosened its grip, and all the exhaustion, the pain, and the fear she had been holding back poured out.

“I don’t know how,” y/n whispered, her voice breaking as the tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over. She hated how weak she sounded, hated that she couldn’t even hide her trembling anymore. “I don’t know how to ask for help.”

Natasha’s expression softened, the anger melting away as she pulled y/n closer, wrapping her arms around her carefully, as if afraid y/n might break. Her embrace was warm and strong, grounding in a way y/n hadn’t realized she needed.

“You don’t have to know how,” Natasha whispered against her hair, holding her just a little tighter. “You just need to let me be here for you.”

Y/n exhaled shakily, her body sagging against Natasha’s as the adrenaline that had kept her upright finally began to wear off. She let herself lean into Natasha’s warmth, let herself be held, even though every instinct screamed at her to pull away, to run, to hide her weakness. But here, in Natasha’s arms, it didn’t feel like weakness anymore. It felt like safety.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Let me take care of you.”

Y/n nodded, her throat too tight to form words. She closed her eyes, her head resting against Natasha’s shoulder, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself let go. She didn’t have to be strong, didn’t have to pretend everything was fine. Not with Natasha. Not here.

Natasha pulled back just enough to look at Y/N, her hands gentle as she brushed y/n's hair away from her face. “We need to get you cleaned up,” she said, her voice laced with worry. “I don’t like how much blood you’ve lost.”

Y/n grimaced, the pain in her side flaring up again as Natasha’s hand moved over the wound. She had been trying to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t as bad as it felt, but now, under Natasha’s watchful gaze, there was no hiding the truth.

“Can you stand?” Natasha asked, her tone gentle but commanding. She wasn’t asking out of weakness, she needed to assess how bad it really was.

“I… think so,” y/n whispered, though she wasn’t entirely sure. The room still spun a little, and the pain was making it hard to focus, but she nodded anyway.

Natasha moved with the efficiency of someone who had been in combat too many times to count, carefully slipping her arm around y/n’s waist, avoiding the injured side. “Lean on me,” Natasha said, her voice firm but tender. “I’ve got you.”

Y/n did as she was told, her body sagging against Natasha’s as they slowly stood. She bit down hard on her lip as the movement pulled at the gash in her side, the pain nearly unbearable now that the adrenaline had worn off. But Natasha didn’t let her falter. She kept her steady, her arm strong around y/n as she guided her toward the bathroom.

Once inside, Natasha sat y/n down on the closed toilet seat, kneeling in front of her to assess the damage. Her fingers were gentle but methodical as she peeled back the torn fabric of y/n’s suit, revealing the deep wound beneath. Y/n winced as the cool air hit her skin, her breath hitching as Natasha’s eyes darkened with concern.

“You should have told me sooner,” Natasha muttered, more to herself than to y/n, as she reached for the first-aid kit they always kept nearby. She worked quickly, cleaning the wound with steady hands, her touch careful but efficient.

Y/n watched her in silence, too tired to protest, too tired to do anything but sit there and let Natasha take over. There was something comforting in the way Natasha moved, so sure of herself, so in control. Y/n felt a flicker of shame that she couldn’t handle this on her own, but it was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming relief that she didn’t have to.

As Natasha cleaned and bandaged the wound, y/n closed her eyes, the exhaustion weighing down on her like a heavy blanket. She let herself relax, her head leaning against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. Her body ached, every inch of her screaming for rest, but the pain was dulled by the warmth of Natasha’s presence.

After what felt like an eternity, Natasha finished bandaging her up and gently stood, her eyes still scanning y/n for any signs of further injury. “We need to get you into bed,” Natasha said softly, her voice now thick with concern.

Y/n nodded weakly, too drained to argue. She didn’t even care about hiding her weakness anymore. Not from Natasha. Natasha had seen everything now, and she hadn’t turned away. She hadn’t recoiled in disgust or frustration like y/n had always feared. Instead, she had stayed, strong and steady, like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

Natasha helped her stand again, and they slowly made their way back to the bed. Y/n barely registered the movement as Natasha gently guided her under the covers, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. Natasha sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving y/n as she tucked the blanket around her.

“Are you comfortable?” Natasha asked, her voice soft as she brushed a stray strand of hair away from y/n's face.

Y/n nodded, though in truth, her entire body hurt. But the pain didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with Natasha sitting beside her, her hand resting lightly on y/n’s arm, grounding her.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Y/n could feel the weight of Natasha’s gaze, but it wasn’t judgmental. It was something softer, something that made y/n’s chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the physical pain.

Natasha broke the silence first. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked quietly, her voice thick with emotion. “Why did you try to hide it from me?”

Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wasn’t sure how to explain it, how to put into words the years of conditioning, the fear of being seen as weak. Hydra had drilled into her that asking for help was dangerous, that it was something to be punished. Even after all this time, those lessons were still hard to shake.

“I didn’t want to be… a burden,” y/n admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, and she reached out, gently cupping y/n’s cheek in her hand. “You’re not weak,” she said firmly, her thumb brushing lightly across y/n’s skin. “And you’re not a burden. You never have been.”

Y/n’s chest tightened, the guilt and fear twisting inside her. “I just… I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

“You don’t have to ask,” Natasha whispered, her voice fierce but tender. “I’m always here for you. Whether you ask or not.”

Y/n felt her heart swell, the weight of Natasha’s words settling over her like a warm blanket. She had spent so long trying to protect herself, trying to be strong, that she had forgotten what it felt like to let someone else carry some of that weight. To let someone else be there for her.

“I’m sorry,” y/n whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to worry you.”

Natasha shook her head, her eyes filled with something y/n couldn’t quite name. “I’ll always worry about you, y/n. That’s what love is. But I need you to let me in. I need you to let me help you.”

Y/n blinked, her vision blurring with tears again. She hadn’t expected Natasha’s words to hit her so hard, but they did. They cut through all the fear, all the doubt, and left her feeling raw and vulnerable in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

“I’ll try,” y/n whispered, her voice shaky but sincere. “I’ll try to let you in.”

Natasha smiled softly, her hand still gently cupping y/n’s cheek. “That’s all I ask.”

For a long moment, they just sat there, the silence between them now warm and comforting. Y/n let herself relax, let herself sink into the warmth of the moment, into the safety of Natasha’s presence. She didn’t have to be strong right now. She didn’t have to pretend.

Natasha leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to y/n’s forehead, her lips lingering for just a moment longer than usual. “Get some rest,” she whispered as she pulled back. “I’m right here.”

Y/n nodded, her eyes already drooping with exhaustion. She felt Natasha’s hand slip into hers, the warmth of her touch grounding her even as she began to drift off to sleep.

For the first time in a long time, y/n didn’t feel like she had to carry everything on her own. She didn’t feel like she had to be strong all the time. She had Natasha, and that was enough.

As she slipped into sleep, her hand still held in Natasha’s, y/n felt a sense of peace settle over her. The pain was still there, and the wounds would take time to heal, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she had to face it alone. She wasn’t just the soldier, the weapon, the survivor anymore. With Natasha by her side, she was allowed to be something more, something softer, something real.

Natasha stayed beside her, watching y/n's breathing even out as she drifted deeper into sleep. Her thumb gently stroked the back of y/n’s hand, a quiet reminder that she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

For a long while, Natasha just sat there, her heart heavy with a mix of love and worry. She had seen y/n fight, had watched her take on impossible odds without hesitation, but this... this was different. This vulnerability, this pain she tried so hard to hide, it cut deeper than any mission ever could.

"I’ll keep you safe," Natasha whispered softly, though she knew y/n was already asleep. "No matter what."

And as y/n slept, a small smile tugged at her lips, as if some part of her had heard. Natasha leaned down, pressing one last kiss to her forehead, before settling beside her. She would be there when y/n woke up, just as she promised. Always there, through the pain, the fear, and the healing.

Together, they would face whatever came next, but for now, y/n slept soundly, wrapped in the knowledge that she was loved and no longer had to carry her burdens alone.

Another fanfic I really like :) I love these kinda angsty oneshots with happy endings.

[pigeonp0st]

Wow, I just finished reading your most recent piece with Kara and it was really well done. You mentioned the idea of immortality in that and wondered how that could be used in a different piece perhaps. Kara (Plus Alex and the others) possibly finding out that reader is immortal and has been for a long time. (As a sort of headconnon or what not. I’d presume reader would be running a personally owned company, as big if not bigger than L-Corp. What with having a long time to amass wealth)

Kara Danvers X Reader

Summary:

Reader reveals she’s immortal to the super friends. Kara comforts her.

warnings:

Angst

Notes:

Thanks for the request! Sorry for taking so long. It being shorter is the sacrifice I’ve made to return to writing, but I hope you enjoy anyways!

——

It’s game night that the super friends find out about my immortality.

It comes out when Lena says she’s been looking into my company, wanting to buy it. She mentions curiously that it says I’m the founder, when it’s well known my company has been around for nearly a hundred years.

And, well…It comes out then, because you’ve stopped being secretive about it when it stopped being something you had to be secretive about…

They know now— of my immortality, and though I should feel relief at the being known, of the truth I’ve not done much to hide revealing itself, all I feel is discontent. Discontent and unsatisfied, unsatisfied because the agony and empathy in their eyes is lackluster. They know now, and even as they try to understand they’re incapable of it.

I am immortal, and yet I have lived a thousand lives in my one everlasting one. There’s so much devastation in every end when you’ve had countless of new beginnings. I do best in the in between where l don’t have to face either beginning or end. It’s in the start of something new that every fiber of my being screams for stop.

Getting used to something doesn’t mean it gets easier, in the same way grief often works. I am constantly grieving my lives, and it’s become a heavy burden they could never understand.

It hurts in a way I hadn’t accounted for. With the coming of Superman, the rise of aliens, the new acceptance of them—there’s a rise of difference, and in that alternative community. It makes you feel better, this new life. It’s given you more hope of being understood than ever before, but to be faced with your friend’s sympathetic eyes, it all feels lackluster.

Even more so when Winn makes a nerdy comment about wanting to know the truth about history. Everyone laughs, laughs and leaves me alone in the same instant.

I laugh along, searching for connection and finding none. Disappointment was the backside of the renewed hope this life has given me. I felt intensely that there was no point in explaining any of anything that had ever happened for me. To reject them that would allow me the dignity of being not understood on my own terms.

It is better to be alone by yourself, than to be alone surrounded by people after all.

Karas eyes meet mine. She’s sitting by Alex and Lena’s feet. Her and Lena the only ones not laughing, trying to lighten the mood. Lena gives me an apologetic smile, on behalf of the others. There’s connection there.

Kara…Kara just goes distant. Goes distant then, and then goes distant the rest of the game night. It’s when everyones leaving and she stops me, I understand, or accept really; it was because of me. What I said.

I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to speak on it ever again, regret like acid still in my stomach.

“You…” Kara pauses, searches my eyes—for what, I don’t know. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She must sense the way this kills me from the way I wince, because she pulls me into a hug. A hug full of emotion. It shatters me in a way, because it feels like permission. Permission to fall apart.

I can’t, I’ve learned. Know now that if I start, I’ll never stop. All I can do is use logic as avoidance from my heart, and move forward with something resembling acceptance.

I pull away.

“Superman, you, all the aliens, the Meta-Humans, all of you have stretched the definition of what we call ‘humanity’, what we call ‘heart’, and yet still I feel like it escapes me.” It aches as I admit it—feels like a terrible, stupid thing.

Stupid because I have lived so long and yet still, here I am, so agonizingly affected. There are things I know, things I’ve learned, and they all mean nothing.

Kara shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed. She rejects it all. “That very thing inside of that feels different, alone in your experience, that is the very thing that actually connects you to humanity,” Kara says, her eyes soft and understanding.

Understanding in this, in this that she can understand. My heart quickens, I watch Kara, think of hope. Think of her.

Kara who has lost her whole world, her whole culture, who has taken her past and her aloneness and had become a hero, instead of something much darker. “Is there anyone like you, Kara?” I ask. It’s perhaps the question that has tormented her, the way it torments me— “is there anyone like me?”— but I say it like a gift. With reverence.

She is different, inexplicably so. It’s the best thing about her. Kara smiles shyly, looks down, fixes her glasses. “There’s you,” she whispers, “with an aloneness not anyone in this world could understand.”

There’s something about her saying it as it is that settles something inside of you.

“To feel so alone, and have it be the very thing that connects me, and in actuality makes me not alone,” l muse, somehow impressed. There’s not a life that has taught me more than the one with Kara.

There’s a gratitude inside me larger than all the life I’ve lived.

Kara grins, she pulls me in again. Hugs me tight. “I’m sorry about Alex asking to recruit you,” she whispers after a while. I let her words be the thing that has me pulling away, despite Kara’s pout at it.

I smile hesitantly, waving away Kara’s apology. “When Superman showed up it had me thinking about it, but my immortality has been taken advantage of before, and not being able to die isn’t as strong of a power as you might think,” I admit, “I’m not as strong as you’d think.”

Kara gives me a disbelieving look. My defensiveness looks like guilt to her, I know. It is. It’s guilt and fear. I’d want nothing more than to make this forever mean something, but I’m plagued by all of its consequences.

She lets me get away with the things left unsaid, thankfully. In my gratefulness I decide not to ask about her own prolonged life, despite my ongoing curiosity.

I know it’s a sensitive topic. There’s almost all of me that hurts for her, and then there’s a small part of me that thinks; I can live with her longer.

Supergirl, Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-el; my love.

I cough, adjust my bag over my shoulder, and step away. I know I have to before I kiss her in the dim lighting of her apartment, in the body that gets the honor to live alongside her. “See you tomorrow, Supergirl?”

Kara nods, eyes dark. She bites her lip, looks away with a flush. “Yep. One hundred percent. Lunch, right? Right. Yeah. I’ll be there,” Kara confirms, turning an even darker red at my responding eyebrow raise.

“Yeah,” I say, amused. “I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t miss it for my life.”

Kara laughs. Fills your heart for lifetimes with it. You leave with the hope of tomorrow, and the sound of her laugh.

[pigeonp0st]

You are extremely talented

I love your writing 💕

You’re the kindest ❤️

[pigeonp0st]

heelloo!! uhm i was thinking could u write an agatha harkness x reader one with Agatha sees r with another person (just as closer friends but Agatha doesn’t know it). Then Agatha invites r to her house and Agatha has to bite down on their lip so hard whenever r talks about the other person, angst with happy ending please (and if your are comfortable, maybe you can add smut)?

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary:

Agatha gets jealous of your relationship with Wanda. Emotion ensues.

Warning:

Jealousy, angst (not really)

Notes:

Thanks for the request! I wrote this pretty fast and have not even read it over once…I’ll probably fix it up later…anyways! Hope you enjoy still <3 I always love an Agatha request

——

Agatha stopped Wanda for you. She brought down Westview, and forced Wanda into reality. In the process she ruined both of their fantasies; Wanda’s fantasy of a perfect life, and Agathas of all consuming power.

She did it for you. Because the prospect of power was nothing compared to the prospect of your devastation. Because you asked her to. You with your warm eyes, full of more emotion and humanity than both Agatha and Wanda have in power combined.

You asked her to, and there was no other option.

So no. She doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret trailing behind you and Wanda to help the Avengers, doesn’t regret following you. Can’t possibly. She doesn’t regret it, but Wanda smiles at you, leans in close, and Agatha feels a bit like she’s been betrayed. Betrayed because you smile back, and whisper something into Wanda’s ear that makes her flush a color that’s just perfect for the Scarlett Witch.

Agatha grits her teeth and returns to her book. She’s lived centuries and has never felt more childish.

It shouldn’t bother how close you and Wanda have gotten, she knows. She has no right to feel betrayed. She hasn’t done anything she’s done expecting anything more than your happiness. You aren’t hers.

You aren’t hers, and so Agatha just fumes silently in the corner of the room and imagines burning this whole damn tower down.

You don’t even know how Agatha cares, she knows. Every bit of vulnerability, love, and affection is hidden behind layers of humor and sarcasm.

You watch Agatha with distrust still because of it; wondering about alternative motives. Everyone in this god forsaken tower does, and Agatha has no idea why she’s here giving up centuries of planning for this game. These people are no different to those in Westview. Children playing dress up and pretend. All of them wearing costumes of heroes who aren’t afraid.

Cowards. All of them.

Your loud laugh draws Agatha’s attention from her page. Wanda is smiling at you with a gentleness Agatha can’t afford, and Agatha thinks, both with affection and a heavy heart; all of them but you.

She knows that despite her help she has given no one here good reason to trust her. She admits to herself that she enjoys letting them think she’s scheming—that she plays into it.

They’re just as uncaring for her as she is them. They push her away, but all you do is pull her in. To be brave and foolish is one in the same to Agatha, and she loves you for all the things she can’t afford to be.

—-

It’s only the next day that Agatha walks into the compound looking for you. She wants your help to test her potion.

She’s been visiting every day this week, and she’s beginning to feel a bit like the person she thought she wouldn’t ever be again. She’s beginning to settle into the thoughts instead of jerk away.

Then she sees you. You’re on top of Wanda, both you and her sleeping peacefully on the couch. Your head on her chest, her hand threaded in your hair, your legs intertwined.

The glass potion in Agatha’s hand shatters violently and loudly, startling only Wanda awake. She jerks and snaps her eyes towards Agatha, always on edge after being raised in war. Their eyes meet for only a second, and then both turn back to you, still sleeping peacefully.

Agatha turns on her heel. Wanda says, with a knowing that ruins her; “wait—”

Agatha, cowardly, no different than the people she despises, and never having claimed otherwise, teleports away.

—-

Agatha avoids the compound for just a week before she caves and invites you over.

She can’t bear to see Wanda, which is a new thing because usually she enjoys tormenting her. The image of her protective hand tangled in your hair, and your possessive leg thrown over her is still fresh in Agatha’s mind though.

Then there’s the text Wanda sent after Agatha left; filled with the same knowing Agatha sensed with her departure. You’re 5 years old.

(Then a bit later; whatever was in that potion melted through the compound. I hope you can magic up some money to fix your tantrum.)

Agatha, the picture of wisdom, sends Wanda two middle fingers and then blocks her.

So, naturally, she’s glad when you show up only an hour after Agatha’s text. No Wanda, for the first time in weeks.

At least—that’s what Agatha expected. It’s an hour later and all you’ve talked about is Wanda. Wanda this, Wanda that. Agatha has always had a challenge with patience, it’s always the biggest challenge of her schemes, and biting on her lip is barely constraining her from lashing out at this point.

It’s when Agatha tones your voice out though, that she notices the hunch to your shoulders, the heaviness in your eyes.

And the bruise around your neck. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? “Who did this to you?”

Agatha drops her dishes immediately, rushing to where you’re seated at the kitchen island. She thinks; who, who, with a desperate frustration as she tilts your head up to inspect the injury. She’ll kill them. Kill them.

For now, she pulls her magic forward, setting to the task of healing the violence inflicted on you, but you pull away from Agatha just as suddenly as she calls on her magic; angry in a way Agatha is caught off guard by.

“All you are is hot and cold,” you mutter, looking away. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days and you haven’t responded, then I come as soon as you call and you ignore me for an hour. Now…now you suddenly care that I’m hurt?”

Agatha blinks, once, twice, and then you’re standing up and pacing her kitchen. Agatha stands, hand still hovering where it was touching your cheek, and watches.

“If you’re done—If you’ve already gotten what you needed from us, whatever it is, and are done, just tell me. Tell me and stop pretending to care,” you plead. Agatha notices the dark circles under your eyes. Notices all the parts of you that are dimmed now that she’s not stuck on Wanda, Wanda. “I can’t play pretend like you do, Ag. I don’t get what it serves you to act like you care about me. I have nothing to offer.”

You’re spiraling in the middle of Agatha’s kitchen, and Agatha is torn between all of the parts of herself. The one that wants to laugh and brush this all aside, the one that wants to comfort you, the one that wants to kiss you, and the one she settles on; the version of her that’s angry and feeling misunderstood by the person she knows she’s done everything to deceive.

She’s not often hit by regret, or not often this out of control over her own emotions. It makes her angrier. Angrier because it takes her back and makes her feel younger than she’s been in centuries. She’s not that child anymore, can’t be.

Don’t you get that you’re ruining her?

—-

“I care,” Agatha whispers urgently, silently fuming and with her face morphed into a frustrated scowl. “Of course I care,” she says, like it should have never been in question—because she’s made it so clear apparently, you think disbelievingly, unable to help the scoff that chokes out of you.

Yeah right.

With more disappointment than Agatha could ever understand, you shake your head. “The only thing you care about, Agatha, is power. You tell me yourself all the time. I just thought— ” you pause, untamed tears coming to your eyes. “I don’t know what I thought…”

The moment the words leave your lips, you and Agatha enter into a standoff. Agatha furious and raging, and you too wrapped in your own emotions to register it as it is.

Agatha angry for the first time—at this. At the doubting of her care. It should say all you need to know, but you’ve missed it completely now that you’ve stopped looking.

It’s another moment of glaring before Agatha scoffs and stalks forward, pushing you into the wall and trapping you. Anyone else would be scared, but you just continue to glare (even as you flush).

There’s a part of you somewhere, one you don’t notice, but that Agatha does. A part of you that knows Agatha would never hurt you.

“I’m too old for this, ” Agatha grits out, and then her hand is around your throat. You don’t even flinch. Aren’t even surprised when you feel the rush of healing magic. All you’re surprised about is just that— your lack of surprise.

Agatha’s eyes turn inspecting, she shifts your head to the side with her other hand, ignoring your protests. You’re beginning to feel like a child, beginning to see things as they are.

Of course Agatha cares, you know. Somehow it hurts just as much. How could she both care and be so unpredictable, so cold? Had she thought of how you’d feel at all when you ignored her for the week? The other Avengers grew suspicious, checking everywhere around the compound for something stolen. You thought something terrible happened to her.

Only Wanda seemed unbothered. “She’s just throwing a tantrum,” she said, and wouldn’t explain further.

“Who did this?” Agatha repeats, pulling you from your thoughts.

“It was a mission”, you explained, the fire leaving you with it. You can’t afford to be mad at Agatha. You need and miss her too much.

Agatha growls, not settled at all. “Isn’t Wanda supposed to be protecting you?” She asks venomously, her jaw tightening along with her hand. “What good is your little girlfriend if she can’t even do that?”

It’s so laced with bitterness, with wanting, you’re left to blink at her, utterly shocked. Does Agatha think—? Wanda’s voice comes to your head; “she saw us cuddling and looked like she was going to murder me with the shattered glass in her hand.”

Seriously?

“What?” Agatha asks, self conscious in a way she never is. Self conscious because she likes—possibly loves you back.

All of this week’s turmoil, and for what? Because the two of you love each other?

—

You’re grinning at Agatha now, and Agatha is completely suspicious and unnerved. She tries to step back but you capture her wrists, pull her even closer.

Agatha’s heart pounds at the look on your face. Like a Cheshire cat. She can’t escape the feeling that she’s been caught. She eyes you with uneasiness.

You look at her expectantly now. “So much wisdom and yet you’re still so stupid?”

“Stupid?” Agatha repeats with disgust, like the word isn’t even in the dictionary.

You nod. “Agatha,” you breathe, affectionately. Agatha feels her world shift. “You know I love you, don’t you? Wanda is only ever going to be my frie—”

Agatha doesn’t let you finish. Couldn’t bear too. She’s always standing on the precipice of something. Always hovering over lines, too impatient to stand back, and your I love you snaps Agatha forward, like she’s been waiting for it for centuries. She kisses you roughly, pushing you back against the wall, and tries to claim it.

I love you, to the person who has never felt loved. She turned her back on love the moment love turned her back on her. She was only a teenager then, realizing that there was not a strength she could have that would make her enough for her mother—for her clan. There was not a person she could be beside herself, and never a version that wasn’t lacking, just out of reach of affection.

Then you. You showed up in Westview, strong enough to break in unaffected, and suspicious of Agatha, suspicious and then knowing, but still caring through it, and Agatha felt herself enough in the moments her mother would have claimed were her weakest; her moments where she was vulnerable and honest.

She kisses you like you’re her testament of her strength, now. Like you’re a testament of just how enough she is. She’s always been wanting, and doesn’t know how to exist without it. Without the yearning of; more, more, more, but as her kisses slow down, turn loving instead of passionate, she thinks for the first time that to exist like this—for the first time at peace, is something she could get used to forever.

You’re breathing heavily when Agatha breaks away, completely flustered and shaken. Agatha feels her heart pick up again, and thinks, no—she’ll always be wanting, and moves in to kiss you again.

You laugh, so joyful and happy—because of her. Because of her—a hand over Agatha’s mouth to stop her. “Are we ever going to talk?” You wonder breathlessly. “About feelings? About where you got that idea about Wanda and me?

Agatha pulls your hand away, smiles devilishly and possessively. “After I’ve had you against every corner of this house, we’ll invite Wanda over and talk over everything you’d like.”

You groan in exasperation, but there’s no protesting when Agatha kisses you next, and from the way you practically fall into the way Agatha’s hand curls loosely around your neck, she doesn’t expect one anytime soon.

[pigeonp0st]

Lena Luthor x Reader #3

Summary: Lena breaks up with Reader to keep her safe from Lex. Reader hatches a plan to get rid of him that goes terribly wrong, and naturally, torture follows. This mostly takes place after she’s found again.

Warnings:

Angst,torture, depression, trauma, childhood trauma

Notes:

Hey! I’m going about writing differently now. Everything I write from here on out will most likely be straight from the tumblr drafts and fairly quick. Something I decide to do in a random sitting (unless it’s paid for). Fair warning that this isn’t that, this is just something I worked on ages ago and didn’t publish. I did NO SPELLING CHECKS and remember writing at 2am, so warning number 2

———————

Lena loathed the DEO in that moment. She loathed Alex, and she loathed Supergirl , and she loathed every damn agent in the building so that she didn’t have to loathe herself instead. It’s not enough, there was still a small part of her that she couldn’t ignore, a part of her that screamed; ‘you should have held on. You should have been there’

She knows she should have been there. She knows she failed you before anyone else did. She knows. But she’s trying now and she doesn’t know how to get it to matter to the world. Trying won’t save you, and trying hasn’t led you back to her.

Trying has only led you there, far from Lena, laying somewhere unknown with a body and a heart too worn. Though, Lena imagines, that’s probably not a new feeling for you. She trembles with the image of Lex mocking her on video, holding a gun to your head, she trembles and thinks, I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.

Then, miraculously;

“Found her!” Winn shouts loudly, raising his Supergirl action figure in victory, and Lena, CEO, multibillionaire, crumbles in relief in front of dozens of agents in the middle of the DEO.

—-

When you wake up Lena feels her heart stop.

She wanted to kiss you, hold you. She wanted to be the type of person that stayed. She wanted to be the type of person worth staying for.

She wanted to believe the both of you would be okay, and she wanted to hold your face and tell you that. That you’d be okay. She wanted more than anything in that moment to be the type of person that said the right thing. That did the right thing.

She wasn’t. She wasn’t any of the people she wanted to be. Your eyes met hers, full of sorrow, and human and hurt, and she wasn’t. She wasn’t because she was scared, and because she was human also. She wasn’t—so she leaves.

Now, as she’s gripping herself in the hallways of the DEO, struggling against the weight of what feels like worlds on her shoudlers, choking on breaths that should have been being shared with you, she’s filled with so much self contempt it could fuel the whole government. Whoever said that “It’s better to have loved and loss, than to have never loved at all”, has never met the two of you and has never loved this desperately.

Loving you made her feel just as much as losing you had, and is it worth it? Maybe, but It’s certainly not better to be feeling this than not ever feeling it. Can’t those things coexist? Can’t it be better for her to never love, but can’t loving also be a choice she’d make despite all the pain?

Can’t you love the things that will destroy us in the end? Doesn’t she always?

She should go back in. She should go back in and ask for forgiveness, but the fear of ruining things further, of the both of you hurting each other further, prevents her from trying to fix things.

When she broke up with you she had just wanted to protect you from Lex. Losing you like that would have nothing compared to—

Lena shivers, shakes her head, and clutches onto herself more tightly with trembling fingers.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Alex says from where she’s leaning against the wall beside Lena. Her eyes are watchful, careful, but Lena feels them like daggers.

She straightens, forces out a; “wow, you really are an amazing analyzer, detective,” and nearly gets a smirk for her troubles—but Alex is too soft, too caring to give her that. She moves towards her, ever the big sister, but Supergirl rushes in first.

“Lena,” Supergirl—Kara, Kara, Lena thinks, and often starts to forget, except when Kara looks at her like this—breathes out.

Lena steps back from them both, the humanity in the room tears her apart, reminds her of her lack of, and destroys her. “You have to…to warn people when you do that…super speed thing,” Lena grits out, cutting Kara off before she can even begin to try and be…be good. She gestures towards the room with shaky hands and begins to try and compose herself lHow long was she awake while I was asleep?”

Kara and Alex look at each other. Say nothing. “Guys—”

“She woke up two hours ago,” Alex says, at the same time Kara says; “you were wiped out—didn’t even hear the nurses, of course we couldn’t just wake you up”

Two hours, and she was asleep. Lena goes cold instantly. She remembers hearing Lex had you, remembers it like one remembers the worst moment of their life; both intimately and not at all. She remembers hearing Supergirl had you—that you were breathing , but people only say that when someone is very not okay, and Lena remembers the way adrenaline had rushed through her. She had felt both alive and utterly useless through it, and it sticks to her even now.

Alive, but asleep, never the person she needs to be to protect you. How alone have you felt because of her? How scared?

“Lena,” Kara starts again, “Lena, she wanted you to sleep— ”

“Go in there,” Alex cuts her off, gets a very annoyed look for it, because they both can’t seem to help cutting each other off today. “You want to show her she’s not alone, that she’s safe? I promise you that the only way she’ll feel that is with you there.”

Kara nods, suddenly straightening and transforming into Supergirl just like that, just in the stance. “Hero complexes will serve nothing except separation and loneliness. You taught me that. Stronger together, Lena.”

Wanting to save you had left you alone, and yes, alone to Lena meant away from Lex, but he’s not the only scary thing in this world, and she should have known that he’d never forget how to destroy her. To leave you alone, Lena thinks, was the worst thing she could have done.

While you were away Lena had to confront herself. Had to realize that so far, every good thing in her life has come with a cost, has led to ruin, and the threat of Lex…it had just seemed to her like the time had come. Like it was her only option. To sacrifice, to sacrifice and hurt.

If Lex had won by separating the two of you, then he had one like that. In her mind, Lena had already been destroyed, of course she imagined that to be the end of it, that he wouldn’t touch you. She’d rather hurt by pushing you away than you dying. Even the thought—

God, she’s so tired of being a coward. To being so scared of losing you that she’s willing to destroy you both.

Kara and Alex hating what she’s done in the unspoken way that they do hurts even more in a way Lena’s used to, because it hurts like regret. Their stances have turned from concerned and loving, to protective heroes. She should have never left you alone. Not when she was scared of Lex, and not now. She gives both Kara and Alex a firm nod and tries to walk past to get into the room. To make things right.

Kara stops her with a hand on her shoulder. She drops it instantly when Lena turns towards her. Ever the fragile hero, always afraid of her own hands for the strength they hold. “Before that…” Kara coughs awkwardly, “Um…we need you to understand her injuries…and what happened.”

—-

When Lena walks into the room, it’s not like you thought she would. She’s not the fragile human curled up in a chair, or the terrified women fleeing your medical room. She’s angry with rage and a whirlwind of feelings, caught in a tornado of emotion. She’s large in the way she’s always been, and yet it has never left you feeling so small.

You sink back into your hospital bed, pull the covers to your chin, and watch her.

“You went after him?” Lena hisses out, so lowly, so sharply, that she might as well have cut the words into your skin for the way that it dig into you. “Everything I’ve ever done is to protect you, and you just decided to throw it all away like it means nothing? Do you have any idea—”

“You were protecting yourself!”

Lena stops. She was pacing, shaking with emotion, but she stops dead in her tracks at the sound of your voice. You yell it, and yet it’s still somehow silent. Your throat is ruined, a testament to the cruelty of Lex, and the evidence of that and more is written on your skin. You’re covered in injuries. Your brokenness has never been more visible, you think, and it should leave you feeling fragile, and it does, god it does, but right now it gives you power.

Power over Lena, who looks at you like her life hangs in the palm of her hand.

“You think I’m stupid, that I don’t know that every fiber of your being is laced with fear?” You whisper now, hand on your throbbing throat. “You left me for you, and I went after Lex for me.” Its venom. Venom, and anger, and all of the thing you know Lena takes In stride. The thing she strives on.

It hangs in the air for a second. Then Lena, beautiful Lena, kneels by the side of your bed. CEO, one of the most powerful people in this city; on her knees for you. She doesn’t look invigorated, doesn’t looked fueled by anger, just looks sad with regrets.

“I did it for me,” Lena agrees, so soft, so not like them; not like her family. “I did it for you, too. Of course I did it for you, and maybe it was a terrible thing to do—led by my trauma talking to me—but don’t lay there and deny I wasn’t thinking of you,” she breathes, then pauses, eyes tracing your busted lips, bruised face, bruised neck. Her jaw trembles and her lips part, she looks as if she wants to say more, but her eyes are haunted by the home she grew up in.

As if reading your mind Lena whispers, “they haunt me. It’s as if I can never let go. I’m so sick of it. I’m so sick of it.” She closes her eyes with furrowed brows, as if not looking at you will prevent the shake in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For them. For them now, for them back then, and for them in the future—if you still want to be in my life, you have to know I can’t escape them. Even when they’re not there they’re there. It…god, it makes me sick.”

When Lena raises her hands and grips herself, digging her fingers into her skin like she wants to pull the trauma and memories out of herself, like she wants to get rid of them, something in you breaks. Breaks because your arms are raw and aching, and it wasn’t Lex. Breaks because you know so intimately what it’s like to face reality and find it so frustratingly unchangeable. To want so much, and for it to mean nothing is the most devastating thing.

To be so large, and so small.

You’ve been crying, and Lena doesn’t notices until a sob falls from your lips. You’ve been trying to hold it in, but when she startles up at it and looks at you with that same wanting, like you’re her heart walking and she’d give anything to take your hurt, the sobs break through like a dam. They break through and it hurts because there is no part of you left unbroken.

When you sob it disturbs your broken ribs, disturbs the bruises covering your torso, rips at your tarnished vocal cords, and has the machines in the room beeping so loud it alerts the nurses.

—-

Lena doesn’t even have time to stand before the nurses rush in and pull the blanket off of you. There’s no words to describe the shift that happens in side of her when she sees the extent of your injuries.

It’s like something both breaks and rebuilds in her, and then breaks again, paralyzing her. Then, she sees a nurse heading towards you with a syringe and it activates her.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Lena says, or thinks she says. She can’t recognize the venom in her voice, doesn’t feel apart of her body.

She’s moving in between the nurse and you, but your sobs begin to bring her back to reality.

“She needs to be put under, she’s hurting herself—”

Lena doesn’t pay attention to her, just sees Alex and Supergirl enter the room. Sees the way Alex shakes her head and nods to the corner of the room, and follows in suit while every fiber of her being says to do otherwise.

It kills her that she can’t protect you. Can’t protect you from the nurses that you try to pull away from, can’t protect you from the hurt on your skin, or in your heart, couldn’t protect you from— she thinks of Lex. Lex when he was her big, smart older brother that she admired more than anyone in the world.

She thinks of the way he’d give her a cheeky roll of his eyes behind Lillian’s back after a small verbal lashing. Thinks of every chess game, every hide n seek game, every reassuring grin. You’re smarter than they know Lena, he’d say, and she’d beam, not noticing the progressive darkness in his eyes as he said it.

Her eyes don’t leave you as the nurses put you down again. She thinks; I’ll kill him. In her peripheral she knows Kara is watching the floor, and feels Alex watching her. When the nurses cover you back up and they both turn towards you, Lena knows it was out of respect for you. She’s grateful for it—somewhere in her thunder of emotions she’s thankful for them, but also feels a bit of anger towards them.

This is why they kept her from seeing you when you were brought in?

“Why doesn’t she have a hospital gown?” Lena asks in a whisper.

“She took it off, said it hurt when the nurses moved it, and that it was sticking to her. Constricting her,” Kara explains, she sighs, shakes her head, and then turns towards Lena as Supergirl. With a fire in her eyes.

The same one in Lena as she allows herself to ask the very question she wanted to run from hours ago. “Where’s Lex?”

“No.” It’s both Supergirl and Alex.

“Alive then? Okay,” Lena starts towards the door. “If you’re here, he’s here. I’ll find him easily enough.”

Supergirl, familiarly, stands in her ways. Eyes sympathetic next to Alex’s hardness. “Where are you when you’re with them?” Alex asks from behind her. When you let them guide every bad decision you make, she hears.

Lena stops. Thinks about control, about gods, about leaving you to wake up alone again, thinks about murder, both in her blood and not, thinks about Lex with a gun to your head, with fists, and kicks, and a maniac smile, thinks about her dad in the same way—standing over Lex while Lillian gripped Lena back. She thinks of cycles, thinks of protection and all the ways it’s possible, all the ways she’s capable, more capable then him.

Smarter, Lena remembers Lillian saying casually. Always smarter than.

Better than, Kara will say.

The good one, Alex will joke.

My hero, you’d grin. Lena feels herself split. Starts forward again.

Kara whispers now, “Heroes don’t kill, Lena.”

Alex, “it’s both the best and most terrible thing about us.”

Us.

Lena wants to yell, wants to crumble, wants to curl by your side, wants to kill Lex with her bare hands, wants to erase the Luthor history from her mind, from her body, wants to erase it from yours even more. Wants it so desperately, so acutely it hurts. Sadness fills the room, suffocates them all.

Kara is watching you again, Alex keeps glancing back, they’re both unconcerned about Lena now. Full faith in her to be who they claim she is. Lena returns to the seat by your bed and allows herself to be that person.

“Whatever cell he’s in, I’m building it,” Lena whispers, thinking of the cuffs she’ll put on him, wondering if she can somehow slow down his mind.

Alex nods, running her hands down her face. The past couple hours have completely exhausted her in a way Lena’s not used to seeing from her. Alex cares so much about you, and it shouldn’t surprise Lena but It does. “We’re thinking about sending him to the phantom zone.”

Here, Lena is more surprised. They must know that’s a death sentence. Lena glances at Supergirl, she’s still watching you but she’s clearly listening, her eyes have turned hard. They aren’t underestimating Lex. They clearly know the responsibility that’ll bear on them if he escapes again.

Lena feels another bought of gratitude towards them as she takes your hand, and trusts them to handle the person she trusts no one to handle.

——

When you wake up the second time it’s because nurses are dapping you with wet cloths, clearly trying to clean you. They apologize profusely, say they thought the drugs would keep you down longer, and offer to finish the cleaning after you’ve gotten more pain killers.

Your eyes dart around rapidly, chest constricting in anxiety, and then you see Lena. She’s standing by the door, clearly trying to keep out of the nurses way. She’s not full of rage and untouchable in that way, and she’s not fragile, she’s strong.

Her eyes are hard, but not cold. They’re determined, and loving, and they’re your strength too. You suck in a shaky breath, whisper; “thank you. Later might be an option”, as you try to focus on Lena and not the thought of the nurses hands on you turning into Lex’s violent ones.

When they all shuffle out Lena quietly returns to the spot by your bed. This Lena somehow makes you feel more fragile than angry, furious Lena had, because in the place of your defensiveness you’re left to feel your guilt.

“I’m…I’m not weak, Lena.” It feels stupid to claim now as you lay in a hospital bed feeling nothing but. You clench your jaw. Lena’s hand reaches up and takes your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. She’s not gentle, certainly not rough, but her firmness gives you the power to continue. She’s the stable ground that helps you find your footing.

You find it. Meet her gaze unblinking. “I’m not Supergirl, I’m not you, I’m not Alex, or Jon, or Winn, or James, or Kelly, or— or Lex…I’m not capable in the particular ways you guys are, but I am capable.”

Lena’s eyes fall to your throat. You grip her wrist, the one holding your face, and her eyes meet yours apologetically. “I know,” she says, so softly, so quietly. “You being here is the evidence of it, isn’t it?”

You nod, but you aren’t done. “I’m not sure what Supergirl told you. Clearly she told you I went after Lex, and in a way that’s true, but more so I wanted him to come after me,” you pause. Lena is watching you with furrowed eyes, clearly trying to piece together what you’re explaining before you finish.

Her lips part after just another moment. She’s figured it out you realize, feeling a bit of pride because of it. Pride because she has faith in you, pride because she‘s so incredibly quick and you have had the privilege to know her so acutely. “All of this…was your plan?” Lena asks, sounding both shocked and not.

You wince, brushing aside her hand so you can look down, adverting your gaze. “Well…not all of it.” Memories flash through your mind. “I thought he’d keep me captive, not…” you left out a frustrated breath, angry, so angry at yourself for not being able to speak about it. Speak about him.

“It was a game to him, of course. He’d torture me, send you a video to torture you. He’d get you chasing him. He’s always liked the thrill.” Your eyes stay on Lena’s fists. Watch as they clench so tightly to her side that they shake. “I knew he loved messing with you, and was partly counting on it, not like that but— but maybe just having me wouldn’t have been enough, maybe it was good he did what he did—got so high off of it his guard lowered.”

“Don’t say that,” Lena pleads. You startle up at the sound of her trembling voice doing everything not to cry.

You breathe in; your ribs hurt. You breathe out; they hurt again. Lena shakes her head at herself, frustrated and biting her lip. She’s having a battle with composure and losing.

“Kara told me how you stole his nanotech and used it to immobilize him. That the tech that was missing from my lab last week was found with the stuff he confiscated from you. That you hacked his computer with my prototype to send her the location to his headquarters underground,” Lena rushes out, “I didn’t know you planned to get taken to his HQ, to steal his nanotech, didn’t know that anyone besides me and the DEO knew what he was working on.”

It’s a quick summary of the things you’ve done, leaving out the weeks of planning, leaving out the struggles of actually setting the plan in motion when the shifting variables shifted in a way you weren’t prepared for. It should leave you proud, but when you think of what you managed all you remember is pain and struggle.

“You stopped Lex like you planned. So many people are saved because of you. An unfathomable amount, and yet,”she says. And yet, you think, heart fluttering because you know Lena will say the very thought that kills you to think of, but the thought that can’t escape you anyways. “What…what you did was monumental, and thank you, but god, I so wish you hadn’t,” Lena breathes. “He gone, and yet he has never been so present. Perhaps you felt the effects of him through me before, but you know now what it’s like to have him really present, always right over your shoulder, and that…I would’ve given the world for otherwise.”

It’s exactly the same thoughts you have had. To hear it from Lena, someone you admire and trust so much, someone you believe to be good with every piece of you, someone you’d follow everywhere—it’s like a medicine for guilt.

“What I said before…about doing what I did for me,” Lena shakes her head, ever understanding, like she doesn’t need you to finish. You do though. “I did it for me because I wanted desperately for you to still be mine, and getting rid of Lex was the avenue for that,” you admit. “I didn’t want him to plague you anymore either.”

You hesitate. Memories of Lena pacing at night—startling awake, watching the news with the grimness of someone attending a funeral—memories of Lena’s affectedness come to you. Her humaneness at hearing Lex escaped again, and in her humanity in her vulnerability.

“I want to take responsibility, so I don’t want to say I did it for you, but what you said earlier made me realize everything is a bit of both. I did it for me, I did it for you too.”

Lena laughs. Laughs. It shocks you, causes you to jump and stop looking at your hand, causes you to meet her gaze again. “Ow,” you growl, unamused, because Lena is still laughing. She’s covering her face and has the decency to look apologetic.

Your ribs hurt from the startle but even you can’t help but be confusedly amused.

“I want to hate,” Lena starts, mirth in her voice, “that you did the thing I wanted you to do least in the world, and you got exactly what you wanted out of it. You captured lex, and in a way captured me back too.”

“Oh,” you perk up, smiling up at Lena innocently. “Guess I’m the brains now, brawn.”

Lena’s eyes narrow at you. “That insinuates that you were ever the brawn.”

Back to glaring. Lena lets out another huff of laughter and brushes your hair back, away from a cut on your forehead. Her eyes are so soft, so full of warmth, and love that you could cry. Would cry, perhaps, if it wouldn’t hurt every part of your body.

Instead you grin, because that’s what humans are taught to do instead of cry, and ask, gently—feeling like a shaky child; “does that mean you’re my girlfriend again?”

—-

Lena’s eyes widen as she realizes what she implied, and as you own up to it so hesitantly, so childlike, like Lena could ever think of pushing you away after everything. Her words, not for the first time today, betray her. All she can do is nod.

Your responding grin is heroin to Lena. You smile so wide the cut on your lip breaks open again and starts bleeding, but you pay it no mind. Lena does. She smiles back, albeit more gently, and squishes your cheeks together to prevent the split widening.

You pout in her hands. Lena’s heart flutters. She keeps getting hit randomly with momentous emotion, and she’s hit again with it now. The softness of this moment feels like seeing a rainbow after months of storms.

You here, alive, looking at Lena with so much love in your eyes, so much understanding. It feels like a fantasy. Feels like a lucid dream, a dream she’d choose, over, and over again, until the end of time.

Lena leans in and kisses you—not on the lips, they are cut and bruised. She kisses you on the space just below your eye. A spot, one of the few spots, clear of visible injury. She takes pleasure in the way you flush like it’s the first time. She always did, will always do. “I love you,” Lena whispers, promising herself that even if there are days you won’t believe her, there will never be a day you don’t hear it.

It’s you, and it’s her, and it’s the mountains of history and trauma you two are fighting against. Lena likes the both of your odds. Loves winning just as much.

You’ll beat Lex she knows. There will be a day soon where he stops haunting the two of you. Where he’s not even a thought. When that time comes you’ll have won the war, but for now she’ll take the pride of winning every battle in stride, for now, in the now; she’ll cherish every moment, the many moments, when trauma leaves the room and love consumes it.

“Lena Luthor,” you breathe. You breathe. “My love, my hero.”

[pigeonp0st]

I am so happy you are back <3

😚❤️ Thank you

[pigeonp0st]

Hi! It’s been awhile…pretty sure this account is pretty dead, but if it’s not, and there’s someone here, I’m opening requests again!

I moved to a new city recently (to escape a pretty tough family situation/homophobia), moved in with other family, and I’m a bit short on money in between jobs. If you send anything on cashapp to $Raysun14, I’ll write out whatever request you want :)

Anything helps out, you’ll sort of be funding my livelihood. If you can’t, don’t stress. If it’ll hurt you I rather you’d not. I do hope someone takes this offer up though, I’d love nothing more than to write again without feeling guilty over it.

[pigeonp0st]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Title: The Weight Of Words and Worlds

Word count: 2,400?

N.9

Summary:

Reader is selectively mute as a result of trauma from her childhood in the red room. Nat and her were in a relationship for a period of time but Reader randomly disappeared one day, and now, present day they reconnect :,)

Warning:

Angst, depressive thoughts, large amounts of love

Notes:

Hey…long times no see. This was in my drafts so I decided to publish it. Sorry for spelling mistakes, I hadn’t really looked over it. Thanks for reading! Leave a comment/heart if you enjoyed, those are always nice.

————-

Natasha Romanoff has loved more times in her life than she feels someone like her has any right to, but she has only been in love once before.

It was back when she was a teenager in the red room…this girl—this woman—she was the type of person to love everything, and hate nothing, the type of person to find everything beautiful; and Natasha had thought that must mean to her she was hideous, She used to think that Y/N must hate her— and if she were to be honest, completely, utterly honest-every time she used to look at herself, she thought: me too. And then also, silently, curiously; "but what if you could love me?'

The uncircumstantial truth is that she had spent her life loving you; and wanting to be loved by you.

At some point though, your roles had switched. Natasha, self-doubting Natasha, became stronger, fiercer, while Y/N became silent.

Completely silent.

Natasha, looking back, couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened, and as she looks back on your time together without rose-tinted glasses she realizes that she hadn’t exactly known you—or what you were going through—quite as much as she originally thought, but she remembers the shift in your eyes.

Optimism giving away to despair.

Maybe you had seen something on a mission, maybe you had lost something, maybe you had heard something, or maybe there hadn’t been a shift at all. Maybe you had always been suffering. Natasha doesn’t know.

What she does know is that you were suffocating right in front of her eyes, and while solutions were leaving Natasha, you were leaving words.

Or, as you had told her, or wrote her really; ‘I didn’t abandon words, Natasha. Words abandoned me.’

Words abandoned you, but Natasha wouldn’t have that at all. Words were yours, and your words were hers.

So, naturally, when you both were seventeen years old Natasha and you escaped to some dodgy tattoo shop and tattooed words to your hands. Your left palm; Thank you. Your right; Sorry. The inside of your right pointer finger; Nothing. Your left pointer finger; everything.

A dozen words written across both your hands, for the front and back of your palms, and for each finger, all so that you could hold onto them.

Natasha had wanted to show you that you could fight for them, you didn’t have to let them go. You could fight for your words, and you could fight for your happiness, and everything that wanted to leave you wouldn’t have to truly leave you at all.

Nothing had to abandon you.

She had thought that her plan worked. She thought you were becoming happier…and then one day you just…left. You disappeared.

——

It’s over a decade later and some days Natasha would still stare at her picture of you, like the how's and the why's were etched into the lines of your skin…. and she still thinks that maybe—back then—they were. Maybe if she had just looked harder, traced the lines of your face with her fingers a few more hundred times, she would have seen it coming.

Maybe. Or maybe not. Perhaps it's easier to think that she couldn't have stopped you leaving—that she did all she could.

Perhaps it was also easier to pretend while she traced the lines that your eyes weren't screaming at her with gallons of emotions. Help me, they'd say. Help me, but then also; I'm sorry.

As if you ever had anything to be sorry over. As if young Natasha was actually capable of looking beyond her own grief, and seeing herself as someone who had continuously failed you, instead of someone that was incapable of helping someone like you.

You deserved more than Natasha. The Natasha now is willing to acknowledge that. Willing to acknowledge that she had seen your pain, but that she had ignored it in hopes that it would just go away with time, she had seen your eyes crying for help, but had deluded herself into thinking your tears were the beginnings of healing, and she knows she failed you. Natasha knows she’s failed you.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Clint tells her one day, on the roof of the compound after too much beer.

“You don’t understand,” Natasha sighs, “We were each other’s. I was supposed to have her back,” she says. “I loved her.”

“You were just a kid, Nat.”

Natasha doesn’t know how to explain that with you she never felt like ��just a kid’.

You held her face in your hands and kissed her between ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’, and loved her between ‘everything’ and ‘nothing’. Your love coexisted most prominently In the space where nothing held sense, where words and opposites became feelings, feelings became you, and you became each other. Where things just were as they were, without meaning. and how they were were beautiful.

In the space between your hands where you held her, where tattooed opposites would lovingly cup themselves in worship against her skin, even the senseless made sense, and that doesn’t make sense but between your hands it would. That’s what it was like being held by you. Loved by you.

Natasha wouldn’t have been able to tell if she lived a thousand years, or none at all. The type of love you two had, had been beyond years.

(God, She could live a hundred thousand years in your arms and wish for a million more, and isn’t that just hopelessly pathetic.)

She doesn’t realize she’s said all of that out loud until a very sober looking Clint looks at her and says, seriously; “how hard can it be to find someone with practically the dictionary tattooed on her hands?”

And Natasha instantly breaks out into sobs. What she wants to say is: thank you, what she wants to say is: what if she doesn’t want to be found, what she wants to say is: I don’t want to risk finding out she’s dead, but what she says is: “fourteen words. It’s just fourteen.”

—

They don’t find you dead. They find you running a bookstore in…New York?

“I guess it’s fitting for a mute girl to work in a library.”

“Shut up, Clint.”

“Are you gonna walk inside?”

“Shut up, Clint.”

Natasha is looking down at her shaky hands when Clint roughly turns her towards him and grips her tightly on the shoulders. “Okay, so tell me if your ready for this, cause if you’re not I probably shouldn’t tell you that someone with heavily tattooed hands is holding up a sign against the bookstore right now and—”

Natasha turns around and meets your eyes, and for a moment she is stuck between everything and nothing, for a moment she knows everything and nothing, for a moment she’s a million years old and a day old…and then she reads your sign.

Hi.

—-

That’s how Natasha ends up in a coffee shop with the person she’s loved for millenniums, centuries, and seconds—the person she hasn’t seen in more than a decade—drinking coffee with a notepad in between the two of you.

You still don’t speak, but you’re still able to say more than everything in that line between your eyes. Natasha see’s it now that she wants to see it.

“How are you?” Natasha asks.

You show Natasha the inside of your pinky. Good.

“Liar,” Natasha says but doesn’t say. She just raises an eyebrow but you understand. You open your right palm.

I’m sorry.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Natasha sighs. Your eyebrows come together. You flip your hand, show Natasha the back of your palm that says NO, then open and close your right palm over and over again.

No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Natasha puts her hand over yours. You open your left palm. Thank you.

“For what?” Natasha asks. You move to show her your ‘everything finger’, but Natasha scoots the notepad towards you instead. She wants to have more open communication with you than this, but she also loves how well you use the words you two decided on together.

(You decided on tattooing ‘Sorry’, Natasha decided on ‘thank you’, you decided on ‘no’, she decided on ‘yes’, you decided on ‘nothing’, she decided on ‘everything’—for every negative you came up with Natasha decided on a positive reaction.)

For finding me. I have so much I owe you.

Natasha has a trillion things to tell you, and an infinite amount of things to ask you, but you owe her none of it. She wants you to understand that. You don’t owe her anything you don’t want to owe…but she doesn’t want apologies right now, she doesn’t want to convince you of anything, she just wants to talk.

“I have only ever known violence, and yet I had you. I should be thanking you.”

Your eyes widen, you clearly hadn’t expected that, but you compose yourself as well as you always have and slide Natasha a note.

If you have only ever known violence; does that mean I’m violence?

“It means I had you.”

Natasha is braver and stronger than she was at seventeen, and braver than she was at twenty when you left, but she still feels like a cowardly child when all you do is raise an eyebrow at her. She’s scared. Scared this will all come to mean nothing. She can no longer live in the senseless spaces between, because with the bliss of those spaces came ignorance.

She was never more ignorant to your sadness than when your hands were on either side of her face, thank you tangled in her hair, and sorry cupping her cheek.

“I think some of the greatest tragedies I’ve learned are that; the world is cruel; ignorance is often bliss; pain is a better teacher than happiness, but is more often wrong; and that I’ll never be able to have you just as I’d like you.”

That’s quite a series of things to have learned.

“I know.”

You tear out another paper from your notepad and write quickly, curiously (Natasha can’t help but feel hope at your eagerness); how exactly would you like me?

She takes the note and reads it with a bitter, bitter smile, and when she meets your eyes then it’s with both deep longing and deep sadness. “I’d like you happy, but I’d love you regardless.”

——

You want to write something. Anything. There is so much you want to say. Paragraphs on top of paragraphs, explanations on top of explanations—from the beginning.

Things like; the first thing that left me wasn’t my voice, it was my ability to try. Things like; I didn’t know how to exist in suffering, things like; My mind is my greatest enemy, things like; I have never stopped loving you, but I found myself not deserving of you.

Things like; I so badly want to deserve you.

Natasha, Yelena, so many other girls in the red room thrived under adversity. They were able to mold themselves into something stronger. You weren’t. You crumbled. It was traumatizing. Even thinking about the traumas you both witnessed and convicted—

You write none of that. You give her nothing, you just clench your pencil in your hand and write; Let’s try being more straightforward with this, okay?

And Natasha says, bluntly, with the courage of someone who has loved and been loved in equal exchange (with the courage of someone whose courage always meant something in the end); "Stay." And it's that simple word that turns your heart into a supernova; shattering it into a million little pieces.

Stay, as if just because she's asking the task has been made easier. Stay, as if she thinks the two of you together is that simple—that natural.

You shouldn't trust me, you write quickly, your hands wobbling more than they have any right to.

I don't know how you can trust so easily

love so easily

but this is serious.

Don't you get that? This means everything to me and I

When you glance up and see her eyes softening on you sympathetically; they have you choking back on your words, then turning away, blinking rapidly to rid yourself of the treacherous tears wanting to fall.

Natasha’s had a chance at having a family. She was loved by three of them and knew two. You had her, and you had death, and pain and tears. The two of you were made of different things, with different foundations of growth, and yet…

And yet.

"This means everything to me, too," she says softly, like she's looked into your heart and just understands.

Is there anything more vulnerable than being understood?

You take a deep breath, free your hand from out under Natasha’s and press everything against her lips, and it’s her eyes widening this time but she doesn’t move away.

You find yourself in that space between trying and running. You always find yourself in the lonely spaces between. Is there anything more human than the want and fear of love, anything more beautiful?

Loneliness is a disease. The more desperately you want the more terrifying life is, the less you want the more sad life is.

The greatest sadness can only exist with the greatest happiness. The greatest happiness can only exist with the greatest sadness.

There is no fairness in sense. There’s both fairness and sense in Natasha.

Your lips take the place of everything against Natasha’s lips. It’s the meeting of love. Love born again on the foundation of pain, death, violence and hatred. Nothing turning into everything.

The first thing Natasha says when you both settle back down in your seats is: “are you an optimist or a pessimist?”

Your hands itch to write. You have so many other things you want to say, so many things you want to discuss. The past, future, and present, pain, hope, and fear—so many things, and this isn’t one of them. The one thing you don’t feel the need to write is the obvious (you wonder if this means words have found you again), but you still answer Natasha’s random question.

Right now? Optimist

Natasha smiles widely. She’s the sun. She’s your world. She’s only the best of your words. “We’re going to be okay.”

Despite yourself, you smile. How ridiculously cheesy. What would you have said If I wrote ‘pessimist’?

Here, Natasha laughs, “I would have reminded you of all the times you’ve been wrong.”

And here is where you sigh and relent to the fact that this is the women you’ll spend lifetimes loving.

What a blessing.

[pigeonp0st]

fanfic really is. like. it really is about the community. it's about the comments. it's about the story you rip directly for your heart and bleed out on your keyboard. it's about the i loved it when you... and the i screamed when you wrote... and the keyboard smashes and the i can't believe you did that!!!! and the i'm suing you for damages like it. this is community. fanfic is literally. an act of community. the greatest act of community in fandom because it comes with such raw, overwhelming vulnerability. whether you're writing kink fic or 100k words of trauma exploration, you're just like. hi hello this is my soul please embrace it and people do. oh my gosh

[pigeonp0st]

Me and my mom were working together and she said; “I love my car but I wish It could’ve been white”

And since she has a bit of an accent and I couldn’t hear right (plus she always refers to her daughters as “her girls” and always talks to people like she’s not talking to them) I THOUGHT she said; “I love my girl but I wish she could’ve been white”

And when I tell you I was completely APPALLED. I was AWE STRUCK (apparently I wouldn’t put it past her to say something like that. I was fr thinking “what new levels of racism are you reaching for now” 😭😭

We cleared that up once she saw the df face I was giving her. I was laughing my ass off after

(For more context my father is black and my mother is hispanic and she got a new car yesterday)

[pigeonp0st]

YOU GO FRIEND! Kick that postal life goodbye and have fun making people swoon!

Happy Pride!!!

Thank you for the support 💪 💀 ✨

Happy pride month!! 💙💙

[pigeonp0st]

Me and my brother (we were helping my mom deliver at the post office) got told we both look like movie stars and now I’m going to quit my career as a postal bitch to the system and live my life lavishly as a sexy movie star

Thank you, and bye

[pigeonp0st]

YA’LL I’M FINALLY DONE WITH MY DUMB GED!!! It’s been a long 3 weeks 😭 I’m never going back to school again

Hopefully this means I’ll be less busy and able to write more...but I’ll also be going to work more now that I’m done with that...

I SHOULD still have more time then before though.

[pigeonp0st]

Happy birthday lesbians this means trans lesbians and butch lesbians and femme lesbians and masc lesbians and lesbians who had to be comphet and aro lesbians and ace lesbians and lesbians of color and disabled lesbians and lesbians who have that as their only connection to womanhood and lesbians that fully embrace loving other lesbians/sapphics. i love you

[pigeonp0st]

I won’t be thanking the justice system because the justice system did not do this. Protests did.

People had to go out and protest, go out and get killed/injured, for the court to give even a small amount of care for black lives being loss.

And the fact that everyone wasn’t sure this murderer would be convicted...well, that says enough about are justice system, doesn’t it? The fact that there’s still a bunch of murdering cops running loose...that says enough about are justice system, right?

Sigh. Thoughts and prayers to George Floyd’s family and loved ones today 💙

Derek Chauvin has been officially, as of 16:06 on April 20th 2021., convicted for the murder of George Floyd.

[pigeonp0st]

Wanting a partner so I can make them my awesome (healthy) french toast every morning 😔