#Lady!Reader

[eternalbuckley]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ lady!reader (regency au)

Dearest gentle reader, this author is more than delighted to introduce you to Lady Y/N. A lady that was born into London’s high society as the oldest child of a Duke and Duchess. The world of London‘s high society is filled with romance, friendship, scandals, rumours and secrets that want to remain hidden. But be forewarned, dear reader, this author has her eyes everywhere and nothing shall go unnoticed. As we embark into a new social season, I find myself pondering some most intriguing questions: Will Lady Y/N succeed in securing a match in this season? And will her reputation remain unsullied or will she find herself embroiled in scandal? I shall assure you, if any noteworthy event comes into my notice, I shall be the first to bring it to your attention. May this season promise us to be a truly unforgettable experience. Yours truly, Lady Whistledown.

lady!reader is witty, sarcastic, confident and may appear innocent but she might surprise you. she doesn’t let others treat her with disrespect and holds them accountable when necessary. she isn‘t as innocent as some might think.

lady!reader who seems like an open book but has sides to her that only her closest people know about. some are just reserved for a possible partner — sides only they can unveil.

lady!reader is someone who loves to read with her friends, take walks or spend time in nature. she loves to have fun and doesn’t care what other’s truly think about her, even if it‘s not appreciated by society to behave such ways. but be aware, there is so much more ready to be revealed.

lady!reader who has caught the attention of many people — possible partners are among them. the gender doesn’t truly matter to her. she is aware of the risks that come with her interests but she doesn’t care.

lady!reader who wants to fall in love with someone who truly wants and loves her regardless of her status. she wants something real and wouldn’t mind not to marry at all if she won‘t find what she wants.

navigation. | harry potter masterlist. | lady!reader

© eternalbuckley 2025. // I do not give you permission to modify, copy, translate or repost any of my works and creations on other platforms. I do not give you the permission to claim them as your own. I do not give you permission to use anything of my work and creations for any ai related things. I only post my works on tumblr, if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

a/n: this au is completely inspired by bridgerton, especially lady whistledown — i'm using her solely for the purpose of the gossip society papers (like it's in the show and books). that's it!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 7)

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky x Lady!Reader

Prompt: Kidnapped

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: descriptions of kidnapping; mentions of death and murder

Divider by @silkholland

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

You put up a fight.

It doesn’t matter that you lost, you keep telling yourself.

You fought. With everything you had.

You made them work for it.

They hadn’t waltzed into your home unannounced and plucked you like a ripe fruit.

No. They had to chase you. Through your father's grand halls, past portraits of ancestors who surely would have been appalled by the racket.

You had turned over tables, ducked behind curtains, slipped from one room to the next, heart pounding in your throat just like your feet on the floors.

It made them rougher. It made them intimidating. It made them brutal.

But even when they finally cornered you, when their calloused hands aggressively grabbed at your arms and pulled you, you didn’t stop. You thrashed and screamed and kicked and bit and clawed - every inch of your body on high alert and protesting against their strong hold.

They were sweating by the time they bound you, snarling curses and grunts of frustration flying at your face with the spit out of their mouths. They called you names, ugly names, growled at you to stop resisting.

One of the three men even laughed - a low, cruel sound - but it was laced with fury.

You tell yourself it was worth it.

Every bruise, every ache in your body as they now drag you down the manor steps to the waiting ship, every ragged breath you manage to gulp in your struggle - it’s all worth it. Even as your father’s angered voice fades behind you, lost in the salt-stung wind and the distant crash of waves.

Because you didn’t make it easy for them.

You fought back.

And that is something you will forever be proud of.

Although that forever might end sooner than you had envisioned before this day.

Still, you tell yourself you won something - however small.

Maybe you won’t live to see the end of this. Maybe the days ahead hold horrors you couldn’t yet imagine.

But you didn’t go quietly.

The gangplank groans beneath the firm boots of your three kidnappers as they haul you aboard. The salty air stings the cuts on your wrists where the ropes bite into your skin but you refrain from wincing.

The ship rises and falls with the swell of the sea. It’s unfamiliar. So foreign in its feeling, it reminds you just how much you leave behind by stepping foot onto this ship.

The men shove you forward.

Around you, the crew is working. You have no idea why there are so many people needed on a ship but you feel the urge to shrink into yourself at the many stares you receive.

So many men. And none of them say anything. But they smirk and chuckle menacingly and you grow more uneasy with every step you take.

A prize. That’s what you are to them.

“Cap’n’s gonna love this,” one of the men holding you mutters, spitting onto the deck. He smells of sweat and dirt.

Again, you refrain from wincing.

“Aye,” grunts the one behind you, whose arm you had managed to claw so deep, the blood is already drying in ragged streaks. “Feisty little wench. Wonder how long she’ll keep her spirit when the Captain’s done with her.”

You hope there is no fear on your face. But your heart certainly picked up in pace. Your silence seems to irk the men further, and you feel the grip on your arms tighten, yanking you forward. “Come on, girl, move!”

The boards beneath your feet are damp and uneven, smelling of seawater and tar. The crew keeps eying you with varying degrees of interest - some openly leering, others grinning like your presence on the ship is the best to have happened to them all year. A shiver crawls up your spine. Your hands ball to fists.

They part as you are dragged toward the wheel, where a figure stands. His silhouette is tall and commanding against the blood-red sunset.

That must be the captain.

He isn’t barking orders or pacing like you might have expected. Instead, he stands still, one of his arms resting casually on the hilt of a blade strapped to his hip, his other hand tracing lazy circles against the ship’s wooden railing.

His left hand is basically red with scar tissue, though he doesn’t seem to mind it’s on full display.

He looks more put together than some of the others - the three men who captured you especially. The way he carries himself seems almost careless. So nonchalant. Confident, as though he owns not only the ship but the waves themselves. His dark hair is pulled back loosely, strands of it catching the wind.

James Barnes.

It’s not like you haven’t heard the name before.

Of course, you have.

The pirate who had crawled up from the depths after losing everything, carving his name into the bones of the sea. Ruthless. Calculating. Cold.

Your father never said much about the man, but that is part of what unnerves you. He isn’t afraid of anything - at least, not that he lets show. But any time someone dared to bring up Bucky Barnes or his crew, your father’s face would harden in a way that always made your stomach twist.

Now you are standing on the deck of Barnes’s ship, caught in the middle of a vendetta you hadn’t even known existed.

All you know, all you had heard from half-overheard conversations or rumors whispered among the servants in your manor is that Bucky Barnes lost his mother and sister in a raid many years back.

It was brutal you had heard. Indiscriminate. Pirates or mercenaries stormed his village under the cover of darkness and burned torches to the ground.

He was young then, barely a man, but he fought. With everything he had. But it wasn’t enough.

The details are hazy but you heard enough to imagine how awful that must have been.

His father had survived the raid. He was a sailor then. But he joined forces and took his son along, cutting a swath of vengeance across the water. They hunted the men responsible all over the globe. That’s when he became a pirate.

His father’s obsession with vengeance consumed him until it finally cost him his life. Again, you are lost on any details. It might have been a skirmish gone wrong or the grief dragging him under the water. You can’t tell.

All you can tell is that it left Bucky alone. And it made him the cold-blooded pirate he is nowadays.

But nothing could have prepared you for the reality of him.

His eyes are a storm. Wilder than any tornado you had heard stories of. His jawline is sharp, cheekbones high, a handsome face marred only by the thin scar running from his temple to his ear.

The men haul you forward and he watches you with a calmness that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He doesn’t speak right away, just lets his gaze sweep over you slowly, deliberately, intensely, like he is studying something he’s been waiting for a long, long time.

“Cap’n Barnes,” one man says. His lip is split, a crimson smear trailing down to his chin. You did that. “We got her.”

Rough hands shove you forward unceremoniously. You stumble but don’t fall, catching yourself just in time. You keep your expression as blank as it would go.

Bucky’s lips twitch at the corners, but it’s not quite a smile. He steps down from his spot near the wheel, boots hitting the deck with a weight that silences even the wind. He looks at the men then and there is something darkly amused in the way his brow arches.

“This is her?” His voice is smooth but carries an edge, the kind that could cut without raising.

Bucky’s harsh gaze flicks to the scratches on one man’s arms, then to the bruises blooming on another’s jaw, and to the trail of blood on the last man’s neck, still trailing lower, from the chapped lips you had punched open.

You allow yourself a short breath before his attention can switch back to you.

The men shift nervously under his scrutiny and the raised eyebrow. “She fights like a damn wildcat,” defends the one with the open bruises. The captain hadn’t even said anything yet. “Nearly gouged my eye out.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, the sound sharp and unexpected. “Shame it didn’t stick.”

The men grumble in discomfort, looking at each other.

The captain chuckles, though it’s low and humorless and rather terrifying. Your skin prickles.

“You mean to tell me the daughter of a landlubber put you lot on your asses?” he spits out.

You can’t help your reaction.

You are well aware that you are finding yourself in a rather dangerous position. But nobody talks your father down. Nobody gets to walk over his title in such a manner. Nobody gets to derogate your father. Not even a damn pirate captain. Running over your father’s name means running over yours as well.

So, yes, you jerk against the arms that hold you and you let your fury redden your face.

Though you should have known better.

Because Bucky’s attention is now solely focused on you, eyes like steel blazing against your skin.

He steps closer to you, his boots scuffing the wood, and you straighten instinctively, refusing to shrink under the pressure his gaze puts upon you. He stops just short of you, close enough that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw and the cold intrigue in his eyes.

His lips twitch again. This time it’s the shadow of a smirk. It unsettles you.

You shiver.

Bucky’s smirk deepens. He reaches out his scarred hand, tilting your chin upwards with two fingers. His touch isn’t rough, but it isn’t gentle either. More like he’s inspecting a piece of cargo. You try your very best to meet his gaze with eyes burning in defiance.

He looks eager - wickedly so - for something you’re not sure of but the fear you tried to shove to the deepest corners of your body comes creeping up your neck, overshadowing the pride you held for yourself just moments before.

You hate yourself for it. But your heart can’t help but thud violently.

“You’ve got your father’s looks about you,” he murmurs so quietly, you’re not sure anyone but you even heard it. It’s probably not even meant for your ears but he doesn’t seem like a person to care what people think. So why would he care if you heard him.

He sounds dangerous though. Too calm and still lethal. Your fear takes on another shape.

But as his hand moves to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, your head jerks away on its own and your lips form a slight snarl.

Bucky chuckles again. And to your surprise, it actually sounds amused. His hand falls from your face and he takes a step back from you with his wide smirk still plastered on his handsome face. He tilts his head at you slightly, studying you some more.

Pieces click into place. Actually, they’d been there all along, waiting in the corners of your mind, half-formed and heavy with a meaning that makes you shudder. But one you have to acknowledge now since you find yourself in its cause.

This isn’t a random kidnapping. This isn’t about piracy. You’re not just here because your father is able to pay a high ransom for your release.

This is something far older, far darker.

This is vengeance.

The vengeance Bucky Barnes had fought for his whole pirate life.

You don’t know any specifics. Perhaps Bucky doesn’t either. But a pirate doesn’t care for specifics after all.

Your father’s trading empire had always been shadowed by backroom deals, underhanded tactics, and alliances forged in blood. He’d always tried to hide the dark parts from you of course. He was good at hiding things - his anger, his dealings, his sins.

But you always felt like something was wrong with his world. And you were curious, foolishly so. You were a child, and children always want to touch the flame.

You never did well with the path he went down.

The first time you confronted him - clutching letters you weren’t meant to read in your trembling grip and demanding answers - he barely even looked at you as he ordered the guards to lock you in your room.

“This is not your business. And if you want to keep that little head of yours, you will learn to stay where you belong.”

You didn’t learn. You were young and stubborn and naive, so you kept pushing, kept digging into the corners he wanted you to leave untouched.

You spent weeks locked inside your room every time. He taught you lesson after lesson, each one harder than the last. Servants were forbidden to speak to you, the scraping of plates grating on you as they slid your meals through the door. No books. No letters. No glimpse outside. Just silence so suffocating, walls pressing against you from all sides, like they were on your father’s side, conspiring to keep you in.

Your father isn’t a cruel man - not in the way you’d imagine cruelty, all whips and chains and unrestrained fury. His cruelty is colder, quieter, built into the way he looks at you like you are a disappointment for daring to see too much. For daring to want too much.

He wants to protect you is what he told you. He told you it’s dangerous out there.

It is.

But it’s dangerous because of him. He hadn’t locked you away out of protection, he just tried to keep you from looking too closely at the cracks in the foundation of his empire.

And now, because of those cracks, because of his choices, you are here.

It isn’t hard to imagine that your father might have had some hand in whatever led to that fateful raid those years ago that cut down Bucky’s family.

And the pirate had lived his life thereafter chasing the ghost of his family’s ruin.

And that makes you his prize. His weapon. His proof that revenge could be tangible.

He basically lived the last years in pursuit of this moment.

The thought burns in your chest. Low and fierce. But you won’t break under the mistakes of your father’s legacy. Not for him. Not for Bucky. Not for anyone.

You press your lips together and meet Bucky’s gaze again and this time you see it. Sitting just behind his irises.

Hatred.

“Take her below,” he orders gravely. “And keep her in one piece. For now.”

[delicatebarness]

winters widow | chapter iv

Summary: The journey to the capital brings tests that bring our lord and lady closer which results in Lord James giving her his word.

Warning: Arranged Marriage. Storm/Severe Weather. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 1096

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A/N: These two have my heart. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Winter’s Widow: @lanabuckybarnes | @sapphirebarnes | @sebastians-love | @mrsnikstan | @learisa | @railmesebstan | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @barnesxstan | @ghalouha | @mrsstuckyboo | @g-nobody

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

On the sixth day of the journey, Lord James, the bannermen, and yourself neared the borders of the neighboring land. Suddenly, a storm swept across the plains, rain lashing down and turning the ground into a quagmire. 

Tents were hastily pitched as everyone sought shelter from the downpour. Huddled under a small canopy with Lord James and a few of his closest advisors, the tension in the air was thick as the storm raged. Illuminating the worried looks of the soldiers and servants, the lightning split the sky, and thunder drummed. 

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of closeness in the discomfort of the situation as you weathered the storm with Lord James. 

“I don’t like the look of this weather,” one of the advisors muttered, their gaze fixed on the sheets of rain outside. 

“It will pass,” Lord James reassured before turning to you, speaking with a hint of concern. “Are you holding up alright, Lady Romanoff?” 

Despite the unease settling in your stomach, you offered a reassuring smile as you nodded. “I’m fine, my lord. It’s just a bit of rain.” 

He glanced down at you, a flicker of something passed through his eyes before he placed another layer of pelt around your shoulders. “Stay wrapped. We’ll resume the journey as soon as it lets up.” 

As the storm continued, raging around you, you felt Lord James’ presence closer to you. His breath was warm against your ear. “Have no fear,” he spoke firmly, his voice steady. “This storm is no stranger. I was born amidst such tempests.” 

Resonating deeply within you, his words carried a weight of resilience. Looking at him in the dim light from the flickering torches, you swore you saw a glimpse of the man behind the titles. His expression softened slightly as he met your gaze. 

“You’ve faced many trials,” you acknowledged, your voice audible to only Lord James over the howling wind.

A faint smile touched his lips. “And, I have survived them all.” 

Hours passed in comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional clap of thunder. Leaving behind a soggy landscape, the storm began to subside. Albeit at a slow pace, the decision was made to press on with cautious optimism due to the muddied roads.

Still guarded, the aftermath of the storm mirrored the newfound shift in your relationship with Lord James as you rode alongside him again. 

~

The sun hung high in the skin, a golden hue over the hills as your entourage continued the journey south. Riding alongside Lord James, Honeybreeze and Alpine trotted gracefully in tandem. The days grew warmer, and a gentle breeze carried the familiar scent of wildflowers through the air. 

Glancing over at Lord James, you noticed his jaw set in determination as his eyes scanned the horizon. His focus mirrored his reputation as the White Wolf. Clearing his throat, he jolted you out of your trance.

Realizing your eyes were locked onto his side profile, you averted your gaze and offered a sheepish smile. “My apologies, my lord,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced over at you briefly, amusement in his eyes before he returned his focus ahead, “No harm done, Lady Romanoff,” there was a hint of a smile in his reply. “Just keep your attention on the road ahead as we enter more contested lands.” 

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. Turning your focus back to the road stretching ahead, the landscape shifted around you. 

“Tell me about your sisters,” Lord James prompted, his voice carrying above the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt. 

You faced him, a curious expression on your face. He caught you off guard with his inquiry, but you welcomed the opportunity to share a piece of your world with him.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you began telling him about your sisters. Lord James listened intently, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he took in the details of your sisters’ strengths and characters. Bridging the gap between you both, the conversation flowed easily between you. 

~

As the weeks wore on, the relentless pace began to take its toll as the sun was high overhead. There was a growing weariness in your limbs. Honeybreeze’s usually smooth gait seemed to jar your bones. 

Ever vigilant, Lord James noticed your discomfort. Concern flickering in his gaze as he looked at you, the furrow between his brows deepened. “Lady Romanoff,” he began in a gentle tone. “You appear fatigued. Perhaps riding in the carriage would be best.” 

Shaking your head, you forced a smile. “Just a bit tired, my lord. I’m fine, I can remain here, with Honeybreeze and yourself.” 

His gaze didn’t waver. “I appreciate your desire to ride,” he admitted. “But, I worry about your safety, I would feel more at ease if you traveled in the carriage for a while.” 

You hesitated, his genuine concern tore into your steadfast decision. Your gaze moved down to Honeybreeze. Just say you were about to respond, Lord James continued, his voice gentle yet persuasive. 

“I promise you,” he continued. “I will keep Honeybreeze close to me. She will receive the best care and attention. You have my word… my lady.” 

Resonating with sincerity, his words made it difficult to refute his earnest pleas. Gazing into his eyes, you saw a depth of concern in the ocean color, touching you deeply– a concern that went beyond his obligation.

You relented with a small nod after a moment of internal struggle. “As you wish, my lord,” you acquiesced quietly. “I shall travel by carriage for a while.” 

Relief flickered across Lord James’ features. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, offering an appreciative smile. “Your decision will serve us both well.” 

As you dismounted Honeybreeze, he signaled for the carriage to be prepared. You gave Honeybreeze a reassuring pat before climbing into the waiting vehicle.

Through the window, you watched cautiously as Lord James took the reins of Honeybreeze. He gently guided her alongside Alpine, true to his word, he kept her close. 

You settled onto the cushioned seat, a surprising sense of relief as it offered a respite from the constant jostling. 

As the procession moved forward, the gentle sway of the carriage lulled you into a state of relaxation. Resting your head against the window, you noticed occasional glances from Lord James toward the carriage.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of rest. You were comforted by the knowledge that your lord– your future husband, was looking out and protecting both you and Honeybreeze.

---

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[specialinterestshows]

Deal with a rude awakening in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Cannabis (weed) mention, anxiety, panic attack, crying

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 83 of ?): Like A Jobber Without A Work

You awoke in a cold sweat, Marisol fast asleep beside you as you sat bolt upright, squinting in the sunlight.

What time was it?

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand and tried to turn on the screen.

Nothing.

That’s when you realized you hadn’t plugged it in to charge overnight the way you normally did; yesterday had been so stressful, you’d smoked more than usual. By the time you went to bed, you were so baked, it must have slipped your mind.

Panic began to set in as you hesitated before tapping Mari’s phone to check the time.

You were hours late for work.

Shit.

Fumbling with your charger, your heart racing, your anxiety decided to give you a recap of your current situation:

Your girlfriend, whose communication skills left much to be desired, is famous enough that you cannot safely live in your apartment. As if this wasn’t enough, now you’d slept in long enough that you likely no longer had a job with which to pay rent. Most of your things were still in your apartment, and your damn. Phone. Won’t. Charge.

Trembling in your hand, your phone showed you nothing but your own reflection: the creases from the pillowcase you slept on imprinted on your face, outdone in prominence only by your knit brow.

“Mmn’sta pasando?” Marisol’s sleepy voice made you look up, wondering how you could have awoken her. That’s when you realized you were breathing in and out far too quickly.

“I’m- I’m late- late for work,” you tried to explain between ragged breaths, “I’m gonna- gonna lose my- my job-“

“Ay, cariño,” she whispered, pushing her hair out of her face to get a better look at you.

Suddenly your phone screen lit up and you tried to prepare yourself for the worst.

Three missed calls from work, a text, and a few e-mails all bombarded your notifications at once. Nothing left on voicemail, which was probably for the better; listening to someone firing you might make you pass out.

The text was from Dominik, but you were far too anxious to read it, opening up your e-mail instead.

“NOTICE OF TERMINATION” screamed the very first unread subject line in your inbox. Your heart sank as your vision blurred, hyperventilation breaking down into sobs.

“I’m here for you,” Mari said, moving her hand between the two of you on the bed - just close enough for you to reach if you wanted to. “Whatever you need.”

Whatever you needed?

What you really needed was a job, or - if that wasn’t possible - a place to stay while you found one. And a place to keep all your things. How could you ask for any of that? The last thing you wanted was to overstay your welcome, or move too quickly with Marisol. Rhea travelled so often… Maybe one of your friends?

Tears trailed down your cheeks, landing on the bedsheets as you sobbed harder, still reeling from the sudden uncertainty. It was then that you took Mari’s hand and squeezed tightly. She squeezed back, sitting with you as you picked up your pillow with your free hand and cried into it.

It was a few minutes before you could calm down. By the time you did, you could tell Marisol was fighting the urge to go back to sleep.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pulling her in for a hug. “I’ll let you rest more, just… thank you.”

The warm, sleepy smile on her face when you pulled away was adorable, half-lidded eyes looking into yours as she brought your hand up to her lips and planted a kiss on your knuckles. By the time you stood, walking toward the doorway, you could hear slow, even breaths that told you Mari had already fallen back asleep.

Once you had set up in the living room, you checked the text Dom had sent you around midnight.

“I know it’s late, but Rhea wanted me to tell you: Jacy and Thea jumped her after the show. She’s okay, just needs to rest her arm for a few weeks.”

A different kind of worry fueled you as your fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out your response:

“Can I do anything to help?”

Waiting for a reply, you began to realize how unlikely it was that you could help your girlfriend at all. Your financial situation was up in the air, which meant your living situation would soon follow suit - not to mention the fact that you were currently in emotional disarray trying to process it all. Did you have anything left to offer her aside from a familiar face?

Your phone screen lit up surprisingly quickly with the answer:

“When are you free for a video chat? She hurts too much to text right now and misses you”

“I’m free now or whenever else” you typed, pausing for a moment before adding “I just got fired” and hitting send. As much as you didn’t want to give Rhea anything else to worry about (and, if you were honest, admit your failure to do something as simple as wake up on time), she and Dom were both going to be able to tell that you had been crying once you showed up on a video call. You would have to mention it eventually, anyway.

“Are you sure you’re up for a video chat?”

Dominik replied.

“It’s not like I’m going to get any less unemployed any time soon” was your retort.

A moment later, you were gazing at your girlfriend, her arm in a sling. Dom was sitting next to her and gave you a small wave, which you returned.

“It’s just a fractured elbow; It’s not that bad,” Rhea insisted, seeing your brow knit in worry, “They were trying to give me the same injury I gave Jacy, but she’s going to be laid out longer than I am. I don’t even need a cast!” - the proud look on her face quickly turned into a concerned one - “How are you, love?”

“… Really stressed,” you admitted, trying and failing to keep a nervous laugh from bubbling up, “I don’t know if I can find a new job in time to keep my apartment.”

Rhea and Dominik exchanged a look you didn’t understand until Rhea spoke.

“You can always stay at mine if you end up needing to, babe.”

Somehow, you hadn’t expected the offer; your girlfriend travelled so much, you hadn’t even really thought of her as having her own permanent residence anywhere. With another option available to you now, a bit of your stress subsided.

“Thank you so much, babe,” you smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Rhea said, looking more than anything like she wanted to hold you. “I’m sorry things have been so hectic lately.”

Dom seemed like he was about to say something, but reached out and gave Rhea’s hand a squeeze instead.

“You have nothing to apologize for; I’ll get through this,” you said with more confidence than you felt. “We all will.”

[end part eighty-three of ?]

Part 84: Ring My Bell

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence , @riverina69 , @itsrheasgirl , @1-800-sinister , @ripleylove , @teganc

[http-paprika]

IVY AND IRON THORNS

A TEASER / Sir Simon Riley x Lady Reader / A Medieval AU

Lightning dances across the sky, the light strikes and blinds your eyes. The deep red velvet of your dress is ruined by the rain and mud when your knees fall under you. Your cries are drowned out by the roar of the thunder as you shake from the cold.

All you had known, the world that had been promised for you had been torn from your trembling hands. God had abandoned you as quickly as the sun had abandoned the sky. You are plagued by the darkness, futilely praying to be saved, to wake up back in the safety of your castle and its walls.

Then warmth floods in your arm as a man in black armor sinks to your level, his knee digging into the mire. You cannot see his face, the intricate design of his helmet somehow scares you more than you already are. The skull helmet shines as lightning brightens the sky momentarily before he pulls up his visor and stares at you with concern. His nose and mouth are covered with a black cloth, but his eyes are aflame in the darkness. Only softening when they see how helpless you are as you shrink away from him.

Your savior.

I plan on publishing the first chapter on Wednesday once I've had time to write a few more chapters to have readied. I am so excited to share this with you, it's been on my mind for the past few weeks and I finally wrote the first chapter in a hurry last night.

The tag list for this series is open, if you would like to be notified of story updates, please comment below!

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento who, when asked what his sexual orientation is, simply responds "my wife".

[heavenbarnes]

not being able to find older bf!simon around the house and while you’re looking for him, you catch something out the window-

nearly all the women in your neighbourhood gathered at the end of your driveway

you come outside to investigate only to find them with their attention glued to the front of your car, it’s not till you walk around the front you find the lower half of simon sticking out from under it

on his back, knees bent, massive boots planted into the concrete, bare arm occasionally stretching out to find another tool

“you alright, si?”

you hear him grunt before he’s calling out to you

“yeah, i’m right sweet’art- sortin’ out that bit thas’ been givin’ y’grief”

breaking your gaze from his massive thighs flexing under his jeans, you scan back over the crowd that’d formed

all of them married, all of them a good ten years older than even he was- you couldn’t really blame them really, you had eyes

you could hear him shuffling out from under the car before he suddenly straightened to full height, wiping greasy hands on the front of his old-white-singlet

he pulled up the bottom of it to swipe his forehead and you think you heard someone gasp

wrapping a firm arm around you, he gives your backside a pat before he kisses the top of your head

“got t’keep y’safe, y’know?”

“thank you, baby- now be polite and say hello to your audience”

oblivious as ever to anything other than you, simon threw a look over his shoulder before he followed you back into the house

“oh, ‘ello ladies”

(someone throws a street barbecue and you force simon to talk to the other men around the burner and multiple husbands request him to start “doing that shit” in the garage with the door shut, please)

[makismei]

he hums, smiling down at you from between his legs, both of yours separated by his body.

nanami shakes the vibrator back and forth, watching your legs tense and your back arch dramatically.

“that was a strong one, love.” he comments, not letting up and pressing the wand harder on your clit. “can you give me another?”

you shake your head, trying to sit up on your forearms and scooting away. “c—can’t, ken—mmm—noooo!”

he pulls you toward him again, pressing the vibrator harder against you. “be good for me baby, don’t run.”

keen eyes watch your cunt drool pearly slick, your back arched up as you cried his name, shaking your head.

nanami gives your clit a break, briefly. “you have a safe word baby,” he reminds gently, “do you want to stop?”

your hips twitch, before you shake your head, “i’m okay—mmhmm, aahhh!”

he slips two fingers inside, hooking them expertly against your spot. so wet, licking his lips, cock jumping in his briefs, nanami is so enticed by your entire being. the scent of sex is heavy in the air, but both of you can’t find it in you to care when it feels this good.

“ken,” you whine, hand trying to pry his hand from your gushing cunt. “please, i want your cock noooow—wait! i’m cumming, fuck!”

he hums, pulling his fingers out to rub your clit, cum spraying everywhere. he lightly slaps your pussy, smiling at how your hips jump. “let me play with you a little more, okay love?”

[multifandominfj]

[sheloveschai]

bathing with ambessa (18+)

dom! ambessa x fem! reader

older woman/younger woman, slight exhibitionism, thigh-riding, sub! reader

i cannot get this woman out of my head sitting on her lap (or her face) would solve so many of my problems URRGGHHH

“breathe, child.”

water sloshes against the sides of the luxurious bathing pool- a shuddered gasp echos back off the blue and gold mosaic walls of the room.

a bead of sweat rolls down your spine as a partially nude worker dumps another vessel of water near your bodies, and with it, a veil of steam rises giving the illusion of intimate privacy from the guards on standby.

ambessa, in all her esteemed glory, lounges lazily with her head tipped back over the edge of the pool- a warm cloth draped over her eyes. a goblet, which lays in a large rugged hand, is filled near to the brim with a rich red wine.

the other rests on the hollow of your throat- a calloused thumb ever so gently brushing over your slick skin.

“good, little one,” the warlord practically purrs. a grin graces her lips as she feels your hands slip from her shoulders and down to her submerged abdomen, your hands pressing against her scarred v-line for leverage.

her hand, in return, glides from your throat, over your shoulder, before disappearing down under the water to rest on the curve of your rocking hips- not guiding, not pushing, just to simply rest upon.

“such a needy little thing,” she hums. “taking what you so desire.”

a shaky exhale escapes your lips at her words. her low and husky voice adding to your sinuous desires. your nails ever so slightly dig into her intimidating physique as your cunt throbs in need.

with your slick folds spread open over the impressive muscle of her thigh, your clit rubs deliciously over the bumps and ridges of her battle-won scars.

your wanton gasps and whines ring throughout as your head tips forward in deadweight- causing your gaze to connect with the older woman’s breasts.

just beneath the water you can make out her soft nipples. her breasts are heavy and ripened with age, and though not littered with scars won over battles, stretch marks ripple over them like hieroglyphs seen carved into ancient monumental displays.

your hand moves quicker than your brain and suddenly you’re cupping one of her breasts, raising it up and out of the water- exposing it to the colder air. you practically watch in awe as her dark nipple hardens between your fingers as you press and flatten the heavy globe against her chest.

and without a second thought, you’re lurching forward and enveloping her nipple into your warm mouth. you would’ve swallowed her whole if you could’ve, but instead you resort to swirling the sensitive bud around your tongue; licking, nipping, sucking as though you were trying to milk her.

“look at you,” ambessa rasps, a hint of humor underlaying her lust. “starving for my body. my, you’d do anything to have a taste, wouldn’t you, child?”

a low groan rumbles out of ambessa’s chest at the feeling of the scrape of your teeth, the wet heat of your tongue. in an effort to take more of her breast into your mouth, your knee presses against the slick folds of her cunt as you slide further down her thigh.

and the fearsome warlords back, ever so slightly, arches off the edge of the tub.

“like a kitten in heat, you are” she taunts, though there is no covering how she bucks her hips up in order to grind her aching pussy against you.

she begins to move in time with you, the friction your knee provided sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

her position of leisure and relaxation did not slip, though. with her legs still spread wide, head tilted back, ambessa had the clear headedness to bring her steel goblet up to her lips without spilling a drop of the red liquid.

with an air of authority, she licks the remnants from her now stained mouth, stretching her arm back over the edge of the pool to set the cup down- without a tremor to be seen.

with both of her hands now free, she removes the cloth from her face, revealing her dark lust-stricken gaze.

her hand slowly delves between your legs, separating your slick cunt from her thigh. she teases you for a moment, smirking as she rubs your aching nub with a feather-light touch, before pressing a digit to your entrance.

“there you go, sweet girl,” ambessa praises, sliding another thick digit along her first, your walls fluttering around the intruding appendages. “now you may have my touch.”

her thumb continues to rub slowly circles on your clit as her fingers pump in and out of you at a relentless pace.

“cum for me” she murmurs huskily as she gazes down at your desperate form still suckling at her tit. “show me how my body brings you pleasure.”

she could feel your body tensing, your muscles coiling tight as she worked her fingers inside you. she could tell you were close, the way you desperately clung to her- the way your walls squeezed around her, urging her deeper.

and it wasn’t until she curled them just right, hitting that spot inside you that had you seeing stars, did you cum.

your body convulsed, muscles squeezing around her fingers as wave after wave of pleasure came crashing down upon you. ambessa held you close as you rode out your orgasm. your body shook, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

she could practically feel your heart pounding against her chest. and as you slowly came down from your high, you pressed soft kisses and licks into the bitten skin of her breast.

“enough, child” she grunts, finally pulling you away from her raw nipple. “i desire your mouth elsewhere now.”

[eternalbuckley]

Dance with Tensions. — mattheo riddle

SUMMARY: Mr Riddle asks you to dance even though you two don't get along, only to end up in a heated conversation afterwards.

word count: 2,308

genre: angst | fem!reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings/tropes: lots of tension, an argument, a part of my lady!reader au, it‘s probably not time accurate but who cares!, english is not my first language, briefly proofread — if I forgot something, please let me know!

a/n: i am very much excited to finally share this with you all, enjoy reading my loves 💓 also BIG BIG thank you to @leona-hawthorne and @riddleswhcre for pre-reading one of the parts of the fanfic, you truly helped me out <33

reblogs, feedback and comments are highly appreciated and welcomed! ♡

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. i don’t give you my permission to use my writing for any ai related things, don’t do it. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

divider by cafekitsune

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ navigation | harry potter masterlist | my taglist

The highly anticipated first ball of the season was set to take place this evening. You were full of excitement as you walked into the hall with your older brother hooked on one arm and your parents behind you. Many eyes followed each of your movements. Some of them were filled with admiration and some with envy. You let your gaze wander through the hall and noticed a few men whispering to each other as they sipped on their glasses of champagne and watched you and many of the other people who had already arrived that night. The lookout for possible marriage partners was already happening even if the social season only started a few days ago.

You weren’t quite eager to find someone suitable that night, but you wanted to have a good time with your best friend Miss Pansy Parkinson. She was one of your closest friends ever since you were young children.

The night had been long – you spent your time with Pansy and laughed with her about different jokes. Some words were exchanged with Lords, other Ladies and others that attended the ball as well. Most of them complimented you on your choice of gown but no conversation went deeper. You’ve danced twice with two men, but it was clear that they weren’t interested in you as a person. The conversations revolved solely on how fortunate it must be to be the daughter of a duke and duchess. Talking and dancing with them was exhausting; they stole your energy.

But there was one handsome but infuriating gentleman who seemed to have his eyes on you all night – Mr Mattheo Riddle, the second eldest son of Viscount Riddle. A gentleman you had met before and were not very fond of. You only knew each other because your mothers were friends but you two couldn’t get along.

In your eyes, he was just an arrogant man who clearly didn’t care about being kind to you or any other human being unless he wanted something. And in his eyes, you were an uptight woman who couldn’t care to have fun in her life – which wasn’t the truth.

Your opinions about each other were filled with prejudices and nothing else. Your friend, Pansy, enjoyed teasing you about it and was almost sure that you and Mr Riddle clearly shared a sort of affection for one another. You, of course, didn’t want to admit it or you weren’t able to realise it yet.

Mr Riddle had watched you all night without daring to step forward and take a chance to speak with you. Until you were eventually freed from your current dance partner and could take a breath.

“Ohhh,” Pansy whispered with a devilish grin and slightly covered her mouth with her gloved hand, “Mr Riddle is making his way towards us.”

“Lady Y/N?” Mr Riddle walked up to you with a mischievous and confident smile and kept his brown eyes on you. You turned your head in his direction to meet his eye and shared a tight, polite smile with the man in front of you, “Yes?”

“May I have this next dance?” He extended his hand to you. You quickly turned your head to Pansy who slightly nodded and smiled friendly at Mr Riddle. You inhaled and cleared your throat. “You may, Mr Riddle,” you placed your hand in his extended one and let him lead you to the dance floor. You didn’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone else – so you only had the chance to agree to the dance.

As you walked to the dance floor, you turned your head back to Pansy and wished your look could kill her in that moment. She briefly wiggled her eyebrows and smirked at you. You rolled your eyes at her and turned back to focus on the upcoming dance with Mr Riddle.

As the musicians began playing the next song, some of the ladies and gentlemen started to watch you closely. The song was slow yet moving. Every lady curtsied, and every gentleman bowed in front of their dance partner, most of them shared fond smiles, while you and Mr Riddle exchanged only tight smiles and stared intensely at each other. Your body was quite tense as you stepped closer to him. The warmth of his palm brushed against yours, sending a subtle shiver through your hand, while you both moved in two circles – your palms continued to touch each other. You both kept your eyes locked on each other in intense stares and tried to stay calm, but those who knew you couldn’t help but notice the tension between you. It was impossible to ignore.

After you made two turns, you repeated the same dance move, this time in the opposite direction. “Is everything okay with you, my Lady?” Mr Riddle asked you quietly, though he didn’t expect an honest answer from you.

“What would you expect, Mr Riddle?” you replied calmly, “I’m having the time of my life.” You didn’t truly mean it, but dancing with him was far more enjoyable than with any other Lord you had danced with that night.

Once the two turns were completed, both of you took a step back but your eyes remained on each other. After a brief pause, you slowly approached one another, your palms hovering just inches apart as the air between you was thick with tension. As you closed the distance, your wrists were slightly wrapped around each other. The slight contact sent a light spark of warmth through your bodies. You stepped away from each other and repeated the same moves – your gazes continued to burn into each other, although they seemed to get a little softer. You placed your hands in his as he held them out to you. You then raised your arm and moved it over his head while keeping your hands together. Thereafter, you turned slightly in his arms and repeated the same dance move, only that he made a small turn instead of you this time. As you repeated this movement for the third time and turned slightly, you remained in his arms wrapped around you while your hands remained connected.

Your skin prickled as you felt his hot breath on your skin. You had expected to entirely hate to be so close to him, but surprisingly, it wasn’t as unbearable as you thought. However, these feelings quickly passed as you noticed his small smirk – you wished you could just slap it out of his face. Together you walked in a few small circles while his arms remained around you. The proximity caused your breath to falter for a brief moment, but you suppressed it – at least tried to.

After your turns with him, you stepped away from each other and locked eyes for a moment. Your lips parted lightly as you felt his gaze on you. Then, you moved closer again and placed your hands on his shoulders while he gently placed his hands on the upper part of your back. He touched you with a gentleness you had never seen of him before – it frightened you because you weren’t familiar with such a side of him. You remained in this position for a few brief moments and danced in small circles, before his hands slid down your arms to take your hands and spin you back into his embrace.

You swallowed as you felt his breath on your skin again. The warmth of his body so close to yours was overwhelming. A mixture of tension and something else you couldn’t name stirred within you. The music slowly faded into the background while your faces were close, and your breaths were one. For a brief moment, you lost yourself in each other’s eyes as you continued to sway to the music.

“I wonder how many dances it would require before you finally can stand my company without the desire to do me harm,” he whispered into your ear with a hoarse voice before he let you go after the music stopped. Your breath slightly hitched in response, but you rolled your eyes and inhaled as you decided not to reply any further.

When the music ended, you and he stepped apart to exchange a curtsy and a bow. You then walked back to Pansy and your brother, who were talking to one another. You were sure that you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about this dance and the words Mr Riddle whispered into your ear before the dance ended.

“Ohh, there she is!” Pansy clapped her hands and grinned. You saw your brother turn towards you – his lips were in a grin as well, but it was filled with his ever-so-brotherly protectiveness. At the sight of both of them, you rolled your eyes and sighed annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Shall we truly believe that you have not at least found the slightest enjoyment in dancing with Mr Riddle?” Pansy sighed and grabbed your hands to squeeze them.

“I did not enjoy it entirely, but it was better than with the Lords I’ve danced with tonight,” you admitted.

Pansy smiled at you and then proudly turned her head to your brother. “See, I told you, my Lord. It is only a matter of time,” she whispered, but you clearly heard every word and furrowed your eyebrows.

“For what precisely, Pansy?”

She sighed and looked back to you, “Until you and Mr Riddle are willing to confess that your hatred is not as deep as you so often claim. Everyone that knows you can see it. And I believe that even strangers can sense it.”

You shook your head and looked away from her. “Stop with these jests. In no world, could I ever not hate Mr Riddle. He…” You groaned and pulled your hands away from your best friend. “Just stop with it, Pansy. And you,” you pointed to your brother with your index finger – your voice was calm but hid a tone of annoyance, “Don’t even think about joining her, brother.” You turned around and walked outside to take a deep breath after your brother nodded.

Your tense shoulders relaxed as soon as you felt the cold and fresh air on your skin, a much-needed change of environment. Near you, you could see a small group of fellow citizens and a few servants – what you didn't notice was that Mr Riddle came towards you and stopped next to you. A respectful and allowed distance was between you but in the eyes of the wrong people it could be seen as improper to even stand alone with one another.

“What a pleasant night, is it not, my Lady?” Mr Riddle cut the silence with a soft-spoken voice, but there was a hidden arrogance in it.

You sighed and kept your gaze to the front. “It was,” you then turned your head towards him – your lips pressed together in a thin line. “Until you asked me to dance.”

He chuckled and turned completely around to face you, and so did you. “I saw how draining it was for you to waste your time with these Lords, Lady Y/N. You can be honest; I’ve saved your night with me asking you to dance.” His cocky smile infuriated you even more than you already were. “Who else could you have been spending your time instead? Mayhap a Lord who has far outlived the finest hours of his life?”

You hated that he was right. He sorts of saved you from all the lords you didn’t want to spend any energy or time on. You would have agreed with Mr Riddle, if it wasn’t him.

“Will you ever stop being so insufferable?” You argued back while you clenched your hands into fists out of anger. How could be a single human being so annoying? “It is truly beyond me how you manage to be so…” You groaned and stopped yourself mid-sentence, knowing that he’d just use it to tease you. You turned your head away and inhaled deeply, hoping he would just leave you alone.

Mr Riddle raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, the closeness was risky, but you didn’t step away. “You may finish your sentence, my Lady.” He wanted to know your true opinion about him, although he already assumed how it might be – though he wished it would be the opposite. Something he’d not even dream about to admit in front of you.

You felt the cold air and his breath mixed on your skin and you deeply inhaled as you looked into each other’s eyes. There was a brief pause between you as you stared at one another. Your heartbeat slightly increased – you weren’t sure of the exact reason. Was it the hatred you claimed to feel for him or was it something entirely else?

You cleared your throat. “I’d rather not, Mr Riddle,” you scoffed, your voice full of contempt and turned around to walk back into the house but stopped after taking a few steps. May he use your next words against you, you couldn’t care less in that very moment. Your anger was too much. “You are the most vexing human being that came across me in all my life. It is truly beyond me how you manage to be so tiresome, Mr Riddle,” you spoke quickly but he heard everything clearly. “I shall wish you a good night,” you finished your sentence after taking another deep breath and turned around to walk back inside.

You left him standing alone in the middle of the porch. With his smirk rubbed off his face as he wondered if he had gone too far this time. Perhaps, your hatred went deeper than he thought. Something he never intended to happen. But what if it could all be something else? Something he couldn’t imagine?

[shotmrmiller]

military issued wife but you didn't know that using the "dating app" your friend brought up once in idle talk would end with you in an office with a (signed) marriage license on the desk, actively not looking at your 'husband', the burly lummox with a skull mask who's dwarfing the chair he can barely fit in.

you'd thought it'd be like tinder. a potential dating site. as in messaging on the app, getting to know each other, exchanging personal numbers before going on a date. not marriage. not opening your front door expecting it to be your door dasher and instead it's him with a rucksack in one hand and duffel in the other.

he'd looked down his thick nose at you, grunted a quiet, "not bad", and pushed past as if you were a swinging door to a saloon. what the fuck had he been doing there? you'd only spoken a couple of times with him and left on read for the some of it. you'd chosen to move on, try to match with someone else but the app had stopped working (you couldn't swipe right or left anymore) so you'd just put it on the back burner. you had better things to worry about than another disappointment of a man then.

except now said disappointment of a overly large man is taking up most of the couch and his legs aren't even all that far apart. and he's at your house. the house you'd never sent him the address to. as a matter of fact, you'd received a text from an unknown number earlier that had said someone would be home in a few. you'd ignored it thinking it was a wrong number situation but now you're sure it was him. how he got your phone number is also a mystery.

you'd tried to argue. to threaten him with the cops. to get him out and away, far fucking away, but he'd only scooped you up and let you pelt his broad back with your fists. chuckled low in his throat while he smacked your arse to keep still. "i'd hate to drop m'wife."

whatever fight you had he ate right out of you with the heels of your feet digging into the large curve of his shoulders and his hands curled around the back of your thighs. maybe it's because it'd been a while but he'd played your body like an instrument and had you bucking your hips against his tongue, slick coating his face in minutes. (your cheeks burn furiously hot when you think back on what he'd said then. "tight little thing 'nd you've only taken my two fingers." it's flattering, sue you.)

he'd lapped at your sodden cunt until you had overstimulation clumping your lashes together, inner thighs tender from the bristles of his shorn hair and unshaven jaw, your palm on the crown of his head having both pulled him to you and pushed him away.

and then he'd wiped your release with the back of his hand, thumbed the swollen flesh of your bottom lip and rumbled that it's time for bed.

which eventually led to you being here. in front of a man he calls Price, a marriage certificate unlike any you've ever glanced upon, a large gloved hand curled snugly around your leg, fingers grazing a little too close to where he'd left aching and swollen just yesterday.

you're reading the terms and conditions of anything from here on forward. even the fine print.

and then soap comes around and plants a seed in his head of him planting a seed in you :/ at least you can tell your nosy ass aunt that at least you've got a man while she's on her 4th divorce on thanksgiving 💅🏼

[delicatebarness]

He had been silently brooding at the head of the table, his eyes piecing when suddenly, he rose from his seat. His voice cold and unwavering. “Speak ill of my wife again, and you’ll learn just how fiercely I will defend what is mine.” The room fell silent, all eyes on him as he continued. “She is the future of Winter’s Reach and this House, she will have your respect.”

Lord James Bucky Barnes x Lady Romanoff Reader

{made by me, images from pinterest}

Winter’s Widow Prologue

[specialinterestshows]

See what your girlfriend is up to in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Jealousy, dirty talk, exhibitionism, groping, biting, possessive sex, praise, cheating, little bit of somno

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 79 of ?): Monday Night Mami

With every passing day, the monster within her grew more and more restless.

You should be fighting, it growled.

Show her what happens when she tries to get near what’s yours.

Rhea did everything she could to drown it out: training until she exhausted herself, fucking Dom until she exhausted him, extra-loud death metal - but the monster never slept. As soon as Tuesday rolled around, she was going to beat Jacy Jayne within an inch of her life.

Rhea shook her dark tresses, trying to stay level-headed and in the present. She was currently backstage at RAW - uncharacteristically alone, as she had encouraged Dom to join the rest of the Judgment Day for post-show drinks and other shenanigans. Rhea would still have about a day’s wait before she could get a match against Jacy - the perfect outlet for her mixed feelings regarding her girlfriend having slept with another woman - but the moment the door in front of her opened, she knew the figure walking toward her would be the perfect distraction in the meantime.

“Cathy Kelley,” Rhea smirked, pushing off from the wall she had been leaning on and eyeing the way the brunette’s outfit hugged her curves, “Is there anything you don’t look tempting in?”

“Ms. Ripley-“ Cathy began, before the raven-haired woman closed the space between them.

“No need to be so formal,” Rhea insisted, a finger gently but firmly pressing against Cathy’s lips as she continued in a whisper, “You can call me Mami.”

Cathy’s body language changed from flustered to coquettish as soon as she heard the seriousness in those words.

“What can I, uh,” Cathy batted her eyelashes as her hand alighted on Rhea’s shoulder, looking directly into the other woman’s hungry gaze, “What can I do for you?”

Rhea’s grin widened, the monster within her scratching at the surface as she moved her hands to Cathy’s waist.

“So glad you asked.”

-

Rhea hadn’t taken her eyes or hands off Cathy since the brunette had offered to pay for a ride so the both of them could retire to the privacy of Cathy’s hotel room. Rhea had to give their driver credit for remaining perfectly safe and respectful, despite the fact that she was sure he’d heard every single one of Cathy’s attempts at muffling the sounds she made as Rhea shamelessly groped and fondled her. Rhea’s lips found Cathy’s mouth as often as they did her neck, whispering dirty promises and depraved compliments in her ear between bites and kisses.

Rhea slid some extra cash across the center console to the driver as a tip when he dropped them off at the hotel.

“Thanks, mate,” she said before getting out, closing the car door, and putting a rough, possessive arm around Cathy.

The moment the two of them were alone in the elevator, Rhea’s hand dipped down between Cathy’s legs as she kissed her roughly. The desperate whine that escaped Cathy’s lips when those strong fingertips brushed against her panties was all the invitation Rhea needed to push her underwear to the side before sliding in one finger, then two. The whimpers coming from the woman she held made Rhea smirk as she expertly pumped her fingers in and out of that clenching wetness.

“Mami,” Cathy moaned, gripping the shirt of the woman inside of her, intoxicated by her touch, “Yes! Yes-!”

Rhea muffled the sounds that threatened to give them away with a kiss, her conquest writhing against her as she came. Cathy whispered “oh wow” and Rhea brought her fingers to her mouth, cleaning them with her tongue as the elevator gave a pleasant “ding,” announcing it had arrived at their floor.

“Are you always so vocal during your “private interviews”?” Rhea teased, putting her arm around the flushed woman when she noticed her stumble.

“Honest answer?” Cathy asked, pointing to the door of her room as she giggled.

“Unless you want to be punished,” Rhea teased, steering the brunette in the right direction.

“No one has ever made me feel this good before,” Cathy admitted, looking through her purse for her keycard to avoid eye contact, “That was the first time I… came with someone else.”

Rhea couldn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting up in surprise, regaining her composure quickly as she took the card from Cathy’s fidgeting hands, the two of them standing at the door to her room.

“I’ll make sure it won’t be the last,” Rhea promised, unlocking and opening the door before gesturing for Cathy to enter first, “Just let Mami make you feel good, darling.”

Cathy’s sense of balance seemed to be returning as she put a bit of extra swing in her hips, knowing she was being watched. As soon as Rhea closed the door behind them, her hands and mouth gravitated back to the other woman’s body.

“You don’t need those clothes,” she growled against Cathy’s skin, pawing at the cloth that separated her from the tender, waiting flesh underneath.

Cathy stripped down to her bra and underwear as Rhea kicked off her shoes and shirt, stopping at the sight of her conquest half-naked and mesmerized by Rhea’s tattoos. Instinct took over, the stronger woman hoisting the other over her shoulder, moving over to the bed, and dropping her down onto the mattress.

Cathy squealed with delight as she was moved about like a rag doll, giggles turning to moans as Rhea removed the rest of both their clothes, groping Cathy as she did so.

“Bet you’re so fucking tasty,” Rhea purred, trailing bites and kisses all the way down to the whimpering woman’s thighs before taking her in her mouth. With a flick of her tongue against the throbbing wetness, hands creeping up to Cathy’s chest, Rhea felt the sweet sensation of someone submitting to her power and craved more.

“Looks like Mami’s always right,” she commented, running her tongue ring against Cathy’s clit a few more times before standing up.

Rhea moved the breathless woman underneath her, spreading Cathy’s legs as she did her own until their cunts kissed. She admired the view this position afforded her for a moment before grinding against the submissive woman entirely for her own pleasure. Cathy seemed to be having the time of her life regardless, eyes rolling back as she came with a shudder.

“Mami!” she moaned over and over, the pauses in her sounds of pleasure accompanying the tensing of her body and the growing slickness between them. Rhea had lost count of how many times she’d made her come by the time she was approaching her own orgasm.

“Oh get ready, baby,” Rhea moaned, tightening her grip on Cathy’s thighs, “Mami’s going to come all over your sweet fucking cunt.”

True to her word, Rhea let wave after wave rock her body, eyes closed as she focused on how amazing every movement felt. The wet sounds that accompanied her release told her she was dripping down into the other woman, the monster within her humming with satisfaction at the thought of claiming another so fully.

“Fuck,” Rhea sighed, smiling as she collapsed on the bed next to Cathy, “Was that as good for you as it was for me?”

“Better,” she insisted, cuddling up to Rhea sleepily.

“Good girl.”

-

The incessant buzzing of her phone woke Rhea in the darkness. Grumbling to herself, she threw off the blanket and followed the sound.

Dom was calling.

What time was it?

When her eyes moved to the bed, Rhea smirked at the sight of Cathy’s naked, sleeping form tangled in the bedsheets.

I must’ve really tired her out, she thought to herself as she walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The second the door closed, Rhea answered just before the call could go to voicemail.

“Dom, I thought-“ she said, stopping the second she heard a series of shuffling noises on the other end.

Really? A butt-dial? Rhea sighed, massaging her temples as she imagined a drunk Dominik Mysterio adjusting the purple bandana in his pocket and accidentally tapping his screen.

Then, just when she was about to pull the phone away from her ear and hang up, the sounds changed.

“Fuck.”

It was Dom. Moaning.

“Mmm, JD, please-“

Rhea’s phone dropped, her hand trembling in rage. The moment it hit the bathroom floor, the screen cracked, but the light from it still shone and the sounds on the other end of the line were still audible.

“-keep bein’ a good lad and I’ll-“

Rhea leaned down and viciously tapped the screen to end the call before she could hear more.

But it was too late.

The monster had awoken once more, and she needed an outlet.

Kicking her phone across the tile, Rhea threw open the door and prowled toward the bed.

“Cathy,” she called in a singsong tone, watching the woman twitch in her sleep.

Rhea pulled the blanket down and crawled on top of Cathy, kissing, licking, and biting at her neck until she was moaning, eyes fluttering open as she gripped the sheets.

“Wake up, you dirty girl,” Rhea growled in her ear, “Mami wants to play.”

[end part seventy-nine of ?]

Part 80: “Last Call”

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@littlemiss-fanficlover , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence , @riverina69 , @itsrheasgirl , @1-800-sinister , @ripleylove , @beeposts , @teganc

[http-paprika]

Somehow, I’ve managed to enter a writing fad and am 2743 words into the first chapter of my next project. And let me tell you, I’m so excited to get everything ready to share with you. I think y’all are gonna love it because it may or may not include a medieval knight au… but I’m saying nothing more. You’ll just have to wait!

[cadelinhadaromanoff]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

sumary: The last thing Natasha expected was for her one-and-Half-year-old daughter to fall head over heels for the one person on the team who didn’t like kids.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader. Natasha Romanoff x platonic!avengers

Word count: 5075

warnings: age gap, light mommy issues if you squirm your eyes, fluffly content, Natasha being the best mom ever, light humor and jokes

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᥫ᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༝ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨♡୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᡣ𐭩 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꩜　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　⸝⸝⸝♡　　⁺　　୨୧　　　₊　 　 ˚₊

Natasha had never been the type to hope for softness.

Not for herself, at least.

She’d made her peace with that years ago—on the rooftops of Budapest, in the sterile hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D., in the long silences between missions where guilt and memory left no room for sentiment. And then came Ana. Not by accident. Not by surprise. By choice. Hers. A deliberate, defiant, I want this, spoken with all the clarity of a life finally claimed.

She never regretted a moment of it. Not the injections. Not the procedures. Not the days spent alone, watching her body change, knowing no one was coming but not needing anyone to. Ana was the best thing she’d ever done. Her softness, her quiet, her stubborn spark—that was Natasha’s legacy now. Not blood. Not missions. Her. Anasthasia Irina Romanoff. She’d chosen Irina long before Ana was even born. It wasn’t a family name, or a tribute to anyone in her past—it was a hope. Irina meant peace, and that’s what Ana was. Her stillness after decades of running. Her soft beginning after a life of sharp edges. Natasha had spent so many years living on instinct, choosing danger over safety, solitude over softness. But Ana was different. Ana meant slow mornings. Shared breakfasts. Laughter in the middle of the day for no reason at all. She gave her the name Irina because, for the first time, Natasha wasn’t surviving anymore. She was living. And Ana was the reason why.And maybe that’s why she was so protective of it—why she kept the world at arm’s length and Ana even closer. This calm, this rhythm she’d built, it was fragile in the way that mattered most. So when new variables appeared—new people, new energies—Natasha never let them close enough to shift the balance.

So she didn’t expect anything to come from your arrival.

Not in the way that mattered.

You were Tony’s daughter, and Natasha had always paid attention to the way people spoke about you—with a mixture of respect and restraint, like they weren’t quite sure what to do with someone who carried the Stark name but none of his chaos. She knew you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were barely old enough to be called an adult, that you’d carved your space without leaning on legacy, and that you’d been stationed in England for the last few years—low profile, high results.

She also knew something more personal. Something quieter.

You didn’t like children.

Not in a cold, heartless way. You weren’t cruel. You were respectful—always. Natasha remembered the way you helped Lila Barton when she scraped her knee during a holiday visit, how you’d stayed still and calm while the girl sobbed against your shoulder. But the moment she calmed, you’d set her down gently and disappeared from the room like your presence had been an accident. You didn’t mock them, or treat them like they were less-than. You just… didn’t want them near. Didn’t invite them close. Natasha understood that. Some people didn’t crave the chaos, the unpredictability, the weight of something small depending on you.

That was fine.

That was expected.

Which is why she didn’t even flinch when she brought Ana to the morning briefing.

The meeting was scheduled in one of the larger lounge rooms—bright windows, low coffee tables, plenty of space for Ana to exist without needing constant wrangling. Natasha had done this dozens of times. Her daughter came with her everywhere now. She didn’t leave Ana behind unless she absolutely had to. The team had long since adapted.

You, however, were new.

She entered the room with Ana tucked against her side, one arm looped around the child’s waist with practiced ease. You were already seated—coffee in hand, face unreadable, posture casual but distant. Natasha didn’t expect more than a polite nod, maybe a glance. And that’s what she got. You didn’t tense. You didn’t retreat. You simply acknowledged her presence and turned your eyes back to the screen.

But Ana didn’t.

Ana saw you. And for the first time since Natasha could remember, her daughter paused.

Not in fear. Not in confusion. In recognition.

It started as a slow shift—her little body repositioning against Natasha’s ribs, eyes locked in your direction, curious and alert. Then the squirming began. Not impatient, not fussy—focused. Ana leaned out of her arms, little hand pointing downward.

Natasha frowned. “What’s going on, kotyonok?” she murmured, brushing her lips lightly across Ana’s hair.

“Down,” Ana whispered.

Natasha blinked.

Ana rarely asked to leave her arms during meetings. And never in unfamiliar rooms. She’d been clingy the last few days—teething, off her sleep schedule, adjusting to so many new faces around the compound again. But now, her little legs were kicking softly, hands gripping at Natasha’s shirt in earnest.

“Down,” she repeated.

Natasha hesitated—glanced at you.

You weren’t watching Ana anymore. You were watching her. Confused. Curious. But not annoyed. Not disapproving.

Natasha could read people down to the smallest twitch of a muscle, and in that moment, she read one thing clearly: you didn’t know what was happening either.

So she shifted forward and lowered Ana gently to the carpeted floor.

Ana’s sneakers touched down. She took one look back—brief, instinctive—then turned toward you like she already knew the path.

Natasha’s chest tightened.

One step. Then another.

You looked up.

There was a breath, the room shrinking around it.

Ana stopped at your knees. Her curls were mussed from her mother’s shoulder, her little fox plush dangling from one hand. She tilted her head to look at you properly. She didn’t blink.

And then she lifted both arms toward you.

“Lap.”

You froze.

Not in fear. Not rejection. Natasha saw it—something break quietly across your expression, the way your eyebrows lifted just slightly, like your own body didn’t understand how it was reacting before your brain caught up. There was no mask now. No calm Stark logic, no precise detachment. Just you—and the shock of being chosen by someone so small, so unrelenting, and so certain.

Natasha didn’t move.

She stood where she was, heart pounding quietly behind her ribs, not from fear or worry—but something more intimate. Something that reached the parts of her still holding every shattered version of family she’d ever known. She watched as you stared down at the child who had never, not once, walked into a stranger’s arms. And she waited. Because whatever happened next… would matter.

You didn’t reach for Ana immediately.

Natasha noticed the exact moment your eyes lifted—not to the child now reaching for you with unwavering certainty, but to her. And it wasn’t a question. Not quite. There was no panic in your expression, no discomfort. Just a pause. A stillness that asked without words: Is this alright?

And Natasha, who rarely let anyone past the perimeter of her trust, gave you the smallest, most intentional nod.

You moved like someone reaching into deep water—carefully, gently, aware of the weight of what you were about to hold. Your hands met Ana’s sides, small and secure, and you lifted her with practiced ease, as though this wasn’t the first time, as though her body already knew how to fold against yours. She settled into your lap like it belonged to her.

Like she had always meant to end up there.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat.

Ana laid her head lightly against your chest, little cheek pressing into the dark fabric of your jacket. One of her hands tucked the fox between your arm and her belly; the other—small, dimpled fingers—reached up to your collarbone and found your hand.

And then she started to play.

Not with toys, not with distractions. Just your hand. Your fingers. One by one she explored them, pressing her thumb into your palm, curling your pinky against her own, dragging the tips along her forehead in idle motion. Her eyes drifted half-closed, calm and curious, while you stayed perfectly still—watching her with that same look Natasha couldn’t read.

It was almost unbearable, the quiet of the moment.

The meeting had technically begun, but Natasha hadn’t registered a single word Steve said. She hadn’t even sat down. She just stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes on the impossible softness blooming in front of her.

Because that’s what it was. Impossible.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated. You hadn’t done what most people did—smile politely, hand Ana back, or distract her with something shiny so they could pass her off. You were just… there. Entirely present. Letting her settle. Letting her explore. Letting her choose.

And she had chosen you.

The worst part—if she could call it that—was that Natasha wasn’t angry. She wasn’t suspicious. She wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Because looking at you now—back straight, eyes lowered, completely surrendered to the tiny storm nestled in your lap—something made sense in her chest that hadn’t before.

Ana had found something.

Or maybe, someone.

And Natasha wasn’t sure what that meant yet, or how far she would allow it to grow—but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she didn’t feel the need to pull away. She walked slowly to her seat across from you, quiet as a shadow, never breaking the spell. And when she sat down, she didn’t take her eyes off you. The briefing wrapped without fanfare.

Steve’s voice faded into background noise, Bruce gathered his notes, and the others filtered out one by one with practiced efficiency. No one commented on Ana—no one dared. Maybe because they saw the weight of the moment. Maybe because it wasn’t theirs to touch.

The room was almost too quiet now.

Ana had slipped fully into sleep, her tiny hand still curled lazily around your finger, her head rising and falling against your chest like she’d found the safest place in the universe. You hadn’t moved. Not really. Just shifted to make her more comfortable—let her sink deeper into you without hesitation, like her weight belonged there.

Natasha couldn’t look away.

You hadn’t noticed—at least, she thought you hadn’t. You never were one to fidget under attention. But there was something different about you now. Something unguarded beneath all that calm.

“I have to admit,” she said, voice low, “this wasn’t how I pictured our first real conversation going.”

You glanced at her, brow arching just a little. “And how did you picture it?”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Not with my daughter wrapped around you like a vine.”

You leaned back slightly, careful not to disturb Ana, and gave her that expression—dry, sharp, quietly amused. “You sound jealous.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Should I be?”

You made a show of glancing down at Ana, then shrugged one shoulder—so subtle it barely moved her. “She’s got good taste.”

The laugh caught in Natasha’s throat before she could stop it. Soft, surprised. God, you were so damn composed, and yet there was something underneath that surface—a spark of something warmer, something playful. She hadn’t expected that. And she was rarely caught off guard.

“I should warn you,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “If you let her get used to that lap, you’re going to regret it.”

“I don’t regret much.”

“She’s one and a half. You’ll regret it the next time you try to drink a coffee without someone demanding half of it.”

You smiled—not a smirk, not your usual reserved grin. An actual smile. And Natasha had to look away, just for a moment, because something in her chest pulled taut at the sight.

“And here I thought you brought her to meetings as a distraction tactic,” you said.

She looked back at you with narrowed eyes, playful. “You think I’d use my daughter to throw someone off their game?”

“I think,” you said, gaze darkening just a little, “that if anyone could weaponize a toddler, it’d be you.”

Natasha laughed, this time all the way—low and warm in her chest, real in a way she didn’t usually allow to slip out. She shook her head, leaning back in her chair.

“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.

You tilted your head. “Me? You’re the trained assassin.”

“Exactly.” Her eyes dropped to the sleeping girl between you. “And you’re the one she asked for.”

The silence curled again. Not cold. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed.

You looked down at Ana once more, brushing a thumb lightly over her curls where they stuck up against your collar. “Don’t get used to this,” you said, not looking at Natasha. “I’m still not a fan of kids.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she replied, watching the way you softened around the edges without realizing it.Natasha didn’t argue—she didn’t have to. The proof was already wrapped around your side in cookie-stained pajamas. She just watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth, the kind that stayed long after you’d left the room.

She knew this wouldn't be a one- time thing. 

A few days later, the morning unfolded differently, slower. Late morning sunlight filtered lazily into the kitchen, warm and indifferent. It fell across the countertops, gleamed off metal handles, and lit the soft chaos that was breakfast—or rather, the battle of breakfast.

Ana was seated in her high chair like a tiny queen in revolt, arms crossed firmly, lips pursed in open rebellion. The oatmeal had gone cold fifteen minutes ago. Natasha had tried coaxing, bribing, even threatening to call Bruce if she didn’t eat. Nothing worked. The spoon sat abandoned in the bowl like a white flag.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Natasha muttered, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Other people’s kids don’t get away with this.”

Ana remained unimpressed. She glared past Natasha’s shoulder as if expecting reinforcements.

The door creaked open behind them.

Natasha didn’t turn around right away—she was too focused on pretending she wasn’t about to lose a diplomatic war with a toddler. But she didn’t need to look. She could hear it: the shuffle of slow, dragging footsteps, the soft grunt of someone whose soul was not yet awake. Then came the familiar hiss of the espresso machine, followed by the rustling of a bakery bag.

You’d arrived.

She turned.

You looked… awful.

Delightfully awful.

Hair wild from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, mismatched socks peeking out under flannel pants. You were cradling your coffee mug like a lifeline, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in a petulant line that said you’d only been conscious for five minutes and deeply regretted that fact.

In your other hand: a cheese croissant, still warm, still flaking. You tore off a corner and bit into it like someone performing life-saving triage.

Ana stared, Hard. So damn hard.

Not at Natasha. Not at the bowl of oatmeal she’d rejected like poison. But at you.

You took another bite, chewed, then finally glanced up—and blinked, slow and heavy.

Your gaze drifted to the high chair. To Ana’s unrelenting eyes. Then to Natasha.

“I take it we’re in the starvation phase of child rearing?”

“She’s being dramatic,” Natasha said.

Ana made a noise like a whimper and kicked her feet, You squinted at her. Then reached forward, broke off a soft piece of croissant, and held it out between your fingers.

Ana took it like it was sacred.

“Traitor,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

You made a sound between a hum and a sigh and dropped into a chair with all the weight of someone being punished by existence itself. “I’ve been up for six minutes,” you mumbled. “I haven’t even looked at another human being yet.”

Ana reached again, You fed her another bite.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s not helping, right?”

“She was clearly starving.”

“I told you—she’s not.”

“She’s got the same face I do when I haven’t eaten,” you said, deadpan. “We understand each other.”

Natasha studied you, the way you slouched, bleary-eyed and nonverbal, croissant in one hand, coffee in the other. She looked at Ana—mirroring your expression almost perfectly, down to the pout and the silent demand for carbs.

She huffed a laugh.

“My God. You’re the same person.”

You gave her a tired glare. “Keep talking. See if I share.”

“You’re both insufferable when hungry.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “Of what? Your shared standoffish breakfast cult?”

You sipped your coffee slowly, eyes flicking to Ana and back.

“She chose me,” you said, tone flat but triumphant. “I don’t make the rules.”

Ana squeaked with joy, flailing her hands toward the croissant again.

“She betrayed me,” Natasha replied, pointing to the untouched oatmeal. “I gave her life. You gave her cheese.”

You shrugged, already handing Ana another piece. “She’s got good taste.”

Natasha shook her head, lips twitching as she turned away to clean up the bowl of oatmeal. “You’re both ridiculous.”

You yawned, eyes half-lidded as Ana leaned her head dramatically on the edge of the tray, already chewing the last bite like it was a reward for surviving the morning. You were still half-asleep, leaning into your chair like gravity was trying to reclaim you, clinging to that coffee as if it were the only thing standing between you and the grave. You were cranky, antisocial before noon, and notoriously stubborn about food—especially when it was yours.

Which is why Natasha watched with mild astonishment as you rolled your eyes in a perfectly theatrical arc, sighed like a martyr, and wordlessly handed the rest of your croissant to Ana.

She squeaked with joy and took it like treasure, immediately stuffing the larger half into her mouth with both hands.

“Unbelievable,” Natasha muttered, not even bothering to hide her smile.

You ignored her, sipping your coffee in silence like you regretted every decision that had led to this exact moment. Your eyes were dark and tired, but there was no real irritation behind them. Just that quiet resignation you always wore when you knew you were losing a battle you never meant to fight in the first place.

You took another sip, then looked at her across the kitchen—eyes still half-lidded, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Give me the oatmeal.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward the abandoned bowl. “She doesn’t want it. And I’m starving.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, without a word, Natasha reached for the bowl and walked it over, setting it in front of you with a raised eyebrow. You didn’t meet her gaze. You just set your coffee aside and picked up the spoon like someone about to make peace with their fate.

Ana was already chewing noisily beside you, bits of pastry stuck to her cheek.

Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the counter again. “So let me get this straight,” she said, lips twitching. “You won’t share food with me, but she gets the last of your croissant and your breakfast?”

“She didn’t ask for it,” you said without looking up. “She demanded it with her eyes.”

“Right. So toddler mind control. That’s the explanation we’re going with.”

“She’s persuasive.”

“She’s one and a half.”

You glanced up then, finally, spoon midair. Your expression was blank, deadpan, and yet something in your eyes sparked with mischief.

“So am I,” you said.

And Natasha felt it—that little flicker again. The warmth that was growing far too easily in the quiet spaces between these moments. It settled somewhere under her ribs, soft and persistent.

You looked back down and took a bite of the oatmeal without flinching.

Ana, satisfied and full of croissant, leaned against the side of your arm and let out a sigh so deep it could only have come from the depths of her soul.

Natasha didn’t say anything else.

She just stood there, watching the two of you—both stubborn, both sleepy, both impossible—and thought, this isn’t going to stay simple, is it?

But she didn’t say that either.

She just smiled.And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.Days passed like that—quiet, unspoken things folding themselves into the rhythm of the compound. You didn’t come looking for Ana, but she kept finding you anyway. And Natasha… well, she kept watching. Kept noticing the way your edges softened more each time.

Then came the briefing.

It had started as a simple mission briefing. Nothing classified, nothing urgent—just a routine strategy session with the new intel team that Natasha absolutely couldn’t reschedule. One hour, tops. Ana would barely notice she was gone.

She was so wrong.

Clint had been her first call. Obvious choice. He knew how to juggle five kids and a mission report without blinking. But the moment Natasha handed Ana over, the girl went stiff in his arms like a statue, then started wailing as if he’d personally betrayed her.

Wanda tried next. Ana let her hold her for a full five seconds before twisting away like a feral cat and screeching “NO!” in a tone that made two agents duck for cover.

Steve, bless him, had approached with his most diplomatic smile and a stuffed bear in hand, only to be met with the full force of toddler disdain. Ana didn’t scream that time—just buried her face in Natasha’s neck and growled.

And Natasha… Natasha was five minutes late to her briefing and dangerously close to losing her mind.

Which is why, when you happened to pass by—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, clearly heading for the lab and not remotely interested in babysitting—Natasha didn’t think.

She acted.

“Ana, sweetheart?” she whispered, shifting the toddler to her hip. “Do you want to go see her?”

Ana lifted her head.

Wide green eyes blinked once. Then a slow, devilish smile curled across her face.

That was all Natasha needed.

“Catch,” she said dryly.

You turned just in time to fumble and catch the small human now squirming gleefully into your arms like she belonged there.

“Wait—what the—”

“Thanks!” Natasha called over her shoulder, already halfway down the corridor before you could protest.

Ana squealed in delight.

Natasha didn’t look back.

She made it to the meeting just in time. And to her own surprise, she didn’t spend the whole thing worried. Something about knowing Ana was with you—despite the fact you hated children (or said you did)—had her oddly at ease.

By the time she wrapped up and returned to the common floor, it had been almost ninety minutes. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and cleaning supplies. Bruce’s voice echoed from the open lab door, calm and methodical, talking through some kind of energy recalibration.

And there you were.

One hip leaned against the table, the other supporting Ana, who looked perfectly at home in the crook of your arm.

Your hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, your shirt was half-untucked and absolutely covered in cookie crumbs. Ana’s fingers were dusted with sugar. You were talking to Bruce about vibrational decay patterns in multi-core reactors, as if the weight of a toddler on your hip was completely natural. Your other hand gestured midair, precise, animated, still clutching a small whiteboard marker.

Ana watched your mouth move as if following every word.

Then she gagged—loudly and dramatically.

Not because of anything serious. Just… toddler flair.

You paused mid-sentence, looked down, and sighed. “Rude.”

Bruce snorted. “She takes after you.”

“She has better fashion sense.”

Ana giggled, then burrowed her face into your shoulder.

Natasha stood in the doorway, unnoticed for a second longer, just… watching. The way your body shifted automatically to balance Ana’s weight. The way you wiped her mouth with the edge of your sleeve without looking. The way you didn’t rush to give her back, or seem particularly bothered by the crumbs now stuck to your pants.

She cleared her throat.

You looked up, brows raised. “Hey.”

Natasha raised one eyebrow. “So… is this your new lab assistant?”

You looked at Ana, who blinked at her mother and clung just a little tighter.

“She works for cookies,” you said. “And occasionally heckles my equations.”

Natasha bit back a smile, folding her arms. “Well, she’s my daughter.”

“She’s very opinionated,” you said dryly, adjusting her on your hip. “She gagged at my thesis. I’m considering it a peer review.”

Ana giggled again, tucking her head against your collarbone.

Natasha stared at the two of you for another second, then finally stepped forward, brushing a few crumbs off your shoulder. Her fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to.

“You’re a mess,” she murmured.

You smirked. “I could be Your mess.”

She looked at you. And the words stuck somewhere behind her teeth, She didn’t say them.

Not yet.

Instead, she stepped forward, reaching her arms out gently. “Alright, peanut,” she said softly. “Come here.”

Ana blinked up at her mother, expression unreadable for a split second… then, without protest, reached out. You transferred her easily, and the little girl immediately curled into Natasha’s hold like she’d been waiting for it all along—her thumb going straight to her mouth, her head resting against the curve of her mother’s neck.

Warm.

Quiet.

Home.

Natasha’s hand rubbed small circles against her daughter’s back, and for a second, she just breathed her in. The scent of cookies, and your cologne, and a hint of vanilla shampoo clinging to soft hair.

“She’s full of sugar and attitude,” you said, brushing a crumb off your shirt.

Natasha glanced at you over Ana’s curls. “She’s exactly where she gets it from.”

You tilted your head, already sipping the coffee you’d left to cool. “You sure about that?”

Her smile curved lazily. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then she walked away—Ana heavy and content in her arms, safe, sleepy, and smiling like someone who had everything she wanted in one place. Natasha had gone to her apartment at the Tower —just late enough for the city to fall into a quieter rhythm, just early enough that Natasha hadn’t had time to put up her usual walls.

Ana was half-asleep on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone, and Natasha held her like she was made of something finer than glass. There was oatmeal in her hair. Cookie crumbs on her onesie. A smudge of ink on her tiny palm, and no one knew how it got there.

But Natasha had seen it.

She had seen it.

She’d walked into that lab expecting chaos—Bruce hunched over a console, a loose wire sparking somewhere, maybe you arguing with JARVIS about protocols. But instead she found you standing still in the middle of it all, with Ana on your hip and your shirt covered in evidence of breakfast bribery.

You didn’t even pause the conversation with Bruce. You just kept talking about cellular decay patterns, as if you hadn’t realized Ana was happily gnawing on a pencil and gagging every time you used the word “neurotransmitter.”

And that sound you made—that little laugh when she fake-gagged for the third time?

It rewired something in Natasha.

Now she sat at the edge of Ana’s bed, staring down at the little culprit like she’d committed an unforgivable act of treason.

“You traitor,” she whispered.

Ana, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of her crimes, blinked lazily at her mother, thumb already in her mouth.

Natasha sighed, brushing a loose curl from her daughter’s cheek.

“You did this on purpose.”

Ana made a content hum and reached for her blanket.

“Don’t play innocent now,” Natasha murmured, tucking the soft fabric under her chin. “I was fine. You hear me? I had balance. I had boundaries. I had one thing—one tiny, simple rule that I lived by.”

Ana blinked again. Unbothered.

“Don’t fall for anyone.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, quiet and helpless.

“You were supposed to be the only love of my life, peanut. You. I planned for you. I fought for you. You were the only thing I ever let myself want.”

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ana’s hair.

“I walked into that room today and you were hers. Just—completely and shamelessly hers. You were giving her orders like a little general and she was just taking it. And smiling. She never smiles like that.”

Ana giggled softly, maybe in her sleep. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“Is this part of your long con? Huh? Were you trying to get yourself a stepmama? Because listen—if that’s your endgame, we need to have a serious strategy talk.”

Ana rolled a little, settling deeper into the mattress. Her small hand rested against her chest, and Natasha just… stared.

“She doesn’t even like kids, you know,” she continued, as if trying to justify this to someone who hadn’t been there. “She’s the one who leaves birthday parties early. She practically hisses when Clint brings his brood around. You sneeze near her with a juice box and she’s gone.”

She paused.

“But not with you.”

A slow breath pushed from Natasha’s lungs.

“She picks you up like you weigh nothing. She lets you shove half your breakfast into her mouth and doesn’t even blink. And I saw her yesterday—reading with one hand while you chewed on the other. I don’t even think she noticed.”

Ana’s breathing started to slow again, thumb slipping lazily from her mouth.

“And the worst part?” Natasha whispered. “She makes it look easy. Like maybe… maybe this whole thing isn’t a fluke. Like maybe she could actually stay.”

The confession hung in the dark like a sigh caught midair.

Natasha leaned down, resting her forehead against Ana’s tiny one.

“I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t want to see it coming. But you… You threw her right into the center of our orbit like it was nothing.”

She kissed her daughter again, voice teasing even as her chest ached.

“You couldn’t have picked someone older? Someone predictable? Someone who’s not Tony Stark’s daughter, for god’s sake?”

Ana didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Natasha ran a slow hand down her back, feeling the weight of love settle over her like a soft storm.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured. “But the best kind.”

Then she stood, brushing her fingers one last time across Ana’s cheek.

“You really couldn’t wait for me to fall first, huh?”

She flicked off the light.

Behind her, Ana slept soundly.

And Natasha stayed frozen in the doorway for just a moment longer… shaking her head to herself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered, her voice low and wry—aimed at the girl down the hall who had no idea what she’d just done.