#Natasha's were simple

[fingertipsmp3]

Okay I don’t know how this is going to work exactly but I’m not reading book synopses anymore, I’ve just decided

[wandaslovey]

ɪꜱ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ, ᴅᴇᴛᴋᴀ?

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7.2k

summary: as you settle into your relationship with your two new dominants, they want to show you it’s not all about kinkery. however, their plan backfires when you run into an old friend while on a picnic date. it seems..necessary for them to remind you of who you now belong to.

authors note: part 3!!!! i cannot apologize enough for how long it took me to get this one out! writers block had me in a chokehold and then choke slammed me onto the table. i hope this lives up to the hype! <3 this part takes place a couple of months after the contract has been signed. this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap, dom/sub dynamics, mommy!wanda, daddy!natasha, sub!reader, subspace, some fluff, jealous wandanat, sort of punishment? (more like claiming), possession, fingering, cunnilingus, nipple play, light bondage, dirty talk, a teensie weensie bit of aftercare

venturing is inevitable: masterlist

═════════════

you hear light chuckling in your left ear, followed by the sensation of gentle kisses being bestowed along the right side of your face. you make a small sound, your nose scrunching at the attention your face was getting. you peek your eyes open, blinking rapidly as you adjust to the morning light bathing the master bedroom. the curtains were light, allowing the sun to stream in and brighten the room as it rose with the day.

“good morning, dragotsennaya,” you hear natasha murmur in her warm voice. in the near 2 months you’d moved in with the power couple, you’d since learned the russian term of endearment meant ‘precious’ which would then usually be tossed in different variations like “precious girl” or “precious thing.” you’d melted when you first learned what they meant. both women truly did view you as the most precious, adorable thing on earth.

“mmm, morning,” you mumble out, closing your eyes again and turning on your right side to face wanda. she was still planting gentle kisses on your cheeks and nose, trying to coax you from your peaceful slumber.

you’d grown used to sleeping between them. there was a spare bedroom for their submissive should they choose to use it, but you never wanted to be apart from them, so you always opted for sleeping in their large bed with them—which they never complained.

when you stubbornly refused to open your eyes despite wanda’s incessant kisses and natasha’s hand running up and down your arm, wanda opts for something else to get you awake and out of bed.

“you know what sounds like a good breakfast this morning?” wanda begins her little game, her tone of voice easily catching your attention as she speaks over you to address her wife.

“what’s that?” natasha plays along, quickly gathering where wanda was heading with her little quip.

“waffles.. with chocolate chips..” wanda speaks slowly, glancing down at your face with a grin as she notices your eyes peel open, a cute smile of your own gracing your lips.

“i’m up!” you proclaim cheerily, quickly sitting up in bed. the covers fall off of you, revealing the simple tank top they’d redressed you in after last nights “activities.”

they both chuckle affectionately at your sudden wakeful state simply at the promise of having your favorite breakfast.

“i’ll race you downstairs.” natasha challenges in a low voice, a teasing grin curling her lips upward as she throws her legs over the bed and briskly heads for the bedroom door.

“no! i wasn’t ready!” you squeak, clambering up out of the bed. you barely register the cool air on your naked legs, just a pair of panties covering your lower half. natasha has mercy on you, allowing you to all but shove past her to throw open the door and run down the stairs.

wanda calls after the two of you, telling you to be careful, but you both ignore her, throwing caution to the wind as you hurry down the stairs.

there were many things you’d come to learn about both wanda and natasha in the months you’d been here. one of them being that natasha hated to lose. she was as competitive as a person could be, so when she saw you land on the hard wood flooring after leaping off the last step, she put more force into her jog and made up the extra space between the two of you.

just as you were about to make it to the kitchen, natasha comes up behind you and wraps her arms around your torso. she effortlessly lifts you up and drops you off to the side, setting you off balance. before you can scramble to get back on course, natasha had already successfully set foot in the kitchen, making you the loser.

“hey, that wasn’t fair! you cheated!” you protest, crossing your arms over your chest as you march over to where she was standing by the kitchen island. she wasn’t even winded.

“i didn’t cheat. it’s called strategy.” she grins, tapping your nose. you huff at her response, swatting her hand away from your face.

“that’s a load.” you grumble, your eyes narrowing at natasha’s haughty expression. a flicker of sternness passes over her face as you hit her hand away, as if she was a little surprised at your audacity.

“i’m going to let that slide, only because you have the most adorable sore loser face…” her firm expression turns back into an amused look as she leans down and gets close to your face. you pout as she mocks you, her lips kissing your adorable droopy lip before she pulls away, intent on starting breakfast.

wanda makes her way down the stairs and to the kitchen, following the sound of light banter. she comes up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing your jaw. your wrap your arms around hers, melting back into her affection as you watch natasha gather the ingredients for the waffle mixture.

“natalia, dumayu, segodnya ya khochu poprobovat'.” she speaks over your shoulder in their secret language. it frustrated you just as much as it turned you on. whenever they didn’t want you to know something, they’d revert to speaking in russian.

once, you’d questioned how they both knew the language. you were surprised to learn that it was actually natasha’s native language and that wanda had learned it when she studied abroad in russia for two years—where they’d met.

you wished you could learn the language, if nothing else to de-code the secret remarks they’d make right in front of your face, but you weren’t patient enough to try and learn a second language.

natasha smiles at whatever wanda said, simply nodding her head. you feel wanda’s hands slide back a little bit, her fingertips making their way beneath your tank top to caress the soft skin there. you shiver, goosebumps rising on your arms at the delicate touch. her hands travel further upwards before descending back down your sides. she gives your hips a small squeeze, planting a kiss on your head before unwrapping herself from around you all together and pulling away.

you frown at the loss, turning to face her before she can walk away. you reach for her hands, your expression silently trying to convey your wants.

she chuckles at your pleading look, giving your hands a squeeze. “i have to help make breakfast. you wanna help me and daddy?” she asks in a gentle voice, her thumb rubbing across the back of your hand.

between wanda’s affection and the use of their honorifics, you could feel the beginning stages of that foggy feeling in your brain. you simply nod your head, allowing wanda to pull you further into the kitchen.

you all weave gracefully through each other as the three of you make breakfast, almost like it was a practiced routine. you took notice of natasha’s lingering hands on your hips as she snuck behind you and the way wanda gently held your hand to whisk the ingredients in the bowl before letting go.

it took a little bit of time for you at first to comfortably transition from having a clear head to a foggy one—one that relied so heavily on wanda and natasha that you deeply craved to be told each and every move to make—but you quickly became fond of it. they were your safe space and maybe the only place where you could fully allow all your inhibitions go.

natasha sets the table with plates and kitchenware just as you and wanda scooped up the last batch of waffles from the hot iron.

“kay, bring these over to daddy.” wanda turns you towards the kitchen table, patting your bum as you walk away obediently with the plate of waffles. you bring the food over to the table, setting the plate next to some fresh fruit and the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.

one thing you’d learned about wanda was that she loved to garden, so whenever produce was involved it usually came from there instead of the store.

as you move to sit down, natasha is hasty in slithering to sit in the chair before you can, pulling you back into her lap. you smirk, wiggling your hips back against her.

“what? i can’t feed myself?” you joke, twisting your body so you can face natasha just as wanda takes the seat adjacent to you both at the end of the table.

“no.” she replies simply, taking you a bit off guard. your remark was meant to be a light quip, but natasha seemed serious in her reply. without any further explanation, she grabs a plate from the small stack set in front of you and uses her fingers to grab two waffles to put on the dish.

you watch as she uses the fork to cut a square off the waffle before stabbing it through the center and bringing it up towards your lips. you press them together stubbornly, feeling embarrassed at the notion of being fed like a small child.

you were very independent by nature, having had to learn how to care for yourself at a very young age. the way wanda and natasha had the tendency to coddle you was pleasant, but still slightly foreign even after these past months.

natasha sees the internal conflict flicker over your face, coloring your features with a stubborn expression. she was learning though that at your core, you wanted to be a good girl.

“open up, detka,” she coaxes, delicately twirling her fork in teasing manner. you frown slightly, glancing from the fork over to wanda as if you were looking for her to intervene. she simply nods back towards the fork in an encouraging manner, not providing you with the out you were looking for.

figuring you should just bite the bullet and let natasha feed you, you part your lips and accept the bite of waffle she was offering you.

“we thought we could have a picnic lunch at central park today—does that sound fun?” wanda asks casually as she serves some berries on her plate. you nod your head in agreement, always eager to spend extra time with them on the weekends when you had no school and they didn’t have to go into the office.

as natasha continues to feed you your waffle, she sneaks in bites of her own. wanda reaches over after you swallow your last bite, holding a raspberry just inches from your lips. you don’t hesitate this time to open your mouth and allow her to feed you the berry. you chew the fruit thoughtfully, swallowing it and you notice wanda has a pleased expression on her face.

“you’re awfully cute, milaya, you know that?” wanda traces down the slope of your nose, gently pinching the softest part before dropping her hand. you open your mouth to protest, but knowing what you might say, natasha quickly feeds you another bite of waffle. you turn to face her, narrowing your eyes slightly at her playful force feeding.

you finish the rest of your breakfast without protest or complaint, allowing the two of them to spoil and baby you. once everyone was done, you all help to clean up the table. you always did your best to do your part, helping around the house and cleaning up after yourself. plus, you liked doing everything with them. you never wanted to miss a moment.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

you rock back and forth on your toes, waiting for wanda and natasha to finish gathering all the things you need for the picnic. your hand is on the garage door handle, the door gently swaying from left to right as it rocks with your own movement. you feel carefree, not a single worry in your head. that was mostly thanks to both wanda and natasha coddling you this morning, but it was also the fact that you knew there was nothing to be stressed or worried about as long as you were with them.

natasha had dressed you today. it was late spring, so it was finally okay weather for things like summer dresses. you had on a maroon spaghetti strap dress going down to your mid thigh. you didn’t normally wear anything red or within the family of reds, but natasha insisted the color looked beautiful on your skin tone.

“i see someone is ready and eager to go,” natasha comments as she and wanda finally walk down the hallway leading to where you were standing by the garage door.

“i am! let’s go already!” your excitement is clear in your tone. it was the first day all week the three of you had time to really connect and unplug from all other responsibilities. you were waiting on pins and needles for finals to be over so you could finally enjoy your summer break, but for now—weekends would suffice.

natasha pinches your side on the way out as you hold the door open for them, wanda affectionately grabbing your chin and giving it a small squeeze. you follow after wanda, the door swinging shut behind you.

“can i drive??” you ask eagerly, already heading to the drivers side even though you hadn’t yet received an answer. they had three cars—one for natasha, one for wanda and one for “joy rides.” it was an indulgence natasha simply could not surpass, since she loved driving fast and had a secret love for lavish cars. she didn’t take it out much and you had yet to see wanda use it, but despite your desire to obey traffic laws like speed limits—you did want to try driving it someday.

“we’re not taking that car, bunny. we’re taking wanda’s. c’mon let’s go.” natasha gestures for you to get into the backseat on the drivers side. she started calling you bunny shortly after her and wanda both observed you hopped around like a little bunny whenever you were on your way to or fully in your floaty headspace. it was cute, but you had yet to admit to either of them just how much you liked it.

you pout at tasha’s response, but otherwise swiftly obey and climb into the seat behind her. despite it being wanda’s car, whenever the three of you went anywhere, natasha always drove. she claimed it was because she liked driving, but you were almost positive it was really because she didn’t think wanda drove fast enough.

“here, baby.” wanda stretches the cord for the aux cable so it can reach you. you slide to the middle seat, grabbing it from her and plugging your phone in.

as natasha pulls out of the garage, you buckle before either of them can throw a stink about it.

“what’re we feeling today?” you ask, referring to the music. you took having the aux very seriously. you never wanted anyone in the car to be having a miserable time listening to your music, so you always aimed to please to the best of your ability.

“not country.”

“anything really.”

the two of them answer in unison. you smile to yourself, your finger resting up against your lip as you scroll through different playlists, trying to decide what to play. you settle on your “vibey” playlist which had a lot of alternative and electronic music on it. it was one of your favorites to listen to.

you spend the first part of the drive staring out the window, watching the landscape as it zooms past the glass. it didn’t take long for you to start singing quietly to yourself—a habit of yours when you were zoning out. wanda notices immediately, smiling to herself and glancing back at you from the rear view mirror. trying to be discreet, she reaches for the volume, turning it down ever so slightly so she could hear you better. you didn’t like to sing for people, despite being told you had a good voice. you were sure people were just saying that because that’s the nice thing to say to people.

you stop singing altogether when wanda turns it down just a tad more and you suddenly decide your own voice sounds much too loud.

wanda scoffs, rolling her eyes as she turns her neck to look back at you. “you little sneak. why won’t you let us hear you sing?” she asks, seeming all too interested in your secret talent.

you shrug nonchalantly, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off the hem of your dress. you didn’t want to tell her it was because you were embarrassed. you’d learned that admitting such a thing would only lead to being more embarrassed about the thing you were already embarrassed about.

“i’ve heard her sing.” natasha cuts in, both you and wanda looking to her.

“you have not.” you rebuttal in disbelief, looking at her in the rear view mirror.

“i have. you sing in the shower.” she says simply, a smirk curving her lips upward. she seemed all too amused at your reaction for your liking.

“i’m so quiet when i sing in there! there’s no way you can hear it..” you insist, though really you were trying to push to see if she was being honest or just pulling your leg.

“it’s not too quiet when i have my ear pressed up against the door.” she sniffs, the car slowing down as you approach the city. the traffic would slow the drive immensely.

this side of natasha surprised you at first—the silly, almost boyish attitude she seemed to have at times. wanda’s personality was more straight forward. there were some things that surprised you and would probably continue to surprise you—but natasha? the many aspects of her personality were being peeled back layer by layer. in less than three months you’ve learned there’s much more to her than the big, scary, intimidating lawyer she was at the office.

“wow. just wow. thanks. now i have to revert to only singing whenever i have the house to myself.” you roll your eyes, only jokingly exasperated. natasha blindly reaches back behind her, squeezing your knee. you nudge her hand away, scooting so you weren’t so accessible.

“now that you said that, i’ll have to install cameras in the house—catch you in the act. i don’t want to miss anything.” she says, grinning to herself at the thought.

“hey!” you unbuckle your seatbelt, sitting forward and smacking her on the arm. “do. not. even think about it.” you try to sound stern, but it pales in comparison to how either of them sound when they mean business.

natasha locks eyes with yours in the rear view mirror, her expression easily meaner than yours. “do you want to try that again, little girl?” you cower immediately, sitting back against the back seat, your shoulders slumped forward.

you give her an apologetic look through the mirror, folding your arms in your lap.

“put your seatbelt back on, detka.” wanda commands in a gentle tone—more gentle than natasha’s tone just was. you’re hasty to comply, the buckle clicking in place just seconds after she asked you to. you were so obedient more times than not. it was something they both loved about you. you still had your testy moments, but by enlarge you really did like being their good girl.

many stoplights and cutting people off later, you arrive at the park. natasha parks in a metered spot on the south side. you hop out of the car, bounding off in the direction of where you intend to set up for the picnic.

“(y/n), slow down! wait for tasha and i.” wanda scolds you gently. you skip back over to her, almost running right into her side as you approach. “carefully bunny.” she steadies you but you can hardly care as you grin up at her, simply excited to be here with them.

“alright, let’s go.” she laces her fingers through yours with her free hand, the other carrying the blanket you would all sit on. natasha walks in front of the two of you, leading the way as she carries a decent-sized cooler in her hand.

once you make it to the grassy area, wanda picks a spot, laying the large blanket out neatly so there aren’t any lumps or wrinkles. natasha sets the cooler down and you plop down before the two of them have even begun to sink to the ground. you open up the lid to the food basket, setting out the plastic cutlery. wanda helps you divvy out the food—sandwiches and fruit. you pour yourself some homemade sweet tea, taking a sip and humming appreciatively to yourself. everything tasted better when it was made from wanda’s hands—or natasha’s for that matter, but wanda did much more cooking and food prep than natasha did.

you take a bite of your sandwich, wanda briefly explaining something about a client to natasha as you nibble away at your food. you were in your own little world, happy and content to be just where you were with the women you were with.

you were chewing another bite when someone from a distance shouted your name. natasha caught onto it before you did, her eyes scanning through the people scattered across the grass in small groupings.

you hear it the third time, relinquishing your hold on your sandwich to search for the person belonging to the voice calling your name. you press your hand against your forehead, attempting to shield the brightness of the sun so you could see better. your eyes suddenly zero in on the person shouting for you. it was your old roommate.

“hey!!!” you call back after her, leaping to your feet and half running the distance over to where she was standing. the two of you embrace happily, and you feel her squeeze you tightly before finally letting you go. you loved your old roommate. she was exactly the sort of person you wanted in your life forever. you wondered what she was doing back here so soon after moving back home.

“what’re you doing here?? did you bring your family?” you ask her, glancing around to see if you saw anyone else you recognized. she explained that she was with her parents and was going to spend the weekend taking them to the many touristy places the city had to offer.

as the two of you catch up, you excitedly relay to her how your studies were going and how the one professor that seemed to have it out for you was now much less harsh with feedback and grading. you left out the detail about how natasha was the one to take care of that—not feeling quite up to explaining your current situation with the two most respected and feared lawyers in new york city.

“so did you find a new roommate? i know the rent is damn near impossible to cover on your own..” your friend asks casually, flipping her pretty hair behind her shoulder. there was a time when you had a little crush on her, but she never knew about it.

“oh! uh.. not exactly. but! i did find a way to continue paying for it..” you reply vaguely, clearing your throat as you try and quickly think of a new topic of conversation. she beats you to it.

“what do you mean? did you finally cave and start selling feet pics?” she playfully nudges you with her elbow, reminding you of an old joke you used to pull out often. you laugh with her, though yours sounded a little nervous. you didn’t want to tell her how your rent, tuition and student loans were currently all being paid by previously mentioned, hot, successful lawyers.

it was a battle you picked with the two of them for weeks, insisting they didn’t need to pay for any of your things. however, the persisted and ultimately made you agree to the fact that, as long as you were their submissive, all of your financial needs would be taken care of by them.

“no, it’s not that,” your nervous laughter dies off and you awkwardly scratch the side of your arm, glancing in the direction of where wanda and natasha were sitting. your roommate follows where your eyes go, her own widening in slight surprise as she connects the dots.

“holy shit—are you with them??” she asks, vaguely pointing a finger in their direction. you shrug, smiling sheepishly as you suddenly feel like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“girl—what?! how??” you laugh lightly at her eager interest, placing a hand on her arm as you shush her. her excitement caused her voice to raise about two octaves.

“keep your voice down..” you chide although with a smile still on your face. you weren’t sure how to begin telling her the story. there was so much to it. you take a breath, preparing yourself to share the condensed version, but as you glance in wanda and natasha’s direction again, you notice the two of them are staring at you intently. the intensity of both their looks causes goosebumps to rise on your arms, your spine straightening. it was an unspoken command to come back.

“i probably shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.. but i’ll call you soon and we’ll continue to catch up, yeah?” you smile, though you suddenly feel rushed to get back to your girlfriends’ side.

your roommate looks at you suspiciously but agrees nevertheless to have you call her another time. she pulls you into another embrace, and you give her a friendly squeeze, silently conveying your love and appreciation for her. you say your final goodbyes, your hands reached out to hold the other before dropping as you walk your separate ways.

as you approach the two women sitting on the quilted blanket, you opt for heading towards the one who currently has the more welcoming energy—natasha in this case—plopping down next to her.

“who was that?” she asks, looking back in your roommates direction as she walks off to meet back with her parents.

“my old roommate.” you reply simply, intent on returning to eating the sandwich you were enjoying before you got up to greet your friend. as nothing but silence met your response, you look up and glance in between wanda and natasha. wanda had a strange expression on her face—one you hadn’t seen before. her eyes were hard and serious, her lips pressed in a firm line, but there was something of a daring glint in her eye as if she was thinking something she wasn’t going to say out loud.

“you two seemed close,” she blurts out after several seconds. you take a bite of your sandwich, the food sitting heavily on your tongue as you chew it slowly. there was something about the change in wanda and natasha’s demeanor—wanda’s especially—that had you feeling a little uneasy.

“i mean, we lived together so we became kind of close. she’s a great friend.” you keep your tone light, sensing there was some.. jealousy? you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was they were feeling about your interaction.

“you’re not..jealous..are you?” you look at wanda as you ask the question. natasha looks to wanda too, knowing all too well what was running through her mind.

wanda looks off into the distance, squinting slightly at the brightness of the sun and she smirks. “jealous? no. i just haven’t ever seen you interact with another girl your age before. i’m not sure i like it.” her tone was thoughtful, almost reminiscent. you study her expression, unsure how to take what she said before she inclines her head back towards you.

“oh.” you reply stupidly, no other response coming to mind. your eyes drift from wanda’s, looking off in the distance now just as she had before.

“(y/n).” wanda calls your attention back to her. your eyes snap back to her impossibly green ones.

“yes?” you reply softly.

“you belong to me—to us. you know that, don’t you?” she asks, sitting forward so she was leaning in your direction.

“yes.” you respond, nodding your head in quick agreeance.

“yes, who?” she prompts, quirking a perfectly kempt brow at you.

you swallow thickly, your eyes darting around your surroundings to see if anyone was standing close enough to hear. when your eyes meet wanda’s once more, you have a slight nervous expression on your face, feeling embarrassed at addressing her with her honorific in public.

“yes, mommy.” you relent with a quiet reply, wanting to please her despite your discomfort.

“say it all together now.” she directs, reaching out to grab your wrists. she guides you forward, pulling you till you’re sitting in her lap. you can’t help but glance anxiously around the park, hoping that nobody was paying close attention to this public display of affection.

your cheeks burn with embarrassment, the pink color on your cheeks complimenting the maroon dress you had on.

“i belong to you, mommy—you and daddy.” you half whisper, squirming in her lap as you fiddle with your dress, making sure all the important parts were still covered.

wanda smiles, pleased with your response despite your shyness. she caresses the back of your head, pecking your lips before looking over your shoulder to natasha.

“we’re going home.” she announces with an air of finality, leaving no room for questioning.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the drive back home was silent. you buckled in before natasha put the car into drive. wanda never offered you the aux, so you watched out the window quietly the whole way home. you were squirming in your seat, sensing a certain type of tension you were only now becoming accustomed too. you knew you weren’t in trouble, but something was going to happen. you were sure of it.

as natasha pulls into the driveway, you can feel butterflies flapping around in your stomach. there was dull ache between your thighs as you thought of the way wanda responded to your impromptu conversation with your old roommate. you didn’t realize it before now, but you decided you liked the idea of being owned—possessed. which was exactly what wanda was aiming to convey.

natasha puts the car into park and just as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt, wanda turns back to face you. “head straight upstairs into our bedroom. don’t take any clothes off for now. just wait for us on the bed.” she instructs you. you nod your head and hop out of the car, quickly making your way to the master bedroom from the garage.

your footsteps are quick and calculated; they echo off the walls as you bound up the stairs. as you approach the bedroom, you push open the door which was open a crack already. the bed was made and the room was free of clutter. normally this scene of cleanliness and order would put you at ease, but now, it only reminded you of the two women downstairs—and how neat they liked things to be kept.

you swallow thickly, turning to face the door as you sit on the end of the bed. your legs dangle just slightly, the bed tall enough that your legs didn’t quite reach the floor. you bounce one of them nervously, chewing on your bottom lip as you eye the open door. you can hear the garage door closing, indicating that wanda and natasha were now inside the house. you hear them exchange some words, though you’re unable to make out anything as it’s in russian. you can make out the sound of some rummaging, like dropping down bags and setting keys on the table. every second that passes, you feel your body growing more tense with anticipation. your eyes fall to the floor, focusing on one spot in which you make out imaginary shapes and lines.

your eyes snap back to the door frame when you hear two sets of footsteps heading up the stairs. from where you were sitting, you’d be able to see them as soon as they stood on the landing. you mentally brace yourself, your every sense alight.

it’s natasha you see first. her shoulder length blonde hair in delicate curls that frame her pretty face. her face is smooth, giving nothing away as her green eyes lock onto yours. you only glance away once wanda steps into view, her eyes appraising your compliance; you’d done exactly what she asked you to do.

natasha steps directly in front of you, her face a head above yours. you tilt your head up to look at her, your eyes alert and observant, but you’re unable to hide the gnawing sense of nervousness coursing through your body.

natasha leans down, your faces now just inches apart. she licks her lips, watching your cheeks bloom with color at her closeness.

“are you nervous, dragotsennaya?” her accent bleeds into her words, causing your thighs to clench unconsciously. you shrug one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture.

“maybe a little bit…” your voice is soft and delicate which doesn’t exactly not align with just how you’re feeling in this moment.

“maybe a little bit?” natasha echoes your words in an equally soft voice, her switch up of tone indicative of faux sympathy. your bottom lip juts out at her obvious teasing and your eyes dart to the side in search for wanda’s.

“you guys aren’t mad at me, are you?” you search for the gentleness normally residing behind wanda’s stare as you look at her. you can see a glimmer of it, but mostly you see a darkness there—something you’ve only gotten a small glimpse of before. it was the sort of look that made your bones melt, like she was silently trying to communicate her need to devour you.

“oh sweet girl.. we’re not mad at you. we just want to make sure we properly convey the way in which we own you.” wanda says, her words meant to be somewhat placating, but they had the opposite effect. she stalks towards you, standing right next to her wife. you look between the two of them with a blank expression on your face, your heart now beginning to race in your chest.

“i’m…i..i know that..” you sputter out. natasha reaches a hand up, rubbing her thumb along your bottom lip as you look at her wife with a pleading expression. pleading for what? you’re not sure.

“i know you do, baby. i just want to hear you say it over and over again…” wanda leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that surprises you. your body leans back with the force of it, your hands hesitantly coming to rest on her biceps. wanda captures your wrists with her hands, pinning them behind your back as she nudges you back against the bed and covers your body with her own.

you whimper as she parts your lips with her tongue. the kiss was slow but forceful, your mind becoming cloudy the more she explored your mouth.

her free hand comes up and grabs under your chin, holding your face in place so you can’t escape even to take a breath. you were more so used to this aggression from natasha, not wanda, so it surprised you when she suddenly bit down on your lip, the force of it causing you to moan in surprise.

she breaks free, your lips parting with a resounding pop before she kisses down your neck. you gasp for air, your hands twitching in her grasp as they yearn to tangle themselves in her hair. you’re unable to linger on that thought though as you feel natasha’s fingers tracing along your thigh where your dress has ridden up.

“you look so pretty like this, milaya… gasping for air while my wife gives you little love bites.” natasha muses, her hand now grabbing a fistful of the fat of your thigh. you squirm underneath their touch, fighting more earnestly to get your arms free.

wanda relinquishes her attack on your neck with a firm bite, pulling away to admire her work. several blotches of purple and red are smattered across the skin, not too far off from the color of your dress.

“stand up.” wanda demands as she pulls you to your feet. you falter to the side, feeling unbalanced as you were suddenly upright. she doesn’t give you time to adjust before she’s pulling your dress over your head. you try to match her haste, reaching for her own clothes as she undresses you. she catches your wrists again, pinning them to your sides.

“oh no. not now, pretty girl. let’s not deviate from what this is really about.” she’s quick with removing your undergarments. as you stand there naked before the two of them, wanda pauses for the first time since she’s attacked you. you can see ideas forming together in her eyes as she drinks in your naked body.

“mogu li ya prikosnut'sya k ney seychas?” natasha asks her wife.

wanda appraises you for another moment, a smile stretching across her lips as she runs a finger down your arm.

“ty mozhesh' sdelat' bol'she, chem eto.” she responds, moving past you to crawl up the bed. you glance behind you, unsure what was going on. your skin felt like it was on fire, the anticipation causing your arousal to now start to drip down onto your thighs.

“come here.” wanda curls her finger, directing you to come sit on her lap from her spot on the bed. you crawl up to her, beginning to straddle her lap, but she stops you.

“ah ah, the other way.” she places her hands on your hips, turning your body so your back was against her front. she spreads her legs, settling you in between them. the fabric of her pants rubs against your bare legs, causing you to shiver. if it weren’t for your fuzzy brain, you might feel embarrassed about your nakedness and the lack thereof from both wanda and natasha.

natasha makes her way up onto the bed, her body slithering up as she maneuvers so she’s laying on her stomach, her face just inches away from your now weeping core.

“spread your legs wider, baby… yeah.. just like that.” wanda praises as she guides your legs apart so your feet were hooked under the outer part of her spread ankles.

“fuck, if this isn’t my new favorite sight..” natasha’s eyes drink in the two of you, your exposed body unable to sit still as you begin to grind your hips into the air. she runs her hands up the outside of your thighs, sliding inward. her finger teases your slit, running down and gathering the wetness collecting at your hole.

you whine, your back arching off wanda’s front into natasha’s touch. they were used to this—your whining and whimpering. you never said much when they had you all needy like this. you were much too shy for your own good.

natasha kisses up your thigh, her tongue darting out to taste the skin where there was a crevice where your thigh and core met. she moans at the flavor. your hands twitch again, drifting along your torso till they rest atop of natasha’s head.

“hands at your side. or mommy’s gonna have to tie them behind your back. do you understand?” wanda chides, moving your hands away from natasha’s hair. you pant, nodding your head against her.

“say it.” she demands.

“yes, mommy,” you whimper pathetically, your hips wriggling in between her thighs. your eyes drift closed, your head lolling against wanda’s shoulder as you try not to combust from the slow build up.

just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, natasha’s tongue slips in between your folds, licking along your slit. you gasp at the feeling of her hot breath as she works her mouth against you. your hips grind into her, her hands coming up to try and still your movements.

she hums against your pussy, your moans filling the air as she eats you out like you’re the most delicious thing to walk the earth.

wanda’s hands run up and down your sides, eventually settling on your breasts as she gives them both a firm squeeze. her fingers circle your pretty nipples as natasha’s tongue circles your clit. when wanda pinches your nipples, natasha sucks your clit into her mouth, and when wanda twists your nipples, natasha gently nibbles at your bundle of nerves. they moved so in sync with one another, you’d think this was a practiced routine. they played your body like an instrument they’d been practicing on for years.

moans and whines spill from your lips, your body wriggling around as much as the two women would allow you to.

“does this feel good, baby? do you like daddy’s tongue licking your pretty pussy while mommy plays with your sensitive little nipples?” wanda murmurs in your ear. you whine, nodding your head against her again.

“use your words, (y/n). tell me.” she pinches your nipples, twisting them harshly when you hesitate.

“y-yes mommy!” you gasp out, feeling natasha fuck two fingers inside of you. the stretch felt wonderful, the slight sting only adding to the pleasure you were feeling.

“hmm, you know something, little girl? nobody is ever going to make you feel this good. just mommy and daddy. our girl. our sweet, precious little girl..” as wanda speaks, natasha’s tongue and fingers move more quickly, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. you moan louder, the sounds higher in pitch, indicating you were getting close to falling over the edge.

“you can’t cum, baby. not until i hear you say you’re ours..” wanda speaks the words slowly, emphasizing the last word by tweaking your nipples.

“mmfph.. yours.. ‘m yours..” you pant, your hips grinding earnestly against natasha’s face now.

“louder.” she commands.

you arch your back again, your body writhing between the sensations blooming across your whole body as they expertly play with you.

“eto slishkom mnogo? is it too much, detka?” wanda coos, her tone contrasting with the roughness of her touch.

“please! please!! ‘m gonna cum!” you squeak, your words meant to be a warning as you knew you couldn’t hold it much longer.

“don’t you fucking dare. say it.” she says darkly. between wanda’s words, natasha’s fingers curling perfectly against your g spot and her tongue lapping at your clit while wanda tortures your nipples, you were about to implode.

“yours!! i’m yours!! i’m all yours! yours and daddy’s! no one else can make me feel this good!” you half shout in desperation, the coil about to snap.

“that’s it… come on baby, cum for us.” she croons, her lips directly against your ear. your body shakes, all your muscles tightening at once before you fall over the edge. your hips roll against natasha’s face in time with the waves of your orgasm. neither of them stop their ministrations until your body finally goes limp and you slump back against wanda.

natasha places one last searing kiss to your sensitive clit, chuckling softly as she leans up on her arms, pecking you on your lips.

“take some deep breaths, baby. we’re not done just yet.” she speaks softly, your eyes open but unfocused as you look at her. she caresses the side of your face and you barely register wanda’s hands caressing up and down your arms.

you whimper, your eyes closing as your body feels spent. you hear both of them chuckle at your expense, their hands sliding all over your sensitive skin.

you were in for a long evening.

——————————

tag list: @poppyshuman @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123-blog @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha @rosekjsses @moon3thereal @reginassecretlover @flyleaffreak @vanessashands @tigerlillyruiz @noturlondonboy @remuslupinschocolat3 @ssasa-romanoff @eccaterina1 @wandanatskitten @chiar4anna @womenarehotsstuff @luvforbills @tatesarchivee @mackenziemonday13 @reginassweetheart @sxlfishbrokenheart @wandanatbabybear @hapuchika @wandanatbabybear @jusst-an-user @here4agoodtimexlongtime @wandanat01 @milflovers4 @sevikasoneandonlywife @lizzieswife101 @m4ddie3 @vendra-reads

comment to be added :)

[magical-reid]

The Bucky Barnes Cake Conspiracy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (implied) Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 800

Summary: When Wanda convinces you and Natasha to do the “Hear Me Out” cake trend, you think it’s just harmless fun. That is, until every single one of your picks is a different version of Bucky Barnes, the entire Tower gets involved, and Bucky himself finds out in the most humiliating way possible—via Wanda’s viral video.

It started as a joke.

A harmless, ridiculous joke.

And then it spiraled into something much, much worse.

“I’m just saying,” Wanda said, shoving her phone in your face as the three of you wandered through the grocery store, “we should do it.”

Natasha glanced at the screen. “Oh, the ‘Hear Me Out’ cake trend? That’s dumb.”

“Exactly!” Wanda grinned. “Which makes it perfect for us.”

You furrowed your brows, watching the TikTok she’d pulled up. The trend was simple: buy a plain cake, decorate it with pictures of celebrities or characters you found attractive, and then justify your crush by sticking ‘Hear Me Out’ in the middle.

It was stupid. But also hilarious.

“I’m in,” you said.

Natasha groaned. “Fine. But I’m not helping if this turns into another Tower-wide disaster.”

Wanda hummed, already making a beeline for the bakery aisle. “Oh, it definitely will.”

Back at the Tower, you sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter as Wanda set up her phone. The cake—a plain white-frosted one you’d grabbed from the store—sat in the center of the table, looking all innocent. It had no idea it was about to be used for nonsense.

“Okay,” Wanda said, grinning. “Time to put down our picks.”

Natasha went first. She taped a photo of Keanu Reeves onto a skewer and stuck it into the cake. Classic. No one would question it.

Then Wanda went. Pedro Pascal. Another solid choice.

And then you—

“Y/N,” Natasha deadpanned. “Are you serious?”

You hesitated, mid-skewer placement. “…What?”

Wanda started cackling.

Because instead of picking three different people like a normal person, you had, without realizing it, picked three different versions of Bucky Barnes.

One was a picture of him in his tactical gear, scowling like he was about to murder someone (hot). Another was of him in a hoodie and jeans, looking all soft and domestic (also hot). And the third? The one that really sealed your fate?

It was a close-up of his metal arm.

You winced. “Okay. I see how this looks—”

“This looks like a confession,” Wanda said gleefully, already zooming in on your picks.

“Oh my God,” Natasha muttered, running a hand down her face.

“I panicked!” you hissed. “I wasn’t thinking—I just grabbed the first ones that looked good!”

Wanda was shaking with laughter. “Oh, babe. This isn’t panic. This is obsession.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you both.”

The video went up on Wanda’s account that night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the next morning, it had one million views.

And the Tower was in absolute chaos.

Clint greeted you at breakfast with a slow, knowing grin. “So,” he said, spreading cream cheese onto his bagel, “should we start calling you Mrs. Barnes, or—?”

You threw a banana at his head.

Sam nearly fell off the couch laughing when he saw the video. “You put the metal arm?” he wheezed. “Oh, you’re down bad.”

Steve, who had clearly been dragged into this nonsense against his will, just gave you a long, unimpressed look over his coffee. “You could’ve just told him, you know.”

Tony, of course, had the most Tony reaction possible. “This is the most effort I’ve ever seen someone put into a crush. If I had known Bucky was your type, I would’ve set up an HR department just to make this more scandalous.”

You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole.

But the worst part?

Bucky.

Because by some miracle, he hadn’t seen the video yet.

Which meant you were living on borrowed time.

It happened later that night.

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to read a book but mostly trying to avoid eye contact with the entire human population, when Bucky strolled into the common room.

“Hey, doll.”

Your stomach flipped. “Hey.”

He sat next to you, arms stretched out over the back of the couch, his face unreadable. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought—maybe he doesn’t know.

And then—

“So,” he said, far too casually. “You like my arm that much, huh?”

Your entire body locked up.

Your soul left your body.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—what—who—?”

Bucky chuckled. “I saw the video.”

You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”

He hummed, like he was thinking about it. “Nah. ‘Cause then who’s gonna take me on that date you clearly want?”

You choked. “What—”

Bucky turned to face you fully, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “If you wanted me so bad, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.”

Your entire brain short-circuited. “I—That’s—You—”

Bucky leaned in, voice low. “Next time, maybe write my number on the cake instead.”

You exhaled sharply, heart hammering. “Are you—Are you flirting with me?”

His grin widened. “You tell me.”

You stared at him. Then at the door. Then back at him.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Fine. But if we go on a date, I’m making Wanda pay for it.”

Bucky laughed, eyes warm. “Deal.”

[natsaffection]

Yours to Taste | N.R

When your period starts, Natasha is forced to battle against her instincts, but the scent, the taste, the sheer temptation is too much. The moment she finally indulges, she loses herself completely.

Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N= 100+ r= 23), Blood, period sex, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), multiple orgasm, possessive Natasha

Word count: 3,4k

A/N: The idea has been buzzing around in my head for a few days now..🩸

The quiet hum of your phone vibrating against the wooden coffee table pulled your attention away from the TV screen. You had been curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, clutching a heating pad against your stomach, when you felt it, the unmistakable ache and warmth spreading through your lower abdomen. Shit.

You blinked at your phone screen. Natasha’s name was already waiting in your chat, her last message sent hours ago when she left for work. You hesitated for a second before typing.

Hey love, just a heads-up…I just got my period. Don’t freak out when you get home, okay? 😕

You hit send and stared at the screen, watching the three little dots appear. A few moments later, her response popped up.

Understood, moya lyubov (my love). I’ll be home soon.

Her message was simple, but you could almost hear the undertone of tension beneath her words. You knew she’d keep herself in control..she always did. But still, your blood had an effect on her, more than she liked to admit. You sighed, stretching your legs over the couch and burrowing deeper into the warmth of your blanket. You trusted Natasha with everything in you, but you also knew what she was. And this? This was going to test her patience.

An Hour later, the sound of the front door unlocking made you glance up. Your stomach was still twisting in knots, and you were halfway through a cup of tea when you saw her stepping through the doorway, eyes dark with something unreadable. But then she saw you, and the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly.

“Hey, darling.” she murmured, voice smooth but careful, like she was forcing herself to stay in control. “Hey.” you smiled softly, setting your cup down. “Rough day?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She stepped forward, but then she froze. You saw it the moment the scent hit her. Her pupils dilated, her body stiffening for the briefest second before she took a slow, controlled breath. Your stomach flipped with guilt. “I’m sorry..” you mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself like it could somehow hide your scent from her. “I know this is..well, hard for you.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, and she exhaled through her nose. “Don’t apologize.” she said, but there was a tightness to her tone, like she was barely keeping herself in check. You watched her carefully, the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed. Her usual sharp composure was fraying at the edges, but she was holding herself together for you.

“I can sleep in the guest room tonight..” you offered, voice gentle. Natasha’s head snapped up, her green eyes narrowing. “No.” She took another slow step toward you, moving like a predator stalking forward, but her eyes..God, her eyes held something deeper.

“You are my love.” she murmured, her voice thick with something more than just hunger. “I have lived for centuries, and not once have I felt what I feel for you.” She reached forward, her fingers ghosting over your cheek. “You don’t have to hide from me.“

“But..” you hesitated, glancing away. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.” A small chuckle escaped her lips, low and dark. “Oh, Detka (baby), you have no idea how hard it already is.” She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her cold breath fanning over your skin. “Do you trust me?” she whispered. You nodded instantly. “Always.”

A smirk tugged at her lips before she pulled away slightly, her gaze flickering to your neck for the briefest moment before she looked back at you. “You should rest.” she said, her voice softer now, more controlled. “I’ll get you everything you need.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Your lips parted in surprise, but Natasha was already turning away, slipping out of the room with graceful ease. A few minutes later, she returned with another heating pad, painkillers, and your favorite chocolate bar. She placed everything beside you before kneeling down in front of the couch, her hands resting on your knees.

“Better?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. You felt a smile tug at your lips. “Much better.” Wordlessly, she walked into the kitchen again, and a few moments later, she returned with a wine glass filled with a deep, rich red liquid- your blood. You had both prepared for days like this, ensuring Natasha had a collected supply from you when things got too difficult. It was something she had initially protested against, but eventually, she had accepted it as a compromise.

She sat down beside you, swirling the liquid in the glass before taking a slow, measured sip. A satisfied hum rumbled in her throat as the taste hit her tongue intoxicating, rich, unlike anything she had ever known. You watched her, resting your head against her shoulder. “Better?”

She turned her head slightly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Much.” But it was a lie. Natasha was a master of control, but even she had limits. But she wouldn’t break. She refused to. Instead, she focused on you, on the way your fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her arm, on the way you sighed as you settled deeper into the couch. “What are we watching?” she asked, shifting her attention to the screen.

“Some rom-com..” you replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I needed something light.” She chuckled, taking another slow sip from her glass. “You and your guilty pleasures.”

“You love them too!” you teased, nudging her side. A smirk played on her lips. “I tolerate them because you love them.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching the movie while Natasha slowly drained her glass.

But despite her best efforts, her mind kept betraying her. The blood she drank satisfied her, but it wasn’t enough. Not when the real thing was sitting right next to her, her scent wrapping around Natasha like a drug. The warmth of you, the sound of your pulse, steady and inviting made it so much worse.

Her fangs ached, her instincts screaming at her to sink them into your soft skin, to taste you directly, to indulge in the one thing she craved more than anything. She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the glass.

No. She would not lose control. Not with you.

You stirred beside her, breaking her from her thoughts. “I’ll be right back..” you murmured, standing up and stretching slightly. “Bathroom break.” Natasha nodded, watching you as you disappeared down the hallway. And then she exhaled, long and slow, her carefully built restraint momentarily slipping as she ran a hand through her hair.

God..

The moment you left the room, the scent of your blood intensified. Without you sitting beside her, your fragrance spread more freely, wrapping around her like an unshakable grip. She set the empty glass down on the coffee table, flexing her fingers as she let out another slow, measured breath. Her fangs ached more now, her throat burning with the effort it took to keep them from extending fully.

The worst part? She wanted more. Not out of hunger, but out of something else. Something deeper…She wanted to taste you from the source. To have you beneath her, warm and willing, trusting her completely as she sank her fangs into you not out of need, but out of devotion.

She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply. Control! She had mastered it for centuries. She could handle this. The bathroom door opened and the scent hit her all over again. Natasha stiffened, gripping the couch cushion as her fangs pressed against her lips.

And then you walked back into the room, completely oblivious to the battle raging inside her. “Everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. She swallowed thickly, forcing a smirk onto her lips. “Of course, baby.”

Another lie.

And she prayed you wouldn’t see through it. But you weren't oblivious. You knew Natasha better than anyone-better than she sometimes knew herself. So when you stepped back into the living room and saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers dug into the couch cushion, the way her jaw was clenched just a fraction too tightly-you knew. She was struggling.

But she wouldn’t ask. She would never push you, never make you feel like an obligation. No matter how much she needed you, no matter how much her body screamed for your blood, she would starve before taking something you didn’t freely offer. And that’s what made you decide. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick and charged, before you slowly stepped closer. Natasha's pupils dilated slightly, but she didn't move.

You swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before speaking. "You can take from me, Nat.." you whispered, tilting your head slightly, exposing the soft skin of your neck. "I trust you." A sharp inhale. A slow exhale. Her grip on the couch tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. She wanted you-God, she wanted you-but not like this.

Not when she was barely keeping herself together. She exhaled through her nose, reaching forward, her cool fingers brushing against your wrist before she gently pulled you down beside her.

"You have no idea how much that means to me." she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "but it won't be enough." You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?" Natasha's jaw tensed. Her eyes flicked downward-toward your abdomen. Your face flushed instantly as realization hit you. “Oh.."

A flicker of something unreadable passed over her face before she met your gaze again. "Your blood is strongest at the source, moya lyubov (My love)." Her fingers brushed against your thigh, light as a feather. "That's what I need." Your heart stuttered in your chest. Heat crawled up your neck. "But..it's...” Your voice faltered, and you glanced away. "It's dirty.."

Natasha was silent for a moment, and then a quiet chuckle. Not mocking. Not teasing. Just fond "Oh, Y/n.." she murmured, cupping your cheek, coaxing you to look at her. “It's not dirty. Not to me." You bit your lip, still hesitant. "But it's..it's different..!"

"It's you." she countered, her voice dipping lower, more intimate. "The most sacred part of you." Your breath hitched. Natasha leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering, "Do you trust me?" You exhaled slowly. You did. Always. So you nodded. She leaned in, her lips ghosting over your jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

You exhaled shakily, your fingers tightening around her. You had never done this before. You had shared nights of pleasure, of intimacy, but never during your period. The thought of it made you hesitant, but the way Natasha was looking at you, like you were something sacred, something she worshiped…

Natasha’s eyes darkened with something primal, but she stayed in control, her movements slow, gentle. She kissed you deeply, her hands sliding down, undressing you inch by inch. She took her time. Even as her instincts screamed at her to just take, she resisted because this wasn’t just about her hunger.

It was about you. Making you feel comfortable. Making you enjoy it. By the time she reached her destination, her lips pressing reverent kisses down your stomach, her grip on her control was paper-thin. “Relax..” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “Let me worship you.”

The moment your blood hit her tongue, the moment the warm, intoxicating essence slid down her throat, something inside her snapped. A deep, primal groan rumbled from her chest, vibrating against your skin as her hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you firmly in place.

She couldn’t stop- wouldn’t stop. Not now..Not when she finally had the one thing she had been denying herself for too long. The taste..it was richer than anything she had ever known. Sweet, dark, forbidden in the most delicious way. And the scent?

It was overpowering.

It clung to her senses, invading every part of her, making her wild with hunger, desperate to take more, to drink deeper, to claim you in a way that no one else ever could. And then..Your moans. The moment the first soft, broken sound slipped past your lips, Natasha shuddered.

Her grip on you tightened, her nails digging into your skin as she groaned against you, drinking deeper, her tongue flicking against you in slow, intentional strokes. “Fuck..” she murmured against your sensitive flesh, her voice thick, possessive. “You taste..so fucking..good.”

Your back arched off the couch, your fingers tangling in her red hair, your thighs trembling against her shoulders. “N-Natasha-“ She smirked against you. “That’s it..” she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping you as she flicked her tongue in just the right way, sucking lightly before groaning again, completely lost in the taste of you. She could feel it. The way your body was responding to her. The way your thighs tensed, the way your breathing came shorter, the way your hips jerked slightly with every slow, torturous stroke of her tongue.

“So sensitive..” Natasha teased, her voice dark with amusement. “Is it because of me, or is it because you’re already so worked up from how much I’ve been craving you?” You let out a soft cry, your nails scraping against her scalp, pulling her closer.

She groaned again, the feeling of your desperation only fueling her own. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Natasha murmured against you, her voice like velvet, like sin. “You like knowing how fucking insatiable you make me?” Your head tipped back against the couch, your entire body on fire, the pleasure building, coiling tighter, stronger with every slow, indulgent flick of her tongue.

And then Natasha felt it. The shift. The way your body suddenly went tense, the way your thighs quivered, the way your fingers gripped onto her like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world..and she could taste it.

The deepening of your arousal, the way your body was offering her the best of the best- “Oh..” Natasha moaned, her voice wrecked with pleasure, her own hips grinding down against the couch involuntarily. “You’re so fucking close, aren’t you, Darling?”

A desperate, needy whimper escaped you. Natasha grinned, her fangs dragging lightly against your sensitive skin, her hands gripping your thighs tighter, keeping you right where she wanted you. “Give it to me.” she whispered, her tone commanding, possessive. “Come for me, Detka (baby)c Let me taste every. Fucking. Drop.”

That was all it took. You broke, your entire body arching, a loud, desperate moan ripping from your throat as your release crashed over you, waves of heat and pleasure flooding through your veins. Natasha groaned deep, guttural, wrecked as she drank through it, devouring every last bit of you, her fingers digging into your thighs as she held you still, taking everything you had to offer.

She was fucking gone. Your taste, your pleasure it was too much. And she never wanted it to end. She didn’t stop until you were trembling, until you were whimpering, until your body had given her everything and even then, she lingered, pressing slow, possessive kisses against your inner thigh, purring against your skin as she finally, finally pulled away.

She hovered over you, her green eyes dark, her lips glistening, her breath ragged. “My beautiful Treat.” she murmured, brushing her fingers over your cheek, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “You are everything to me.”

Your body was boneless, sprawled beneath Natasha, your chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. The aftermath of your release still pulsed through your veins, leaving you sensitive, your skin electric under her touch.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Natasha shifted, moving with effortless predatory grace. Before you could even process it, she was lifting you, flipping you, maneuvering your spent, shaking body into her lap, so your back was pressed against her chest, your head resting against the cool, safe haven of her shoulder.

You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for her arms, gripping her like a lifeline. “N-Nat-” A low, pleased hum vibrated against your ear as she settled behind you, her strong arms locking you in place. “Oh, how cute..” she purred, her lips ghosting over your jaw, her breath cool against your overheated skin. “You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?”

You let out a soft whimper, your body already too sensitive, too worked up- But Natasha’s hands were already moving. Right back to the mess she had created between your thighs. You whimpered sharply, your hips jerking, trying to squirm away, but she didn’t let you.

A dark chuckle left her lips as she wrapped one strong arm around your waist, holding you firmly against her. “Oh no, Darling.” she murmured, her voice dripping with hunger. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Your fingers tightened around her arm, a shaky moan slipping from your lips as her fingers teased over your still-sensitive core, sending shockwaves through you. “Natasha, please..” She tsk’d, nipping at your jaw. “Ah ah, no hiding from me.”

A sharp gasp left you as her fingers moved, slow, torturous, but still so deliberate, stroking exactly where you needed her, where she knew would make you fall apart again. Your body twitched, your thighs shaking, a broken moan spilling from your lips as she curled her fingers just right.

“Still so sensitive..” she murmured, her lips trailing down your neck, whispering sinful promises against your overheated skin. “You’re so perfect like this, you know that?” Her voice was thick, possessive, dripping with pure adoration.

“Whimpering in my arms, squirming, desperate for more, even when your body is already spent..” Her tongue flicked over your pulse, feeling it race beneath her lips. “I could stay here forever, my love. Tasting you. Feeling you. Owning you.”

A deep, broken moan slipped from your lips as your body arched, completely at her mercy. She could feel how close you were again. The way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers clawed at her arm, as if begging for something more.

And then..She whispered it..The words that sent fire straight through you. “Can I bite you?” You whimpered sharply, your head tipping back against her shoulder, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. You were too far gone, too wrecked, but she was waiting. She needed your permission. She could hear the hesitation in your breathing, so she waited..

Her pace didn’t slow, if anything, her fingers moved faster, building you up, bringing you right to the edge again, making your body tremble, making your mind flood with nothing but her. You needed it. You needed her. “Y-Yes..!” you gasped, whimpering, clutching her arm desperately. “Please, Nat-“

That was all it took. She struck. Her fangs sank deep, piercing your soft, flushed skin, sending white-hot pleasure exploding through you. A sharp, broken cry left your lips as your entire body arched, your release slamming into you, more intense than anything you had ever felt before.

Natasha groaned loudly against your neck, drinking you in, her fingers still moving, pulling you through it, dragging out every last bit of pleasure until you were shaking, twitching, utterly spent in her arms.

And God..The taste..The way your blood flooded her mouth, mixed with the adrenaline, the ecstasy of your pleasure. It was divine. Natasha moaned deeply, drinking slowly, savoring the warmth, relishing in the way your body still twitched in aftershocks, your whimpers muffled against her arm as you came down from your high.

Finally, finally, she pulled away, her tongue lapping over the puncture marks, sealing them with gentle care. You were limp, your breathing slow, your skin still flushed, but you had never felt safer. Natasha nuzzled against you, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your jaw, to your shoulder, her arms tightening around you as if she never wanted to let go.

“My perfect girl..” she whispered, completely wrecked, her lips brushing over your ear. “I’ll never want anything but this.” You let out a soft, exhausted sigh, melting against her. And in that moment, wrapped in Natasha’s arms, claimed, cherished, utterly loved, you knew. She wasn’t just your vampire. She was yours. Forever.

-

-

-

-

[orithyia-eriphyle]

summer breeze - b. barnes x reader

Summary: The one where Bucky is still adjusting to his newfound freedom, and you are his light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: Swearing, non-sexual nudity, injuries, and blood.

Reader has sun/solar-based abilities.

6.1k words

Bucky Barnes was a man of few words. He said only what was necessary and hardly spoke unless spoken to. Steve seemed to be the only person who could ever get Bucky to talk freely. Sam was a close second, although he teased Bucky more than once until the soldier was grumbling expletives under his breath with a clenched fist. 

However, Bucky was a creature of habit.

He woke at dawn every day to go on a run with Sam and Steve, not before drinking a hot cup of black coffee. After his jog, he would train in the gym for two hours and then leave for a shower. He would then make himself a simple lunch and catch up on work. Lastly, Bucky ended his night by reading a book of his choice to help ease his mind. 

When Bucky began to deviate from said routine about two months ago, it did not go unnoticed. 

It started not too long after Bucky had moved into the tower. Bucky had been placed on the same floor as you, his bedroom right across the hall from yours. 

You would wake as he was coming back from the gym, usually catching him on the way back to his ensuite bathroom for a shower. You would greet him with the same sugary sweet smile and voice that almost tempted the super soldier to crack from his usual brooding and smile back.

But he never did. At least, not until recently. 

You knew that Bucky had nightmares. You could hear him at night. The screams of pain, terror, guilt. You name it. 

Every time his nightmares woke you up, the only thing you wanted to do was help. However, Steve and Tony advised against it. They reminded you that Bucky was still unstable, and it was best to let him ride out his nightmares alone, no matter how terrible they may sound. 

You hated it. 

Some nights, you would stay up staring at the dark ceiling in your room, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at the sound of his yells. It would never last longer than a few minutes. But those few minutes were enough for you to feel your heart break for him. 

After roughly a month of only seeing Bucky in passing, he surprised you. 

You and Natasha had been on a week-long mission across seas and were scheduled to return home that night. You had practically stumbled off the Quinjet, your bones and muscles aching with exhaustion. You walked past the medbay despite Natasha’s protest to at least get checked on. Instead, opt for a hot shower and your warm bed.

What you didn’t expect was to find Bucky sitting at your shared kitchen counter, a hot plate of spaghetti set on the bar across from him. 

As soon as the elevator doors dinged open, his gaze shot to you. You tried to ignore the way it roamed over your body, as if assessing for any injury, as you approached the kitchen.  

Seeing Bucky in the kitchen wasn’t an unusual sight for you. However, it was well past midnight, meaning it was well past Bucky’s unspoken bedtime. 

“What’s this?” You ask quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence that enveloped the two of you.

Bucky glanced at the food, then back to you. His face never changing. “It’s for you.” He spoke, his voice coming out gruff as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Which it probably hadn’t. 

You quirked a brow at him but took a seat in front of the plate. This was an unusual display from him, and the last thing you wanted to do was embarrass or scare him off. 

You swirled the noodles around your fork and took a bite, savoring the taste as it melted against your tongue. 

“You don’t eat after missions.”

Your eyes shot to Bucky at the sound of his voice. However, he was looking at the counter and not at you.

“It doesn’t really cross my mind.” You reply, returning to your meal. 

“You need to eat.” He responded firmly. The clipped way in which he spoke made you not want to argue. 

“I might be more inclined to eat after a mission if I came home to home-cooked meals every time.” You attempted to joke with him. He didn’t even smirk.

He pointed at your plate, “Eat.” He said before stalking off back towards his room.

Your gaze followed his broad shoulders. “Thank you!” You remembered to shout down the hall, not missing the way his footsteps halted for hardly a millisecond. You smiled down at your food, glad to see that he cared in his own, quiet way. 

The next mission you came back from, there was a hot plate of food already waiting for you on the counter. 

You shoot awake in your bed at the sound of a scream followed by loud bangs. You knew who it was. Bucky’s nightmares were bad, but he had yet to get violent. 

You sat in your bed and stared at your bedroom door as if willing yourself to see through the walls separating the two of you.   

Every instinct in your body screamed to help him. Help him not suffer anymore. But the voices of Steve and Tony rang in your head, warning you against it. You contemplated as the violent noises didn’t let up, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Fuck it. You’re an Avenger. If he tries to kill you, then you’ll figure it out.

You slipped out of bed, the cool air hitting your bare legs. You snapped your fingers, a small glowing ball forming above your hand and lighting up the surrounding area. You pushed your bedroom door open and crept across the hall to Bucky’s room. You paused in front of his door, taking a deep breath as your heart thrummed unsteadily in your chest. 

You pushed the handle down slowly, pushing the door open and extending your makeshift light into the room to see. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but then you saw him, and the sight in front of you just about broke you. 

His usually large form was made small against the corner of his room. His knees were folded to his chest and his head tucked down. You could see his body tremble violently from where you stood in the doorway. 

“Bucky.” You called out, gentle yet firm. 

He didn’t seem to hear you, his head still tucked and his body shaking. 

You took another deep breath, scolding yourself for being stupid before stepping further into the room and towards the soldier. As you got closer, you could make out the sound of his stuttered breathing and the occasional hitch. Your frown deepened. 

“Bucky? Bucky, it’s me. (Y/n).” You spoke again, slowly kneeling in front of the man. 

Still no response. 

You breathed out a long breath through your nose before closing your eyes briefly. 

You reached a hand out to him, slow and careful. As gently as you could manage, you placed a hand on his shoulder. 

Before you could even react, your body was slammed to the floor, and an arm was pressed across your chest, holding you down. 

Bucky stared down at you with wild eyes. His forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his breathing was labored. His arm on your chest was firm, but you could feel the way that it shook against you. 

“Bucky! Hey! It’s me!” Your voice rose slightly despite you trying to stay calm. 

Bucky’s hold on you didn’t let up. All he did was continue to stare at you with that blank stare, as if he weren’t all there. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to think, looking around the room. Suddenly, it hit you. 

You evened out your breathing and reached a steady hand out to him. His eyes darted between you and your hand, but he didn’t stop you. 

You gently placed your hand against his stubble-covered cheek. You spoke to him softly. Like a mother calming down her frightened child. 

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m right here. You’re safe.” You paused as you felt the pressure on your chest let up a bit. You continued, “They can’t make you do anything here, Bucky. I’m here. (Y/n) is right here with you. I won’t let them hurt you again.” You whispered, softly running your thumb over the curve of his jaw.

You watched as the light slowly returned to his blue eyes, and his breathing began to slow again. 

“(Y-Y/n)?” Bucky croaked out, his voice rough from yelling. 

You smiled at him. “Yeah, Buck. It’s me.” Your hand never left his face.  

Buckt seemed to finally realize the situation you were in, and he retracted his arm like he had been burned. He scrambled backwards until his back hit the side of his bed. 

“Y-You need to leave. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stuttered out, his eyes not meeting your own. You smiled at him gently and scooted towards him. 

“But you didn’t, Buck. You didn’t even come close.” You stated, placing a firm hand against his vibranium arm.

“But-”

“No buts. I’m okay. You’re okay.” You interjected, not wanting him to linger on the prospect of accidentally hurting you any longer. 

There was a brief pause between you two as Bucky’s breath finally evened out fully. “Why are you in here?” He questioned gruffly. 

You tilted your head at him as if he should know the answer to that already. “I was worried and wanted to help.” You responded, never raising your voice over a whisper.

Bucky let out a self-deprecating scoff. “I can deal with the nightmares on my own.” He said, once again avoiding your gaze. 

You grabbe his jaw once again, ignoring the way he stiffened for a second and tilted his eyes up to meet yours. 

“You don’t have to deal with them on your own.” You reassured him, your gaze unwavering. Bucky swallowed as he stared at you. You realized he might be uncomfortable being so close to someone he hardly knew, so you scooted away and dropped your hand from his face.

Bucky tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt. 

Since that night, you and Bucky had gotten noticeably closer. 

He lingered around the compound more and followed you around like a lost puppy. He would do small things for you. things he wouldn’t do for anyone else. 

He would grab things for you off the top shelf that you couldn’t quite reach. He waited for you outside the gym so he could walk you back to your shared floor. He would make an extra pot of coffee in the morning for when you woke up.

The others began to notice. 

One day, Sam and Steve were visiting Bucky on your guys’ floor. You were out with Wanda and Natasha and would be returning anytime now. 

Bucky stood at the oven, the sound of food sizzling on a pan bouncing around the kitchen. 

“I didn’t take you for a chicken tender guy, Barnes,” Sam stated as he sat at the kitchen bar with Steve. Bucky didn’t even glance over his shoulder before responding. 

“(Y/n) likes them.” He said in his usual gruff tone.

Sam looked at Steve, who just shrugged. Sam continued with his teasing.

“So you’re making lunch for (Y/n), who isn’t even home yet, and won’t make any for us?” Sam said with a quirked brow. 

This time, Bucky threw a quick look at the two men over his shoulder before turning back to the stove. “(Y/n) likes my cooking.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Right on cue, the elevator doors opened, and you walked through. “Hey, boys.” You greeted casually as you beelined straight for Bucky. They didn’t miss the small quirk on his lips as he watched you approach him.

“Hey, Buck.” You greeted him separately, placing a gentle hand on the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades. You looked down at the pan of chicken. “You makin’ yourself some lunch?” You questioned quietly. Bucky shook his head lightly. 

“It’s for you…if you want it.” He said in an almost timid manner, afraid you would reject his cooking despite never having done so before. 

Your smile was blinding as you looked back up at him. “I could never say no to your cooking, Bucky. Thank you.” You said, a sincere grin stretched across your face. 

Sam and Steve watched the almost domestic interaction before excusing themselves and heading to the elevator.

“Man, did you see that?!” Sam questioned with an incredulous wave of his arms as soon as the doors of the elevator shut. 

“I haven’t seen him act that comfortable around anybody but me,” Steve replied, brows furrowed. “I figured they would warm up to each other eventually due to the proximity, but I never expected it to happen this quick,” Steve stated. His mind was running a mile a minute to figure out what you possibly could’ve done to make Bucky act so… peaceful. 

Sam shook his head as the doors opened to another floor, and they stepped out. “As curious as I am, I’ll take this as a win. It’s good he’s opening up to someone.” The man said to Steve, who gave him a firm nod.

“Let’s hope it progresses from here, then.”

“You are going to pace a hole into my floors, Tinman,” Tony said sarcastically as he watched Bucky’s large frame lumber back and forth in front of the large doors of the landing pad of the tower. 

His gaze snapped up to Tony. “Her comms are shut off, and she was supposed to be back an hour ago.” He said, his voice hoarse. Tony sighed in understanding. Despite his playful demeanor, he too was worried about you. 

“That’s why we sent Rogers and Romanoff out 30 minutes ago. They’ll get her, and everyone will be okay.” Tony said in an attempt to calm the anxious super soldier. 

Suddenly, Natasha’s voice crackled to life over the intercom of the room they were in. “We found her. She’s unconscious and bleeding. The rest of the men have been taken care of, and we’re taking her back to the jet.” Natasha spoke with an emotionless tone. The tone she uses when she doesn’t want to break.

Tony was the one to reply, but it was all white noise for Bucky.

Bucky felt like the world was crumbling around him. His small, quiet world he had just barely managed to build. 

In the year that Bucky had been living with the Avengers, living with you, he had grown an undeniable fondness towards you. He knew it, and so did everyone else. You were his sun, and not just because of your abilities. You reached out to him when he felt like he was drowning. Every moment spent with you felt like breathing. 

Each night that you came into his room and calmed him down from whatever terrors that lingered in his mind meant so much to him. Each time, you invited him to watch a movie with you. Something so simple, but you didn’t have to. Sometimes, he would wake up to the credits rolling and his head in your lap. Your delicate fingers running through his long hair.

He clung to your natural warmth like it was the only thing he knew. You were the most gentle being he ever met. He was only reminded of your strength when out on the battlefield, watching you tear through the enemy forces like it was second nature.

His breathing grew heavy as every sweet memory the two of you shared crossed his mind. All he could think about was you. Your voice, your laughter, the way your hair fell against your shoulders, the glint you got in your eyes when you teased him, the way you would hum him to sleep after a particularly rough dream. 

Bucky decided then and there that he couldn’t live without you. Couldn’t live without the warmth you brought to his cold heart. 

“...nes! Barnes!” Bucky’s head shot up at the sound of Tony’s voice. The billionaire was looking down at the trembling man.

“You need to get it together, pal. They’re almost here, and we need your muscles to get her to the medbay.” Bucky’s open mouth closed as he nodded and stood. 

“Did something happen to Steve?” He questioned, knowing that Steve was plenty capable of carrying you himself.

Tony held his chin between two fingers. “Bullet wound in the abdomen. He’s awake and stable but in no condition to carry anyone.” Tony said as the quinjet came into view and began to descend onto the landing pad. Tony looked to Bucky, “She’s top priority.” Bucky nodded. He didn’t need to be told that. 

As soon as the doors opened, the two men descended upon the quinjet. Natasha stepped out with Steve’s weakening body slumped against her body, supporting his weight. She looked to Bucky, “She’s laid out on the seats. Bleeding’s been stopped.” Bucky gave a curt nod and rushed to your unconscious body that was draped over the quinjet’s seating. 

He scooped you into his arms as Tony followed behind, relaying your visible condition to the doctors via the communications device in his ear. 

Bucky’s heavy footfalls thudded throughout the hall as he ran to the medbay. He glanced down at your face every so often. “C’mon sweetheart. You gotta wake up.” He mumbled to himself as the medbay doors finally came into view. 

The attending doctors rushed out the doors to guide Bucky to the surgical table. He set you down gently and watched as the doctors swooped down on you, scissors cutting open your gear and clothes. 

Tony placed a hand on his chest, “C’mon, Barnes. We gotta leave so they can help her.” Tony showed an unusual gentleness, understanding Bucky’s feelings. 

Bucky didn’t put up a fight. He knew he’d just get in the way if he stayed. He exited the doors and walked to the room where Steve was being fixed up. 

The doors slid open, and he met the gaze of Natasha and Steve. His eyes were cold as he stared at them.

“You said it was just a recon mission. There shouldn’t have been that many people there.” Bucky spoke to Steve, his voice unwavering but gruff. 

Steve huffed, his gaze fixed on the linoleum floors. “It was an ambush. More men than she could handle on her own.” He stated. Bucky didn’t reply, his gaze flickering over to Natasha, who was worrying her lip between her teeth. 

“What happened to her?” His voice was quieter now, unsure if he wanted the answer.

Natasha responded this time, “She got overwhelmed. They had some new tech. Something that subdued her powers enough for them to get close.” Natasha’s voice faltered as she continued, “Four gunshot wounds to the torso and a lacerated spleen due to a knife.” 

Bucky swallowed down the lump in his throat. He had taken more gunshots, more knives to the torso than he could remember. But you were you. You didn’t have some fancy serum running through your veins that healed you faster like he and Steve did. 

Bucky almost didn’t want to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but he did. “Do you think she’ll be okay?” His voice was quiet and strained. 

He took note of the hesitance in both Steve and Natasha’s faces. Finally, Steve replied. “We’re unsure. She was unconscious by the time we got to her, and we don’t know how long she was like that.”

Bucky’s whole demeanor changed. His already stiff shoulders tensed considerably, his jaw locked, and his gaze became steely.

“If she dies–” Bucky choked out, not able to finish his sentence. His vibranium fist clenched so hard the metal groaned under the pressure.

He turned and stormed out of the room.

You were out of surgery soon enough and were wheeled into a recovery room. You were stable, and the doctors said you would be okay. But you were yet to wake up. 

Bucky sat next to your bed, his right hand laced with yours. He wanted to feel the unnatural warmth you always had. But now you felt just like everyone else. 

It had been two days since your surgery, and Bucky had only left your side to use the bathroom and to eat. 

Bucky’s eyes shot to the door as Steve walked in. He took in the sight of his best friend. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes were sunken due to exhaustion. 

“Buck.” He said gently, “You need to rest up and shower.” 

“I can’t. What if she wakes up?” He asked. His voice was hoarse and broken.

Steve sighed. “I’ll be right here, and you’ll be the first to know.” He reassured him. However, Bucky didn’t move. 

“C’mon, Buck. You know she won’t want to see you like that.” He said, stepping closer. “She won’t be able to focus on recovering if she’s too worried about you.” 

Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s. He was right, you couldn’t see him this way. He stood from his chair, his eyes never leaving your face as he walked to the door. 

“Promise me you’ll tell me as soon as she wakes up.” He said, not looking at Steve.

Still, Steve smiled, “I promise, Buck.”

Bucky was quick in the shower, feeling no need to linger. 

Now, he laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had no desire to sleep. He didn’t deserve to. Not when you were suffering on your own. However, the exhaustion from being up for two days straight and worrying about you finally creeps up on him. He tried to fight off the sleep, but his eyelids only grew heavier and heavier until he drifted off.

“... Sergeant Barnes.” The artificial voice rang throughout his room, causing Bucky to shoot up from his bed.

“FRIDAY?” He croaked out. His voice thick with sleep.

“Captain Rogers asked me to inform you that Miss. (L/n) is awake and is requesting to see you.” The robotic voice explained. 

Bucky didn’t need to hear anything else as he stumbled from his bed and to the door of his room. His breathing was heavy and rough as he sprinted to your recovery room. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to move faster, get to you quicker. As if you would disappear if he didn’t.

Bucky began closing in on the doors of your recovery room, not bothering to slow down, opting to barrel through the cracked door.

His quick movements came to a halt at the sight of you. You were sat up in your bed, Steve’s hand on your back to keep you stable. There was a doctor in the room with a clipboard, presumably talking to you before being interrupted by Bucky’s dramatic entrance. 

Bucky’s breathing was labored as your eyes locked on him, and despite your situation, despite all the pain, you grinned. “Bucky.” His name came out of your mouth in a quiet whisper. 

He stalked over to you and felt his hand tremble as he reached for yours. “Hey, doll.” He said quietly, attempting to match your smile with a shaky one. 

Steve nodded to the doctor, who got the message and turned to leave. Steve spoke next. “You two catch up for now.” He said, then turned to you, “Let us know if you need anything.” He spoke more gently now. 

You smiled up at him. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve nodded and left the room.

You looked back to Bucky, your fingers slowly gaining back their warmth. “Hi, Bucky.” You said, your grin not leaving your face.

Bucky let out a disbelieving laugh. “How can you be grinning right now?” He asked, his smile gentle and sweet. 

You shrugged and ran your thumb over the back of his hand, tracing the scars. “Well, I’m alive, aren’t I? I couldn’t have asked for better.” You spoke to him.

Bucky shook his head. “I would’ve preferred for you not to be sitting here, injured.” He said, his eyes glancing over your every feature. He couldn’t be happier to be talking to you right now. 

“Bucky?” Your small voice echoed between the two of you.

His eyes never left your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I want to take a shower.” You stated plainly. 

Bucky laughed increduously at your simple request. “Baby—” The pet name slipped out, but he didn’t notice. “You are in no condition to leave this bed right now.” He said.

You pouted. “Bucky, I feel so gross. I can’t live like this.”

He rolled his eyes at your whining but kept smiling. “As soon as you’re cleared, doll, I’ll get you a shower. I promise.” He said gently, as if he were placating a child.

Your smile softened. “Okay, Bucky. Thank you.”

Bucky’s head tilted slightly as he looked at you. “Anything you want, doll, it’s yours.”

It took only two more days for you to be cleared to walk around and move back into your room. You were to report back for daily checkups and were on strong antibiotics. 

Bucky stood next to your hospital bed as you shimmied your shirt over your head. He turned away to protect your modesty but stood close in case you needed his help. 

“Bucky.” 

He turned back around at the call of his name, his gaze raking over your body. It was refreshing to see you in something other than a hospital gown.

“Ready to go?” He asked, extending his vibranium hand out to you. You nodded. You took his hand and stood shakily. His flesh hand was placed gently on the small of your back as he helped you stand. “Let me know if you need me to carry you.” He said firmly, not wanting to risk you getting injured any further. 

The two of you walked out of the room. His usual quick strides were slower in shorter to keep pace with you. Slowly but surely, the two of you made it to your room. You sat on your bed to catch your breath, having not been used to walking so far, let alone at all. 

Bucky watched as your gaze lingered on your bathroom door. “Shower?” He asked you. You looked to him with a small smile and nodded. 

Before you could bother trying to stand, Bucky was walking to your bathroom. You listened to the sound of the shower as Bucky turned it on. He came back to the room and rummaged through your drawers, looking for comfortable clothes. He went back to the bathroom to place your folded clothes on the counter for you. He was quick to walk back out to your side, hoisting you up gently. 

“You don’t have to do this, Buck.” You spoke softly. 

Bucky didn’t look at you, too focused on watching your footing. “Don’t start with that. I want to.” He replied, leaving no room for argument. 

The two of you made it to the bathroom, and he slowly dropped your hand. 

“Do you need help?” He asked, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

You glanced over at your shower. It was a walk-in, so it should be manageable. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” You replied and turned to look back at Bucky.

You could still see the worry swirl in his eyes, but you knew he wouldn’t stop worrying until you were completely healed. Eventually, he nodded. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside the door.” He said.

You smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Bucky. I will.”

His gaze lingered on you before turning to leave, closing the door with a quiet click behind him. 

You turned to the shower and took a deep breath. You took off your clothes slowly, ignoring the searing pain in your torso as you lifted your arms over your head to get your shirt off. 

You had finally managed to get your clothes off and stared at yourself in the mirror. You frowned at your wounds that were stitched closed and traced a finger over them. They would scar. 

You sighed and walked slowly to the shower. You felt the temperature of the water, smiling to yourself when you realized Bucky had it set to just the right temperature. You stepped in and groaned in pleasure at the feeling of the warm water beating against your skin. Your muscles began to relax as the water cascaded gently against your body.

You decided you couldn’t keep Bucky waiting forever and decided to begin washing yourself. You leaned over for your shampoo but winced and grabbed one of the wounds on your side. It seemed it didn’t agree with the movement. You powered through and grabbed the bottle, opening the lid and squirting the soap into your hand. 

You reached up to your head, ignoring the pain that racked up and down your body, and began scrubbing.

Your teeth are gritted painfully together, the white hot pain becoming unbearable. You couldn’t hold your arms up, let alone move them, for long due to your body being littered with deep wounds. You became frustrated, dropping your arms as the soap dripped down your hair and hands. Tears sprung to your eyes, angry with your own helplessness. 

You took a deep breath and shut the water off.

Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion at the sound of the water stopping. That was way too quick, especially considering your condition. 

“Bucky?” Your small voice echoed from behind the door.

 Bucky sprang up and paused right outside the door, hand already on the handle. “Doll? You alright?” He called out, his face etched with worry. 

No response.

“Sweetheart, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to come in there.” He could hear the worry in his voice as he spoke.

Once again, no response. 

Bucky’s breathing faltered, and he pressed down on the handle, pushing the door open with ease. 

His gaze immediately locked on you. Your arms were crossed over your chest, your body trembling. Either in pain or due to the cold on your wet skin. He couldn’t tell. However, he felt his heart clench in his chest at the sight of your wet eyes and your shaky bottom lip.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He breathed out, reaching you in three quick strides as his hands raised to cup your face gently.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asked in a whisper, as if speaking in a normal voice would hurt you further. 

Your water eyes looked up at his, and you drew in a shaky breath before speaking. “I-I can’t–” You swallowed before continuing. “I need your help.” You said, “Please?” You choked out, meek and scared. 

Bucky felt his heart shatter. In the year he has known you, he has never seen you like this. So small and sad. 

Bucky brushed a tear from your cheek as it fell. “Of course, sweetheart.” His hands moved from your cheeks and to your shoulders. He nudged you back into the shower and turned the handle. The water came back to life, still warm. It trickled down your body as you stood there. 

Bucky smiled at you softly. “Are you okay with me taking my clothes off, doll?” He asked, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable than you already may be. He watched as you gave him a quick nod, the tears still not leaving your eyes. 

Bucky made quick work of his clothes before stepping into the shower right behind you. “Is it okay if I touch you?” He asked calmly. You responded with another nod of your head. 

Bucky drew in a breath before reaching for your hair and scrubbing in the rest of the shampoo. He was gentle and careful, treating you like a doll. His doll. He turned you around to rinse your hair in the water but paused when he saw the tears running down your face and your lip still trembling. His frown deepened as he took in your smaller form.

He cupped your face again. “What’s wrong, honey? Where’s it hurt?” He questioned, his gaze dropping slightly to look at your wounds before he locked his eyes back onto yours. 

You shook your head at him, and his brows furrowed in response. “You gotta talk to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what's wrong.” He chided gently, egging you on. 

You drew in a shaky breath before speaking. “I was so scared, Bucky.” You looked down at his chest, wanting to avoid his gaze. “I-I thought I was going to die.” You choked out.

Bucky’s shoulders tensed as he realized you were talking about that day. You hadn’t spoken of it since you woke up. No one pressured you, knowing you needed time. Bucky was about to respond, but you cut him off.

“And all I could think about—” You hiccuped, practically choking on your own emotion. “All I could think about was you.” You finally got out.

Bucky froze where he stood, his eyes widening slightly. 

“All I could think about was what you would do if I died. Who would comfort you when you had a nightmare—” You were speaking too fast now and tripping over your words. “And then, I sat there. Bleeding out, in pain, and my consciousness beginning to slip.” You paused. “All I thought about was how I was going to die here, cold and alone, never getting to tell you how I felt.” 

Bucky’s heart pounded hard in his chest as you rambled on. His grip on your face tightened slightly. “Doll—” He croaked, but you cut him off again. 

Your eyes locked with his. The color in them more vibrant with your tears. “I love you, Bucky Barnes. And I have to tell you now, or I’ll regret it forever.” You said resolutely, your voice more steady than it had been since he had entered the shower with you. 

Bucky could feel his own hands tremble. Could feel every beat of his pounding heart against his ribcage.

“You l-love me?” Bucky choked out, his own eyes beginning to water. 

You nodded, nuzzling your face into his open palm. Your eyes were still wet, and your lips still trembled. 

Bucky rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He took in a steadying breath as he felt your lips brush his. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered. 

You responded with an almost imperceptible nod. 

Bucky sighed before slotting his lips against yours gently. He poured every ounce of love into that kiss. Every feeling you’ve ever made his cold heart feel. One of his hands dropped to your waist, the other to the side of your neck. He pulled you against him, his lips working over yours slowly. He groaned as one of your hands made their way into his hair, pulling gently. 

You pulled away first, gasping for air as you rested your forehead against his chest. Bucky’s hand gently chucked your chin, directing your gaze towards his. His eyes were so soft, so different from the usual look they held.

“I love you too, doll.” He whispered.

You felt your face split into a smile. Your tears were long gone. All you felt in that moment was love and joy. 

You tucked your face back into his chest as your body began to heat in giddy embarrassment due to your power. You felt the rumble of Bucky’s laugh against you. 

“You can’t be embarrassed now, Sweetheart. I’ve already seen you naked.” 

You responded with a smack to his chest and glared up at him. He only continued to smile at you before leaning down and capturing your lips into another kiss. This kiss was softer, slower. 

He pulled back and mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”

divider creds: @aquazero

[eufezco]

A FRESH START 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

synopsis — after leaving wakanda, bucky starts to rediscover who he is while living with you, slowly bulding a new life. his dispair deepens and you offer him a fresh start with a simple act: cutting his hair.

angst. fluff

—you have to stop thinking that every time something good is happening to you it's because something worse is on the way. that´s not a way to live, buck —. you said softly, your voice steady but with a hint of concern.

bucky shook his head, running a hand over his face as a sign of desperation. if only he could remember what life felt like before hydra took him, before all those wasted years. after so long he was still trying to figure it out, still trying to find a version of himself that didn’t feel like a stranger. trying to get used to his new life in the city, far from the peace he had known in wakanda. all these sudden changes only made him more confused and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to adjust, it was that he didn’t know how.

it had been a almost a year since bucky had moved in with you, since you had defeated thanos and steve had left. when the dora milaje declared him ready to live a normal life, bucky stood there, unsure of what that even meant. he had no place to go. louisiana crossed his mind for a moment, sam had always extended an open invitation but the thought of intruding on sam’s family life stopped him, and steve was gone, something he chose not to think much about, so for the first time in over a century, bucky was truly on his own.

except he wasn’t. you were there.

when you found out he needed a place, you didn’t think about it twice. he resisted at first. ayo told him you were the right person to star building his new life. you trust her, you trust her more than you admit. that is where you begin. trust. she is the right person to help you build this new life, james.

and he couldn't remember what you two had shared before hydra took him, before everything fell apart but there was a pull. by the things steve told him, you three were best friends once, inseparable. he spoke of nights you spent laughing, of how he’d head home early, leaving you and bucky behind, knowing that bucky would arrive later, with a big smile on his lips. steve chuckled when he mentioned your lipstick, smeared on bucky’s mouth when he finally made it back. you never wiped it off, you wore it like a badge of honor.

bucky tried to imagine it, those moments of joy but the memories never came. but he could still feel it. he felt it that day in wakanda, when you arrived with steve and natasha to fight thanos. you smiled at him, just a brief moment in the chaos, but it stayed with him. there was something so familiar about that smile, something warm and he felt it too every time you visited him or sent him what had once been his favorite sweets, little reminders of a life he no longer remembered but somehow still carried with him.

so, he showed up at your door a few days later, a bag hung over his shoulder and a sad look in his eyes. he didn't try to argue this time. —you sure about this?

you didn’t hesitate. —absolutely.

living with bucky was easy. he was quiet, he didn't need much space. after months, he started making it his place too, little by little. he left his shoes by the door beside yours, the book he picked up from one of your shelves appeared on the coffee table, his leather jacket draped over the back of a chair.

—it's not that easy —. he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

you watched him. —i know it’s not, —you said softly, stepping closer to him. —but you don’t have to do it all at once. no one expects that from you.

he shook his head again. —feels like they do, —he said, his blue eyes looking directly into yours. you could see the sadness and the guilt of the moments he couldn’t take back. —feels like every time i mess up, it’s just proof that i don’t belong here. as if this life was not made for me —his voice was low, barely more than a murmur. —what if the only thing i'm good at is killing?

you took a deep breath. it was hard to hear him say that, to see the man you’d known before hydra, who was your best friend and the love of your life, now drowning in self-doubt and guilt. —you’re more than what they made you.

—am i? because that’s all i’ve ever done. all i know how to do.

—but it’s not who you are, it’s what they forced you to be. the fact that you’re even asking this? that you’re fighting to be someone better? that’s proof enough that that wasn't you at all.

he closed his eyes tightly and ran his hands through the long strands of his hair. for a moment, you just stood there, watching him. you wanted to pull him back from whatever dark place his thoughts had taken him, but you hesitated, ayo told you to do so, to let him space to feel this, to fight against it, even if it hurt.

—i can still feel him inside my head, i can hear his thoughts. he's not gone.

bucky’s fingers suddenly grabbed the roots of his hair with a little more force. his breathing grew faster, his hands shook and his eyes squeezed shut. you couldn't see how deep his pain was and not do anything to stop him from hurting himself.

you stepped closer. —bucky, hey… —your hands sneaked into his hair, softly pulling his grip from his scalp. his hands were trembling, and for a moment, there was resistance in him like he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of the only thing he could hold onto. but your touch was soft, familiar and something shifted, almost imperceptible, but you could feel the tension in him loosen.

—the bucky i knew isn’t gone. he’s still in there. i see him every time you fight for something good, every time you try to make amends, every time you care about the people around you, about me.

his shoulders fell, and his head hung low, he didn’t want you to see him like this, weak and broken. but you had seen him in his darkest moments as the winter soldier and you had experienced thanos taking him away from you with the blip. the years without him had been a painful, you thought you lost him forever. yet there he was, standing before you, alive, and you weren’t about to let him go again.

your hands gently moved to push the back of his head, guiding him to rest his forehead on your shoulder. he was still a bit unsure about how to handle this type of physical contact, used to years of torture, where touch always meant pain, control, or something to fear. now you held him close to your body, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

—why don’t i cut your hair?

—cut my hair?

—yeah, it´ll help you to see yourself in a different way. a fresh start.

bucky pulled back a little, he wasn’t sure if you were joking. —you think cutting my hair will fix everything?

you smiled softly, you wished it could be that easy. —no, —you admitted. —but ayo told your new life will be built on small things.

bucky sighed.

the idea of letting go parts of himself that tied him to the winter soldier felt like a whole world. first, it was his metal arm, the one with the red star, when tony ripped it off of him, bucky felt relieved, like tony was cutting one of the heads of the hydra to end the monster. in wakanda, he learned to live using only his flesh-and-blood arm until they gave him a new one which he only intended to use for good.

and now you were asking to cut his hair.

—ayo did say that, didn’t she? —he murmured, almost to himself.

—she’s a smart woman and besides, it’s just a haircut. if you hate it, it’ll grow back.

a small smile appeared in his lips. —if it ends up bad, i’m blaming you.

you took a chair from the kitchen to the bathroom and he sat down in front of the mirror. bucky stared at his reflection as he pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. he didn't like mirrors, he avoided them as much as he could. he didn't like the person staring back at him, he didn't know who that man was and now sitting on that chair there was no escape.

there was a difference this time. next to one of the things he most hated to look at—his reflection—was one of the things he liked the most to look at—you.

his blue eyes moved from his reflection to yours. you stood behind him and ran your hands gently through his hair. he felt that familiar tickle in his stomach, the one he first felt almost a century ago and that, even after all the years, it hadn't gone away.

he felt it every morning when you entered the kitchen, hair a mess from sleep, mumbling a soft “good morning” to him. he felt it when he came home in the evenings and dinner was ready and you were sitting at the table, waiting for him. he felt it most when you would fell asleep on the couch and he had to carry you to your bed, careful not to wake you. and you'd ask him in your sleep to stay, and he'd freeze, he wanted to say yes, he wanted to stay. but he couldn’t risk it, his nightmares were still too real. so bucky would gently place you in your bed, making sure you were well tucked in, and whisper, i’ll be in my room, if you need anything.

—are you ready? —you asked him, bringing him back from his thoughts. you already had the scissors in your hand and bucky shifted in the chair at the sight of them. —it'll be okay, buck.

—feels like more than just a haircut.

you nodded, understanding. —well, that's what we wanted, isn't it?

bucky swallowed and nodded.

—why don't you close your eyes? i'll let you know when i'm done.

with a deep breath, he did as you said. your lips curved into a small smile even though he could no longer see you. you were aware of all the progress he had made. you knew he trusted you with his heart because on no other occasion he would willingly keep his eyes closed with someone standing behind him, scissors in hand and when your hands rested on his shoulders, he hadn’t flinched at the contact.

—okay, i'll start.

with his eyes closed it was much easier to feel the delicacy with which you treated him. the way your fingers combed through his scalp and then the sound of the scissors, followed by the sensation of the strands falling and taking with them the weight he had carried for so long. and you talked, about anything that crossed your mid so he did not feel that he was in danger or he had to be alert at any time.

—maybe we could get a cat, —you said. —i think it’d be nice. do you think you’d be a good cat parent?

—maybe —. he said after a pause. —i definitely prefer a cat to a dog.

you switched to the clippers, you left the hair at the top of his head a little longer, while the rest of it was cut shorter. a very chic haircut for someone born in 1917. you carefully checked that his hair was even and then you styled it with your fingers.

—okay, i'm done, you can open your eyes.

bucky hesitated for a moment, then opened his eyes. your breath caught in surprise as you watched him take in the sight of himself. it was like having the bucky you once knew staring right at you through the mirror. his features were the same, just a bit more more defined and mature.

he felt the same relief as when tony ripped off the metal arm that hydra embedded in his body, like a part of him that had once been used against him, now freed. he turned his head slowly to both sides to get a better look and to be honest, he liked his new look. physically, he could see the resemblance to the man in the photos you had shown him, the young soldier who smiled to you, in love.

—how do you feel? i think it suits you —. you asked gently.

bucky nodded. —i like it —. he caught your gaze in the mirror. the eye contact was so intense that you had to look away. you cleared your throat, hoping to ease the tension, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

—alright, come on, —you tapped his shoulder for him to stand up. — i'm going to sweep your hair off the floor.

bucky got up from the chair and turned his head to look at you, not through the mirror this time, but directly, and the sudden closeness made your breath hitch. —thank you for doing this.

—you don't need to thank me, buck. i'm glad it turned out well, it was my first time doing it.

—you sure about that? —he asked—it doesn’t feel like it was your first time.

you laughed, still avoiding his gaze. —guess we got lucky, then.

there was a silence; you were both too close, but not close enough yet. bucky’s eyes moved to your lips for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make your heart race. you could both feel the tension, an invisible string pulling you toward each other, daring one of you to close the gap. you didn’t want to take the first step, you didn’t want to push him into something he wasn’t ready for, the last thing you wanted was to break the fragile trust he’d built with you.

you opened your mouth to say something but he talked first.

—can i kiss you? —his voice was low, almost shy.

you were surprised because you didn't expected him to ask so directly, but consent was so important to him. he spent too many years under someone else’s control, forced into actions that weren’t his own, and now he was determined never to cross those lines. it wasn’t just about asking to kiss you, it was about making sure that you were comfortable, that you wanted this just as much as he did.

—yeah, —you whispered —you can.

bucky stepped closer, his flesh-and-blood hand reaching to cup your cheek, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. he leaned in, his movements careful, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you leaned into him instead, your lips finally meeting his.

he felt strange. he had wanted to kiss you for what felt like forever, and now that he had, he wasn’t sure what to do next. his mind raced, trying to remember how this was supposed to go. he forgot about kissing, forgot about the rhythm of it, the give and take. his hand slipped from your cheek to fall awkwardly at his side as he pulled away from your lips just enough just to say:

—i don't... i don't remember how to do this.

—it's okay. you're doing just fine. there’s no right or wrong way. just… follow me.

this time, when your lips met, you moved slowly, guiding him. his tension disappeared as he mirrored your movements, his right hand returned to your cheek, the other, his metal one, moved to hold your hips. it wasn’t perfect, the movements of his lips were still hesitant, but there was something honest about the way he kissed you.

as he kissed you, bucky became more aware of his body and where his hands were and realized that his metal hand was resting lightly on your waist. he pulled the hand away quickly. —i'm sorry, i didn't mean to...

you shook your head, one of your hands flew to the back of his neck to connect your lips while your other one grabbed his vibranium arm and guided his hand to where it was before. as the kiss deepened, you felt him relax, stop worrying about whether he was doing it right or wrong, about the touch of his cold hand on your skin, and he just kissed you.

you hummed before parting ways. his cheeks were flushed, his lips were a bit swollen and glossy, his breathing a little uneven and you couldn't help a little laugh from escaping your lips.

—okay, now you're just laughing at me.

—you're so cute, buck.

[notanactressyayy]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭. | natasha romanoff

. ݁₊ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 . Natasha and you were the only 'constant' in each other's lives. poor you, to think you could get over her so easily.

. ݁₊ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 . smut! i am not responsible for your content consumption! — making out, g!p Natasha, guided masturbation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (p in v), choking, swearing, homesickness, fluff, reconciliation.

. ݁₊ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 . english isn't my first language (🇧🇷) so i apologize for any spelling errors. been in love w Nat for a damn long time — i've been away for a while, but turns out i can't really live without her. i miss my red so much :(

Natasha Romanoff rarely had the chance to see the same face twice. She saw a lot of people throughout her life — as a spy, as a superhero, or simply as Natasha. The thing is: it was unlike she would return to a place she’s been before. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be on the run. Thus, she traveled around the whole world, and saw thousands, millions of different faces. Destiny made sure not to let her cross paths with the same individual again. It wasn’t only the diversity of people that she witnessed, though. This woman saw the world. She knew life’s ups and downs, and at some point in her life, she just got used to the idea that it would forever be like this: boring. Boring experiences, boring women, boring men, boring relationships. Nothing was ever exciting, thrilling. It felt like she was advanced in time, and the rest of the world wasn’t following her. This wasn’t a complete lie, she got her maturity at a very young age, which made her pay the price now, in adulthood. 

For a spy, the most important thing is to learn not to be caught off guard. But it seemed like life was never on Natasha’s side. And this time — it felt good. Oh, it felt so good. 

At first, she didn’t want to get high hopes. It would be just another temporary friendship to help her pass time, nothing more. However, you managed to surprise the red haired Avenger in the best way possible. When she decided to spare a little time of her life and get to know you more, it was really mind-blowing the side of herself she discovered. She never thought she could actually be.. giddy. Like a silly, hopeless romantic girl. That is what she became whenever it was time to see you. She got excited. Actually excited. She couldn’t see through you, read your emotions or body language, like she did with other people; It was a natural thing, sometimes she didn’t even mean to do that. But you, something within you, kept her at bay. Like you effortlessly turned Natasha into a normal woman. Somebody who could love. Somebody that wasn’t raised and enhanced to be a killer. Not that you went through anything like she did, but you weren’t naive. You showed her that people didn’t necessarily have to be traumatized to be aware of things, of reality, of the surroundings. And for her, you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world. Inside and out. She adored you. 

Opening up was never easy. Revealing the broken parts of herself wasn’t like having a simple chat. But patience is a virtue and thankfully, you followed that say just fine. Little by little, the secrets came out. Most of the parts you already knew — it’s not like she wasn’t a worldwide known superhero. What you mostly had to acknowledge were her feelings, the point of view of the little girl who was experiencing it all, and becoming a strong woman, with built up walls around her heart. Doing that was no problem. Natasha couldn’t be more thankful. 

She couldn’t be more infatuated. More in love.

She’d always remember that one day: in the bar with her team, and you — chattery, music, tons of drinks and laughter. Stolen glances. Stomach butterflies, wild. The moment Clint pulled Laura a little closer to himself, and Tony kissed Pepper’s cheek. How she used that as an excuse to pull you into her lap. Your breath getting labored. Eyelashes gently fluttering, to the point she could count them. Your gentle yet tight grip on her shoulders. Your goddamn eyes staring right into hers. And the part where everything would change: her own bodily reactions to all those little details about you. When you restlessly shifted on her lap, quietly gasping when something poked you through your dress. Eyes going wide at the bulge showing on her black jeans. 

From that point on, you belonged to her.

Or so, she thought.

The sex was great, but she was in conflict — she couldn't tell if the only reason for it to be that enjoyable was because you were both tipsy, almost drunk, or if it was really meant to be that way. It felt right, yes, to have you in her arms like this — naked, piles of discarded clothes laying by her bed.. the sound of your quiet snoring as you cuddled into her. It was also a relief to her. To have someone care for her, desire her, after so long, after forever. The night had been amazing. She was a mature woman anyway, wasn't she? She could sort her feelings out without messing up everything.

Wrong. By the morning, everything would change.

You stared at her as she got up and got dressed again, eyes still a little blurry from sleep, eyebrows ceasing into a small confused frown. "You're not staying?" you'd ask, sitting up and leaning against the headboard, bringing up the sheets to cover your unclothed body. "Ugh, my head hurts like hell,"

"Got things to do." she simply answered, cradling the side of your face and kissing your forehead. You could swear the look on her face was.. apologetic. She tilted her head towards the nightstand, where some aspirin and water waited for you. "Take these. I'll text you later."

"Okay.." you mumble, disoriented. As she leaves, you reach out, shoving the aspirin in your mouth and downing the pills with water. Was there something you were missing? Because all you could remember was how good her hands felt on you, the way they wrapped around you neck while she—

You shook your head, lying down again, and closing her eyes. All the fun and pleasure you had been given from the previous night was slowly vanishing and being replaced by a feeling of uncertainty and confusion. Natasha was an enigmatic person, okay, but you thought you knew her better. She had no reason to leave you just like that, especially when she had already vented about all her past experiences, flaws and failures. Nah, it was probably nothing, you were overthinking. Perhaps she indeed had something important to take care of. You closed your eyes as fatigue took over, and slept for a little bit more.

Natasha went back to her apartment — one of her apartments, and for the whole day, her thoughts ran like crazy. Her emotions were all over the place. She had just fucked her best friend, the one person she felt comfortable and at ease with. She considered her feelings carefully; this.. dinamic, between you two, had not been platonic for a considerable amount of time. But not being platonic doens't necessarily means being romantic. It could either be love, or lust. What happened the day before was carnal, once the two of you were way too much in a drunken haze to actually feel anything.

And, like always, Natasha didn't want to think about falling in love. She felt scared just by thinking about this. It was a new territory, one she wasn't willing to deep dive in. So she took her phone and deeply sighed, opening her chat with you.

"Yesterday was fun. But I need some time. I don't think this can work. Hope you're doing okay. xx"

That text just completely shattered you.

You had no idea what you did wrong. It was not like Natasha was pushing you away forever — but while being with her, the only thought running through your mind was: I wanna be with her. I wanna explore this with her. And Natasha didn't give a single sign that she thought the opposite. You felt... disappointed. With yourself and her. For hoping.

Yeah, getting involved with an ex kgb Avenger killer spy probably wasn't the best idea.

You wouldn't simply forget everything you shared together, so the easiest way here not to create a big tension was.. being fake. The two of you weren't stupid, you were aware of the unspoken feelings going on. But what happened that night should not happen again. So your friendship was what prevailed. A friendship like the start. But obviously, with a few changes. Natasha and you didn't lose touch — on the contrary, you were closer than ever. You spoke and flirted (a lot), but with one small rule, a rule that you subconsciously added to this.. situationship. No feelings involved. It would be singularly that. Friends, some casual hookups, and nothing else.

It didn't last, because that's not what you both wished, longed for.

Little by little, this turned boring again. Not that you were the boring one and she just didn't realize this before. Far from that. The thing was: Natasha and you were supressing your feelings, consequently, supressing all the thrill, the delicious tension that hanged in the air whenever she, once again, crossed paths with you. The russian wanted nothing more than just grab you and kiss you hard, pour all the emotions that she kept bottled up throughout her life into the kiss. But unfortunately, she couldn't. She had a duty to fullfil, as someone born, destined to save the world.

And with all of this, you and her settled a distance. You with your previous and trivial life, and her, saving little girls from bad guys, and bringing down cats from tall trees. It was truly shocking: one day, you lived for Natasha Romanoff. She was your everything and everything you'd ever want. In a blink of an eye, it ended. You followed your paths, like two completely different people, with different purposes.

Right person, wrong time.

Fool her, to think she could get over you that easily. Poor you, to try and put that inside of your head as well.

Sometimes, when normally doing daily tasks, you would catch yourself thinking about her — when you were going to watch TV and put your legs on the coffee table, instead of simply sitting. It was an habit of hers. Or when eating something with peanut butter. It was her favourite late night snack. When it rained. She liked to watch the rain. With somebody else's hands on you. It wasn't right. It was never right to have somebody else touch you. You were constantly thinking about your life before things with her changed — the memories brought comfort, a sense of nostalgia.. at some point, you weren't living in the present anymore. Just faking. Faking your feelings. Pretending it was okay to let her go.

This woman ruined you for everything and everyone else.

Natasha could relate to that. In a life that could be resumed in one word: a 'whirlwind' of a life, and you were her only 'constant' among all of this... she couldn't bear this anymore.

So she made an important decision.

The decision was today.

Today: she'd take you out again, praying that, if not reconciliation, she wanted at least to say everything she had to say. Because if life taught her one thing, was to make choices that she wouldn't regret in the future. And it was damn right she would regret choosing not to meet you tonight.

Sitting in the stool of the bar, in a more secluded corned, her eyes followed your figure as you approached — purse hanging on your shoulder, dress exposing your back and a little bit of your waist, eyes so awfully soft and gentle as you looked at her. It wasn't fair. A pang of guilt hit her hard. Oh, she regretted letting that go. She wanted you to be mad at her. But you were not. She shakily rises to her feet to kiss your cheek as you stand in front of her, thankfully not stumbling. Your eyes lock again, already in a trance. Just like that other day.

"How are you doing?" you ask. Natasha could cry. She missed that voice everyday. "Did I take too long? I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't worry." she swallows hard. You both sit on the stools by the countertop. When the bartender comes, the redhead dismisses him. She wanted the two of you sober for this. "I'm... so much better now that you're here, honestly. How about you?"

"Amazing." you chuckle, tilting your head to the side and watching her. She didn't change a bit. Hair braided, black jeans, leather jacket. That was your Natasha. "I didn't expect you calling me here, to be honest..—"

"Me neither." she admits, in a whisper. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, eyes involuntarily starting at your mouth. She sighs and looks into your eyes. "But I had to... I can't get you off my mind."

Her sincerity never fails to amaze you. With each second that passes, the butterflies in your tummy return, to remind you of the past — feelings and sensations resurfacing. You bite on your bottom lip and look around the bar, quickly scanning to see if there was anybody paying attention to the two of you. Maybe a few eyes here and there, which didn't linger. Everyone else was too busy minding their own business — and it's not like you'd care if someone was staring anyway. Natasha turned some heads. You felt greedy for that. You were the one having her. The only one having her.

"You live in my head rent free, Natasha." you tell her, voice having a sultry edge to it. You slowly stand, walking closer.

You take her hands and open her arms — making it possible for you to straddle her thigh. She tenses almost immediately. Her head tilts up to stare into your eyes, arms circling your waist to keep you close, where she wanted. You shake your head when you see a small frown between her eyebrows — lips pressing against that small spot, coaxing a little exhale of hers. She missed you. Everyday. Every minute. She wanted that respect and care all the time.

"What are we even doing here?" she whispers, so quietly you almost can't hear it. Her hands cup your waist and gently roam up and down your sides, palms brushing against your bare skin every now and then, all thanks to the waist slits of your dress. Your face leans closer to hers, noses bumping — the smallest of touches, making you both crave what you once had. "Why didn't I just invite you to my place right away?"

"I don't know. Why didn't you?" you raise one eyebrow, fingertips caressing her jawline. Her hands give your waist a squeeze — and you almost moan. She swore she could hear it. It replayed in her head, the beautiful sounds you made for her. She wanted to hear them again. She was going to make you sound like that again.

It wasn't just a physical thing — your body and mind craved her touch, her presence, so much that just the mere thought of being on her bed again got you soaked. She felt something wet through the rough fabric of her jeans, and that got her brain spinning. She fell for you hard. So painfully hard.

"Let's get out of here," she groans, hands firmly grabbing your thighs and lifting you up — wrapping your legs around her waist and carrying you out the pavement. Her hardness pressed right against your core — you blushed, hiding your face on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her neck.

In a heartbeat, you were back at your house.

Your place, because it was the fastest way, when taking the cab. No words were exchanged, not yet. The aching, burning need had to be taken care of first — before properly talking. Your back hits the wall hard as Natasha pushes you against it — her body trapping you between herself and the hard surface — hands hardly, possessively holding you by the hips. Desperately, even. Making sure you wouldn't slip away from her grasp. Her lips dance with yours, tentatively, yet naturally, tongues tasting one another after what felt like centuries. She felt so good, tasted so good.

"Nat..—" you moan against her lips, having her bottom lip trapped between your teeth, then releasing it. Your forehead against hers, eyes soft and filled with desire. Your hands hold her cheeks, traveling to her jaw. Needily, you press kisses to the side of her throat, breathing shaky, heart hardly thrumming. "I never stopped thinking about you..."

"Yeah?" she hums, grabbing the hem of your dress and lifting it up, bunching the fabric by your hips. Her fingers hook around the elastic of your panties and pull them down, pooling around your feet — making you gasp, and pull away from her neck. Eyes wide open. The air hits your heat, making you needier for her.

You almost mewl.

"God, I need you." Natasha utters. She grabs you again and smashes her lips against yours once more, now with so much more passion, more need, more anxiety. Her bulge presses against your now unclothed wetness, coaxing a tiny cry of need out of you. You breathlessly pull away from her, reaching down and fumbling with the buttons of her jeans — until she stops you.

"No—"

"Quiet." she shushes, maneuvering you back, until your body hits the mattress. She climbs onto the bed and stays in a kneeling position, hungrily taking you in. Messy, needy, all for her. Sober, like she wanted planned from the first time. "That dress goes off."

Her voice is commanding, yet not harsh — and her eyes betray her a little. Her eyes are almost pleading, that it is clear how much she needs this. To have you all to herself, to show you how much she wants that. Her underwear becomes even more tight as she sees your trembling fingers, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it aside, lips parted. Just by her look, you can tell she wants the bra off, too. So you reach behind your back and grants her silent wish, breasts now exposed to her sight.

"There you are..." she moans to herself, shamelessly taking in the sight of you. You're a work of art. With her hand, she coaxes your knees open, and parts your legs. "My... you're so wet. So perfectly wet."

"You're still with a lot on.." you quietly complain, feeling hot and shy at the same time. But her gaze is enough to wipe away the confusion from your eyes. She had a plan.

"Touch yourself for me." she breathes out.

Your eyes briefly widen with the unexpectedness of this statement. You had certainly done this before — touched yourself thinking of her — but the idea of showing this, while she watched, never crossed your mind. But it wasn't an unpleasant idea. It was actually... hot. Sensual. They darken, pupils blown wide as you make yourself comfortable against the pillows, eyelids fluttering as your legs spread a little more, palm resting on your stomach, then moving down. Deliberately, it reaches your sex, a shakily sigh leaving your lips when your middle and ring finger collect some of the slick coat covering your sensitiveness, using it to slowly rub your clitoris, getting you to gasp louder.

"Natasha..." you whisper, eyes falling close, thoughts wandering.

Wandering back to the start — when you first discovered your feelings for her, then the climax, when you both got in bed due the alcohol — then the aftermath, when you needed her so much, felt so alone at night, that your fingers were the only solution. Little wet sounds echo within the room as you rub circles on yourself, applying just the right amount of pressure, that it doesn't take long for the pit in your stomach to manifest itself.

"Faster." Natasha rasps out, taking her jacket and quickly throwing it away. She pulls her tank top over her head, then undo the buttons of her jeans — leaving the bed, just so she can get rid of all the uncomfortable fabric, and climbing it again. She crawls closer to you — eyeing you as you worked on your pussy, her hands caressing your thighs, adding to the stimulation.

"Please...!" you whimper, doing as you're told — rubbing yourself faster — slipping one of your fingers inside your entrance, almost cumming, that quickly. "Please, I need you..!"

"I need you too," she moans to herself, and harshly grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away. You moan loudly in protest — Natasha wouldn't tease you. Not today, when you both needed each other so much. She discards her undergarments, finally — groaning as she's set free. Your eyes lock on her hard length, which was practically hitting her abs now.

"Put it inside me." you beg, grabbing her shoulders to pull her closer. She hovers over you, bracing herself on her forearms, on each side of your body. Your fingernails gently graze her back. Natasha was feeling so much, so much more than she ever felt. Your eyes were sparkling so much, like you were crying — shimmering with the depth of your adoration for her. You grab her cheeks and press your lips to hers, in a gentle peck. Knowing her past, she didn't have to explain her reasons for what had happened. She was scared before, and you respected. "Go on. Love me."

She couldn't wait no longer. She lowers her forehead to your shoulder and places her hands on your hips — her chest against yours, as she lined herself with your hole, effortlessly pushing inside. Stretching you out, like she once did. Having the chance to hear that delicious sounds again.

"You're mine... shit," she groans, rolling into you gently, getting you used to the feeling first. You're so tight, so perfect around her. Natasha's overwhelmed. Her hands press against the base of your throat, squeezing firmly, yet leaving enough room for air. She's so hot. "That pussy is mine. You're mine. You're all mine—"

"Yes," you moan, wrapping your legs around her middle. You wouldn't take long to come tonight. Maybe she'd make you come over and over. She rocks into you, pace not too slow, not too fast. Just right. The right tempo to bring you both the pleasure and connection you so much needed. "Mhm.. fuck, Nat, missed your cock,"

"You're gonna take it over and over—" she comments — kissing your shoulder, roaming her hands up your body, her right palm cupping your breast and giving it a firm squeeze. Your head lolls back, mouth opening to allow a satisfied moan out. "I'm never fucking letting you go again,"

She accelerates, pulling almost all the way out just to slam back into you again — feeling her climax approach. She moves her mouth close to your ear and moans — her own sounds now mixing with yours.

"Natasha...! Fuck, you feel soo good," you gasp, a wave of pleasure washing over you as you get closer. She takes the hint immediately, cupping the back of your knee and pushing it up, allowing her a better angle. "Ah, gimme more,"

"My greedy girl," she groans, her head tilting back. Her cock twitches inside of you — precum already painting you white. She glanced down at where your folds swallowed her, eyes darkening impossibly more. "You're so goddamn tight... 'm not gonna last, moya krasivaya malysha,"

"Okay.. 'ts okay... Cum with me..." you beg her, tangling your fingers into her red strands of hair, pulling her down more, so her forehead rests against yours — the eye contact increasing the intimacy of the moment. She didn't know what to expect now. Didn't know what to think. Only that she had to fill you up.

"C'mon.. nhg, darling.. c'mon.. cum around me," she encourages, feeling her own legs shake as her orgasm washed over her.

She grabbed your hips hard and slammed into you — once, twice, three times, filling you up with her hot release. You squeezed your eyes shut as your body shuddered forwards, breasts pressing against her own as a long, strangled moan flowed out of you, nails digging into her back, pressing her body against yours as you finished. Your walls clenched around her cock, swallowing her more, not allowing her to pull away just that. "God.. I love you!"

Natasha blinks, not sure if she heard right. Her heart squeezes in her chest, arms wrapping around your body. Her back hits the bed and she flips you on top of her, still inside of you — but now, her member softened. The adrenaline was running wild, but you had calmed down a little bit. Just a little. Because this time, it wasn't pure sex. It was lovemaking.

Your face is buried in her chest as she brings up the covers, creating a cocoon of warmth around you. She buries her face into your hair and inhales deeply, staying silent. Just to process things.

"I love you, too. So so much." she murmurs into you hair. She felt terrified to say this. But once you're someone who she already showed her scars to, it's not that bad anymore.

"You do?" you ask expectantly, feeling tired, drowsy. Natasha smiles at that. She feels her eyes burning with heavy emotion. She nods.

"Yes... I love you so much." she confirms, softly stroking her hair, brushing some strands away from your sweaty forehead. "And I want you to be mine. Will you be mine?"

"You're asking me to be your girlfriend after the sex?" you chuckle quietly, but happiness was evident in your voice. Now you could sleep at peace. The first night of rest you'd have in a long time. In the arms of the woman you cherished, worshipped.

Natasha had won now. She was so fucking relieved. All because of a phrase.

"Of course I will, you idiot."

"I'm never, ever, ever letting you go again." the room is messy, smell of sex lingering around you. But now things were sorted out. By the morning, you could have a more direct, serious conversation. For now, you'd rest together, wrapped up in each other's arms, like it was always meant to be.

[cadelinhadaromanoff]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

sumary: Natasha didn’t expect anyone to notice she was barely holding it together—let alone you. But when a simple playdate turns into days of fevers, exhaustion, and quiet overwhelm, you’re the one who shows up. No questions. No expectations. Just soup in hand, arms open, and eyes that see right through her

word count: 4312

warnings: flu, stomach bug, natasha being vulnerable, age gap and a huge amount of cuteness.

Part 1

author notes: Thank you all sooo much for the love you’ve sent over this mini fanfic — seriously, my heart’s full! I’m beyond excited to say that yes, a little series about our chaotic (but adorable) family is officially happening <3

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　 　 　 　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 ₊

Time had a funny way of folding in on itself when you weren’t paying attention.

One moment, you were a reluctant presence on the fringes of her and Ana’s quiet world, and the next… you were everywhere. Slowly. Naturally. Not because you forced your way in, but because Ana wouldn’t let you be anywhere else. Because Natasha hadn’t known she was waiting for you until you started showing up.

With each passing week, you had become more a part of them—tangled in the fabric of small, ordinary things. Breakfast crumbs. Quiet laughter. The gentle thud of little feet running to find you the moment she entered a room. Natasha had told herself it was nothing. Just temporary. Just the way Ana gravitated to you.

But it was more than that. You weren’t just a presence. You were constant. Steady. You were becoming a part of them in ways Natasha hadn’t prepared for.

And that terrified her.

Because she’d started loving you.

More than she meant to.

And not just emotionally—her body had begun responding to you like it remembered something ancient, like it knew what it wanted before her mind had a chance to catch up. It wasn’t just attraction—it was primal. Deep. Dangerous. Her womb would ache in ways she hadn’t felt since before Ana. Ovulation, hormones, cravings… not just for you, but for the idea of you beside her, in her, with her. You, with Ana. You, in their future.

And you made it worse by being exactly who you were. By showing up when she least expected it. Like now.

Natasha was wrecked. Exhausted beyond measure. It had started with one stupid playdate. She should’ve known better—one of the other mothers had been coughing in that vaguely suspicious “I’m fine, really” way, and now Natasha was paying the price. First came the fever. Then the stomach bug. First for her, then for Ana. And now they were both half-alive, curled into a blanket cocoon on Natasha’s couch, in the dim light of her apartment.

Ana was burning up and clingy in the way toddlers get when they don’t understand why they feel so awful. She wouldn’t let go of Natasha, not for a second—not even to sleep. And Natasha herself was barely staying upright, her limbs heavy, her head pounding, her body still trying to fight off the virus she’d caught. Her shirt was damp with sweat, and Ana had been crying for the last thirty minutes with no real reason other than pure discomfort.

She was drowning. Alone, exhausted, and on the edge of breaking.

And then the door opened.

No warning. No knock. Just the sound of your voice, soft but firm.

“Hey.”

Natasha didn’t have the strength to lift her head fully. But you were there. Jacket already half-off, eyes scanning the mess in a heartbeat. You didn’t need an explanation. You didn’t ask questions. You just moved.

You took Ana from her arms with practiced ease—Ana went willingly, burying her flushed face into your shoulder like it was the only place she’d ever belonged. You murmured something soft, bouncing her lightly, hand rubbing circles on her back. Natasha watched you lower onto the couch beside her, Ana now pressed between you both, content in a way she hadn’t been all day.

And just like that… the panic faded. Natasha breathed again.

Your hand brushed against hers when you reached for the thermometer on the table. You glanced at her sideways. “You look like hell.”

Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I brought soup.”

“You’re a menace.”

But you were her menace. She leaned her head against your shoulder without meaning to, eyelids fluttering closed for just a moment.

And you let her.

There weren’t any declarations. No promises. Just the warmth of your body beside hers, Ana dozing between you both, and the quiet understanding that, somehow, this wasn’t temporary anymore.

It had never been temporary.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—not really. Just close her eyes for a moment. But something about your presence always disarmed her, made her forget how long she’d been holding everything together. And now, with Ana tucked warm and feverish against your chest, with the tension in her own body finally starting to loosen, she let herself lean into it.

Only for a few seconds.

When she stirred, it was to the smell of something warm and simple. Soup. Real food. She blinked blearily and found you in her kitchen, moving with lazy familiarity. You were pouring the soup into a bowl, spoon already in hand, as if this was your place to do that. As if you belonged here.

You did.

You handed her the plate without a word, just gave her that look—eyebrow lifted, smirk tugging at the edge of your lips, the one you always wore when you were pretending not to care. She took it with both hands like it was a gift from the gods and didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

“Okay,” she rasped, already taking a spoonful. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You gave a faux bow, already shaking up a bottle for Ana with one hand while she watched you from the curve of your hip, dazed and blinking.

“It’s literally canned soup, Romanoff.”

She took another spoonful and closed her eyes, groaning. “You heated it like a pro.”

“Oh, I’m very skilled with microwaves. A real domestic goddess.”

“You’re lucky I’m too weak to throw this at you.”

“You’re welcome.” You smirked, adjusting Ana gently in your arms as you rocked side to side, absently bouncing her. It was natural now. So seamless it made something in Natasha’s chest ache.

She watched the two of you for a moment, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. Ana had gone still, her eyes fluttering closed, hands curled loosely against your chest. She looked content. Safe. Natasha swallowed past the knot in her throat.

“How did you know?” she asked, voice quieter now, worn at the edges. “That I was sick?”

You didn’t look away from Ana, just smiled lightly and said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. noticed your vitals were way out of range for a few hours. High cortisol, spiked temp. She told me you weren’t doing great. I figured something was up.”

Natasha blinked. “You figured?”

You finally looked at her, that teasing glint still there, but softened. “I’m not gonna let you fall apart on your own, Romanoff. You and Ana… you’re mine too. My family.”

She didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The warmth in her chest wasn’t fever—it was you. The way you said it so simply, like it wasn’t something enormous. Like it didn’t undo her piece by piece.

She looked down at her bowl and took another bite of soup, mostly to keep from crying. “Well,” she murmured after a moment, “you might’ve just earned another microwave session.”

You raised an eyebrow, adjusting Ana as she finally slipped into deeper sleep. “I’ll take that as a declaration of love.”

She smirked, eyes still on her bowl. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And in the quiet that followed, with Ana asleep between the two of you and the warmth of soup lingering in her hands, Natasha let herself believe it was real. That maybe this wasn’t just a moment, but the beginning of something she never dared to imagine.

The soup was almost gone by the time Ana stilled completely in your arms, her little hand twitching once, then going limp against your collarbone. You stayed swaying, even as your legs must’ve grown tired, and Natasha didn’t miss the way your fingers moved gently across Ana’s back, steady and rhythmic, like it was instinct.

The kind of instinct that made her want things she had no right to want. The kind of instinct that made her heart ache.

“She loves you,” Natasha said, voice softer now, almost inaudible. She wasn’t even sure why she said it—maybe to test the sound of it in the air. Maybe to see if it shook you the way it shook her.

You didn’t look up. “I know.”

The answer was simple. Certain. It wasn’t arrogance—it was truth. You knew. And Natasha realized then that maybe you’d known for longer than she had. Maybe you’d been letting Ana pull you into their orbit from the start, quietly, without resistance. Maybe you’d been falling too.

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” she said after a beat, not teasing this time.

You finally looked over, the weight of Ana sleeping across your body anchoring you both to the moment. “I don’t,” you said lightly. Then added, “But she’s not a kid. She’s Ana.”

And Natasha smiled.

God help her, she smiled.

You glanced at her empty bowl. “Do you want me to warm up the rest?”

Natasha shook her head slowly. “No, if I eat more, I’ll owe you even more declarations of love, and I’m not sure your ego can handle that.”

“Oh, I can handle a lot,” you said, setting Ana down on the couch between you both with infinite care, your hands lingering on her curls as she whimpered, then settled again. “I’ve got range.”

She gave a tired laugh, her body sagging sideways, finally letting herself rest now that the worst of it had passed. Now that you were here.

She glanced at you through her lashes, quieter this time. “You didn’t have to come.”

You looked at her for a long second. “Yes, I did.”

There wasn’t anything more to say after that. Not really. The silence between you both wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken things. Full of what was building day by day, moment by moment, croissant crumbs and emergency soup and the soft thump of Ana’s head against your chest.

Natasha watched Ana’s little face in sleep. Then she turned to you.

“You know,” she said lightly, “I think she’s just trying to get herself a stepmom.”

Your mouth twitched. “Well. She’s doing a damn good job.”

Natasha leaned her head back against the couch, eyes half-closing again, lips curved with something half-smile, half-surrender. “This is your fault, you know.”

You raised a brow. “Mine?”

She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You were supposed to hate kids. I was supposed to keep my life quiet. Ana was supposed to be enough.”

“She is enough.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Then softer, “But now there’s you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her like you already belonged there. Like you’d stay. Like maybe you were already home.

And Natasha—tired, sick, warm, and full of something she hadn’t felt in years—didn’t say it either.

She just smiled.

And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.

“Go take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch, Ana tucked easily against your shoulder like she belonged there. “You look disgusting.”

Natasha scoffed, too tired to argue. “Charming as ever.”

You shot her a smirk. “I’m just saying, it might not be the flu. It could be self-inflicted. Maybe try soap.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her mouth curved betrayed her. That ridiculous, easy charm of yours—that’s what made it dangerous. Not just because you were funny or disarming or beautiful in that sharp, effortless way. But because you made it feel like loving you would be so… simple.

She watched as you disappeared into the hallway with Ana, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. And despite the biting jokes and your performative annoyance, you moved like you were born for it. Like Ana was safest in your arms.

Natasha sat still for a moment. Her muscles were aching, her skin hot from fever and sleep, but her thoughts didn’t drift toward rest. They drifted toward you.

You, humming something softly under your breath while you ran warm water for Ana. You, scooping bubbles with your hand and making her giggle, even feverish and worn out as she was. You, being gentle. Thoughtful. Patient.

You, who weren’t supposed to want any of this.

But you did. Maybe not in the way you’d admit out loud—not yet. Still, it was there in every wordless offering. In the croissant you split without blinking. In the soup you served before she could even ask. In the way you told her, so casually, that they were yours too. That this—her and Ana—was home.

What are we even becoming? she thought, rubbing a hand over her eyes. The question made her heart beat harder than it should have.

She leaned her head back against the couch and sighed. For so long, her future had been a blank space—no risks, no attachments, just the weightless quiet of a life lived in retreat. Ana had changed that. She’d started painting the outlines of something new: slow mornings, comfort food, the kind of chaos that wasn’t dangerous but deeply, beautifully human.

But you… You filled the rest in.

And it terrified her, how easily she could see it now.

The three of you. A home that wasn’t just a safehouse. A life that wasn’t just survival. She could almost feel it like a memory that hadn’t happened yet.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, dragging herself to her feet. It’s just soup. Just a bath. Just you.

But she smiled anyway.

When you returned, Ana was clean and dressed in fresh pajamas, her damp curls already drying against your shoulder. She was fast asleep again, breath soft and steady against your neck. You were barefoot, shirt wrinkled, and your hair damp from whatever splash damage Ana had managed in the bath—but you looked so at ease. Like this had been your life forever.

“Your turn,” you murmured, keeping your voice low not to wake the baby. “Go. Before your skin peels off.”

Natasha huffed, but moved toward the bathroom without protest. She stopped in the doorway, turning back once more to glance at you. You were pacing slightly, patting Ana’s back, rocking her with barely a thought.

You didn’t see her watching you.

You didn’t have to.

Because the truth had already rooted itself deep in Natasha’s chest, undeniable and warm and terrifying.

This was never part of the plan, she thought, fingers curled lightly on the doorframe. But maybe it should’ve been.

And with that, she disappeared into the steam of the shower, letting herself wash off everything but the thoughts of you that clung stubbornly to her skin

The scent of soap and baby shampoo clung to the air. And she stared at it—the water, the stillness, the ghost of a moment that wasn’t hers alone anymore—and for the first time in days, she smiled without exhaustion in her bones.

You were supposed to be a complication.

Instead, you were comfort.

Natasha deixou seus pensamentos vagarem — só um pouquinho.

To quiet nights and lavender baths.

To soft smiles and someone else cooking soup.

To a world where she wasn’t carrying everything alone anymore.

Maybe not just someone.

Maybe you.

The water had helped.

Not in any dramatic, life-changing way, but enough. Enough to strip away the fog in her mind, the heat on her skin, the ache in her muscles that had been screaming for rest. She toweled off slowly, her movements heavy but less desperate now. Steam clung to the mirror as she stepped out into her room, wrapped in one of her fluffiest towels, hair damp and curling against her neck.

And paused.

You were there. Bent over her bed, sleeves pushed up, changing the sheets like it was the most natural thing in the world. You had already stripped the sick-sweat-drenched set and tossed them in the hamper. Now you were laying down clean ones—fresh, cool cotton with the faint scent of lavender detergent. Probably the same kind you used for Ana’s things.

“You organizing my closet next?” she said, arms crossing loosely over her chest, voice drier than the towel wrapped around her.

You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “Already color-coded your knives, too.”

Natasha snorted, dragging her hand through her damp hair. “This part of the rescue mission, or are you just nesting?”

“Someone had to make your bed not smell like death,” you replied. “I drew the short straw.”

“Really? I think you’re just obsessed with me.”

You paused for half a second. Just enough for her to notice.

Then you looked at her with a smirk that was half-deflection, half-something warmer. “Keep telling yourself that, Romanoff.”

She hummed and moved slowly toward the bed as you smoothed out the comforter. You were almost done, and her limbs were already sagging with the pull of sleep again. Still, she didn’t want to rush this part. This version of you—quietly caring, effortlessly present, always pretending it meant less than it did—it made her want to look twice.

You finished tucking the corners in and stepped back, giving the space a satisfied nod.

“I know,” you said. “Perfect. You’re welcome.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but sat down, slowly sinking into the clean sheets like they were heaven itself. They felt crisp and cool against her overheated skin, and she let out a sigh she didn’t mean to.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, watching her with something closer to pride than smugness. “Say it. I’m incredible.”

She didn’t say it. But she smiled.

And when her head hit the pillow, she felt the familiar haze of exhaustion crawling back. Her eyes fluttered shut—but only for a second, because then you spoke again, voice lower now, less teasing.

“I can stay.”

Natasha blinked up at you.

You were standing beside her, looking down, and for once you weren’t hiding behind a joke. “I mean. If you want,” you continued, scratching lightly at the back of your neck. “I can sit with Ana tonight. Keep an eye on her so you can actually sleep.”

It wasn’t the offer itself that made her heart stutter—it was the way you made it sound like breathing. Like of course you would. Like this was your home too.

She opened her mouth to say thank you. To tell you that was kind. That you didn’t have to.

But what came out instead was, “Lie down.”

Your brows lifted. “What, here?”

She patted the empty space beside her. “You already changed the sheets. Might as well test them.”

You hesitated for a breath. Maybe two. Then you moved without a word, toeing off your shoes and sliding in beside her. There was still space between you—barely—but it felt charged. Intentional.

Ana’s soft breathing came from the baby monitor on the nightstand, and for the first time in two long, fever-drenched days, the room felt calm.

You turned your head on the pillow to face her.

“You sure about this?”

Natasha looked at you. At the girl who didn’t like kids. The one who made her soup and changed her sheets and rocked her daughter to sleep in the bath.

“I think I’ve been sure for a while,” she said softly.

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled—small and a little dazed—and reached over, letting your pinky brush hers between the sheets. Not taking. Not pushing. Just offering.

And Natasha, ex-spy, assassin, mother—she curled her finger around yours and held on.

The room had gone quiet.

Not the kind of silence that weighed heavy or pressed against your chest—but a hush that wrapped around them gently. Like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for them to notice it.

Ana’s breathing was soft through the monitor. The hum of the city outside filtered in faintly through the curtains. But here, in this bed, there was only warmth. And you.

You didn’t speak for a while. Neither of you did.

You stayed lying beside her, not touching, not rushing. The kind of nearness that said more than closeness ever could. And Natasha—who had known how to kill a man in a dozen ways before she ever learned how to ask for help—just let herself exist in the moment.

Eventually, your voice broke through the dark.

“Do you miss it?”

She turned her head slightly, eyes finding you in the half-light. “Miss what?”

“The life before this.” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Before Ana. Before… quiet mornings and lavender soap and someone needing you all the time.”

Natasha took a long breath. Then shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I was good at it. But I never wanted to go back to that.”

You nodded, slow. Processing.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Everyone talks about you like you were unstoppable. Like you were this myth in red.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “I was a myth. But it wasn’t peace. It was noise. Constant noise. I didn’t realize how tired I was until she was born.”

You looked over at her. “And now?”

She met your eyes. “Now it’s like… I finally exhaled. Like I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I saw her.”

There was a pause. You shifted slightly, the sheets rustling just a little. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” Natasha corrected gently. And then, after a beat, her voice softer: “And I think I’m starting to feel the same way about you.”

You blinked. Slowly. As if the words had knocked the air out of you without even touching you.

“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, eyes flickering down. “Just because I’ve been showing up. I mean… anyone would, right?”

“No,” Natasha said simply.

She reached out then—not boldly, but with certainty—and let her hand rest on your arm, grounding, warm. “Not anyone. You.”

You swallowed hard, and for a second, she thought you might pull away. Instead, you turned toward her a little more, eyes clearer than she’d seen them all night.

“I didn’t think I had room for this,” you said, and the way your voice cracked a little almost broke her. “Not just the kid thing. Any of it. I have lived on my own since I was seventeen. I wasn’t built for this kind of… closeness. I thought it would break me.”

“It’s not breaking you,” Natasha whispered. “It’s softening you. That’s different.”

You let out a shaky breath. Then, tentatively, like you were still surprised it was allowed, you reached for her hand and held it fully this time.

“Sometimes I think she knew before I did,” you said.

“Who?” Natasha asked.

“Ana.” Your voice turned fond. “She just… decided. I walked into that briefing room and it was over. She picked me. I never stood a chance.”

Natasha smiled again—tired, wrecked, but so full of feeling it ached.

“She does have good taste.”

“Yeah,” you said, thumb brushing over hers. “She really does.”

Another pause. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full—of something new, something forming in the quiet between you.

“I can stay,” you said again, softer. “Not just tonight. If you’ll let me.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

She looked at you, fully and openly, and saw the way you looked back—unguarded, raw, still scared, but trying.

Trying for them.

So she gave you the simplest answer she could.

“You already are.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, eyes barely open, red hair a damp halo on her pillow, face soft in a way the world rarely got to see. That expression—the quiet, raw one that didn’t come from war zones or missions or victory, but from something quieter. Something safe.

You shifted, slow and careful, until your body was turned fully toward her. And then, without asking, without needing to, you reached out and wrapped your arm around her waist. Gently, but without hesitation.

Natasha didn’t tense. Didn’t joke or protest or pretend to be made of stone.

She just let you do it.

And when you pulled her against you—when you guided her into your space like she belonged there—she went easily. Folded into you like she’d been waiting for it all along. Her back settled against your chest, her breath hitched just once, and then her whole body melted.

You held her close. Not like she might disappear, but like you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to. Like holding her was the most natural conclusion to every shared moment before this.

Your arm tucked snugly around her waist. Your nose brushed the back of her hair. She smelled like clean skin, steam, and something faintly herbal—maybe Ana’s baby shampoo, clinging to her like a memory. She was warm and exhausted and completely real.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world could’ve fallen apart around you and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Is this okay?” you murmured against her shoulder, voice almost lost in the dark.

She nodded, a slow movement against your pillow. “It’s more than okay.”

You felt her fingers brush yours where they rested on her stomach, weaving through them with deliberate care. Not asking. Not rushing. Just saying I’m here.

And she didn’t speak again. Didn’t need to. She let out a shaky sigh—half relief, half something deeper—and her muscles softened further in your arms. She nestled closer, fitting her body more tightly to yours until you could feel every small breath, every quiet shift, every wordless surrender.

You held her tighter. Pressed your forehead lightly to the back of her neck. Whispered her name once, like a promise.

And when she finally fell asleep like that—safe, held, loved—you stayed awake just a little longer. Listening to her breathing even out. Feeling the weight of her against you.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love like this.

But she made it feel like you were finally home.

[flowersforbucky]

moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

[em1i2a3]

Hole in the Earth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Angst, Smut, Panic Attacks, Mentions of Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Loss and Death, Age Gap (not mentioned but there are assumptions of an age gap if you squint a bit, there’s no full acknowledgment ), Mentions of Blood/Bleeding. The warnings for smut specifically; p in v sex (unprotected, wrap it before you tap it though!), fingering, oral (fem receiving), Praise kink if you squint, light choking (nothing too serious though), Bucky talks you through it (wink wink nudge nudge)

Author's Note: I wanted to do an actual series for this original character, but I didn’t feel like committing to something so big with my job, so I thought I’d stick to a one-shot format for this one. I know some things may not be totally accurate (this is my first time actually putting something out there that is based off of the MCU, I changed things up a bit, but not extremely, at least I hope lol.) Hopefully y’all enjoy though :) .

Word Count: 13,347 (Talk about slow burn eh? Seeing this word count made my jaw drop when I checked it at the end. What an extravaganza lol)

Some people filled silence with noise—small talk, jokes, distractions, awkward anecdotes, laughter even.

But you and Bucky?

You never needed words.

Your partnership had formed without much thought, an unspoken decision, a quiet inevitability. No one ever sat down and said, "You two should work together," but after everything—after the turmoil from the snap, all the loss, all the grief, and the way neither of you truly fit into what remained of the team anymore—it just happened naturally.

You had both come back to a world that had existed without you for five years. It was like a blur to you. It felt like nothing had happened until you saw the people you loved had aged significantly since the last time you had seen them, or you had lost them by that point.

To deviate from you Bucky had spent decades as a ghost, lost in time, fighting to take back something that had been stripped from him, and the five-year disappearance from the world felt like an eternity. You had heard him mention in passing that it was as if he was in a room with nothing but white around him, and he was all alone. Not only that but when he returned it took him a long time to adjust to the new normal.

Steve was gone.

Natasha was gone.

Tony was gone.

And you?

You were still here, stuck in a limbo between mourning and moving forward, existing in a place that didn’t feel like home anymore. Sam tried to make things easier, tried to be a stand-in for Tony, but it was no use, you told him to stop early on in his attempts, and he respected the request.

Bucky somehow understood your loss better than most of the team, even though he had returned to the same ruins you did. He didn’t bother you with the questions everyone else had when you came back to the compound, he gave you a nod of acknowledgement and tiptoed around you like you were a bomb that was going to explode at any moment, which was something that you ended up preferring.

So when the missions started up again, when the world needed something resembling the Avengers to step forward, it was an unspoken agreement—you and him, always paired together. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle anyone else other than him.

It worked though.

The both of you kept things mission-focused and ignored whatever was happening outside of that. He never brought up your past, and you never brought up his, and even when there was downtime during the mission you stayed quiet, waiting in silence until you needed to step in.

But now?

Now the most recent mission had gone to hell, and you were stuck alone with him in a safe house, forced into a kind of closeness you had never prepared for.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

A HYDRA facility hidden beneath an abandoned city block, data that needed to be extracted, an easy exfiltration plan. When Sam had explained it you felt like you were having Deja Vu because of how many missions had been like this.

The plan had been clear—

Infiltrate.

Extract the data.

Get out.

You never made it past step two.

The power core in the lower level ruptured, sending a shockwave through the entire structure.

The explosion came too fast, too strong, it wasn’t something you prepared for at all.

You had barely made it to cover before the heat ripped through the walls, short-circuiting everything electronic based in the area—including the Neural Stabilizer locked around your throat.

You had felt it immediately.

The pulse of static in your bones, the electricity surging through your limbs with nowhere to go, the sensation of drowning in yourself. You laid on the cold metal, breathing in through the pain that echoed through your entire body, attempting to calm your nervous system down before things got out of your control.

"You alright?" Bucky called from the level above you.

You had forced yourself to swallow the panic as you raised your head to look up to where he was, only seeing his shadow at that point.

"I’m fine." You replied.

A lie.

Because you could feel the stabilizer glitching, flickering between control and chaos, the red warning light at your throat blinking erratically. It didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky though, even though you wished it had.

“Are you sure?” He asked, watching you struggle to push yourself up from the metal, seeing a pulse of faint blue static running across the floor. You closed your eyes tightly.

”Yes. I’m positive. Just cover me so I can get to you, then we can get the hell out of here.”

You had to push forward.

Because you had no choice.

Because if you didn’t keep moving, neither of you were getting out alive. But if you had a choice you would’ve stayed right where you were.

By the time you had escaped the facility, hot-wired a car, and driven two hours through the backroads to the nearest safe house—your entire body was on fire with unstable currents flowing through your blood. You were in such agony holding everything in that you had almost collapsed onto the ground when you exited the car.

Bucky had watched you run towards the cabin, observed the way you almost broke the doorknob and locked him out all within seconds. By the time he had entered the cabin you were out of his sight, and barricaded inside the washroom.

When you slammed the door closed you immediately turned on the dim light of the enclosed space, stripping off your tactical gear with shaking hands, leaving you in just a pair of shorts and a white tank top. You threw your utility belt onto the counter beside the sink, trying your best to catch your breath, feeling a burning sensation building inside your chest, clawing at the bones. You braced yourself against the porcelain sink, bringing your eyes up to your reflection, looking at the red glow of the Neural Stabilizer flashing on your neck, each pulse more erratic than the last.

Tony had promised it would always work.

Now it was failing as you stood there.

You reached up to touch the fried titanium of the neck plate, feeling the warmth radiating off it, as the light above you glowed brighter for a brief moment before returning to its normal state. That was the only warning sign you needed to kick yourself into high gear. You opened up your gear pouch, fumbling through the various tools you had, until you found what you needed. The tiny utility screwdriver, the one Tony had told you to keep on you at all times. You thanked your past self that they actually listened to him for once.

“It’s just for backup, kid, but if you ever need it, don’t panic. You got this.” You could hear his voice in your head, you could picture the moment he gave it to you and you reluctantly threw it into the gear pouch, making sure he witnessed you do it.

You pushed the memory out of your head and forced yourself to focus, returning your gaze back to your reflection, stretching your neck out so there was enough lighting. Your eyes trailed over the grooves of the metal, finding the space where the first latch would be. You shifted again, turning your head to the side before bringing the screwdriver to the first screw that secured the panel—

———

"Hold still, Sparkplug," Tony muttered, adjusting the metal band around your neck so that it was fitting snugly against your skin, "You fidget more than Peter, and that’s saying something."

You sighed, tilting your chin up, watching him work in the reflection of the mirror.

"Feels like a shock collar." You commented, digging your nails into the palm of your hand.

"Yeah, well, better than the alternative." He replied, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, before returning his gaze to the stabilizer. "Unless you like turning every elevator ride into a death trap." He added.

You scowled.

"It’s not that bad."

"Tell that to the toasters and light bulbs you murdered last week. You know I think I stepped on some of the broken glass you forgot to sweep up." You felt your lips tilt slightly at the joking tone he took.

"That was an accident."

"Yeah, and I’m accidentally a millionaire genius." He tightened the clasp on the metal, sliding his stool back to examine his work. "Alright. Try not to electrocute me when you test it out."

You hesitated, looking at the stabilizer in the mirror, seeing the signature blue glow that Tony had in his chest piece now reflecting off of your very own Stark Industries creation.

"You’re sure this will work?"

Tony’s smirk faded slightly, his expression softening at the worry that laced your voice. You had come a long way since he had taken you under his wing, but he knew you still struggled with keeping the power under wraps, it was evident by the way everything would short circuit even when you were feeling happy, it trapped you. When he designed the stabilizer all he wanted was for you to feel normal, and this was the one thing that he was confident in providing.

"Yeah, kid." His hand rested lightly on your shoulder. "I’m sure.”

“And what if it malfunctions?” You questioned, your hand now tracing the ridges of the titanium.

”I’ll be there to fix it…I promise Y/N. I wouldn’t let it get to that point anyways. Routine maintenance will prevent that I’m sure.”

Back then, you had believed him.

Because Tony always kept his promises.

———

Your hands trembled as you worked on the stabilizer, the screwdriver slipping between your fingers while you twisted it into the second latch. The sharp edge of the tool had sliced against the sensitive skin on your neck three times at this point, and the droplets of blood began to stain your hands. The faint pain began to curl into itself, causing the lights to brighten once again, only this time it remained that way. The tips of your fingers began to veil themselves in the mesh-like glow that slowly stretched along your skin, another bad sign that you needed to get yourself under control.

Your breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, watching the red light blinking faster and faster with each mistake you made, almost as if it was in sync with your pulse.

You couldn’t do this, and there was no doubt that by the end of this, you would have a hazardous explosion waiting to happen. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d take out the whole town.

You were going to—

"Breathe, kid." Tony’s voice warned.

You couldn’t help but remember the video he had left in your inbox, dated the day before his death. You hadn’t looked at it for three weeks, you weren’t ready to see him at that point, you were grieving, but the day that you decided to click on it to listen, and to watch…You knew it was going to be seared into your memory.

———

Tony sat at his workbench, rubbing a hand over his face, scratching at the stubble on his chin almost in frustration. His hair was a little longer, a little messier, and the exhaustion on his face was worse than you’d ever seen it.

"Alright, kid. If you’re watching this, then congratulations. You survived. You came back. And I…Well…I didn’t, unless you are watching this for fun, which is absolutely weird, but whatever.”

A pause, he sighs, licking his dry lips, trying to search for what he was going to say.

"Not that I’d know, obviously, because I made this before all the very bad, end-of-the-world war type stuff went down, but I’d like to think I got to go out in a blaze of glory."

His lips tugged up, but there was no humor behind it.

"Which, by the way, is something I told you not to do a thousand times, so let’s not make this a trend, okay?"

You had let out a choked laugh, tears already stinging at your eyes. He took another pause, shaking his head.

"Five years." He exhaled hard, tapping his fingers against the desk. "You’ve been gone for five whole years, and I gotta tell you, kid, it’s sucked. Like, really sucked. We have this whole ‘Save the World’ initiative going on, and I keep looking around thinking, ‘Where the hell is my electric gremlin when I need her?’ But no. You were gone. Taken just like that."

He snapped his fingers, inhaling deeply through his nose, trying to control his voice.

"And that?" His tone dropped lower, something raw scraping at the edges. "That was a real bitch."

You pressed a hand against your mouth, trying not to break down, trying to keep yourself as composed as you could.

"You left, and everything was just… quieter. Too quiet. No more blowing out the lab’s power grid on purpose because you got pissed at me. No more stealing my coffee and blaming it on Rhodey. No more dumb science debates about whether or not your powers count as a renewable energy source. Just… nothing."

His fingers curled into a fist, hitting his knuckles lightly against the workbench.

"I miss you, kid. And I know I didn’t say it enough when I had the chance, so I’m saying it now."

A sharp inhale. There was a cut in the footage. Now his position had changed, and he was standing.

"You’re back though. And I need you to listen, alright?"

You sat up nodding, even though he couldn’t see you.

"This thing?" He said, tapping a Neural Stabilizer on his own throat.

"Yeah, I made one for myself. No, I don’t need it. But you’re a visual learner—or maybe you just don’t trust me unless I put myself in your shoes. Either way, I made one so I could show you how easy this is to fix."

He sighed.

"Anyways, let’s be real. If this thing is flickering red, that means something bad happened. Maybe you got hit by an EMP. Maybe you took too many hits in a fight, and someone broke it. Maybe the universe just hates us both equally, who knows. But if it’s failing, that means you’re going to short-circuit because your body won’t know what to do with all the excess energy. And when you short-circuit, so does everything else around you. That means streetlights, security systems, Wi-Fi—" he gestures around him with his hands "—you know, everything people actually need to function."

You sniffled, pressing your fingers against your lips.

"So. Let’s fix it before you blackout an entire city block, huh?"

His eyes softened, something warm but worn behind them.

"You got this, kid. You always have."

A pause.

"Alright. First step—pop the latch. Gently put the screwdriver into the large metal coil, it should be bright orange if the stabilizer is malfunctioning due to the overheating. Twist it counterclockwise. And whatever you do, do not—"

——-

You pressed too hard.

The screwdriver slipped, and another sharp sting burned across your neck, the blood now dripping down your neck and soaking into the tank top you wore.

"Shit." You muttered, your fingers flying to your throat, wiping off the blood as much as you could, your pulse hammering throughout your entire body, as the crimson liquid smeared across your skin.

Before you could even process the impending pain, the Neural Stabilizer���s light turned off completely.

Without missing a beat a violent pulse of static erupted outward, a crackling, jagged burst of energy tearing free from your body.

The lightbulbs overhead shattered, raining sparks and broken glass onto the tiles, lightly cutting up some of your exposed flesh. The mirror fractured down the middle, sharp cracks splintering outward, but not fully falling off the surface.

The entire safe house went dark, the fridge cut out, the security system fried, the cell towers blinked offline. In the kitchen, Bucky sat at the rickety dining table, thinking about whether or not it would be a good idea to try to come in and help. Even after the power surge, he was still on the fence about going and intruding on what was happening in there, not out of fear, but out of what he might have to do to get everything under control.

Inside the bathroom, the only light left was coming from you, and now the soapy smell that had once filled the room had been taken over by the crisp smell of ozone, as if a rain storm just occurred.

Your reflection in the mirror flickered, illuminated by the uneven, stuttering glow of electricity crawling over your skin. Tiny spiderweb cracks of raw current slithered up your arms, twisting beneath the surface, licking along your fingertips, wrapping around your body, almost like it was a reunion. The stabilizer narrowed the current down significantly when it was on, without it there was no regulation.

The charge had nowhere to go. It buzzed, and coiled, desperate for an escape, trying to find something to attach to. Your body felt too full, like a live wire wound too tight, ready to snap apart, and now the pain was truly starting to settle in, deep inside your bones, causing your blood to curl.

"No, no, no—"

You repeated, slamming your hand against the countertop. A sharp crack of static arced outward, splitting the porcelain, hairline fractures splintering in front of you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, as every muscle in your body seized.Your heart pounded painfully against your chest, erratic, frantic—

Then the doorknob rattled.

"Hey."

It was Bucky.

"You okay?"

The words barely registered with you, it sounded muffled, drowned beneath the buzzing that rang through your ears. You could feel your pulse spike violently, as panic slammed through your ribs like a live wire.

You couldn’t answer the simple question.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t stop the charge from rising once again.

The electricity under your skin wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t stop expanding, the raw static skittered along your body, flaring out in thin veins of uncontrolled current.

"I—" you croaked, holding onto your chest, trying to stabilize your voice from shaking.

The door creaked open.

And before you could even react, the barricade was removed from between the both of you.

Bucky stood in the dim blue glow, still dressed in the majority of his tactical gear, minus the weapons. The glass crunched under his boots as he stepped into the washroom, his sharp and guarded expression softening when his eyes locked onto the scene in front of him.

His gaze flickered over the shattered bulbs, and the fractured mirror, and when he breathed in the smell of static tickled his nose, almost like someone had taken chlorine and mixed it with metal.

Then his eyes landed on you. Your trembling hands, your shaking shoulders, the way your body twitched with the electric currents still pulsing beneath your skin, his eyes watched the glowing cracks spread along your arms. He could see in the lighting that your neck was bleeding, and that your stabilizer was practically fried. At this point, he concluded that he in fact didn’t know where to start.

”Y/N…” His voice was dripping with concern, trying to piece together what he could do.

You tried to speak, tried to tell him to go away but all that came out was a gut-wrenching sob, the panic and fear sinking its claws deeper into your ribs.

"Hey, you need to breathe," Bucky instructed his voice low, calm, and even. But you couldn’t. Couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t pull yourself back from the static buzzing inside your skull, it was mind-numbing. The only thing that snapped you out of your haze was the crunching of glass beneath Bucky’s boots, as he stepped towards you.

"Don't—" You snapped, desperate to keep him away. "I can’t— I can’t shut it off…Just stay…Stay back Bucky." Your hands trembled, as your arms locked up, the muscles tightening, like a cord was wrapping around them. The crunching noise stopped, but the buzzing in your ears didn’t, as you leaned your body on the sink, moaning through the stinging pain that ran up your spine.

”Listen I can’t just leave you in here like this, what can I do to help?” You could feel your knees go numb while you were trying to contain whatever was building up to release next. You braced yourself against the counter, cushioning the drop to the ground as much as possible. Your bare knees felt the impact of the glass as the sharp edges dug into the thin flesh, a grunt escaping your throat, while you were attempting to shift slightly to the side before putting all your weight on the front portion of the counter.

”Just go away.” Was all you could muster to say through your short sobs of pain, “Please just go.” You begged, tears now streaming down your cheeks, as you put your forehead onto the edge of the porcelain sink, letting the cold temperature even out the heat that was radiating off your skin.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t heed your request to leave, instead he crouched down, and sat on the glass-covered floor, with his arms resting on his knees. He watched you closely, noting how your body would tremble every couple of seconds, or how the static that covered every exposed area of your skin buzzed lightly at any sign of movement.

”Please leave.” You choked out again, barely above a whisper. Bucky sighed, his jaw clenching at the rawness in your voice. The last-ditch effort to push him away before anything worse happened, before you hurt him.

”I’m not going anywhere Y/N…It would go against my better judgment.” He replied, clenching and unclenching his vibranium hand, contemplating. He knew what he needed to do, but had no clue how he would execute the plan without you possibly lashing out at him.

He glanced back up at you, watching as your grip tightened on the edge of the sink, another strangled whimper escaping into the room. You were already so far gone at this point that there was no way you were going to come back without additional help, at least that’s what Bucky was starting to conclude from what was transpiring in front of him.

Another burst of static snapped out from you, slashing against the mirror, fully breaking the reflective pieces, hearing the shattering as it fell into the sink, splintering, leaving small superficial wounds on the tips of your fingers, lines of red blooming across your knuckles. You didn’t even register the pain.

Bucky barely flinched, because at this point he wasn’t going to wait anymore, and now that you were distracted he took the opportunity. Quickly he brought himself forward and wrapped his vibranium arm around your waist, pulling you against him with more force than he intended. Your back collided against his chest, and immediately you could feel your body locking up in his grip as his other arm wrapped around your waist to try to stabilize you so you weren’t thrashing on the glass-covered ground. You could feel your lungs seize up.

”Let me go!” You twisted violently in his hold, as you dug your nails into his right arm, trying to loosen the restraint he formed around your body. You slammed your back into his chest, attempting to wind him, but it was no use, Bucky was a solid unmoving force at this point, and he remained locked around you. Another fresh stream of tears ran down your cheeks. He could feel your body heating up against his as he adjusted, trying to get you to stop thrashing.

”Bucky, please…” Your voice cracked, a sob tearing from your throat, feeling another burst of static snapping around you, at whatever was near, it was lashing out until it found Bucky’s arm, as the blue static slipped into the limb causing the vibranium to light up. A crackling wave of electricity ran up each plate, filling the thin gaps between each one. This realization only made you thrash against him even harder.

”Y/N I’m fine! Stop it, you’re not hurting me.” He insisted, tightening his arms around you once again as you began to shake against him. “Look,” He murmured. Through the haze of your panic, you forced yourself to focus, your gaze trailing down to the arm that was clenched around you. The shock and static wasn’t building, or lashing outward, it was being absorbed. Bucky could almost feel your body relax at the sight, even though you were still wheezing and breathing too fast.

”It’s not hurting me.” He repeated again, but all you could hear was the buzzing inside your skull, it was deafening. Your vision blurred as you made small attempts to push him away, even though it was of no use, he didn’t budge. He was steady, controlled, and unfazed, as his ears tuned into the way you were breathing, the panicked wheezing.

“Y/N, you have to breathe…Can you feel me breathing?” He asked, trying to hide the urgency behind his voice, adjusting again so now he was able to see the side of your face, and the way your pupils were blown out. His damp hair tickled the side of your face, as he leaned forward trying to make sure you were practically cocooned in him, almost mimicking an emergency blanket in a way. You could feel yourself trembling in his arms, as his right hand came up to intertwine with yours, guiding your palm to rest flat against your chest, right over your heart.

“Y/N, focus on me…If you can hear me, focus on my breathing.” He instructed, holding you closer to him so your back was directly pressed into his chest. You could feel his body rise and fall against you, even, measured…A slow inhale, a gentle exhale.

”Match me.” He whispered, his warm breath sticking to the exposed skin of your shoulder. You attempted to breathe in as deeply as he did, feeling a burning sensation creep up along the sides of your ribs. The exhale came out fast and uneven from you, but Bucky didn’t rush the process, as he took in another breath, his chest expanding against your back. You attempted to take in another breath, but this time it came a little easier, even though it still felt like every bone in your body had its own personal vice grip around it. Black dots began to pebble into your sight, feeling a numbness washing over you.

“Good…Now let it out.” Was the last thing you heard before your vision went dark.

------

The first thing you heard when you regained consciousness was music.

Soft and slow, floating through the air in a smooth jazz melody, rich with nostalgia. The mellow voice of the crooner was claiming he would never smile again, as the lyrics gently carried over the hum of the muted trumpets, the backup singers harmonized the man's sorrow while the serenade continued. It felt like a lullaby that was meant for another time.

Then everything else began to settle in; the bed beneath you, the rough comforter scratching against the backs of your legs. The blanket on top of you pulled up to your neck, enveloping you in its warmth. A dull ache lingered in every area of your body, your hands were sore, your face felt swollen from the crying that you had done, and it felt like if you attempted to move you would throw up. But at least your breathing was finally stable. No longer ragged or filled with panic. It was a relief in a way.

The music continued as your ears caught the sound of a soft tapping in rhythm with the song. A gentle exhale released into the room. Bucky. Slowly, you forced your heavy eyelids open, as the stucco ceiling came into your sight, the dimmed emergency lights providing a soft hue to the space. You tilted your head up so your chin was settled on your chest, noticing that you were still wearing the white tank top that was now stained with your blood. The way you were able to move your neck with such ease also made you realize that you didn’t have your stabilizer on, which brought on another concern, as you laid your eyes on the sight before you.

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, illuminated by his cell phone, which was leaning against one of the salt shakers, the light casting shadows along his jaw and cheeks. His hair looked damp and curled in on itself like he was fresh out of the shower, and you had noticed he wasn’t in his regular combat gear. Instead, he had on a black, form-fitting long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of matching cargo pants. He was so lost in what he was doing that his gaze was practically glued to the table, and you could tell he was fiddling with something that you couldn’t particularly see. You tried to lean up onto your elbows to try and catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to have your knees scream out in pain when you accidentally bent them. A hiss escaped your throat, automatically breaking Bucky’s concentration on what he was working on, as his head snapped in your direction, putting down whatever he was working on to pay attention to you.

“Take it easy. You still have glass in your knees.” He informed, hesitating to tell you that he hadn’t pulled out the shards when you were passed out. You groaned at the sentence, your body dropping back against the pillow, as you reached up to massage your head, trying to mend an impending migraine.

“I feel like I’ve been through a few rounds with a freight train.” You said, closing your eyes tightly at the sound of the rawness of your voice.

“Well…That’s kind of what happens when you go nuclear on yourself.” He muttered, leaning back in his seat, his gaze locking on you as you dragged your hands down your face. He nervously tapped his fingers on the table, biting the inside of his lip, “You scared me y’know.” The words fell from his mouth before he could even stop himself, the admission causing you to let out a ragged sigh.

“It wasn’t my intention to do that.” He shook his head.

“Intentions don’t mean much when you’re screaming for me to go away and you’ve caused every light bulb in the place to explode.” You could hear the control he had on his voice, the way he took his breaths so that his words didn’t waver. He was bothered by what you had done, there was no doubting that, but you had never heard him speak like this before.

“Are you honestly going to pick a fight with me right now? Could this not wait until the glass gets taken out of my knees?” You snapped, as your body began to slowly heat up. He scoffed at your suggestion, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No. It can’t wait, because the second I come to help you’re going to avoid the conversation.” You rolled your eyes.

“Jesus Christ Bucky. I get it.”

“Do you?” He questioned. You clenched your jaw as you pushed yourself up so you were able to look at him, to hash this out before it killed your partnership. Your knees seared at the quick movement while you settled on the bed, but you shoved the pain aside, keeping the tensity in your eyes.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say. Do you want me to say sorry I didn’t tell you about the stabilizer breaking as I was attempting to not fucking explode around you?!” You shot back, squeezing your hand into a fist, trying to hold in the static that began to line your skin again.

“I want you to say you trust me. Because right now it doesn’t feel like it, and if we’re going to continue working together, I need that reassurance.” You looked up from your hands, catching his hardened gaze, seeing the betrayal in his eyes.

“You know I trust you.” You stated, watching as he shook his head, and stood up from his seat.

“Do I? Because you don’t act like it. Do you remember what just happened an hour and a half ago? You had plenty of opportunity to tell me what the hell was going on and you refused. I had to come in and see you in absolute shambles, do you understand how that felt?” Your eyes followed him as he paced.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, you made a choi-.”

“I chose to take care of you!” He snapped, his voice raising in volume, the reaction making you flinch, not because you were scared, but because he had never yelled at you like that. “That’s what any teammate would do. But you make it impossible unless it’s forced on you, which is what I had to resort to. Do you think that made me feel good?” He asked, looking over at you, his eyes shimmering in the light. The guilt hit you harder than any punch you had taken, truly realizing how much pain you had put him in. You could see the way his hands twitched at his sides, remembering the way he was holding you and restraining your movements, reliving the moment over and over again as you fought against him.

“I-I was afraid I was going to hurt you Bucky, that’s why I was fighting you. I didn’t want to hurt you, or even worse kill you…” The words were heavy when they left your lips, “You may think you’re invincible, but you could’ve died…And then what? I lose another person I care about?” You could immediately see his eyes soften at your words and the way that your voice was shaking and cracking as you attempted to keep it steady. He held your gaze, keeping his spot at the side of the table, but now he was holding the edge of it, leaning on it for support. You could see the frustration in his eyes draining away with every moment that passed as he connected the dots.

“So that’s what this is about?” He asked softly, the sharpness from earlier being replaced with something gentler, caring. He ran his hand through his hair,“...You do know I’m 106 years old and have gone through way worse than a little bit of electricity right?” You were surprised by the sudden change in his tone, detecting the trail of humour that laced his words.

“And that this new arm…” He lifted his vibranium hand into your line of sight, flexing his fingers, letting the dim light catch against the matte black material “Doesn’t allow you to hurt me correct? The material just absorbs it. You saw it when I showed you in the washroom, you even stopped fighting me when you saw it. It doesn’t have a voltage limit or anything so…I don’t think it would’ve been possible for you to kill me. Does that help cure your worries?” He asked, letting the question hang in the air, leaning against the table again. You let out a slow breath and nodded, but you didn’t reply, you just let the intensity of the argument die down. The jazz music faded in again now, filling the silence for a few beats until you absentmindedly replied to him.

“You’re 106?” His lips pressed into a firm line, thrown off by the abrupt shift in conversation.

“That’s all you got from that speech I just gave you? Really?” You shrugged.

“I mean…You carry yourself pretty well, you don’t look a day over 100.” You said, tilting your head to the side to feign consideration “Mmm, actually maybe I would even go as far as saying you could pass for 90.” He shook his head at you, but you could see he was fighting a smile from appearing on his lips, as he reached up to rub the stubble on his face.

“Absolutely ridiculous.” He wasn’t annoyed, nor frustrated, it sounded like he was relieved, because neither of you wanted to admit it, but you didn’t like where the conversation was going, the both of you didn’t want to fight over something like that, you were supposed to be partners. The weight of the argument was settled, and you both were thankful for that. You let some time pass, just to allow each other to come down from the adrenaline until you cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry by the way.” You said quietly, earning a soft sigh from him, he opened his mouth to interrupt, but you held up your hand to stop him, “I didn’t mean to shut you out. You had every right to be angry with me, and I shouldn’t have fought you, I should’ve just allowed you to help me.” Bucky nodded, his blue eyes locking onto yours again.

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to yell at you, I lost my temper…And I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t mad, I was just-.” He paused for a moment, inhaling deeply “I just didn’t like seeing you like that.” Your fingers tightened around the blanket at his admission, but you nodded as well to acknowledge you heard him. You let the moment breathe, still feeling the lingering guilt of how angry he had been just a few minutes prior, but what sat in your chest was how bothered he was by your pain because it wasn’t about the outburst itself, it was about what it meant. The way he snapped was his way of trying to convey that your well-being was important to him, and even the thought of that made something in you seize up. So much for keeping the partnership strictly mission-based I guess, you thought as you shifted on the mattress, only to be reminded of the searing pain coming from your legs.

“Now that we’re done arguing…Do you mind taking the glass out of my knees now?” You asked, cringing at the sharp burning sensation that radiated throughout your kneecaps with each slight movement you made to try and get yourself in a better position to attempt to ease the pain, to no avail.

“Oh Jesus, yeah of course. Sorry.” He replied sheepishly as if he had forgotten about what he had said at the beginning of the argument. Bucky worked with a quiet urgency, collecting the first aid kit, and a basin to put the shards of glass in, stopping for a moment at the table to pause the music on his phone before picking up your stabilizer from where he had been sitting. When he had turned back to you he could see the look of surprise on your face, as your eyes trailed over it, seeing the familiar blue glow that indicated it was fixed.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to attempt to work on it while you were passed out,” He explained, looking down at the curved titanium while he made his way over to the bed, “Don’t really know if I actually fixed the thing, but it’s not glowing red or anything so I’m assuming I made a bit of progress.” He shrugged, as he sat down in front of you, settling the first aid kit down before handing the stabilizer over to you, feeling your fingers brush against his gently, watching you take it from him with a small smile on your face. You looked at it closely, your fingertips buzzing in anticipation, the cool weight of the titanium almost bringing you a wave of relief. You felt around for the familiar latch at the back of the stabilizer, clicking it open with a gentle hiss, your eyes glancing up to meet Bucky’s blue irises.

“It’s looking promising.” You joked, seeing his lips turn up slightly, before tilting your head back to expose your neck, brushing your hair aside. Carefully you aligned the stabilizer against your throat, settling it into place as the soft hum of the hydraulics pulled the device together, allowing it to lock around your neck. You rested your hands against the edges of it, waiting for a moment, allowing it to calibrate. Bucky watched you, trying to see if there was any sign that he had messed up somehow, thinking about the wires he cut and shifted when he began his attempt on fixing the thing, hoping to god it wasn’t something important. A beat of silence passed over the both of you quickly, being quenched with a soft exhale.

“Seems like you actually did it.” You informed, turning your head from side to side to ensure everything was properly secured.

“You sound surprised,” Bucky replied, feigning offence.

“Hmm. Tony made this thing idiot-proof, so I’m a bit taken aback by your…Skills.” His eyebrows raised at you, shaking his head as he flipped open the first aid kit.

“It’s not like I have an arm that’s state-of-the-art technology or something like that.” He shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word he spoke while he collected a few alcohol pads, tweezers, and gauze from the inside of the container. “Now…Ready to play Operation?” He asked jokingly.

“Just what I need, Bucky Barnes playing surgeon.” You replied, adjusting your position so that your knees were bent between the both of you, pulling the blanket off carefully just in case any of the glass had accidentally caught on any of the fibres. When the damage came into your line of sight you could practically feel your stomach twist and turn into knots. The blood was dry and streaked in the crevices of your knees. Tiny shards of glass embedded themselves like fractured stars in the thin flesh that lined the bone, glinting under the soft light. Some pieces were deep, surrounded by angry red welts where your body had begun trying to reject them. Others sat more superficially, barely hanging on but all of it looked raw, swollen, and painful. You could feel yourself get lightheaded just by looking at it.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” You announced, throwing yourself down onto the mattress, the back of your head hitting the pillow, “I can’t look at it.”

“You’re telling me out of all the things you’ve seen, this is the thing that does you in?” He commented, “Now that’s disappointing.” You groaned, putting your arm over your face.

“It’s different when it’s my blood.” He let out a small laugh, the bed shifting under his weight as he adjusted, positioning his vibranium hand between the bend of your left knee to keep it still, the coolness causing you to tense up.

“Alright, I’ll go slow. Ready?” You nodded, keeping your face covered, attempting to hide the blush that began to rise on your cheeks, feeling him pull out one of the smaller pieces of glass, starting easy. He dropped it into the steel bowl, dabbing the blood off your skin with gauze, as he continued his feat, getting close enough that his breath fanned over the wound. You shut your eyes tightly, another sharp jolt of pain shooting up your leg, your other hand digging into the comforter beneath you.

“God damn it Bucky.” You hissed, your knee jerking involuntarily, his grip keeping you steady.

“Almost got it, just hold still.” His voice was soft, focused on grabbing onto the tip of the glass that he had been pulling out seconds before, the slow meticulous movements bringing you to the brink of screaming

“Okay. I need you to talk or something. Distract me before I start destroying the place please.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Bucky asked with hesitation, another piece of glass clanging against the steel bowl.

“Tell me something you liked…Before everything. Something you miss maybe.” He hummed, going for another shard of glass.

“Music…And dancing too I guess.” You took your arm away from your face, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, looking at him with your eyebrows raised.

“You? Dancing?” For a brief moment, he glanced up at you with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“What? You don’t believe me?” You shrugged.

“I just can’t picture Bucky Barnes on the dance floor, were you like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever?” His brow furrowed for a moment, confused at what you were referring to.

“Saturday Night what?” You let out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve never seen that movie?” He gave you a flat look, returning his eyes to your knees, taking out another piece of glass and wiping the droplets of blood that slid down your skin.

“I’ve been frozen in ice, brainwashed, and playing assassin for half a century. You think I’ve had time to watch movies?” You leaned back a little, resting your weight on your elbows.

“Fair point, but it’s a classic Bucky. The disco music, the bell bottoms, the gyrating.” You reminisced, watching as his lips pressed tightly together.

“Pretty sure I was not gyrating on the dancefloor.” He commented back, another piece of glass joining the pile as he moved to your other knee, his hand leaving your skin briefly before mirroring the same position with the other leg.

“So what kind of dancing did you do then?” A smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes crinkling, showing off what little wrinkles he had.

“Ballroom, Swing if I was feeling fancy.” You grinned.

“Very nice.” You could see his cheeks dusting red slightly, as he dropped another piece of glass into the bowl, wiping your knee.

“What can I say…I had the moves.”

“Had?” He glanced up at you, his teeth showing slightly now, a genuine smile appearing on his face, something you had not seen before from him.

“Careful, it sounds like you want to find out.” The way his voice dropped made a satisfying shiver shoot up your spine, but you kept your expression neutral, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Oh yeah? You offering to take me out dancing Bucky?” He shrugged, shifting in his spot to get a bit more comfortable, latching onto another piece of glass.

“Maybe.” Glancing up to see your reaction, noticing that you were blushing as well. You shook your head at him.

“Please, if we ever went out dancing you’d throw me around like a ragdoll and I’d end up concussed.” He laughed deeply, returning his eyes to your knees.

“Nah...You’d be good, I can tell.” You squinted at him.

”Oh yeah? And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” Bucky smirked, his hand shifting to adjust your leg, the tweezers grabbing on to another glass shard.

”You move well. Quick on your feet, and you can keep up with me.” You scoffed at his comment, your body tensing as the pain from your knee was slowly building up again.

”You make it sound like fighting and dancing are the same thing.” He hummed, distracted from the conversation for a brief moment. You glanced at him, noticing that he was holding his breath as he pulled the large shard of glass out, bringing the cracked and bloodied piece up to your sight, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Well, they’re not all that different. Both are about timing. About knowing your partner.” Bucky replied, his voice low and smooth. Another clang echoed throughout the room while he grabbed a fresh gauze pad to press down onto the weeping wound. You swallowed, shifting against the mattress, trying to ignore the warmth that crept up your back.

”So what, you’re saying we’d make a good dancing pair?” You could feel the way his fingers flexed at the question, his cold vibranium thumb running over the bottom of your knee. He didn’t look up right away, still applying pressure on the wound that continued to slowly bleed.

”I think we already do.” He murmured, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You could see the way his eyes scanned over yours, the way that his jaw clenched just for a split second. An unwavering heat crept up the back of your neck, flushing your chest and the surrounding area of skin red.

“Yeah? What makes you so sure?” His eyes never left yours as he adjusted his grip again, letting his fingers freely brush against your skin, as if he didn’t realize what he was doing.

”I know how you move, and you never have problems following instructions when you’re given them.” Your fingers twitched against the sheets, the words sinking into you. He wasn’t wrong, not one bit, but it was the way he said it, and the way his breath hit your skin, the sensations were crowding you at that point that it was starting to become increasingly difficult to keep yourself cool.

”Sounds a bit cocky if you’d ask me.” He dropped the tweezers into the bowl, throwing the saturated gauze on top of it, as he wet his bottom lip with his tongue.

”Not cocky, just observant, that's all.” His voice was low, sultry, you didn’t know if he meant for it to come out so soft, but it still made you feel motion sickness. Before you could even stop to think about what you were going to do, you reached down, your fingers holding the back of his bicep, gripping onto the cool vibranium through the sleeve of his shirt as you pulled yourself up.

The second you entered his space, his eyes were locked onto yours, wide and searching, like he was surprised you decided to pull that little move. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him now, and you were hyper-aware of how his chest rose and fell now that you were closer to him, the shallowness of his breaths coming to your attention almost immediately.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking over at your hand sliding up, gliding over the curve of his shoulder. His hand remained behind your knee, as the other one gripped the mattress beside him, unsure if he should reach out to bring you closer. You tilted your head forward, your lips dangerously close to his, as the both of you exchanged breaths.

”Getting comfortable.” You whispered, watching his jaw tense at your words, his fingers twitching against your skin. He tilted his head back slightly, letting out a sigh.

”You don’t want this, Y/N.” Your brows furrowed at the hesitancy in his voice, but before you could protest he continued, “It’s been a long time…Since I’ve…” He paused, looking back at you, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.” You could hear the vulnerability in his voice mixing with embarrassment, as he avoided your eyes still. Slowly, you slid your hands down the front of his shirt, feeling his chest tense up beneath your touch as your fingers gripped the fabric gently.

“You won’t disappoint me Bucky,” His hands flexed at your words like he was battling with himself as he returned his eyes to yours, allowing the both of you to really look at each other. You had never noticed the way his eyes glistened in the light or the way his pupils ate away at the blueness of his irises.

You shifted onto your knees, being mindful of the ache, but ignoring it in favour of attempting to bring yourself closer to him, as you slid your fingers upward, tracing the outline of his collarbone. Carefully, you moved, sliding yourself into his lap, feeling his body stiffen beneath you, his hands coming up to hold your waist out of instinct. Your fingers curled around the chain of his dog tags, feeling the cool metal in your hands, as you leaned in, letting your lips ghost over the rough stubble along his jaw.

”It’s been a long time for me too.” You admitted softly, your breath warm against his skin, his fingers gripping you just a little tighter, feeling your lips press a gentle kiss on his neck. His breath left him slowly, his vibranium hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

”Yeah?” His voice filled with uncertainty, as you pulled back to look down at him, nodding, threading your fingers into his damp hair.

”I also don’t know what I’m doing half the time either,” You replied, tilting yourself forward, bringing your lips close to his, “But I know I want this…And I know I want you.” You admitted, closing the space between the both of you, your lips meeting his. Bucky let out a sound that was a cross between a sharp inhale and a groan, as his arm slid around your waist wrapping around you so your body was flush against his chest. His thumb traced along your cheek as he leaned up, trying to basically crawl into you.

The kiss was tentative at first, slow and meticulous, like he was memorizing the feeling of your lips against his, the way you pulled on his hair, and the small moans that escaped into the air as he kept you pressed against his chest. A soft hum vibrated from your throat when his lips parted just enough to deepen the kiss, your tongue meeting his in a battle for dominance.

Bucky was the first one to break the kiss, overwhelmed by all the sensations that were hitting him at the same time. He rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath, as his arm tightened around you, trying to steady himself. You opened your eyes, your hands coming up to hold his face, pulling back to look at him, seeing the softness in his stare, like he was in a daze.

”You sure it’s been a while since you’ve done this?” He let out a laugh, shaking his head.

”Yeah, I’m positive.” He replied, his eyes scanning over your swollen lips, “It’s muscle memory I guess.” You smirked at him, your thumbs dragging over the stubble on his face.

“I think you just know what you’re doing.” You whispered, your compliment causing him to blush.

”You flatter me…” Before you could respond, Bucky shifted, his arm tightening around your waist as he moved forward. In one fluid motion, he eased you down onto the mattress, his body following closely behind, blanketing you in his warmth, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin, your legs wrapping around his hips. He braced his weight against his vibranium hand, as his eyes traced over every detail of your face. Your fingers curled over the neckline of his shirt, pulling him closer to you so that he could capture your lips with his again, his body pressing against yours in a way that sent a pool of heat into your lower stomach. He savoured every moment, feeling the way your legs tightened around him, pulling him even closer to you, the heat of your body surrounding him like a shield of sorts. It was intoxicating to the point where it made his head spin. You arched into him instinctively, dragging your hands down to the hem of his shirt, slipping them beneath the covering so that your fingers could dance across the muscles of his stomach, feeling them twitch against your touch. He let out a stuttered breath as he broke the kiss, leaning back so that he could pull his shirt off for you, throwing it to the side in one smooth motion.

The dim lighting of the room casted shadows over the hard planes of his chest, accentuating every defined ridge of muscle he had. Your eyes drifted to where flesh met metal, to the seam where his vibranium arm connected to his shoulder. The skin around it was littered with thick scarred tissue, jagged and slightly raised. You couldn’t imagine how many procedures he had been put through to get him to this point, but all you could think about was the pain he must’ve gone through. You continued to look him over, his dog tags catching your eyes for a moment, your hand reaching up to grab it gently.

”You’re staring,” He commented, his hand wrapping around your wrist, feeling your pulse bounding against his fingertips.

”It’s the first time I’m seeing you like this…Give me a little grace.” You joked, running your thumb over his name on the dog tag. He allowed you to take your time with him, knowing that he would probably do something similar when the roles became reversed.

“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” He murmured, his voice quieter than before, reserved for such an intimate moment.

”I’m just trying to memorize all of it.” You replied, letting your hand fan out over his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart pulsing against your palm. His lips parted for a moment, almost in disbelief that you liked what you were seeing, as he brought your hand up to his mouth, gently kissing the back of it, keeping his eyes on yours. His vibranium fingers raced absentminded circles along the skin of your exposed hip, his thumb brushing along the hem of your tank top, hesitating to make his next move. You sat up slightly, giving him the go-ahead to pull the shirt off of you, feeling the cool metal graze against the sensitive flesh of your ribs, as you raised your arms above your head allowing him to remove the top with ease, watching him throw it off the side of the bed. His gaze dropped to your body, roaming over every expanse of skin he could see, as you laid back down on the mattress, putting yourself under the spotlight this time.

Just like Bucky, you had your own set of war wounds, only they were caused by your own hands. The marks on your skin were not ordinary bruises, Bucky had never seen anything like them before, and the level of concern behind his eyes made you speak up.

“They’re Lichtenberg figures…People get them when they’re struck by lightning, and well…You can connect the dots as to why I have them of course.” They branched across your torso in breathtaking patterns, thin fractals of darkened reds stretching from the center of your chest and curling down your ribs, sprawling out like frozen lightning, captured in the canvas of your body. Some of the marks ran deeper, more defined, where the energy had burned through your skin with more force. Others faded into the natural warmth of your body, barely there but still visible under the dim light of the room. His eyes roamed over them, committing the patterns to memory, as he reached out with his right hand, hesitating for a moment.

“Do they hurt?” You looked up at him, shaking your head.

“No. There’s so much scarred tissue at this point that the area is pretty much numb.” You explained, feeling his calloused fingers trailing over the patterns on your torso while his vibranium hand remained on your hip, holding you still. He hummed, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss against your collarbone.

“They’re beautiful.” He whispered, his breath hitting the shell of your ear, your heart immediately swelling at his words, feeling his lips pecking along your shoulder, as his hand continued to trace along the etched fractals, moving up towards your breasts. He pulled back for a moment, breathing against the little wet marks he had left on your skin, cooling them down before returning to his exploration, kissing over the swell of your breast, his lips parting against the sensitive flesh, sucking just enough to leave faint red marks behind. You tensed beneath his touch, arching your back towards him, his fingers digging into your hip, pushing you back down against the mattress, his lips turning up into a smile against your skin.

“Stay still.” His voice vibrated against you, feeling his fingers trailing down the side of your rib cage, his lips gently making their descent down your sternum, his teeth grazing down the pathway, sending a shiver up your spine, your fingers finding their way to his hair, carding them through the damp strands.

“You’re making this hard Bucky.” He glanced up at you, his blue eyes darkened with lust.

“That’s the whole point.” He replied, continuing to trail down your stomach, his stubble scraping down your skin, before kissing right above your navel, “I want to take my time with you.” He whispered, bringing his right hand down to hold onto your thigh against him, the rough callouses causing goosebumps to rise beneath his touch. You tugged on his hair, feeling him move even lower so his lips were right just above the waistband of your shorts, his head tilting up to look at you. You held his gaze, your chest rising and falling with each uneven breath you took. A smirk played on his lips, and without breaking eye contact, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just above the fabric, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent a delicious ache spreading through you.

“Can I take these off?” He asked gently, his fingers playing lightly with the waistband, teasing you when his thumb dipped below it for a fraction of a second before returning to its spot.

“Yes…Please.” Your voice sounded so desperate, choked up with tension, feeling him hook his fingers around the fabric before slowly pulling them down your hips, then down your thighs, only moving away from you to remove the shorts from your body completely, letting it join the increasing pile of clothes that began to form on the floor. His jaw clenched at the sight of you in front of him, your body laid out beneath his, completely bare except for your underwear. His hands moved slowly, as he grasped the back of your thighs, his thumbs pressing gently into your skin. You reached for him, your fingers tracing up his forearms, craving for him to return to where he had been just moments ago, the anticipation winding tight in your stomach. He leaned back down towards you, bringing your legs up over his broad shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he settled between your thighs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee, the warmth of his breath sending a shudder through you. His grip on your thighs was firm but careful, as his mouth moved up towards your underwear, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin, leaving a whisper of friction that only added to the tension that coiled deep in the core of your stomach. Your fingers tangled into his hair again, pulling gently, wordlessly begging him to continue. You could feel him smile against the skin of your inner thighs, enjoying how desperate you were becoming.

“Bucky.” You whispered, your voice breaking with such need that it almost burned through your body. He looked up at you, his darkened eyes gazing into your soul, reading you like you were an open book. His lips parted slightly as his right hand left the top of your thigh, skimming his fingers over the damped fabric of your underwear.

��So impatient.” He murmured, trying to keep his voice from wavering, attempting to keep the dominance in his tone, even though it was becoming harder and harder with every shaky breath you took. His lips brushed over the fabric, breathing out against your arousal as your thighs tightened on his neck, a soft moan escaping your throat.

“Bucky, please…” You begged, your fingers pulling on his hair, the teasing pushing you over the edge. A smirk ghosted across his lips at your pleas, and then with an agonizing slowness he hooked his fingers into the fabric of your underwear, dragging it gently to the side, baring you to him completely. His eyes flicked up to yours, his pupils blown out enough to where you were almost unable to see the ring of blue that surrounded it, and in that moment, you could see that he was as desperate as you were. Then finally, he pressed his mouth against you.

The first touch was barely there, a soft kiss placed deliberately beside where you needed him the most, to tease you, before his lips parted and his tongue dragged up your slit, not wanting to hinder himself any longer. Your head fell back against the pillow, a choked gasp escaping your lips at the sensation and warmth of his mouth wrapping around your clit, humming at the way your thighs flexed against his face, rubbing against his stubble. His tongue continued to circle against the bundle of nerves, his eyes burning into your skin, watching as you arched your back, grinding yourself on his mouth, wordlessly begging that you wanted more. His right hand slid up to your core, coating his fingers in your arousal before slipping two of them in with ease, looking at the way your mouth dropped open as he curled them inside you, finding a pace that matched the way his tongue worked against your clit.

Your fingers continued to tangle deeper into his hair, but before you could pull, his vibranium hand wrapped around one of your wrists, pulling it away gently, feeling him pin your arm down against the mattress beside you, sliding his fingers down to intertwine with yours. The contrast of the heat that was pooling in your stomach and the cold of his hand sent a shiver through you, heightening every moment, every touch, and every movement he made against you, unraveling you piece by piece.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, the pressure in your lower stomach growing unbearable, his increasing pace pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the way you clenched around his fingers, and how you trembled beneath him, rocking against his mouth.

”Bucky-“ His name left your lips in a strangled breath, your gaze returning to his, realizing that he had been watching you this entire time, enamoured by your body and the way it reacted to him. His grip on your hand tightened, grounding you to the moment, your legs clenching around his head again just as his tongue flattened against you and his fingers curled a little more inside you, picking up the pace. For a split second he took his mouth off you.

“Let go for me sweetheart.” He instructed, his voice laced with such need and devotion that you could feel your entire body tense up, feeling his mouth returning to your clit once again, his tongue working against you with such purpose that all the air in your lungs ceased to exist. Your thighs twitched against the sides of his head, his lips wrapping around your clit with a slow and deliberate pull, which caused the tension in your stomach to snap.

A sharp moan tore through you, as he pressed his face against you even more, allowing himself to feel the way you shuddered beneath him. The air crackled faintly, as static danced along your skin, noticing the way Bucky’s arm plates flickered a light blue for a brief moment. His grip on your hand tightened, and his movements didn’t falter, allowing himself to slow down just enough to guide you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, until your body finally relaxed against the mattress, utterly spent.

Gently he pulled away from your soaked core, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh, before removing his glistening fingers from you and sitting up slightly. His lips were slick with your arousal, and the expression on his face was something between pride and awe, as he crawled back on top of you, caging your body in his warmth.

“You were incredible.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the sweet reminance of you being tasted on his tongue, “You did so good.” He added, bringing his fingers to your mouth, watching as you sucked the rest of your arousal off of them, your tongue carefully flicking against them.

“Christ.” Was all he could manage to say, as he slowly pulled his fingers from your mouth, letting them drag down your swollen lower lip, watching the saliva glisten over the reddened skin where you had been biting. The hard outline of him pressed against your thigh as he shifted above you, bringing his mouth to yours again, wanting to savour every kiss you gave him. His dog tags grazed the middle of your chest, cooling your overheated skin which now had a faint film of sweat forming on it, as you let out a soft moan when he rolled his hips against your aching heat, pressing hard so you could feel him. Bucky pulled away from the kiss, almost with a disappointed look on his face, a moment of realization shining in his eyes.

”Shit…Y/N I don’t have condoms.” He whispered, putting his forehead onto your collarbone, breathing heavily, trying to steady himself. You smirked at his despair, as you laced your fingers into his hair and tugged it so he could look at you.

”I have an implant, Bucky.” You informed, watching the relief wash over his face, a long sigh escaping his lips.

”Thank god.” Was all he could say before sitting back onto his knees, moving quickly to rid you of your underwear and himself of his cargo pants and boxers. You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness as he shifted his weight to take everything off all at once, and also just enough to knock the first aid kit and the metal bowl of glass right off the bed.

The sharp clang causes the both of you to freeze, as Bucky’s eyes flicker over to the mess before returning to you, waiting for your reaction, watching your hand come up to cover your mouth to stop a laugh from escaping it.

“Real smooth.” You teased, hearing him let out a breathless chuckle.

”Not my best moment.” He admitted with a crooked grin, rubbing the back of his neck, bringing his hand over to touch your thigh. You reached up to wrap your hand around his forearm, before pulling him towards you.

”I find it kind of endearing that you’re all nervous and flustered.” He let out a quiet laugh, as he settled between your legs once again.

“You make it hard to keep my composure.” Your fingers skimmed up his arm, feeling his bicep twitching beneath your touch, while he adjusted himself against you, bringing his vibranium hand up to your throat to hold it gently, tilting your head up to meet his eyes before his mouth captured yours again in a hunger filled kiss, feeling your hips raising to meet his, in a silent plea. A low groan escaped him as his length grinded against your wet heat, attempting to hold himself back for just a few moments before he got lost in you. He pulls away from your lips again, leaning back so he can line himself up with you. Your eyes trail down to his cock, seeing that it’s already glistening with precum, the tip a light red, practically begging to be seated inside you. He’s way above average, and the way he pumps himself in his hand almost makes you come right then and there. He could see the lust in your eyes, the way your mouth opened just a little at the sight in front of you.

“You sure you can take me sweetheart? You’re already shaking.” He pointed out, a teasing smile coming up on his wet lips.

“I need you Bucky…Please…” The words fell from you in a whimper, as his vibranium hand slid from your throat to cup the side of your face.

“Okay, okay, I won’t tease you anymore…Relax for me.” He whispered, as he aligned himself with your entrance, coating himself in your arousal. You could feel yourself clench around nothing in anticipation for him, feeling as he gently pushed into you, the delicious stretch was just enough to make you gasp, and tighten around him, your eyes closing to take all the sensations in at once. Bucky leaned onto you, his lips brushing against yours.

”Look at me,” He ordered softly, “I want to see those pretty eyes while I’m inside you.” You moaned at his comment, bringing your half-lidded, pleasure hazed gaze up to meet his, as your jaw went slack, feeling him pushing deeper, inch by inch.

“That’s it,” He praised, “You’re taking me in so well, and you’re so fucking tight…All for me.” He was breathless, continuing to move slowly, his pelvis finally meeting yours when he bottomed out. He gave you a gentle kiss, like he was rewarding you for listening to him, a soft moan escaping your throat. Your walls fluttered around him as he drew back a bit before thrusting forward, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

”Oh my god Bucky…” You whimpered, his hand coming up to hold just above your stabilizer, a smile coming up on his lips as he repeated the same motion, pulling the same reaction from you.

“There you go,” He coaxed, “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” You could only nod, your nails digging into his shoulders, dragging them down his back.

”Say it, sweetheart…Tell me how good it feels.” He whispers, his breath hitting your lips as he continues to move, pulling out just a little more, bringing his hips to yours again just a little harder, eliciting another gasp from throat.

”You feel s-so good.” Your words caught on the sheer pleasure of the way he filled you, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

”That’s my girl…You were made for this weren’t you?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear, savouring the way you writhed beneath him, reacting to his movements and words. He pressed another kiss to your lips, pulling his hand from your neck, and sliding it down between the both of you to press just above your pubic bone. The added pressure made every movement of his hips feel like explosions throughout your body.

“You feel that hmm? How deep I am inside of you?” Your walls clenched around him, as your eyes closed again, another strangled moan escaping into the room, your nails dragging across his skin again.

”Bucky, o-oh my god.” Was all you could manage to say, your legs locking around his waist, your abdomen tensing beneath his touch. He began to pick up the pace, the both of you exchanging breaths and gasps into each other's mouths, as he nipped at your bottom lip gently.

”You’re so fucking perfect.” He praised, feeling your fingers curl into his hair, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming heat of his body grinding into yours. His lips traveled along your jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, sucking the sensitive skin, putting a mark on a spot that would be visible to everyone, snapping his hips against yours, earning another cry from your lips.

“I love fucking hearing you.” He whispered, devouring every reaction you gave him, your walls clenching around him, throwing off his rhythm for a moment as he brought his face back up to yours. “You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?” He asked, watching you nod frantically, unable to focus on the task at forming words. He removed the pressure he was placing above your pubic bone, only to bring his fingers to your swollen clit, pressing against it. Your body arched against his, as he began to draw tight, slow circles around the bundle of nerves.

”Come for me Y/N…Let me feel it.” His voice cracked, his breath ragged. Before your brain could even register his words the pleasure ripped through you, as your body shook beneath his, your nails now digging into his flesh, causing him to gasp at the sharp sting. Your vision was blurred, and you could’ve sworn you felt a few tears fall out of the corners of your eyes as you clenched down harder on his cock, another static pulse igniting from you, wrapping around Bucky’s arm and fading out quickly. He kissed you again, consuming you completely, bringing his hand back up to your neck just to hold it, feeling your pulse beneath his fingertips, picking up the speed of his thrusts, the pace becoming rougher and more desperate. You grabbed onto his vibranium hand, gasping for air.

”I’m gonna fill you up so much that I’m gonna be dripping out of you for days.” He growled, tightening his grip on your hand, as the burning tension in him finally snapped, the hand on your neck tightening for a brief moment, his body stiffening above you. He let out a long groan against your lips as he spilled into you, bucking his hips towards yours to push the warmth of him deeper inside, fulfilling his promise. The weight of him sank against you as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, kissing any portion of skin that he could reach.

A minute passed, maybe more, as the both of you laid there, catching your breath, while he softened inside you. He kept his hand at your neck, his thumb idly tracing over your pulse, while his vibranium fingers remained intertwined with yours, not wanting to pull away just yet. You tilted your head back against the pillow, as you let out a breathless laugh, breaking the silence that had settled between you. Bucky lifted his head slightly, eyebrows raised, his lips twitching at the corners.

”What’s funny?” He asked, as you turned your head to look at him, amusement dancing within your tired eyes.

”That tone you were using was so fucking hot.” You could see he was amused by your admission.

”Really?” He asked, his smirk growing wider and wider.

”Yeah…I mean I knew you could be confident, but that? Holy shit Bucky.” He laughed at the way you were rambling.

”I didn’t know you liked being talked through it like that, I was just kind of filling the silence.” He responded, watching as your eyebrows raised.

”THAT was filling the silence?!” He shrugged.

”Just got creative. It was really easy too, cause you looked so pretty under me.” He complimented, pressing a kiss against your lips, you hummed.

”Well consider me very appreciative of your sudden creativity.” You murmured.

”I guess I’ll have to add it to my sex repertoire for next time.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

”You want there to be a next time?” He laughed at your shock, as his hand tightened around yours.

”Oh Y/N, if you give me a few minutes to recover that next time will come really quickly.” He commented, earning a loud laugh from you.

[uranvittie]

I’m on the run with you, my sweet love.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You are a special soldier for Hydra, who brainwashed you to forget your past in Red Room. On a certain mission, you come face to face for the first time with Black Widow, who tries to kill you at first. And then she looks at you with sad eyes?

Warnings | Tags: ¿Angst? little. Friends to enemies to friends to lovers? Sort of, not really enemies, at least not that much. Blood, a little. Knives, guns, some stabbing, pretty quiet actually, I think, very fluffy and some comfort. Slow burn maybe. No use of T/N. +7K.

Note: This is actually my first time writing here on Tumblr, my first time writing a story for Reader/TN, just so you know, I do NOT use "T/N", sorry. It's replaced with "—" Is that more comfortable? Somehow it feels that way. Anyway, yeah, this is my first time writing something like this here, so sorry if it looks ugly. And well, I also clarify that english is NOT my forte, gosh, it's not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. And about this, well, the reader is basically a Bucky Barnes, but the equivalent for Natasha would be Steve, but without the good morals. Although I don't think I mentioned the gender of the reader, the intention is that it should be a female. And this is just a practice for my writing, it's been a long time since I wrote.

Your mission there was easy, well, you wouldn't use the word 'easy', it would be rather simple. A simple task where you had to be efficient.

Assaulting a moving train so that others could gain access to a weapon. There were no specifications, you didn't need them.

You were never given the number of soldiers accompanying you, nor the number of agents you had to deal with. You didn't ask. It was never necessary information.

Your job was one and simple, the only thing you were good at: assassination.

Every known SHIELD agent had been shot through the forehead by you. And your expression was unchanging, without a trace of emotion —under the mask— even when blood splattered on you, you barely twisted your lips in disgust, because, God, the feel of other people's dirty blood on your skin was always unpleasant and uncomfortable. But this was your job, and you had to do it perfectly.

The team responsible for removing the weapon was in place. After you had perfectly fulfilled your role as a shooter, you finished off everyone in most of the wagons.

Your mission was to make other people's jobs easy. Your boots echoed on the floor with every step you took, and the loaded gun in your arm was used on any agent who got in your way. And then there was the redheaded agent. Someone Brock Rumlow had identified as Natasha Romanoff, and through the earpiece you received a warning not to entertain Natasha Romanoff.

Uh.

The name echoed in your brain, but you didn't understand why.

So when you reached the inside of a carriage, after disposing of two SHIELD agents in the back, and met her head-on, you barely had a chance to blink before she lunged at you.

The way Natasha Romanoff fought was something that deserved a warning, now you understood. Her moves were fast, precise, deadly. She didn't even give you time to breathe, and you were so shocked that someone could match her movements and speed that you barely had a chance to dodge and protect yourself from each blow.

At some point, Natasha Romanoff knocked you to the ground. You couldn't even blink, what was going on? And at that moment, you seemed to have finally snapped out of your stupor, jerking forward as the agent pinned your wrists to the floor. You practically grunted in pain as the redhead drove her knee into your stomach.

In the next second, you felt your mask being removed. It was like a soft caress of her fingers against your sweaty, sensitive skin. You didn't change your expression.

But you noticed the agent's expression change.

"—"

Her voice had an accent that sounded familiar —familiar—. Your brain repeated the word and you realized that you had nothing familiar to react to. But her voice, and that accent, and the way he looked at you. And what did she say?

You feel it. You feel it immediately. The way Natasha Romanoff's grip weakens, it's just a second, —or less than a second— a moment of weakness. A microsecond in which the agent seems to freeze. And, of course, you take advantage of it.

Your foot hits the agent's stomach hard, causing the redhead to roll off you. You stand up with incredible speed, and in that same second, you pull a knife from the pocket on your leg. You waste no time in throwing it forward, toward Natasha Romanoff's right arm, preventing her from grabbing the weapon she was apparently trying to retrieve. You don't give her a chance. You're fast. You're quite fast, faster than a mere human.

Your hand holds the gun tight, it's that second, and you don't hesitate when you fire. You never do. You shoot, aiming for her forehead, as you always do. But you miss. Damn it, Natasha Romanoff is fast too. She must be experienced enough to have seen that shot coming, or were you predictable?

You don't think about it. You don't think. You grab the smoke bomb on your belt and throw it on the ground, the smoke billows out, and the next second you're gone.

You run through the empty wagons, having just received a simple "It's done. Get out of there."

You know how the escape plan worked. Go to the last wagon of the train, with the weapon there, everyone was going to be picked up by a helicopter after they cut the connection to the moving train, which was also about to derail because they cut certain tracks before reaching the bridge.

They had about two minutes to get to the last wagon. Although there was the more risky backup plan, it was not recommended.

"Get back here!"

Then you stop.

You stop right there. You don't know why, but you do. Maybe it's the thick accent in that harsh, strong tone, or maybe it's because you're curious about the agent, Natasha Romanoff. Why is she looking at you like that? You're not sure, but it feels strange.

You blink slowly as you turn around and focus your gaze on Natasha Romanoff. She doesn't look like she could stand another fight against you. Not with that deep cut on her arm, or the bruise that's forming on half of her face, plus she's bent over, holding her stomach. Are you going to take advantage of that?

Of course you are.

The way your feet move with inhuman speed seems to surprise her again, wasn't she expecting it? You frown, but you don't stop, and you pick up speed after jumping and shoving yourself into one of the empty seats of the wagon to deliver another blow to Natasha Romanoff's face from above.

You watch as the agent collapses to the ground with a loud crash, like something breaking.

You watch her slowly, your head cocked to the side as you focus on the image of the seemingly defeated agent. Natasha Romanoff looks up at you with reddened, crystalline green eyes. Is she crying? You barely blink. She has a busted lip and a scrape on her cheek where she hit the ground.

"Where are you?"

The voice in your earpiece asks, and then you snap to attention. Why are you looking at all?

You barely have a chance to take a step before you feel the weight on your left foot. You look down, confused, and notice the bloody hand gripping you tightly. Then you turn to see Natasha Romanoff crawling, clinging to your leg.

You raise an eyebrow in further curiosity, but after a heartbeat you grab the gun on your belt and point it at her head.

"—"

That name again. You frown as your gaze lingers on Natasha Romanoff. —It's a name, isn't it?— You're sure you recognize the name, but you're not so sure. Your breathing has become more leisurely and you don't realize it until you feel the grip on your boot tighten again.

"—"

"Who's that?"

The look Natasha Romanoff gives you at that moment is that of someone who knows less than you do. Barely able to think, you press the gun to her head to remind her where she is.

The agent says nothing and gives you a confused look. It feels strange. You definitely don't like her. Your finger slides down the trigger and just as you're about to squeeze, you feel the pressure of a bullet in your shoulder make you pull back.

You back up, letting the gun fall to the ground as you clutch your wounded shoulder. You glare angrily at the person who shot you, your hand immediately going to your uniform belt to grab another weapon when you hear the sound of another gunshot.

But this time the bullet never hits, as Natasha Romanoff takes out the agent shooting at you. Fighting her own people? You don't think. You don't think. You don't think about that or anything.

You're not supposed to.

So you use the second she's giving you to escape and throw yourself through the smashed door of the wagon onto the cliff.

Well, here's the emergency plan.

————————————　♡　————————————

"The agent… on the train…"

"I saw her somewhere else…"

"I knew her."

"But… uh… I knew her…"

You can't think about it. You're not allowed to. You're not allowed to think.

After the mission was successfully completed —Hydra had the weapon it wanted in its hands— you had been found among the snow-covered mountains of the cliff where you had thrown yourself to escape. That had been the plan.

You had used the ropes and hooks to hold on to something on the mountain, which lessened your fall, and the snow that seemed to have recently fallen also allowed you to stay alive. Anyway, it wasn't like you were allowed to die.

You were found quickly that same day at dusk, unconscious but breathing, of course, you had a tracker embedded in your neck.

When you woke up, they took you to the interrogation room to give the mission report, but you kept mumbling barely understandable words —things that no one had asked you— you kept repeating in your head and on your tongue that agent, Natasha Romanoff, as Brock Rumlow had called her.

So you didn't seem to be responding as they instructed. Did you hit your head too hard? Perhaps. Your brain remembered things. You remembered things you shouldn't remember, things they didn't want you to remember. The voice of the agent played in your head. And the name the agent had spoken.

What was it?

You don't remember now, of course. They never allowed you to remember anything. You weren't allowed to think. You weren't supposed to think. You weren't made for that, so after you made them hurt your head again, they threw you in your room.

It was nothing more than a cell. You wouldn't call it that because you didn't really have that word in your head. But it was a simple cold room with no windows, with brick walls painted white. Though the light that illuminated the small space was a cold light, which made it get a greenish-blue hue.

You moved to the mattress on the floor, it was hard and also cold, you had a pillow and a blanket at least. And then there was the bathroom, although privacy was poor, just a curtain. You didn't do much anyway, you weren't really allowed to do much. You would sit on the edge of your mattress and stare at the floor with your face resting on your knees and not even think. —Because you had no ideas or memories to think about— And you also don't know how long it takes before you hear the sound of the cell opening and the scientists coming in again.

————————————　♡　————————————

A hand rests on Natasha's shoulder, causing the agent to raise her head to look up and meet Steve, the man looking worried.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, though then he seems to regret asking, Natasha gives him a clear look that says, "How do I look?" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

The agent doesn't respond, just nods as she looks nonchalantly down at the floor.

Natasha hadn't spoken, not even during the mission briefing.

Steve and Natasha had been sent to the train to protect the SHIELD scientists on board, of course, the real mission was for the other team to secure the SHIELD weapon and they could protect the train. It all went horribly wrong. Many hostages were killed, the weapon was stolen by the mercenary group, and Captain America, while he may have been able to protect some SHIELD agents and scientists, was disappointed that his own team had to hide missions from him.

Steve still didn't understand.

Of course, Steve was upset with Natasha and had initially gone to see her to complain about her disappearing in the middle of a mission where she was endangering the lives of her teammates, only to find her collapsed on the ground, shaking. The agent next to Natasha also seemed upset, and it was because Natasha Romanoff had not allowed him to take the shot. Steve looked at Natasha confused at that moment, Natasha was not someone who would hesitate to shoot, in fact that was very much her style.

When Steve realizes that the agent doesn't seem willing to clear up any of his doubts, he walks away, hands on his belt and head down.

Natasha doesn't allow herself to lament too much, of course, she had spent a few hours looking down at the floor and up at the ceiling while recovering. And no doubt she had replayed every moment of her fight with you in her mind. How?

The way you looked at her, the way you didn't hesitate with your blows even when you shot her. Those cold, dark, clouded eyes. It wasn't like you. It wasn't.

You were so sweet, so gentle, so kind. You always looked at Natasha in a certain way. A way that made Natasha feel warm and appreciated. Even in the red room. And you cared, oh, you always cared about everyone around you, you even cared about others more than yourself.

Where was that?

Something had happened. Natasha missed a lot of things.

She met you in the Red Room, the first time she saw you was in the ballet room, and her first thought was that you were perfect. You did it the perfect way. You were more outstanding than anybody else. And at such a young age. Even Natasha was always called a prodigy, but you were a genius. And you had a heart. That was the most important thing. You kept your heart.

Until you didn't.

Natasha never heard from you again after you were taken on a mission from which you never returned. Everyone assumed you were dead. It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't be the first time another girl was sacrificed for Dreykov. Nor would it be the last. So when Natasha had the chance to get out, to leave, she took it.

And Natasha didn't think about you anymore. She didn't. The Red Room had been left behind, far behind, buried in her past. She never thought she'd see you again, never even imagined the possibility that you were still alive out there.

Where had you been? Still working as an assassin? For a group of mercenaries for hire?

And you didn't even remember her?

————————————　♡　————————————

It was not your mission. You definitely didn't need to intervene. It wasn't your business. It wasn't your mission, but there you were. Disobeying someone else's orders for the first time. Winter Soldier, a super soldier you knew well —their torture chambers were next to each other— the soldier heard your cries of pain and you heard his cries. You also heard his screams. And you definitely heard him recognize more than just orders and missions.

He remembered someone. Just like you.

Just like you once did.

You did, didn't you?

"Report, —" Brock Rumlow's voice in your earpiece made you jerk for a moment, you'd forgotten. You had left your position to follow the soldier. You just had to talk to him, ask him certain things, what did he remember? How could she remember too? Was there someone he was looking for? For what?

You were not there to fight. It wasn't your mission. So you don't intervene when you see the soldier —the Winter Soldier— fighting what you think is the acclaimed Captain America. You grimace in disgust at the Captain's uniform, ridiculous. Everything is going to shit, well, it's not like you can hold buildings, so you let everything go on without getting —if possible— even dirtier hands. It's not possible anyway.

You watch from a distance, a prudent and appropriate distance that allows you to see everything. You wish your hearing was as good as your speed, but it isn't, so you just read lips. Before you fall into the river, you see Steve Rogers —or Captain America?— call the soldier "Bucky".

You get out of the river before they do, of course. You are a good swimmer, and you are not carrying the weight of another super-soldier. You watch as the soldier, Bucky, pulls Captain America out of the river and drops him on the shore, and he takes off.

Then you follow him.

You'd like to say you'll get through the next few days without a hitch, but you won't, because first you had to rip out your tracker. And damn it, it hurt like hell. The news, the papers and everyone is talking about Hydra and SHIELD. Both organizations seemingly sunk and broken, finally dismantled. And with Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, exposing all their secrets, it seems the bad guys are hiding in the shadows while the good guys are struggling to find them.

Natasha Romanoff. That's who you should be looking for, right? The agent on the train who looked at you the way no one else had. And who had spoken a name, a name that might have belonged to you, in a quiet way.

Bucky Barnes is a pain in the ass. Maybe you shouldn't have followed him. And you shouldn't have stayed with him, but it's too late. And they're stuck together. He's stupid, clearly from a bygone era when people barely used televisions. And he doesn't know anything except his own name, and that's because Steve Rogers apparently told it to him.

Because Steve Rogers is a hero revered by many in the world, he gets a museum filled with information about the soldier. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, they both learn. They can reconstruct a bit of Bucky's past, but there is nothing about yours. Most of Hydra's facilities are destroyed or being dismantled by the government, or incredibly hidden if they're still there, and there's not much you can do with a soldier who looks at you like he's lost, and you with a clouded and shadowed mind. You're both a mess.

He screams and cries almost every night. And you can't sleep —you don't have nightmares, it's worse than that— you can't sleep at all with the constant feeling of alertness in your head.

At least neither of them is alone in their stormy times. If that's any consolation.

Until you separate.

It's more or less an agreement. You realize that Bucky is of no use to you and you're of no use to him. One day you both just give up the little shelter you have and run off to different places. Neither of you visits the room you shared for the last time.

———————————　♡　————————————

Norway.

She's been searching for you for over eight months. Chasing a ghost, an elusive kitten, but here you are at last.

Natasha's breathing gets heavier as the cabin finally comes into view. She's tracked you here, she can see it's the shelter you've spent the most time in. She's found your other huts, of course, she's been through a few. And without a doubt, this one seems to be the healthiest.

A cabin in the woods, quiet, bright, also quite cold. Natasha goes to the cabin, doesn't even have to force the door, no lock. Quite organized —yes, kinda like you— clean, cool… do you even have books? Natasha's heart skips a beat as she inspects the pile of books on the coffee table.

Natasha doesn't touch anything, but her gaze is intense, curious and penetrating. She looks deeply at every detail. There is an old television in front of an equally old sofa, she also notices a record player in a corner and an empty cage on a wooden chair. The table is clean and decorated with a scented candle that is not lit at the moment.

Natasha is not surprised when she hears the sound of the door opening. But you are.

You see her sitting on the only other wooden chair, one hand resting on the table, holding your book. Even though it doesn't really belong to you. You see her put the book down and look at you for a second, both of you looking at each other in silence without saying anything.

You're wearing a thick cotton turtleneck that covers you up to your chin. It's too big for you, of course, and it doesn't belong to you. And you're carrying wood for the fire in the fireplace.

"Natasha Romanoff."

The name slips from your lips in a low, husky tone, shit, you haven't used your voice in a long time and it sounds strange. You try to control your breathing as you look at her and then look away.

"Do you remember?"

You let out a sigh and move forward, shrugging your shoulders. You move towards the fireplace with soft but steady steps, dropping the firewood to the side so you can stack the logs later. As you do so, you feel Natasha's gaze on your back and a shiver runs through you.

"I remember… some things, sometimes… memories come to me from time to time at unexpected times…" You turn around and look at her closely, Natasha hasn't moved from her seat, even though the book is now on the table and she's crossing her arms. "Sometimes… when someone says a word or I read about something… it's like a different image suddenly comes to me and then…" You rub your hands together, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, and finally take off your gloves. "It's easier now that I'm alone…"

Natasha nods and looks at you with a wry expression, then points to the books on your nightstand.

"That's why you read so much."

You don't answer, continuing to rub your hands together in front of the fire, your fingers icy cold from spending so much time away from the cabin.

You don't look at Natasha, but you can feel her looking at you. God, her gaze is so intense. You lie on your back, facing the fire, shivering and hiding your almost tearful reaction. Natasha Romanoff. You've spent months reconstructing the image of the agent in your brain, trying to put the pieces together in your memories, searching and wandering to find crumbs of this person standing behind you now.

You feel your breathing become agitated and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat and lower your eyes.

"I'm not here to hurt you…"

Natasha's voice has this soft tone. You're not used to being spoken to like that, even with Bucky, in his better moments, his voice was always sleepy, fearful and insecure. Natasha Romanoff seems confident and kind, and your chest warms at the first comforting words you've heard in years.

Natasha doesn't seem bothered or uncomfortable that you don't speak. In that way she's a lot like Bucky, at least back then they didn't speak, they just looked at each other a lot and seemed to communicate through their eyes. Natasha Romanoff looks at you too much, but you try not to look back at her. It feels strange, in your chest, like a feeling of comfort and familiarity, but when you search your brain for where it came from, there's nothing there.

After adding more wood to the fire, you turn to Natasha, who is still sitting in the chair with her arms resting on the table, looking at you with a soft, calm smile. Why does she always have that look? You move more awkwardly as you straighten up, but when you finish stacking the logs, you walk to the area that functions as a kitchen.

You don't offer Natasha tea, you just make it for her. You learned how to make tea from Bucky. And you found out that you like chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey. So you make one for Natasha just like that.

You bring the cup to her and place it next to her at the table, since there are no other chairs, the only existing chair is pushed into a corner with a pile of books and more stuff, you stand there staring at the floor while you drink in silence.

"—"

You raise your head to look at her. Oh, she called you that again.

She explains that it's your name. She calls you that a few more times until it doesn't sound strange in your brain. Natasha puts a folder on the table that she apparently had hidden in her jacket. She offers to read it to you when you're ready. And you don't really feel ready, but you accept.

It leads you through the Red Room, how you were apparently kidnapped by Dreykov since you were a little girl. To your first mission for the Red Room, from which you never returned. Hydra captured you and brainwashed you to be their assassin, leaving behind everything you knew about the Red Room and leaving you with only the training. Much like Bucky —the Winter Soldier— you were given high-level missions by Hydra. A perfectly conditioned assassin who was not supposed to ask questions or have a past. Natasha Romanoff has been searching for you since the fall of Hydra because of your shared past, of which you only have fragments.

Natasha speaks and explains in her characteristic calm tone. She looks at you with soft eyes and a hint of a smile on her lips. Her green eyes sparkle as they focus on you. You let her talk about you and listen to her. She asks questions and you answer as best you can.

"How have you been?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Are these your clothes?"

"Are you eating well?"

You've moved over to the old chair and she follows you, sitting at the other end, because she's noticed that you move away when she gets too close. And you can't help it, even though part of your brain is sure that Natasha Romanoff won't hurt you, the damaged part of you is constantly on alert, sending out danger signals.

"Did you have a bird?" Natasha asks, pointing to the cage on the pile of books on the chair in the corner of the room. You shake your head.

"It was trapped. And I freed it."

Natasha nods and smiles at you again. For the first time, you smile back at her, and you see her eyes light up at what you have done. You can't help but blush when you notice it.

As night falls, you realize that Natasha has no intention of leaving, so you start to get ready for bed. You turn off the fire in the fireplace, and after making some more tea, you show her where you sleep. It's a separate, airier room with thick glass windows and fluffy curtains drawn to keep out the little moonlight. There are a couple of oil lamps because the bulb is out and you haven't found a replacement. The bed is in a corner, with thick blankets and a few pillows. There's a large green rug on the floor and a rocking chair. The rest of the furniture is mostly empty, except for a closet with some clothes in it.

You point to the bed and tell her she can sleep there.

"Where do you want to sleep?"

You point to the floor and Natasha laughs.

"I'm not taking your bed away."

"I'm more used to sleeping on the floor than on a mattress…"

Natasha twists her lips in disgust at this comment.

"We can share the bed. It's big enough." She points, watching you with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. "It won't be the first time you share a bed anyway. And I assure you, I can be softer than Bucky…"

Oh, the heat rushes to your face, but you say nothing. Yes, somehow you had to share a bed with Bucky some nights. How would Natasha know?

You blink and nod, offering Natasha a coat which she accepts, changing your jacket into a sweater and kicking off your boots as you climb into bed.

Natasha lets you sleep on the side closest to the wall and you curl up in a blanket while she lies comfortably beside you. It's quiet, except for the sounds of the forest, like the wind or the animals. You can't sleep, not because you're uncomfortable with Natasha —it is uncomfortable, yes— but it's really your brain. Your damaged brain that won't stop sending out warning signals from the time you spent locked in a cell at Hydra Labs.

"I can hear you breathing faster."

You close your eyes and let out a sigh at the sound of Natasha's voice. You still have your back to her.

"Did we have an intimate relationship? Before I disappeared?"

You don't know why you're asking this —well, you do— but it seems you've surprised Natasha as well, because she remains silent for a long moment, you hear her clear her throat and shift.

"No. Never-" Natasha lets out a sigh and you're almost sure she's staring at the ceiling because her position on the bed has changed. "There was no time for that…"

Oh.

You're tempted to say something else. You want to explain the reason for your question, you even want to ask more, but you remain silent. It's just that the way Natasha had talked about you, about the two of you, when you were in the Red Room, it had seemed to you that something else had almost happened.

You regretted not being able to remember, or not being able to right now. Yes, you had some memories of the Red Room, but it was all about the exhaustive training they forced you to do.

"But there was something special." Natasha speaks, and even if you don't look at her, you can tell she has a smile on her face. "You were always someone special. Someone real. With a heart."

————————————　♡　————————————

You spend the next few days with Natasha. She doesn't seem to have any desire to leave, in fact, she just seems to get more and more comfortable. You go with Natasha to the town, she does her shopping and you do yours. You've never needed much. You do the shopping and buy some blankets. Natasha, on the other hand, seems to be carrying a lot of bags in her arms. You don't ask what she bought, she tells you anyway.

Natasha had a car, which you didn't find out about until the third day, apparently she abandoned it in an empty warehouse in town and when she went to pick you up the first time, she did it on foot. She mentioned that she didn't want to scare you.

She drives you back to the cabin. And she lets you be quiet the whole way because she doesn't ask you any questions.

Bucky has taught you how to cook some simple things, and you live with that. White rice is your favorite dish; plain, simple and neutral, somehow you feel comfortable eating it. Until Natasha makes you fried rice.

She seems really happy that you like her food, because she smiles like a fool as she offers you more and more. You've never eaten anything so delicious, or at least you can't remember, so you thank her for the food and wash the dishes when you're done.

You share your place like Bucky, but she's very different from Bucky. Natasha is super helpful. It's not like Bucky was useless, but between two mentally damaged and deranged people, they couldn't fix a window lock. Natasha talks a lot all the time, and she's organized, very clean too, she seems to like to flirt and smile at you more than you'd think appropriate, but she's always very kind and gentle. She fixes the TV and manages to find a video player in one of the old boxes that the previous owner kept in a closet.

They sit on the couch —closer than before— for hours watching old movies. Natasha also offers to buy newer movies or ones she thinks you'd like, but you tell her you're fine with whatever. In the afternoons, you usually go for walks in the woods and around the nearby lake, you sometimes take the opportunity to chop wood, and she usually spends her time fixing things around the cabin. You don't ask her, she just finds things that don't work and fixes them. Like the broken glass in one of the windows, or the poorly nailed floorboard, or the door without a lock.

You're making tea when she comes in with a new light bulb to finally replace the burned out one in the bedroom. Natasha doesn't say anything to you when she sees you standing there with the jar of honey in your hands, as she goes into the bedroom with a ladder that she somehow built back in the day to change the light bulb. Natasha also fixes the shower in the bathroom so that the hot water works, even though you tell her that you prefer cold water.

"You shouldn't try so hard to fix this…you know this place isn't even mine?" You tell her one day when you see her trying to rebuild the fence.

"I bought it."

"What?"

"Well, I obviously knew it wasn't yours. So I tracked down the real owner and bought it." Natasha explains carefully, a hammer in her hand as she gestures toward the cabin. "I bought it for you." She mumbles and her goofy smile returns to her lips. Oh, she's a fool who likes to flirt. You already figured that out. "You don't have to run anymore."

Natasha looks at you in a way that makes you feel warm. And you have to look away so she doesn't notice the heat rising to your face.

You don't thank her. Your throat feels too tight to speak. And you know your voice gets shaky when you blush and get embarrassed, so you just avoid her by going back inside.

That night you cook for Natasha. It's a simple dish you've learned to make from the recipe book you've been reading. Mushroom risotto with Parmesan. It's a thank-you dinner, somehow you both know that. Natasha seems very happy that you're cooking for her. And she praises your dish a lot too, until you blush too much and ask her to eat in silence.

Natasha also fixed the record player, so after dinner you both sit on the couch while you read and she fixes an old radio she found in one of the boxes, she puts her feet up on the table and a slow melody plays in the background.

The next few days are much the same, though you seem to feel more comfortable with Natasha's presence as you get used to her. Natasha is someone who touches a lot, so you no longer flinch when Natasha's hand sometimes brushes yours, or freak out when you feel her hand on your lower back, or when she looks over your shoulder at what you're cooking. You finally have something familiar. And you appreciate it.

You appreciate the way Natasha wakes up before the sun even comes out to go for a run, the way she greets you when you come into the house after her morning run —with a pat on the cheek as she rests her head on your hair— you appreciate the way Natasha always finds something to fix, and you appreciate the way she smiles when you offer her more pancakes and tea. Even though you know Natasha prefers coffee. You learned how to make pancakes from Natasha and started making them for Natasha almost every morning.

One day you discover a box on your doorstep. Natasha is out running, so you pick up the sealed and wrapped box and notice a label on the top. A package for Natasha. You didn't even know that a place like this could receive packages.

You leave it on the table and when Natasha returns from her run, she greets you as she always does, with a pat on the cheek and her head resting on yours, you smile at her and offer her tea, when Natasha sits down next to you, she notices the box and her expression darkens as she reads that it's a package for her.

She doesn't seem to want to open it, and you can tell by the way she looks at it, as if it's cursed. You can also tell that she doesn't want to open it in your presence, so without being asked, you excuse yourself by saying that you have to go to the bathroom.

You give her a few minutes, and when you come out of the bathroom, the package is open and Natasha is nowhere to be found.

You try not to look too hurt by her sudden absence. You start to read the new gardening book that Natasha recently bought for you —after hearing you say that you wanted to have a hobby like hers about fixing things, she suggested gardening— Natasha also bought you some gardening tools, but you haven't started yet.

Natasha shows up a few hours later. You notice that she's gone for a drive, and she greets you as she always does, apologizing for leaving without telling you, but not explaining where she went. You don't ask any questions anyway.

"I want to stay here forever…" Natasha says suddenly in the night as you lie in bed, ready to sleep.

You blink and look at her with big eyes. You don't know why she said that, but deep down you feel like you know. You smile at her and reach for her hand to squeeze it into yours. It's the first time you've made contact. And Natasha seems both surprised and delighted.

You breathe and she leans forward, for a moment everything stops for you and you are about to push yourself back when her forehead touches yours.

"I want to plant poppies…" You whisper, your eyes closed as Natasha rests her forehead against yours and you feel her thumb caress the back of your hand.

She lets out a soft laugh.

"I'll get the seeds tomorrow…"

You're finishing Natasha's pancakes when you hear the door open and turn to see her come in. She has a paper bag in her hands and a silly grin on her face. You're already serving her pancakes when Natasha greets you in her usual way. You pour her coffee and she puts the paper bag on the table.

Natasha finishes her first pancake and you finish a page of the book you're reading when you hear the sound of a car pulling up outside. Natasha immediately moves and you follow. You look out the window and notice Natasha's tense shoulders slump slightly and her expression becomes somber and tired.

She lets out a sigh as she turns to look at you, and you look at her in a way that seems to hurt her.

The two of you walk out to find Captain America —Steve Rogers— in civilian clothes. He's got the whole soldier thing going on with his hands in his pockets and his chest puffed out as he looks at Natasha and then back at you. He seems to be smiling in embarrassment.

“Romanoff.”  

Steve Rogers' voice is cheerful and firm as he moves forward to close the distance. He looks at you in a way that makes you feel shy. He seems kind of cute with that bright, friendly smile, but also kind of pretentious with all that attitude. You don't introduce yourself even though he does, and he seems to understand your silence because he doesn't push, instead he looks at Natasha and you see them exchanging silent glances.

You don't know what they say, but you can feel it.

Natasha says goodbye that afternoon and promises she'll be back soon. She makes a lot of promises. She promises she'll finish fixing the fence, bring you more books on gardening, find you new movies, get you a decent video player, and come back to watch your flowers grow.

Natasha kisses you as you see her off at the door.

She holds your face in her hands, caresses your cheeks with her thumbs, and her soft lips press against yours. Natasha kisses you tenderly. She closes her eyes as her forehead meets yours, forcing you to open your mouth with a thumb pressed against your chin, pushing her tongue into your mouth and only pulling away when Steve Rogers clears his throat loudly enough to annoy Natasha.

"Please don't run away again."

Her look is a plea and you nod. You give her a short, soft kiss on the lips. Natasha smiles at you and says goodbye with a touch on your cheek.

It's been almost three months. Almost three months since Natasha Romanoff got into Steve Rogers' car and drove off without much explanation. You discovered that the paper bag she left on the table were the seeds of the poppies you mentioned you wanted to plant, so you did. And indeed, the flowers had just bloomed.

You planted not only poppies, but other wildflowers that could grow in cold climates. Yes, you did your research and all that. You learned that you liked gardening, so you started to put more effort into it, so much so that you started a small vegetable garden as well.

It's a sunny and cold day, the wind isn't as annoying as other days, so you go outside to examine your flowers, happy and proud that they are blooming beautifully.

And then the sleek black sports car pulls up on the dirt road in front of the cabin. You watch as Natasha gets out of the car with a smile on her face, a large bag in her hand, hanging from her back as she walks over to you.

"You have beautiful flowers."

You straighten up, your hands covered in dirt and your face flushed from the time you spent outside in the cold. Natasha wraps her arms around you and you bury your head in her shoulder. The leather of her jacket sticks to your skin and you squirm in the embrace, but Natasha just laughs.

You walk into the cabin with Natasha. She kisses you sweetly after you wash the dirt off your hands. And she murmurs against your lips how much she's missed you as you sigh between kisses.

"I can start fixing the fence…"

She mumbles, moving to the closet to get her toolbox when you interrupt her, your fingers tightening on the sleeve of her jacket and she looks at you with an arched eyebrow.

Natasha turns to you again, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you back in for a deep kiss. You sigh in her arms and shudder as her tongue slips into your mouth, Natasha’s hands tighten on your waist and she leans down, pushing her face onto yours as she kisses you in an intense and hungry way.

“I’m going to repair the fence…” Natasha mentions with a goofy smile on her lips as she pulls away, leaving you dizzy and slightly hazy. “I swear. I have time for it. I’ll stay here with you.”

Natasha slides her hands down your face and kisses you again. It’s just a peck on your lips and you smile at her as she pulls away to get her tools.

“I’ll build you a mailbox too. Bucky Barnes said he wanted to send you letters…” She scoffs as she walks out the door.

[wandascrush]

For the first time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

Summary: “It’s just like seeing her, for the first time, again”

Warnings: kissing, intimacy, small allusions to sex, angst, descriptions of the female body

Song: For the first time by Mac Demarco

A/N: Some lyrics will be infused in this story (always italicized) Also I swear fluff coming soon for Wanda and Nat!

One Year Ago

“Promise me,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath as you traced slow, lazy circles against Natasha’s bare shoulder. You two lay tangled together in bed, limbs entwined, sheets a mess from the night before. The city hummed softly outside the window, but here, in this moment, you were in your own world.

“Promise you what?” Natasha murmured, her fingers ghosting over your spine.

“That you won’t shut me out. No matter what.” 

Natasha hesitated. She wanted to promise. She really, really did. But some things weren’t that simple. Instead, she kissed your forehead, pulling you closer, letting herself believe—just for a little while—that she could have this.

That she could keep you.

Two years ago

It had been raining that night.

   The soft patter against the windows mixed with the smell of tea and fresh laundry as you paced the tiny apartment, rambling about something that Natasha had long since lost track of. She was too distracted by how beautiful her girlfriend looked in that oversized sweater, her socks sliding slightly against the hardwood as she moved.

“And then she had the nerve to say I should’ve just let her cheat off me—Nat, are you even listening?”

“Hm?” Natasha blinked, trying to focus.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, stepping closer. “You’re staring.”

“Am I?” Natasha smirked, catching your wrist and pulling you forward until you were pressed against her.

Your breath hitched, hands coming to rest on Natasha’s waist.

“You love me.”

  The words were meant to be playful, but Natasha’s heart clenched. Because it was true. And suddenly, it didn’t feel so scary to say it anymore.

“I do,” Natasha admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

Your  eyes widened for a fraction of a second before a smile broke across your face—radiant, breathtaking. She threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss.

“Good,” you murmured against her lips. “Because I love you too.”

The kiss turned more and more heated, Natasha sliding her hands between your legs, filling you up with her fingers as you moved against each other on the couch. Your moans filled the living room, Nat whispering, “Mine,” between each thrust. 

A Lazy Sunday Morning

The smell of coffee filled the apartment as Natasha shuffled into the kitchen, still groggy from sleep. You were at the stove, humming a soft tune, hair a mess from sleep.

Your girlfriend leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with a lazy smile.

“You gonna make me coffee, or are you just gonna look pretty and tease me?” Natasha rasped, her morning voice thick with sleep.

 “Both.”

The redhead chuckled, stepping forward to wrap her arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling your neck.

“Mm, I think I like waking up to this.”

“You’re getting soft, Romanoff.”

“Only for you.”

You knew what Natasha did, it was impossible not to. She was an Avenger, a hero, a SHIELD agent. Natasha tried so hard to protect you from her life, keep you safe and guarded. But life has a funny way of messing things up. That’s all it took really, one overheard conversation, one unguarded file for your life to change. 

That day would live on in her mind forever, playing like a horror movie. The look of despair, terror on your face when you found out things that no one should ever know. Civilians, should never know. 

You two argued that night, a boxing match, if you will. You both left the ring bruised.  Pleading, crying promises- telling Natasha you’d forget everything you knew, if she just told you the truth. And she so desperately wanted to believe you, but the Agent in her had to tell Fury. She just had to. 

 His suggestion never occurred as a possibility to Nat, was never even a thought in her mind. If it was, she would have never told him. 

“I’m sorry. We just can’t risk it.” 

  “Nick, please-“

”It’s not up for discussion.” 

————

The beep of the heart monitor filled the lab. Sedation kept you peacefully unaware, the dinner you ate that night immediately putting you to sleep before you could stop chewing. 

“Are you sure about this?” Bruce asked gently, standing beside his friend, expression unreadable.

No. For the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t about what she wanted. It never was. 

“Just do it.”

Bruce hesitated for only a moment before pressing the button. Dr. Cho kept your vitals in check, making sure your heartbeat and blood pressure were reasonable. Soft hands gently pressed cold compresses to your limp body. 

It was agony. Watching you twitch, the way your chest rapidly rose and fell, the groans leaving your mouth before you went quiet. 

Bruce carried you into the car, lying your head across Natashas lap in the back seat. It was thirty minutes to the hospital, the last thirty minutes she would ever be able to stroke your soft hair, feel the skin of your arms, or hold your gentle hands. 

And it was thirty minutes until they would place you in a hospital bed, dress you in a medical gown, hook IV’s up to your arms, and Cho would play the part of a typical doctor. She would tell you that you were in an accident, and you would cry. Your memory of Natasha Romanoff, the girl who captured your heart, would cease to exist. From that moment forward, you would become just another civilian. 

And Natasha—broken, bleeding inside—had forced a small, bittersweet smile as Cho wheeled you into the back entrance of the hospital. It was time to play pretend. 

Present Day – Some NY bagel shop

The bell above the café door chimed softly, the Avenger barely noticed. She was staring into her black tea, thoughts elsewhere—until she felt it.

While she’s been away, living day to day has been tough. Without her at my side, simply being alive has been rough.

A pull. A warmth.

Her green eyes shot up.

And there you were.

It’s just like seeing her, for the first time, again. 

Bathed in golden sunlight, wrapped in a soft sundress that clung to you in all the right ways. So effortlessly beautiful that it physically hurt.

Natasha’s breath hitched. Her hands clenched around her cup.

It had been a year. A year since she erased herself from your life. 

Her body involuntarily got up from the table, quickly walking toward the exit. At the same time you quickly turned, bumping into her and knocking the smile off your face.

“Oh!” you gasped, stumbling slightly.

Your eyes met.

Natasha should have left. Should have gotten up and walked away before you could even process who you were. Your brows furrowed slightly as you studied the beautiful woman before you, lips parting in soft confusion.

“I’m sorry…you just look so familiar.”

Natasha’s heart shattered.

She forced a tight smile, gripping her bag strap so hard her knuckles turned white.

“I—I don’t think we’ve met,” she lied.

You weren’t convinced. Squinting, head tilted slightly as if trying to place Natasha in the depths of your mind.

“I swear I’ve seen you before…” you murmured, mainly to yourself.  “Maybe I just have one of those feelings, you know? Like déjà vu.”

Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat.

Déjà vu.

“Yeah,” Natasha whispered. “Maybe.”

When you smiled, it was the same smile. Natasha had fallen in love with. Bright. Warm. Unaware that it had once belonged to the redhead alone. Then, as if drawn to by some unimaginable force, you hesitated.

“Hey, um…” you played with the edge of your cup. “Would you maybe want to sit with me? I—I don’t know why, but I feel like we’d get along. And my date is late anyway.”

Natasha should say no.

She should walk away.

But somehow, she found herself nodding.

[magical-reid]

Unspoken Truths

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (One use of Y/N)

Setting: Modern MCU timeline, Avengers Tower.

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 46: “Why are you staring at me?” “Because I think you’re beautiful.”

Summary: In the quiet early hours at Avengers Tower, you’re caught off guard when Bucky Barnes, unexpectedly complimenting your natural beauty, makes you question your insecurities. His sincere words begin to dissolve your self-doubt, leaving you feeling seen and appreciated, just as you are.

It was still early in the morning when you stumbled into the kitchen of Avengers Tower, eyes barely open, a yawn escaping your lips. You were dressed in oversized shorts and a baggy shirt, your messy hair in a loose knot on top of your head. The lack of makeup and the sleepiness in your eyes made you feel more self-conscious than you’d like to admit, but it didn’t stop you from heading straight for the coffee machine.

You hadn’t expected to be greeted by anyone at this hour. Most of the Avengers were early risers, but you knew they all had their routines, and this was your time to just exist in peace before the chaos of the day began. You filled your mug with the dark liquid and leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the kitchen island as you waited for the caffeine to kick in. The quiet hum of the Tower was comforting.

You weren’t expecting someone else to be there at this hour. But then you heard it: a low voice coming from the doorway.

"Morning."

You blinked in surprise, glancing over to see Bucky standing in the doorway, his hair a little unkempt, and wearing a simple T-shirt and sweatpants. He was one of the few people who could make a casual outfit look effortlessly good, and you tried not to notice the way his gaze lingered on you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, slightly caught off guard by his presence. You shifted uncomfortably, adjusting your posture and looking back down at your coffee. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of your appearance, but there was something about Bucky’s quiet intensity that made you feel… exposed.

You could feel him staring at you, his gaze heavy on the back of your neck. His presence was always intimidating, but it felt different now—more personal, more lingering. You shifted awkwardly, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Why are you staring at me?” you asked, trying to mask the insecurity creeping into your voice. Your hands wrapped around your mug a little tighter as you took a small sip, avoiding his eyes.

Bucky’s gaze never wavered. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, still as quiet as ever. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but he didn’t look away.

“Because I think you’re beautiful.”

His words hit you like a jolt of electricity, leaving you stunned and unsure of how to respond. Your heart raced a little, caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. No one had ever said anything like that to you, especially not when you felt like you were looking at your least polished self. You opened your mouth, trying to form words, but nothing came out. It felt as if the air between you had suddenly thickened, the distance between the two of you narrowing in a way that made everything else fade away.

Bucky, noticing your hesitation, seemed to soften, his smile lingering. He took a step forward, though he kept a comfortable distance, and you could feel his eyes tracing your features.

Before you could say anything, there was a sound from behind him. The rest of the team had entered the kitchen, Sam, Steve, and Natasha, all talking among themselves. It was a little distracting, and the sudden noise helped you regain some composure. You pulled your gaze away from Bucky and tried to act casual, but your heart was still pounding in your chest.

“Morning, guys,” you muttered, focusing on stirring your coffee.

“Look who’s up early,” Sam teased, throwing a playful wink in your direction. You gave him a tight smile, still feeling a little awkward, but grateful for the distraction.

“Coffee, huh?” Natasha asked, nodding at your mug. “Good idea.”

Steve, meanwhile, was exchanging a few words with Bucky, but the older soldier was unusually quiet. You noticed him glance at you again when Sam and Natasha started talking about something else. It was subtle, but his attention was unmistakable, and it made you fidget in your seat.

You tried to shake it off, but every time Bucky looked at you, the small flutter in your chest returned.

As the conversation continued around you, you found yourself caught between trying to remain calm and trying not to overthink what Bucky had said. His words echoed in your mind, and despite your usual self-assurance, the insecurity gnawed at you. How could he think you were beautiful? You weren’t even dressed up, and your hair was a mess. It felt like a compliment that was too big, too out of reach, for someone like you.

Finally, after a few more quiet moments, Bucky took a deep breath and seemed to step closer to you, his voice low and steady.

“Hey,” he said, making sure you looked up at him. “I meant it.”

You blinked, still caught in the whirlwind of your thoughts. “What?”

“That I think you’re beautiful,” Bucky said again, his tone firm, but this time there was no teasing, no hesitation. Just sincerity. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

His words hit you harder than the first time, and your chest tightened. It was one thing for him to say it, but another to actually believe it. You felt your face flush, unsure of how to respond, but you didn’t have to. Bucky, as quiet as ever, seemed content to simply stand there, waiting for you to take in what he had said.

The rest of the team continued their conversation, but it was like a distant hum now. Everything faded in the background except for Bucky’s steady gaze and his soft, honest words.

“Thanks,” you whispered, feeling your insecurities start to melt away just a little bit. “I… I needed to hear that.”

Bucky’s smile was small but genuine, and this time when he spoke, there was a softness to his voice that you hadn’t heard before. “You don’t need to hear it from anyone else, (Y/N).”

And for the first time that morning, the weight of your self-consciousness felt just a little bit lighter.

[natsaffection]

LITERALLY COMING HERE BECAUSE I SOMEHOW COOKED UP AN IDEA?????

Small request that Nat is bestfriends with y/n’s dad. Like a litttleee age gap, like y/n is 21 and Nat is older in her 30’s or early 40’s (practically leaving it up to you) but readers dad is still protective and had to leave the house due to a relative getting sick. Asking Nat to come watch over y/n, yet the two of them dance around each other with harmless teasing and flirting but they both know that they’re attracted to each other but fear that it isn’t right. Gives Nat a PERFECT opportunity to love y/n like she always wanted to.

could be g!p Nat if you want, leaving that up to you too but like I’ve BEEN feasting on your smut recently

Never say Never. | N.R

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI!, Age Gap! (N=41 | r= 21), G!P Nat, sniffling on Pantys, fingering, Loss of virginity, unprotected Sex, soft to rough sex, hot talking trough, begging and overstimulation

Word count: 6,8k

A/n: Well..A small request quickly became Six thousand words. I added another request, so it's actually two..Hope you two Anons dont mind! But otherwise I wouldn't follow, there are eight more waiting for me.🫶🏼 🧎🏻‍♀️

You sat on the couch, half-heartedly listening to the conversation while scrolling through your phone, pretending not to notice your father’s growing tension. He had been on edge since the call from his sister, who lived a few hours away. A sudden illness had thrown the family into turmoil, and now he was preparing to leave on short notice.

"I know, I know.." he said into the phone, his voice tinged with worry. "But I can’t just leave her here alone." You playfully rolled your eyes. "Dad, I’m 21. I think I can manage a few days on my own."

Your father shot you a look that was half serious, half affectionate. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I’d feel better if someone was here to keep an eye on you. You know how much I worry."

Before you could continue arguing, he returned to his call, his voice softening as he spoke. "Natasha, are you sure? It’s very last-minute."

Your ears perked up at the mention of Natasha’s name. She had been your father’s best friend for years. They met in the military and had remained close ever since. You had always admired Natasha’s strength and confidence, not to mention her striking looks. She was older, yes, but that only made her more appealing in your eyes. Not that you would ever admit that out loud, especially not to her.

But the thought of Natasha staying with you while your father was away sent a wave of excitement through you, one you quickly tried to suppress. Natasha was practically like family, and besides, it was impossible that someone like her could ever see you as more than her best friend’s daughter.

"Yeah, she’s home," your father said now. "if you could come over, that would be great. I’d feel a lot better if you were here." Your heart skipped a beat. Tonight. Natasha was coming over tonight. Oh god..

After a few more words, your father ended the call and turned to you with a small smile. "Natasha’s on her way. She’ll be here soon, and I’ll head out once she arrives." You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. "That’s fine, Dad. But honestly, you didn’t have to worry so much." Your father laughed and ruffled your hair as he walked by. "I can’t help it. It’s my job."

As the minutes passed, you grew increasingly restless. You weren’t exactly sure why the thought of Natasha coming over made you so nervous. You’d spent time with her before, but this time was different, being alone with her in the house, especially now that you were old enough to understand the fluttering feelings that her presence stirred in you.

When the doorbell finally rang, your pulse quickened. Your father opened the door and greeted Natasha warmly as she stepped inside. You stayed in the background, taking her in. Natasha was dressed casually, but even in a simple leather jacket, she exuded confidence and grace, her green eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place.

"Hey." Natasha greeted you in her soft voice, smiling. There was something in the way she looked at you that made your stomach do a little flip. But you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself that Natasha was just being friendly.

"Hi." you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "Thanks for coming over."

"No problem." Natasha said, her gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary before she turned to your father. "I’ve got everything under control here. You can go take care of your sister." Your father nodded, relieved. "Thanks, Nat. I owe you one."

After a few more words of reassurance, your father grabbed his bags and headed out, leaving the house in an eerie silence. You stood uncertainly in the living room, not sure what to say now that it was just the two of you.

Natasha was the first to break the silence. "So, what’s the plan for tonight?" she began, her tone light but with a teasing undertone. "Are we going to throw a wild party, or are you more of a Netflix and chill type?"

You laughed, some of the tension easing. "Definitely Netflix and chill. But you get to pick the movie." Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Dangerous move, letting me choose. I have very specific tastes."

There it was again..that teasing, almost flirtatious tone that made your heart beat faster. You couldn’t tell if Natasha was just playing with you or if there was more behind those words. But either way, you found yourself firing back "I can handle it." you said with a grin. "Bring it on."

As you both settled on the couch, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Natasha. You knew you shouldn’t let your thoughts wander, but it was hard not to when she was sitting so close, her body warm and inviting. And it didn’t help that she occasionally, whether accidentally or on purpose, brushed against you, sending a shiver down your spine each time.

As the movie started, you tried to focus on the screen, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the woman next to you. Natasha had, of course, chosen an action film, but you found it hard to follow the plot when every little movement Natasha made seemed amplified in the quiet room.

Natasha, on the other hand, was having similar difficulties. She could feel your presence beside her, so close that your legs almost touched. Occasionally, you would shift, briefly brushing against her, and Natasha had to fight to keep her attention on the movie. She knew she shouldn’t think about you this way, not when she was supposed to be the responsible adult here, but it was difficult to push those thoughts away and this was dangerous territory, Natasha knew that.

"So, is this your favorite type of movie?" you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Your tone was half teasing, but there was also a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice. Natasha turned to you, a slight smile playing on her lips. "What can I say? I like things that get the adrenaline pumping."

You raised an eyebrow, catching the double meaning in Natasha’s words. "Is that so?" you replied, your tone equally playful. "I would have pegged you as more of a rom-com type."

Natasha laughed, shaking her head. "Only if they’re really good or really bad. I’m talking cheesy, predictable plots, over the top romance stuff that makes you cringe and laugh at the same time." You smiled, liking the idea that Natasha secretly enjoyed something so cheesy. "I’ll keep that in mind for next time."

"Next time?" Natasha’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Are you already planning another movie night?"

"Maybe.." you said, leaning back into the couch, feeling a bit bolder now. "If you don’t mind hanging out with someone my age.." You want to risk it.

Natasha’s smile faltered briefly, the reminder of your age difference bringing the nagging doubts back to the forefront of her mind. She knew it was hard to ignore, but the reality of the situation was difficult to overlook. She was older, more experienced, and you were still so young..young enough to be her friend’s daughter.

"I don't mind," Natasha said after a moment, her voice now softer and more serious. Your heart skipped a beat at Natasha's words. You had thought the same, worried that Natasha might only see you as a child. But the fact that Natasha acknowledged it and was still sitting here with you gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, you weren't the only one with these feelings.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, but the air between you was still charged with unspoken words. You played with the thoughts again and couldn't shake the fear that it was wrong, that Natasha would never see you as anything more than the daughter of her best friend. The age difference was not just a number, it seemed like an almost insurmountable barrier.

Natasha, on the other hand, had similar thoughts. She had noticed how you moved closer, the subtle shifts in your body language, and it was driving her crazy. Part of her wanted to reach out, pull you into her arms, and see where the night would take you. But the other part? The part that knew better held her back. She couldn't simply ignore the fact that you were young, that you had your whole life ahead of you, and that a relationship with someone like her could complicate things in ways neither you nor she was prepared for.

"So," Natasha finally said, "if you don't like action movies, what do you like?" You hesitated, your mind racing with a thousand different answers, most of which had to remain unspoken. Eventually, you settled on a safe answer, though your tone was still playful. "I guess I like movies that have a bit of everything. action, romance, maybe a little mystery. Something that keeps you on your toes." Natasha nodded, her gaze intense as she looked at you. "Sounds like you enjoy a good challenge."

"I do." you replied, holding her gaze. "But I also like it when things surprise me..you know, when something happens that you don't see coming."

There was a moment of silence as Natasha processed your words, wondering if there was a deeper meaning behind them. Aaand that was the moment you realized that the conversation was moving beyond mere fun and flirting. But now, as Natasha sat quietly, her expression unreadable, you felt a wave of doubt wash over you.

Had you gone too far? Was Natasha uncomfortable? The last thing you wanted was for things to get awkward between the two of you, especially when you weren't even sure if Natasha felt the same way you did. The silence dragged on, and your confidence began to waver. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and embarrassment started to creep in. Maybe Natasha was just trying to think of a way to gently turn you down, to remind you that the age difference was something that shouldn't, or couldn't happen.

Needing to escape the tension you had unintentionally created, you cleared your throat and forced a small smile. "I, um..I think I'll go take a shower." You stood up, hoping Natasha wouldn't notice the slight trembling in your hands as you picked up your phone from the table.

"Sure." Natasha said, her voice calm, but there was an undertone you couldn't quite place. "I'll be here." You nodded, a quick, tense smile on your lips before you turned and headed to the bathroom. As you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. You were probably overthinking the situation.

But still, the doubt lingered as you undressed and stepped under the shower, letting the warm water flow over your body. You hoped the shower would help clear your mind, push aside the awkward tension you felt, and maybe even help you figure out what to do next. But instead, your thoughts kept circling back to Natasha, her eyes, the way she had looked at you so intensely, the softness in her voice when she mentioned the age difference..

You wanted to believe that there was something there, that Natasha might not be as indifferent as you had feared. But every time you thought about making a move, that fear returned, reminding you that Natasha was older, wiser, and probably only saw you as her friend's daughter. It was complicated, and the last thing you wanted was to make things weird between the two of you.

Natasha was watching as you retreated to the bathroom, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. She had seen how your teasing had backfired on you, the sudden insecurity that had flashed across your face. It was clear that you were second guessing yourself, thinking you might have crossed a line. But Natasha knew better. She had seen the slight blush on your cheeks, the way your voice had faltered when you excused yourself to take a shower. You were nervous, but not in a bad way. You were flustered, and Natasha found herself relishing in that small victory.

After you left the room, Natasha stood up. She began walking through the house, taking in the familiar surroundings. It had been a while since she had been here, and while much of the house remained unchanged, there were small differences like new photos on the walls or different decorations.

As she wandered, her steps led her to the door of your bedroom. It was slightly ajar, and Natasha hesitated for only a moment before pushing it open. The room was warm, the faint scent of your perfume still lingering in the air. Natasha's eyes were instantly drawn to the bed, where a small pile of clothing lay, presumably the ones you had just taken off. Among them, a delicate pair of underwear caught Natasha's attention, and she felt a surge of heat course through her body as she picked up the delicate lingerie. She knew she shouldn't be here, that her thoughts were veering into dangerous territory, but she couldn't resist the pull. Her fingers ran over the soft fabric, and a quiet shiver ran through her body. The familiar scent of you clinging to the clothing sent her senses into overdrive. Natasha closed her eyes briefly, unable to completely ignore the intensity of the moment.

Her breathing became heavier as she brought the underwear closer to her face, inhaling the scent. An internal battle raged within her, between the rational part of her that told her she needed to stop and the unbridled desire that urged her to continue. Natasha felt her self control beginning to crumble, her thoughts wandering to you, standing naked and vulnerable just a room away.

While she was lost in these forbidden fantasies, Natasha didn't notice that you had finished your shower. The world around her blurred, and all she could sense was the scent, the warmth, and the thought of you. Her hand slipped under the waistband of her jeans, and she began to touch herself, lost in the thought of you being with her. As she stood there, lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the bathroom door open. She hadn’t noticed your quiet steps until it was too late.

"Natasha?"

Your voice pulled Natasha out of her reverie, and she turned sharply, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw you standing there, wrapped only in a towel, your wet hair clinging to your shoulders. For a moment, both of you froze, the air between you thick with tension and something far more primal.

Your eyes drifted to the underwear in Natasha's hand, then back to her face, a mix of shock and confusion on your expression. "What are you doing?"

Natasha felt a brief surge of fear, she hadn’t meant to be caught, hadn’t wanted you to see her like this. But as she looked into your wide eyes, a new resolve settled over her. This was the moment she had been waiting for, and she wasn’t going to let it slip by.

She dropped the underwear back onto the bed and slowly walked toward you, her movements deliberate, almost predatory. Instinctively, you took a step back, but you were already too close to the wall, and Natasha knew she had you exactly where she wanted. "Y/n," Natasha said softly, her voice low and commanding, "don’t be afraid."

"I..I’m not afraid.." you stammered, though the slight tremor in your body betrayed your nervousness. Your back touched the wall, and you found yourself cornered between it and Natasha’s imposing figure.

Natasha placed her hands on either side of your head, leaning in close, her breath warm against your cheek. "You don’t have to pretend, you know." she murmured, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. "I can see that you’re nervous."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart racing as Natasha's words sank in. You had been so sure that this was just a game, a bit of harmless flirting that would never go anywhere. But now, with Natasha so close, the reality of the situation was impossible to ignore. "I saw how you looked at me tonight." Natasha continued, her voice rough with intent. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t feel the same way?"

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry as you struggled to find your voice. "I..I didn’t know if you..if you wanted this too.."

Natasha’s eyes darkened, her gaze intensifying as she leaned in even closer, her lips almost brushing against yours. "I want you, but I need to hear it from you. Tell me you want this too."

Your head was spinning, your body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. You had never imagined Natasha would be so bold, so direct. But the truth was, you had wanted this, wanted her..for longer than you cared to admit.

"I..I want this." you finally whispered, your voice shaking but filled with determination. "I want you, Natasha."

A slow, predatory smile spread across Natasha's lips at your confession, and she pressed her body against yours, feeling the warmth of your skin through the towel. "Good girl." she whispered, her voice dripping with approval.

Natasha didn’t waste another second. She captured your lips in a passionate kiss, one that held all the pent-up desire and frustration she had been holding back for so long. You responded eagerly, your hands clutching at Natasha’s, pulling her closer as if you were afraid she might disappear if you let go.

The kiss deepened, and Natasha's hands roamed over your body, feeling you shiver under her touch. She relished the power she had over you, enjoyed making you admit your desires, and now she would make sure you understood exactly what it meant to be wanted by her.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your eyes locking in a silent understanding of what was about to happen. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this." Natasha whispered, her hand sliding down your side, teasing the edge of your towel. "But now that I have you, I won’t be able to hold back."

You shuddered at her words, your eyes widening with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You knew that this night would change everything, but as you looked into Natasha’s eyes, you realized that you didn’t care. This was what you wanted, what you both wanted.

You could barely breathe as Natasha’s lips found yours again, the sensation overwhelming your senses. It was like you were floating, caught between reality and a dream, unable to fully grasp that this was really happening. You had fantasized about Natasha for so long, but you had never believed that your desires would be returned, that Natasha would want you just as much, if not more.

Natasha, on the other hand, was fully aware of every moment, every breath, every tremble that ran through your body. She relished how you shivered under her touch, the soft sighs that escaped your lips as her hands glided over your skin. It had been so long since Natasha had allowed herself to feel this way since she had allowed herself to truly desire someone, and now, with you in her hands, she wanted to take her time. She wanted to savor every moment, to show you how much you were cherished.

Natasha’s hands moved slowly, almost reverently, as she loosened the towel from your body and let it gently fall to the floor. You gasped as the cool air touched your bare skin, but Natasha quickly warmed you again with soft, teasing caresses, her fingers tracing along your sides, over your hips, and across your stomach. Natasha could feel the goosebumps under her fingertips, and it made her smile against your lips, knowing she was the cause of such a reaction.

You couldn’t believe this was really happening, that Natasha was touching you, kissing you, making you feel things you had only ever dreamed of. Natasha sensed your hesitation, your disbelief that this was real. She wanted to push you further, to make you fully embrace the moment, to understand how deep her desire for you was. She wanted to hear it from your own lips, what you wanted, what you needed.

Natasha pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her hand still resting on your hip. “You’re trembling.” Natasha murmured, her voice low and laced with a dangerous sweetness. “Are you scared? Or is it something else?”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you gazed into Natasha’s intense green eyes. You were trembling, but not out of fear, no, this was something entirely different. Something that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to dive into the unknown.

“I’m not scared..” you whispered, your voice shaking but resolute. “Good." Natasha whispered back, her lips brushing against your ear. “Good, because I don’t want you to be afraid. I want you to tell me what you want. I need to hear it from you.”

Your mind was a whirlwind of desire and need, but you struggled to find the right words. It was so much, too much, and yet not enough. “I want you, Natasha. I need you..” you finally managed, your voice trembling with longing.

A triumphant smile appeared on Natasha’s lips, and her hand slid downward to touch you between your thighs. You gasped, your hips instinctively moving toward her touch, your body craving more.

“I know you want it.” Natasha purred, her fingers gently teasing your most sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements. “But that’s not what I asked. I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell me, Y/n. Tell me exactly what you need.”

Your face flushed with heat, the combination of embarrassment and arousal almost unbearable. But the way Natasha looked at you, the way she touched you, made it impossible to hold back. You wanted this. Wanted Natasha and if that meant giving yourself to her completely, then you would.

“I want you to..to touch me.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Please, Natasha..touch me more.” Natasha’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as she leaned in closer, her lips barely brushing against yours. “Good girl.” she whispered, her voice dripping with approval. “I’m going to touch you. I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

With those words, Natasha moved her hand more purposefully, her fingers sliding between your folds, finding the wetness that made your heart race. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your body responding to every movement, every touch, as if Natasha’s hands were made of pure electricity.

Natasha’s pace was slow, agonizingly slow, her fingers exploring every inch of your body with deliberate care. She wanted to take her time, to push your pleasure to the very edge until you were begging for more. She wanted you to feel completely and utterly at her mercy.

“Does that feel good, Y/n?” Natasha whispered, her breath warm against your neck as she kissed along your collarbones. “Do you like it when I touch you like this?”

“Y-Yes..” you gasped, your hands clutching at Natasha’s shoulders, desperately searching for something to hold onto. “It feels so good..please, don’t stop..”

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not going to stop, Detka. Not until I make you feel everything you’ve ever dreamed of.” She increased the pressure, her fingers moving now with more determination, teasing and stroking in a way that made your legs tremble. Your body responded instinctively, your hips rocking in time with Natasha’s movements, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Natasha watched you with a mix of adoration and lust, enjoying the power she had over you, the way she could bring you to the brink with just a few well-placed touches. She could see that you were close, your body tensing, your breath quickening, but Natasha wasn’t done with you yet. She wanted to push you further, to make you beg for release.

“Are you close?” Natasha whispered, her voice dark and commanding. “Do you want to come for me?” You could barely think, your mind a haze of overwhelming pleasure. “Yes!” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Please, Natasha…let me come..!”

Natasha’s smile was sinful as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. “Not yet.. You’ll come when I say so, okay?”

You whimpered, your body trembling with the effort of holding back, teetering on the edge of climax without being able to let go. But Natasha didn’t relent, her fingers continuing their precise, skilled movements, keeping you right on the brink of ecstasy.

“Please, Natasha!” you pleaded, your voice quivering with desperation. “Please..I can’t..I need.."

“Shh.." Natasha whispered, her voice softening just a little. “I know, baby. I know what you need. But I want you to say it again. Tell me exactly what you want.”

Your mind was spinning, the need almost unbearable. You were completely at Natasha’s mercy, and that realization only made your desire burn hotter. “I want you to let me come, Natasha, please, please!”

Natasha’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and she finally gave you what you had been begging for, her fingers moving faster, more decisively, pushing you right over the edge. “That’s it, Y/n.” Natasha murmured, her voice thick with desire. “Come for me. Now.”

With Natasha’s permission, you finally let go, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, more intense than anything you had ever felt before. You cried out, your mind going completely blank as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. She held you tightly, her fingers still moving, drawing every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body. She whispered soft, soothing words in your ear, her hand gently stroking your back as you came down from your high.

You slumped against the wall, your body exhausted, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could hardly believe what had just happened, how intense it had been, how Natasha had made you feel things you had never imagined. You thought it was over, that this was the end, like in the movies..But then Natasha’s voice cut through the haze, deep and commanding. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyes widened, your heart skipping a beat as you realized that Natasha was still there, still holding you, still touching you. “But..” you stammered, your voice weak. “I thought..”

“You thought that was it?” Natasha’s smile was dark, almost devilish. “Oh no, Detka. I haven’t come yet. And I’m not going to stop until I make you feel everything again.” Your eyes widened, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding your senses. You could feel Natasha’s fingers beginning to move again, this time with more urgency, more determination. The realization that Natasha wasn’t done with you yet, that this was just the beginning, sent a fresh wave of arousal through your already sensitive body.

Natasha watched your reaction closely, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She wanted to push you further, to see how much you could take, how many times she could make you break in her arms. Natasha’s other hand slid up to your neck, applying just the slightest pressure as she tilted your head back so that you could look into her eyes.

"This," Natasha said softly, her voice a whisper as she guided your hand between you. Your eyes widened as you felt it. Hard, throbbing, and undeniably real. Natasha was already rock hard, her erection pressing demandingly against her jeans, and the realization hit you like a wave.

You had fantasized about Natasha, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality. Natasha didn’t just want to touch you.. no she wanted to take you in a way you had never experienced before.

Your eyes flickered back to Natasha's face, filled with a mix of awe and nervous anticipation. "I..I've never.." you began, but your words faltered. Natasha's expression softened, and she raised her hand to gently cup your face. "I’ll be gentle. I want you to feel every moment of this. If you want to stop at any point, just tell me."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. You had always imagined what this moment might be like, but now that it was here, it was both terrifying and thrilling. The way Natasha looked at you, the way she touched you, made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered. And you wanted that, you wanted Natasha to be the one to show you how it could be.

She kissed you gently, tenderly, as she began to unbutton her jeans, her hands steady despite the electric tension that vibrated through her body. You watched as she pushed her jeans and boxers just far enough down to release her erection. Your eyes widened at the sight. "It's okay, Y/n." Natasha whispered reassuringly, her voice gentle as she guided your hand to her, letting you feel her warmth and weight. "We’ll take it slow."

Your fingers closed around Natasha's shaft, the reality of the feeling grounding you in the moment. You marveled at how it felt, how Natasha’s breath hitched slightly as you touched her. It was real, tangible, and you could feel your own arousal rising even more at the thought of what was about to happen.

Natasha watched you, making sure you were comfortable before moving forward. She could see the awe in your eyes, how your breathing quickened, and it only fueled Natasha’s desire further. Gently, she lifted your leg, hooking it around her hip as she positioned herself at your entrance. "Just breathe, baby." Natasha whispered, her voice full of encouragement as she pressed her forehead against yours. "I’ve got you."

You nodded, your heart racing as you felt the pressure of Natasha’s erection at your entrance. Natasha moved slowly, carefully, giving you time to adjust as she began to enter you. You gasped, your fingers digging into Natasha’s shoulders as you felt the pressure, the stretch, the fullness as Natasha entered you for the first time. "It’s okay." Natasha repeated, her voice thick with emotion as she kissed your neck, her hands gently guiding your hips to lead you carefully. "You’re doing so well. Just be a good girl and let me in."

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as Natasha continued to slide into you, your body adjusting to the new sensation. It was intense, almost overwhelming, but there was also something incredibly intimate about it..something that made you feel more connected to Natasha than you had ever felt with anyone before.

When Natasha was fully inside you, she paused, giving you a moment to breathe, to adjust, to feel how perfectly you fit together. "You’re so tight.." Natasha whispered, her voice a mix of awe and desire. "So perfect." You could hardly believe this was real, that Natasha was inside you, filling you, making you feel things you had never imagined.

Natasha noticed the change, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she felt your body begin to respond. "That’s it." Natasha murmured, her voice dark with satisfaction. "You’re starting to feel it, aren’t you?"

Her hands gripped your hips tightly as she began to move, slowly at first, savoring every moment of how your body reacted to each of her thrusts. Your eyes closed, your head fell back against the wall as the pleasure began to build in you again, this time even more intense. Natasha’s movements were slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through your body, lifting you higher and higher.

"Look at me." Natasha whispered, "I want to see you, Y/n. I want to watch you break." Your eyes snapped open, meeting Natasha’s gaze. The intensity in her eyes, the way she looked at you with such passion and adoration, took your breath away. You had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, but at the same time, so cherished. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

Natasha’s pace increased slightly, her thrusts becoming more demanding, insistent. She could feel your body trembling beneath her, your breath coming in ragged gasps and it only drove Natasha’s desire further. "Tell me how it feels." Natasha whispered, her lips brushing your ear as she thrust deeper. "I want to hear it from you."

"It f-feels..incredible.." you gasped, your voice trembling with emotion. "I never..I never thought it could feel like t-this.."

Natasha smiled, her heart swelling with pride and affection. "That’s my girl " she murmured, her voice full of appreciation. "I’m going to make you feel even better.."

You moaned as Natasha’s thrusts became more powerful, more focused, each one bringing you closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building in you again, more intense than before, and you knew you were close, so incredibly close.

Natasha felt it too, and she didn’t let up, her hips driving forward with precision, her grip on your hips tightening as she pushed you both higher. "That’s it, Y/n.." Natasha growled, "Come for me. I want to feel you come around my cock."

Your whole body tensed, the pleasure reaching a peak as Natasha’s words pushed you over the edge. With one last, desperate cry, you came, your body clenching around Natasha’s cock, the intensity of the orgasm making you see stars.

But Natasha wasn’t finished yet. She kept moving, giving you no time to recover, driving you through the aftershocks straight into another wave of pleasure. "Oh, no." Natasha whispered, her voice dark and teasing as she leaned in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "I’m not done with you yet, baby. You’re going to come for me again."

You whimpered, your body trembling under the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. You had never experienced anything like this, had never thought your body could take so much, could feel so much pleasure. But Natasha gave you no choice, and the thought of being pushed even further sent a thrill of excitement through you.

Natasha’s thrusts became more faster, more relentless as she chased her own climax, but she never lost focus on you, never stopped driving you closer and closer to the edge. She wanted to feel you break beneath her, wanted to push you to another peak, to show you how much you were truly capable of feeling.

"N-Natasha..please..." you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. "I can’t...it’s too much.."

"You can." Natasha whispered, "You can take it. You’re going to come for me again, okay? I want you to milk my cock..f-fuck.."

Natasha could feel her own control slipping, the tight heat of your body driving her closer and closer to the edge. "Look at me." Natasha ordered, her voice sharp as she slowed her thrusts just enough to draw out the moment. "I want to see your face when you come for me one last time."

You forced your eyes open, meeting Natasha’s intense gaze. The intensity in her eyes was almost too much to bear, but you couldn’t look away. You were lost in the storm of Natasha’s desire, your body trembling uncontrollably as you balanced on the edge of another climax. Your whimper sent a shock of satisfaction through Natasha, and she finally let herself go. Her thrusts became faster, more erratic, as she chased her own release, her grip on your hips tightening as she drove you both to the brink.

"I’m going to fill you up.." Natasha growled, her voice rough with impending relief. You could only moan in response, your body so overstimulated that you didn’t think you could survive another orgasm. But Natasha gave you no choice. With one final, brutal thrust, Natasha buried herself deep inside you and let out a deep, guttural groan as she came, her cock pulsing as she filled you with her release.

The sensation of Natasha coming inside you, combined with the intensity of her voice, sent you into another orgasm, your whole body convulsing under the force of it. You screamed Natasha’s name, your voice hoarse and broken as you were completely consumed by pleasure, your body trembling uncontrollably.

Natasha held you tightly, her body still trembling from the intensity of her climax. She continued to move slowly, gently rocking her hips to prolong the sensation, even as your body finally began to relax, your muscles still twitching from the aftershocks of such intense pleasure.

When it was finally over, Natasha leaned forward and kissed you gently, her lips tender against your trembling ones. “God, you were wonderful..” Natasha murmured, her voice softening as she stroked your cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

You could barely respond, your body completely exhausted, but there was a deep sense of satisfaction in your heart.

Natasha carefully withdrew from you, making sure you were comfortable as she released you from the wall. She gently guided you to the bed, your legs feeling weak as you sank onto the soft sheets. You were utterly spent, your body still trembling slightly from the aftermath of the intense experience.

Natasha lay down beside you, gently pulling you into her arms and holding you tightly against her. Your forehead rested on her chest, and you could hear the steady beat of her heart, giving you a sense of safety and comfort.

“Rest, okay?” Natasha whispered softly, her fingers soothingly running through your hair. “I’m here with you.” You nodded weakly, unable to put into words the flood of emotions rising within you. Your body was utterly exhausted, but it was a pleasant fatigue, a deep satisfaction spreading through you.

As you relaxed in Natasha’s arms, you began to slowly drift into sleep, secure in the knowledge that you were safe with her. Natasha continued to hold you close, her touch tender and comforting. She pressed gentle kisses to your forehead as your breathing slowly calmed, and you let yourself sink deeper into the comforting warmth of her embrace.

“I’m so glad you trusted me..” Natasha whispered quietly, almost more to herself than to you, her voice full of affection. “I’ll always take care of you, Y/n.”

With those words, you finally allowed yourself to fully surrender to sleep, wrapped in the secure feeling that you would always be protected and loved in Natasha’s arms. As you fell asleep, the last thing you felt was the gentle embrace and the steady, reassuring beat of her heart beneath your ear. A moment of peace and security that you would keep in your heart forever.

[buckyalpine]

I've always had this acting AU idea where you and Bucky are co-stars in a movie/tv show and your characters are enemies. It makes people feral because you're both so crazy attractive but you just hate each other so much on screen and your story lines have you at each others throats.

Now the part I love with this idea is the press actually thinking you don't get along with him whatsoever and thinking there's drama between the cast because you're never around with them. Whenever they hang out together, literally everyone by you is there. There are so many rumors about how Bucky can't stand working with you and how the cast leaves you out. Natasha even had a thanksgiving dinner recently and the Instagram photo she posted has literally everyone present but you.

Things heat up even more when you barely update your own socials after filming wrapped up. You basically disappeared and it confirms everyone's suspicions. The only time you post here and there is when you're at home alone, doing your own thing. You're never present in any of the interviews. No one ever comments even when they're directly asked about you. There has to be drama.

It's been over a year of near radio silence and people anticipating for the release of this movie.

I love the idea of the movie premier day being full of anticipation and people buzzing over if Bucky would bring a date, if you'd even show up, wondering how you'd interact with everyone else. No one's even seen you but you're one of the main characters so you have to show-

A large black SUV rolls up.

Then Bucky steps out.

Everyone screams. He looks stunning in his all black suit, with his scruffy beard and chestnut locks. Instead of making his way down the red carpet, he stays in place waiting for someone to join him.

Confused murmurs start among the screaming.

And then.

He holds his hand out to help you out.

And everyone goes absolutely wild as you step out, seeing your very round baby bump and that ring on your finger. He makes a show of kissing you deeply before walking you down and of course the cast showers you in love and hugs as if you're all in your own little bubble.

They already knew all long. The secret, low key relationship with you and Bucky. You didn't want people to know because it would bring on so much speculation and scrutiny. When everyone bombards you both with what's going on, Bucky only answers one reporters question with a simple "I'm here with my wife"

Seriously, people can't handle it.

A few days after the reveal, Bucky, you and the rest of the cast including Sam, Steve, Nat and so many others post all the outings they had where you were actually present. The "thanks giving dinner" was actually your baby shower. So many pictures where they're holding your bump with "aunt" and "uncle" sashes tied around them. Pictures from the secret wedding. The honeymoon. The cutest pictures of Bucky cuddled up with you; wholesome intimate moments with you and him. Moments with getting mani pedis with Nat and Wanda.

No on can understand how this was all hidden so well. No one would have guessed.

Weeks later you have your babies and this time everyone posts pictures, all of them surrounding you in the hospital.

Seriously, this reveal breaks the internet in a way you'd never imagine.

[makeitmakesomesense]

The Games We Play

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Day 13: I've merged a amazing request from a lovely friend. Also the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 13th of January, which is 'combat'.

.

‘You just go up to her.’ Tony explained, looking down at the tiny screwdriver he was twirling between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s really not that hard.’

‘For you.’ You grumbled, crammed next to him on the small sofa. ‘You lack any real social skills.’ 

Bruce returned to the room and offered you a mug of herbal tea. You wondered if the tea had been part of his agreement to move into the Tower permanently.

‘We all lack social skills.’ He reminded you pointedly as he sat on an armchair on the other side of the tiny room. ‘You just need to spend more time with her.’

You rolled your eyes and pretended that his suggestion didn’t make you nervous. ‘I do spend time with her. I see her every day. We’re literally coworkers.’

Tony slid off the sofa and onto his knees. You both watched as he began his third attempt at constructing the IKEA bookcase. You watched as he flicked through the instruction guide and barely hid your smile. He’d flung it confidently over his shoulder on the first attempt. 

Tony glanced over and caught your smirk. He gave you an unimpressed look. He gestured suddenly between yourself and him.

‘No.’ He corrected dryly. ‘We’re co-workers. Natasha is your wannabe fuck buddy and you’re just being a pussy. ’

You glanced to the plate of cookies that Bruce had placed decoratively on the coffee table.

The urge to fling one at Tony’s head was suddenly overwhelming.

Bruce made a pained noise and you looked up guiltily. He shook his head and you took a sip of your tea, trying not to look sheepish. 

‘It’s not about the amount of time you spend together.’ Bruce tried again, reaching for one of the cookies himself. ‘It’s about the quality of time you spend together.’

Tony swore suddenly, dropping two pieces of wood that he’d been trying to jam together, and returning angrily to the instruction guide. 

‘Find a shared interest.’ Bruce advised, his expression wary as he observed Tony flipping the screwdriver over and using it as a makeshift hammer. ‘Think of a hobby or an activity that you’d both like to do together.’

You sighed as you heard the accidental innuendo. You leaned forward to grab a preemptive cookie.

‘I can think of a hobby you can do together.’ Tony smirked. 

You threw the cookie and watched it smack the side of Tony’s head before crumbling pathetically onto Bruce’s brand new carpet. Tony didn’t flinch.

Bruce put his head in his hands and gave a quiet sigh. After a moment, he gave you a resigned look and handed you the plate of cookies. 

‘Take these to the common area.’ He directed. ‘It’ll give you a reason to talk to her. Remember, try and find something you can do together.’

.

You walked into the shared kitchen space of the Avengers Tower holding a plate of cookies and feeling a little bit lame. Natasha and Clint were sitting at the kitchen island. There was a bottle of beer next to each of them. Natasha was laughing easily at some story of Clint’s. Before you could pick up the details of it yourself, you recognised his mime of a sudden explosion. 

‘And, that.’ Clint finished, raising his beer. ‘Is why you never trust a snowman.’

In wordless agreement, Natasha leaned forward and clinked her bottle with his.

Clint straightened up slightly as he noticed you approaching. Natasha followed his gaze, her head slowly turning to face you.

Fuck she was hot. You tried not to stare obviously. 

Natasha smiled at the sight of you. Her hair hung over her shoulder in the simple braid that had quickly become your favourite. She nodded in greeting and held up her half-drunk beer.

‘Want one?’ 

You felt your grip tighten on the plate of cookies.

‘That’s okay.’ You mumbled. ‘I just had some tea.’

Natasha smiled again. You realised as you approached, that she was sitting cross legged on her bar stool. You tried to imagine yourself even attempting that. 

‘How’s Bruce liking his redesigned rooms?’ Natasha asked.

‘Good. Good.’ You nodded a few too many times. You held out the cookies awkwardly. ‘He, uh, he wanted me to bring these up.’

Clint rubbed his hands at the sight of the plate. 

‘Excellent.’ He said as he began to pile a stack of cookies in the crook of his arm. 

You stared at him, decidedly unimpressed. 

‘For us to share.’ You clarified.. 

Clint rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated scan of the room.

‘Just us three here.’ He nodded down at the last two cookies remaining on the plate. ‘And there’s still some for you.’

He grabbed his beer bottle by the neck and nodded goodbye to you both. 

You exchanged a look with Natasha, expecting to share a stupid comment about Clint. 

Natasha’s expression took you off guard. 

‘Hi.’ She said softly. Her attention was careful, more focused than you’d ever felt it before.

‘Hi.’ You breathed out, suddenly aware that this was one of the very few times you’d ever been alone together.

Cautiously, you found the nearest bar-stool and hopped onto it. You reached for one of the final cookies at the same time as Natasha. Your fingers brushed hers and you tried to keep your face casual, even as your hand faltered. 

When you looked back to her, Natasha’s eyes seemed darker than you expected. There was something behind them that you didn’t understand.

‘So..’ She began in a meaningful tone.

‘Do you like video games?’ You blurted out, panickedly trying to remember Bruce’s advice. 

Natasha looked thrown for the briefest instant. Then her face smoothed into a relaxed one. 

‘I dunno.’ She shrugged with a smile, taking a bite of her cookie. ‘I’ve never played one.’

.

You found yourself a few minutes later, clumsily trying to remember how to set up the Nintendo Wii console that Tony had once purchased for the common area. Natasha sat on the sofa behind you, patiently waiting. You knew she was watching you intently. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up at the attention.

At last, as the game began to load, you turned around and gave her one of the plastic steering wheels. 

Natasha looked down at it with amusement. 

‘So, it’s really just a driving game?’ She checked, pretending playfully to steer it in the air. 

‘Exactly.’ You gave her a reassuring smile. ‘And don’t worry about remembering all the controls on your first go. It’s easiest to learn by playing it.’

Natasha kicked her feet up onto the scuffed coffee table and leaned back against the sofa cushions. 

‘Sounds good to me.’

A few minutes later, you stared dumbly at the screen. 

A Second Place sticker was stamped next to your Yoshi. 

Natasha’s Princess Peach celebrated her easy, dazzling, victory. 

‘That was fun.’ Natasha commented lightly. ‘Do you want to play again?’

You lost three more times in a row. Somehow, with every race, Natasha’s Princess Peach managed to get even faster. 

‘How. Are. You. Doing. That?’ You breathed out in a strangled voice when she won the race before you’d even started your final lap.

Natasha gave you a sparkling smile. ‘I think it gets easier the more you play.’ She said with an easy shrug.

‘Right.’ You muttered dryly, still looking disbelievingly at the screen. ‘Yeah that makes sense. I mean, I’ve only been playing for a couple years.’

‘Do you want to be Princess Peach?’ Natasha teased. ‘Maybe she’s good luck.’

You couldn’t help laughing loudly. 

‘Natasha.’ You said slowly, unable to do anything but smile when she looked at you like that. ‘I think you’re the good luck.’

Natasha breathed a laugh, her voice much lower than your own. 

‘Then maybe, one day, I’ll have to drive you some place.’

‘Uh huh.’ You said absentmindedly, trying to ready yourself as the next round of the game began.

.

A few days later and you were incredibly brave. Without the excuse of cookies, you asked Natasha if she wanted to try another game with you.

‘Okay.’ Natasha said, her smile a little careful. 

‘It’s called Just Dance.’ You told her. ‘I think you’ll have fun, it’s just dancing. The songs are cheesy and there’s a guide to follow. And, don’t worry, everybody is kinda bad at it.’

‘That’s a relief.’ Natasha grinned, slipping off her bar-stool and following you through to the TV with the Wii console. ‘I haven’t danced in years.’

As you stood together in the middle of the room, waiting for the game to load, Natasha turned to look at you. There was that look in her eyes that you didn’t recognise. An intensity that felt almost overwhelming. You watched Natasha hesitate to speak. You gave her an uncertain smile. You caught the way her breathing quickened and suddenly it clicked.

‘Don’t be nervous.’ You tried to reassure her. You reached out and touched Natasha’s arm gently. ‘If you want, I’ll go first and you can see it’s not that bad.’

Natasha swallowed and then her expression flickered into something much calmer. ‘Okay.’ She said quietly, moving to sit back down on the sofa. Her legs folded automatically underneath her. Her braid fell forward over her shoulder.

You swallowed an urge to tell her how beautiful she looked. Shoulders relaxed, curled like a cat in her grey sweats and black tank top. 

You turned back to the Just Dance loading screen and prepared to make a fool of yourself.

You earned yourself a decent score for Toxic and turned back to Natasha, grinning and panting slightly.

She gave you a tiny round of applause. 

‘You go.’ You encouraged her, touching her shoulder again as she stood. ‘It’s fun, I promise.’

Five minutes later, you heard the final notes of ‘Only Girl (In The World.) and wondered how it had happened again.

Natasha turned around, not a hair out of place.

‘That was fun.’ She smiled. 

You nodded. You hadn’t actually realised it was possible to only get Perfect scores for an entire song. 

‘And…’ You started hesitantly. ‘You haven’t danced before?’

Natasha tensed a little, before her voice turned decidedly calm. 

‘Well, I learned ballet in the Red Room.’

You looked up, recognising the moment of insecurity that wasn’t entirely yours to understand. You gave her a soft smile. 

‘I bet you were an excellent dancer.’ 

Natasha’s lips twitched upwards into an answering smile. 

‘Maybe.’ She started hesitantly. ‘Maybe, we could try dancing together, to some other kind of music.’

You nodded.

‘Definitely.’ You grinned. ‘I think Tony already has a copy of Just Dance 3. I bet I can get him to loan it to us.’

Natasha’s jaw tensed briefly and then it relaxed, silently she gave you a small nod. 

Something seemed off. Briefly, you worried that you’d suggested the wrong thing, that she might not want the others to know about her dancing around with you in the living room. 

‘Or maybe we can keep it just between ourselves.’ You hurried out, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. ‘I like that it’s just for us. Maybe I can find another game for us to play.’

Natasha stared at you slowly and then her smile widened into something that made your heart rate quicken. 

‘Any time.’ She promised, reaching out to brush your hand lightly with her own. ‘I’ll be there.’ 

.

The next day, you found Natasha again in the kitchen. The others were there and you watched as Bruce and Tony exchanged a meaningful look when you arrived with a laptop under your arm. 

Natasha gave you a knowing smile when she saw you. 

‘See you later.’ She called out to the others, her arm moving casually around your shoulders as you began to walk together towards the sofa. ‘We’ve got a play date.’

You groaned internally when you heard Tony wolfwhistle behind you.

Natasha sat close to you on the sofa as you opened your laptop and began to boot up the game. 

‘What are we playing today?’ She hummed curiously. Her voice was so close that it made you shiver. You wondered if your pulse was jumping out your neck. You could feel the warmth emanating from her.

‘It’s called the Sims.’ You whispered, voice suddenly a little hoarse. ‘It’s like a simulated reality. You can build pretend people and houses and play out their lives.’

‘That sounds-’ Natasha hesitated. ‘Do you fight in it? Is there combat?’

You gave her a funny look.

‘Not really. You just pretend whatever you want to happen.’ 

Suddenly, sitting this close to Natasha, you couldn’t help but notice her new ear-stud.You pointed shyly up to your own ear and then nodded back at her. 

‘It looks really cool.’ You told her softly, forgetting for a moment all about the game.’ 

Natasha looked briefly thrown by the compliment. She blinked slowly. 

‘Thank you.’ She said, giving you a hesitant smile back. You both looked shyly away from each other.

After a moment of awkward silence, her shoulder bumped yours playfully.

‘Maybe we could make a pretend me and you?’ She suggested teasingly looking back at the laptop screen. ‘And then we can play happy families.’

You grinned happily, moving the cursor to start the game.

‘Now you’re getting it.’

It took an hour for you both to design characters that you were happy with. 

There was something much more intimate about this game than the ones before. You were sitting unthinkingly close together on the sofa. Natasha’s soft voice humming different ideas to you as you designed the lookalike sims. 

Just before you started your next task - designing a house. You stood up and offered to get some drinks from the kitchen. 

You returned a few moments later, drinks in hand. You nearly dropped Natasha’s beer when you took a look at the screen.

‘I thought I’d try and get started on building something.’ Natasha said easily as she noticed you approaching. 

‘That’s -uh.’ You stuttered, handing her the beer without your eyes leaving the screen. ‘That’s the Tower.’

Natasha shrugged casually. ‘Only a couple of the floors. And the paintings aren’t an exact match, obviously.’

You placed your drink on the table and covered your face in your hands. You took a deep breath.

You felt Natasha’s hand brush unsurely along your curved spine.

‘Are you okay?’ She asked cautiously. 

‘How could you build that, without ever playing before?’ You whined more to yourself than to Natasha.

There was a hesitation, an awkward beat of silence.

‘I’m sorry.’ Natasha said in a very quiet voice. ‘I can delete it. I didn’t mean to ruin the game for you.’

You turned to look at Natasha. You touched her hand in automatic reassurance. You squeezed it carefully, wondering if you were imagining the slight shaking.

‘No, I’m sorry.’ You said, feeling a sudden lump in your throat. ‘God, I’m so stupid.’

‘No you’re not.’ Natasha countered firmly. ‘Please don’t say that.’

‘I am.’ You muttered more to yourself. ‘I don’t even want to play these games with you.’

You felt Natasha tense suddenly under your touch. Abruptly, she pulled away from you.

‘We don’t have to spend time together.’ She told you in a suddenly very level voice. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

You wondered how you could be so bad at saying something so simple. 

‘Natasha, all I want to do is spend time with you.’ You rushed out suddenly. 

Natasha’s lips parted slightly in shock. You watched her eyes skitter over your face as she read every facet of emotion there. You just kept speaking, unable to stop.

‘I just wanted to get to know you better. And I talked to Tony. And Bruce. Because it’s so hard, you’re so incredible and I didn’t even know where to start.’

Natasha swallowed, and for a moment her eyes looked so wide you worried that she was afraid. Then she blinked a few times in quick succession. You ploughed on with your clumsy explanation.

‘So, I, I needed a reason. To talk to you. And spend time together. And I thought video games, because I’m actually quite good at them. Well,’ 

You corrected yourself with a rueful smile. You started playing nervously with your fingers in your lap.

‘I’m average person good at them. And it turns out you’re gifted person good at them. At every game too. Which is kind of amazing actually. But it just means that there’s nothing about me that’s impressive. Not really, not like you.’

There was only silence when you finally managed to cut off your ramble. You took a deep breath, your heart in your mouth as you waited for Natasha to respond. 

You watched her swallow again before she spoke. 

‘You really like me?’ She asked, in a quiet, rasping voice that you’d never heard before.

You nodded fervently.

‘I’m not impressive.’ Natasha told you after a moment. ‘Not at all.’

Her eyes met yours, full of an unmistakable insecurity. She swallowed again. She folded her arms nervously across her chest. 

‘I’m good at driving, but I don’t have anywhere to go. And I learned how to dance, but I don’t have anyone to dance with.’ Natasha cut herself off with a sad laugh. ‘And I don’t know how to have the life I want, even if I’ve learned how to pretend.’

You paused and let the heavy words sink in. You thought about the things you still didn’t understand. The things you might never get entirely.

‘Natasha.’ You said hopefully, reaching out hesitantly to rest your hand over hers. ‘Will you be my Princess Peach?’

You watched Natasha’s expression shutter with relief. Her smile was instinctive. She closed her eyes and gave you a hurried nod. She tilted forward, moving impulsively closer to you. 

Your lips found hers. The kiss was simple, warm and desperate. You felt Natasha’s light breaths against your skin. A sudden, sparking happiness made your chest tight.

Blindly, you closed your laptop and tossed it on the sofa behind you.

After a minute, you paused to look at each other. Natasha’s smile grew wider when she looked at your dazed expression. Gently, her hand cupped your cheek. You felt her thumb brush your skin with a reverence that you could only accept.

‘Maybe I did win.’ You whispered after a moment. 

Natasha laughed suddenly, tilting your chin so you were at the perfect angle. 

‘Shall we play a game?’ She intoned dramatically as she brought you back to her lips.

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

.