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justarandomreaderxoxo · 3 months ago

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Shadows of the Heart: Chapter 7

Soft Hands, Hard Shadows

Summary: Your intimacy deepens, threading tenderness and truth together, just before a brutal attack shatters their peace and exposes the danger shadowing your name. Now, with vengeance in motion and war at your doorstep, you must confront both the blood in your past and the woman who’s seen you at your most unguarded—hoping she’ll still hold your hand when the smoke clears.

Word count: 9915

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: Graphic violence, Explicit sexual content, Gun violence, Near-death experience, Hospitalization, Injury, PTSD implications, Emotional trauma

A/N: This my first time writing smut guys, i don't know if it's good or not but it felt good so i've included it. Minors Do Not Interact.

Previous Chapter | Important Flashback | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The sleek black car rolled to a stop outside a discreet glass-walled building tucked between Rotterdam’s canals and modern high-rises. The driver stepped out and opened the door. You adjusted the cuffs of your blazer as you climbed out, sunglasses shielding your tired but focused eyes.

Tony was already waiting by the entrance, his hands in the pockets of a perfectly tailored suit, a lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Took you long enough,” he said as you approached. “I thought billionaires were all about punctuality.”

You shrugged, stepping beside him. “I was saying goodbye to someone important.”

Tony tilted his head slightly, then let it go. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to cover, and this city is full of people who don’t wait.”

Inside, the lobby was quiet and minimalistic. The air carried the scent of fresh coffee and something faintly metallic. You followed him past a secured entrance and into a private elevator. He swiped his keycard and leaned against the mirrored wall as the elevator rose.

“So, first things first,” Tony said, glancing at you. “The new logistics arm in Hamburg hit a snag with customs. Nothing serious, but I want your read on it before I start throwing legal grenades.”

You nodded. “I’ll take a look. What’s the real reason you called me here though?”

Tony didn’t answer right away. The elevator chimed and opened into a sleek penthouse suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. His tone dropped a little as he walked toward the long table already scattered with files and tablet screens.

“I got wind of someone poking into our clean accounts. Not the dirty ones. The legit ones. Rotterdam, Vienna, maybe even Dubai. Whoever it is, they know what they’re doing.”

You took off your sunglasses, your gaze sharp now. “And you need me to help flush them out.”

“I need you to handle it the way only you can,” Tony said. “Quietly, efficiently.”

You moved to the table, scanning the data laid out before you. Something flickered in the corner of your mind, a name you had seen once. You leaned closer.

“I’ll need access to a few servers,” you said. “And no distractions.”

Tony crossed his arms. “You sure this is the best time? Shouldn’t you be off sipping wine with your mysterious suitor?”

You glanced at him, then back at the files. “She’s not a distraction. She’s the reason I want everything else under control.”

Tony raised his brows slightly but didn’t push. Instead, he tossed you a tablet.

“Then let’s clean house.”

You caught it one-handed and got to work.

The next few hours passed in a blur of surveillance feeds, rapid phone calls, and cross-branch communications. The energy in the war room remained high, the hum of tension vibrating beneath every keystroke and muttered update. You stood with your arms folded, eyes scanning a live stream from Marseille, watching every second of footage with sharp focus.

Then the update came in.

“Miss Fury,” one of the analysts called out, swivelling from her screen. “We’ve confirmed it. The flagged equipment? Turns out it belonged to a contracted maintenance crew. They updated their tech and hadn’t filed the proper change with our systems.”

You blinked, then slowly turned to face her. “You’re sure.”

She nodded. “Positive. Triple-checked. No breach. No external tampering. Just bad paperwork and a lazy report.”

You let out a breath. “Alright. Good work.”

Tony turned from where he’d been pacing and raised an eyebrow. “False alarm?”

You nodded. “Looks like it.”

He grinned, already half amused. “And here I thought we were about to start another fire.”

You gave him a look. “You still might if you don’t stop pacing like an anxious raccoon.”

Tony held up his hands in surrender and dropped into a chair. “Well, on the bright side, it means I don’t have to cancel my stupid board meeting tomorrow.”

You smirked, then turned to the rest of the room. “Thank you. All of you. Run final verifications, log everything, and send me the summaries by morning.”

As the team got back to work, you leaned against the table, the weight of the morning slipping from your shoulders. Tony tossed you a bottle of water, which you caught without looking. Your gaze drifted out the tall glass windows. Rotterdam stretched quiet and grey beyond the glass. Your mind was already halfway back to the smile you left behind.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Guess I am.”

You stepped out of the conference room, leaving the quiet hum of Stark’s ops centre behind. The hall was empty at this hour, a soft morning haze pouring through the tall windows overlooking Rotterdam.

You leaned against the wall and pulled out your phone, scrolling past the endless updates and messages until you found the number labelled simply: Dad.

The line clicked almost immediately.

“Talk,” came the familiar gravel.

“It was nothing. False alarm.” you said, voice a little softer than usual.

A pause. Then a breath on the other end. “Took you long enough to call.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, the tension still lingering in your chest beginning to ease. “I wanted to be sure before I said anything. Everything’s fine. No breach, no threat. Just a systems error that flagged the wrong gear.”

There was a rustle, like he’d shifted in his seat. “You know I trust you, right?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I know. But I also know you didn’t sleep while this was going on.”

“That’s my job. Same as yours.”

“Yeah, but mine comes with better coffee,” you teased, letting the quiet between you settle in a familiar, steady rhythm.

After a moment, he said, “Tony with you?”

“Yeah. He’s grumbling about missing a board meeting.”

Fury grunted. “Tell him he still owes me a drink for that time in Milan.”

“I’ll put it on the tab.”

“You headed back?”

“Not yet. I figured I’d stay in the city a while longer.”

There was another beat of silence before he asked, “You seeing her soon?”

You smiled, almost despite yourself. “Yeah. I’m sending the jet for her. Planning a weekend.”

His voice lost the rough edge for a split second. “Good.”

“I’ll call again before we head out.”

“Take care of yourself, kid.”

“You too, Dad.”

You ended the call, slipping the phone back into your pocket. The city stretched ahead of you, clean and quiet. You stood there for a few moments longer, your thoughts already drifting back to Wanda’s voice and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. Then you pushed off the wall, headed for the rest of the day, just a little lighter on your feet.

The bar had a rustic warmth to it, all amber lights and worn wooden beams. Jazz hummed low in the background. It was the kind of place that made you forget the outside world for a while, and maybe that was the point. You nursed a drink near the corner booth, back to the wall, keeping one eye on the door out of habit. When Nat slid in across from you without much fanfare.

"Still got the same taste," she said, raising an eyebrow at your drink before flagging the server for her own.

You gave her a small smirk. "You flew all the way here just to check my taste in whiskey?"

"I flew here for the crisis that solved itself." Her lips curved slightly. "The whiskey's a bonus."

She took her drink when it arrived and leaned back, watching you. "So, you called Dad. You’re calm. Stark is calm. Which means I can ask the real question."

You raised a brow. "Which is?"

"Why do you look like you're halfway floating?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a slow sip, letting the silence speak for a second.

"I went on a date," you finally said.

She leaned forward a little, resting her forearms on the table. “Alright. Spill. Because last time you said, ‘it’s casual’ and now you’re here, sipping whiskey like you’re composing poetry in your head.”

You chuckled under your breath. “It's still early. We’ve only gone out a few times.”

“Uh-huh.” Natasha tilted her head. “And you’ve told me exactly nothing. No name. No occupation. Just that they exist. Which is very unlike you.”

You traced your finger along the rim of the glass, thinking. “I didn’t want to jinx it. Or overthink it. Or... I don’t know, make it heavier than it is.”

Nat gave you a look. “Y/N. You overthink everything. That’s your brand.”

You laughed quietly. “Fair.”

She took a sip of her drink, then set it down. “So, what’s different about this person?”

You paused. Looked down. Then met her eyes.

“Doesn’t ask what I do or what I own or how I fit into the city’s twisted hierarchy. She just... talks to me. Like I’m not the Fury heir or the strategist or the woman with her face on a magazine.” you said softly

Nat didn't speak, but something in her expression softened. Encouraged, you went on.

“She makes me feel like I could be someone else. Someone... normal.”

A moment passed.

“Do you want that?” Nat asked, voice gentler now. “To be normal?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe not forever. But it’s nice to pretend for a little while. To sit in a cafe and talk about movies or music or how she likes her coffee. It’s peaceful. Not something I thought I’d want. But I do.”

Nat sipped again, then smiled faintly. “You sound like me when Maria started staying over.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I was still sleeping with a knife under the pillow. Still waiting for her to leave one morning and not come back.” She met your gaze. “But she stayed. Because I let her in.”

You sat back in your seat, turning those words over in your head.

“I keep waiting for the moment she finds out,” you admitted. “Not just about what I do, but who I really am. The whole picture. And I don’t know if she’ll still look at me the same.”

“Do you want her to?”

You hesitated.

“I want her to know, eventually. But I want to give her more of the real me first. The part that’s not built out of blood and fire.”

“That part exists,” Nat said, without blinking. “I’ve seen it. She will too.”

There was a silence after that, the kind that didn’t need filling. You were both staring into your glasses, jazz spilling through the air between you like a secret being kept.

“I asked her to join me here for a weekend,” you said quietly.

Nat smiled, a rare open thing. “Then stop overthinking and do it. We’re allowed good things too, you know.”

You let out a breath, like a small weight had slipped off your chest. You raised your glass, and she clinked it with hers.

“Alright,” you said.

“don’t forget to warn her that we’re all crazy.” She said.

You laughed, and for a little while, the bar, the city, and all the weight of your name felt just a little bit lighter.

MEANWHILE IN NEW YORK

As the door closed and the soft click of the lock echoed through the apartment, Wanda stood there for a moment, her fingers still tingling from where they’d held yours. The space felt a little too quiet, a little too still, but she smiled to herself anyway, the corners of her mouth curling with the warmth you left behind.

She turned back into the kitchen, finishing off the last sip of her coffee before rinsing the mug and setting it on the rack. The scent of breakfast still lingered faintly in the air - eggs, toast, and that hint of cinnamon she always added when cooking for you.

With a hum under her breath, she padded to the bedroom to change, trading her sleepwear for her usual workday attire: a cozy cardigan over a soft blouse and dark jeans. She pulled her hair up in a quick twist, slipped on her shoes, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.

The walk to the café was only a few blocks, familiar and quiet in the early morning. A few neighbours waved, and she greeted them with a polite smile, her thoughts still lingering on you. She caught herself smiling at nothing, that silly grin she only wore when thinking about you, how you looked so serious when you tried not to be late, how your voice dropped when you leaned in close.

Once inside the café, she flicked on the lights, the space warming instantly with its soft, golden glow. Chairs were still stacked, the counter was spotless, and the faint smell of roasted beans welcomed her like an old friend.

Wanda moved easily through her opening routine. Grinding fresh beans, prepping pastries, checking the ovens, all while her phone sat nearby, just in case your name popped up on the screen. And it made her heart feel light, knowing you were out in the world doing something meaningful, yet still finding ways to make room for her.

She glanced toward the one corner table you liked when you first walked in and smiled. Maybe she’d reserve it for when you came back.

The bell above the café door jingled as Pietro stepped inside, ruffling his silver-blond hair and shaking off the morning breeze. He scanned the room until he spotted Wanda behind the counter, sleeves rolled up and hands dusted lightly with flour.

"Smells like heaven in here," he said, strolling up with a crooked grin. "You saving any of that for your favourite twin?"

Wanda glanced up with a playful eye roll. "You're my only twin, Pietro."

"And still your favourite," he said, leaning on the counter. Then his eyes narrowed as he studied her. "You look... suspiciously chipper for this early. Spill."

Wanda hesitated for just a moment, but the smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. "I’m going away this weekend."

Pietro raised both brows. "With her?"

Wanda nodded, unable to contain the smile this time. "Y/N invited me to join her in Rotterdam once she wraps up some work. Said she'd send a jet for me."

Pietro blinked. "A jet? As in, a whole private jet?"

"Da," Wanda said lightly, wiping her hands on a towel. "Like it's no big deal."

"Because to her, it's not," Pietro muttered. "Wands, you’re dating an international mogul. Are you even aware of the kind of money she’s sitting on?"

"I know enough," Wanda said, then paused. "But she doesn't throw it in my face. When she offered the jet, it wasn’t to impress me. It was so I could be with her without any hassle. That's just who she is."

Pietro gave her a long look, then leaned back with a sigh. "Just making sure you’re not being swept off your feet into a whole other stratosphere."

"I’m still me, Pietro," she said softly. "And she's still her. She listens. She cares. She doesn't treat me like a trophy."

"And you're sure about this trip?" he asked, quieter this time.

Wanda nodded. "I want to see her world a little. Not the fancy stuff. Just... how she lives. And we’ll explore Rotterdam together. No rush, no pressure. Just the two of us."

Pietro’s shoulders dropped a little, some tension leaving his frame. "Alright. But if she forgets to feed you or makes you walk in heels all day, I'm flying over myself."

Wanda laughed, reaching over to swat his arm. "You’re the worst."

"And you’re in love," he teased, backing away with a wink. "I'll take a cappuccino before I go. To calm my nerves."

Wanda turned to the machine with a soft smile. "Coming right up."

The car rolled to a slow stop on the tarmac, and the driver stepped out to open the door. Wanda slipped her phone into her purse and stepped out, immediately hit by the rush of wind and the quiet roar of jet engines in the distance.

But her eyes locked onto that jet.

Sleek, black, with an unmistakable shine that caught the light like it had been polished just for her. It looked like it belonged to someone who wore power like a tailored suit. The Fury family crest was discreet, but present, etched near the entry stairs in silver.

Wanda blinked, then actually laughed to herself. “She really sent a private jet,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

The stairs descended smoothly, and the crew member at the base offered a polite nod. “Miss Maximoff, welcome aboard.”

As she stepped inside, Wanda's breath caught.

Plush leather seats with deep cushions, arranged in pairs. Touchscreens and panel lighting. A glass partition between the cabin and cockpit. A minibar that looked better stocked than most restaurants. There was even a soft tray of fresh fruit and pastries already laid out, along with an envelope on the table that simply read: W.

She dropped onto one of the seats, sinking in like it was made just for her. Her fingers ran along the stitching, the way you’d touch something too good to be real.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered with a grin. “Ridiculous... and kind of amazing.”

She got up, wandered a bit-curious. Touched a button and watched a screen rise silently from a hidden panel. Opened a drawer that held silk blankets and high-end headphones. Every corner had a quiet kind of elegance, like someone had personally curated the space to make it feel warm instead of just rich.

Wanda let out a stunned little laugh, looking around like she still couldn't believe it.

“I cannot believe I’m flying like this,” she said to herself. “Is this what she meant by ‘a little comfort’?”

She dropped back into the seat and kicked off her shoes, grinning up at the ceiling. There was still a flutter of nerves because traveling alone, visiting someone she wasn’t even technically dating yet she was wrapped in this strange, thrilling warmth.

And as the engines began to power up, she could only think one thing:

She really went out of her way for me.

The jet hummed beneath Wanda’s feet as she settled deeper into the leather seat, still marvelling at how everything around her felt like stepping into another world. Before she could reach for one of the pastries, a soft knock on the side of her seat drew her attention.

A flight attendant, dressed in a perfectly tailored uniform, offered her a gentle smile. “Miss Maximoff, would you care for a glass of champagne to start your flight?”

Wanda blinked. “Oh... sure. That sounds lovely.”

The attendant reached for a sleek bottle chilling in a silver bucket nearby, then poured the pale, golden liquid into a crystal flute with a practiced hand. She placed it on the table in front of Wanda along with a small dish of luxury chocolate which was rich, dark, and dusted with gold leaf like something out of a dream.

“Champagne pairs well with this,” the attendant said, gesturing to the chocolate. “Miss Fury always insists we keep the good ones stocked in case of special guests.”

Wanda gave a quiet chuckle, touched by the thought. “She really planned all this?”

“She did,” the attendant replied. “Every detail.”

Wanda took a sip, then glanced up. “If you don’t mind me asking... what’s she like? As a boss, I mean.”

The attendant’s smile turned fond, almost proud. “She’s firm. Brilliant. But always respectful. She knows every crew member’s name, asks about our families, makes sure we’re taken care of. People really like her and respect her, because she earns it.”

Wanda let the words settle into her chest, as warm as the champagne sliding down her throat.

“She’s one of the good ones,” the attendant added. “Not just powerful. Good.”

Wanda bit back a smile, her fingers grazing the edge of her glass. Her heart beat a little faster, not from the alcohol, but from the quiet confirmation that maybe - just maybe - her instincts were right.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

The attendant gave a polite nod and moved back toward the galley, leaving Wanda alone with her thoughts.

She looked down at the chocolate, then out the window at the clouds waiting above. And for the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel uncertain. It felt like something she wanted to run toward.

As the wheels touched down with the soft thud of expertly handled landing gear, Wanda pressed a hand to the window, watching the ground blur into clarity. The sleek black car parked at the edge of the tarmac caught her attention immediately, it whispered luxury, understated but unmistakable.

She stood as the flight attendant approached once more with that same warm smile.

“Thank you for everything,” Wanda said sincerely.

“It was a pleasure flying with you, Miss Maximoff. Enjoy your time in Rotterdam.”

Wanda stepped down the stairs into a gentle breeze, sunlight kissing her skin. The pilot offered a respectful nod from the bottom of the steps, and she returned it with a smile and a polite “Thank you.”

Then her gaze landed on the figure waiting by the car, and her breath caught in her throat.

You leaned casually against the matte black sedan, sunglasses shielding your eyes but not the quiet curve of your smile. The black polo hugged your shoulders in a way that made Wanda’s face warm, and the relaxed slacks paired with those soft loafers completed what she quickly dubbed the Y/N Fury vacation edition. Still effortlessly elegant. Still entirely you. But the shift in tone was clear - this wasn’t business.

This was just you, waiting for her.

Wanda walked over, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Hi.”

You pushed off the car smoothly, tugging your sunglasses down just enough for your eyes to meet hers. “Hi yourself.”

You opened the door for her and Wanda slid inside, heart fluttering just a little. When you joined her on the other side and the car eased into motion, she glanced at you again.

“You know,” she murmured, “I think this is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you.”

You gave her a sidelong smile, voice low and teasing. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Wanda laughed, warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe she should’ve been nervous flying across countries to spend the weekend with someone she was still getting to know but sitting next to you, it just felt right. Like she’d landed in more ways than one.

Rotterdam greeted Wanda like an open secret, with the sunlight brushing the curve of the canals, petals caught mid-air in the breeze, and warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.

But it was your hand, warm and steady as you guided her inside the sleek black car, that made the city feel like something more. Something alive.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It never was. Wanda sat beside you with her fingers linked through yours, watching the city unfurl as the car drifted through winding streets. Tulips bloomed along windowsills. Bicycles zipped past. The water shimmered with late afternoon gold.

“I’ve never been here,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off the view.

You turned your head slightly. “Then let me show you my version of it.”

The boutique hotel loomed quiet and elegant as the car slowed to a stop. Staff greeted you both with practiced deference, but not a single soul lingered longer than necessary. Wanda noticed that. She noticed everything.

You led her through a private entrance, straight to the sun-drenched suite with canal views and scarlet tulips. She stood in the centre of the room for a long moment, just looking.

“You remembered,” she whispered, touching one of the petals.

“Of course I did.”

That Evening

Wanda stepped out of the bathroom in a soft sundress you hadn’t seen before, it was forest green, hugging her waist, the straps delicate. Her hair was still damp at the ends, curling slightly against her skin.

Your eyes found hers across the room, and you didn’t even bother hiding the way your gaze moved over her.

“You’re staring,” she said, a touch amused, a touch breathless.

“Blame the dress,” you replied, standing. “And the woman in it.”

Dinner wasn’t formal, but it was perfect. A canal-side restaurant that opened its patio just for you. You let Wanda choose the wine, and she surprised you with a confident pick. It was a crisp white with a finish that tasted like pears and citrus.

“You’ve done this before,” you said after the first sip.

“I read the menu while you were distracted,” she said with a smirk. “And maybe asked the waiter.”

You laughed, fully, and Wanda looked triumphant.

By dessert, she leaned forward, chin in her hand, eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Is this your idea of relaxing?”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“All this,” she said, gesturing at the table, the view, the soft live violin playing in the distance. “It’s beautiful. But it’s... curated. Intentional.”

You were silent for a moment. Then, softly: “I didn’t always know how to slow down. But lately, with you... I want to.”

Wanda blinked. Her heart skipped.

She reached across the table, lacing her fingers through yours again. “Then let’s slow down together.”

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

You stood in the dimly lit hotel room, the air thick with anticipation. The evening had been perfect - a seamless blend of laughter, deep conversation, and an unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every passing moment. Now, as Wanda emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a plush white bathrobe, her bare feet padding softly against the carpet, you felt the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Her green eyes met yours, and in that gaze, you saw the same unspoken awareness: something significant was about to happen.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning. Wanda’s bathrobe hung loosely, her fair skin glowing softly in the warm light. You felt a pull, a magnetic force drawing you toward her. Your heart raced, but your voice remained steady as you asked, “May I kiss you?” The words hung in the air, a question that felt more like a declaration.

Wanda’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes never leaving yours. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with certainty. You took a step forward, closing the distance between you. Her scent - a mix of lavender and something uniquely her - wrapped around you as you reached out, gently cupping her cheek. Her skin was warm under your fingertips, and you felt her lean into your touch, as if she’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The kiss was tender, a slow exploration of lips and breath. You moved with care, as if afraid of breaking the spell. Wanda’s hands found your waist, her touch light but firm, grounding you in the moment. The kiss deepened, and you felt the tension melt away, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. This wasn’t just a kiss - it was a turning point, a shift in the balance of your relationship.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, Wanda’s eyes searched yours. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. You nodded, your thumb brushing her jawline. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you.

She smiled, a soft, knowing smile, and took your hand, leading you toward the bed. The room felt intimate now, the air charged with possibility. You sat beside her, your legs brushing against each other, and felt the electricity of her presence. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” Wanda confessed, her fingers intertwining with yours. “But I wanted it to be right.”

“It’s right,” you assured her, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “It’s more than right.”

The moment stretched between you, a silent agreement to take the next step. Wanda’s bathrobe slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and you found yourself drinking in the sight of her. Her body was a canvas of soft curves and delicate lines, her fair skin kissed by the faintest hint of freckles. Her breasts were full and inviting, her nipples already tight with anticipation. Your gaze lingered on the light dusting of hair between her legs, a subtle contrast to her smooth skin.

You reached out, tracing the curve of her shoulder with your fingertips. “You’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice thick with admiration. Wanda blushed, her eyes dropping to the floor before meeting yours again. “So are you,” she replied, her hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The exploration was slow, deliberate, as if you were both afraid of rushing something so precious. You helped her remove your t-shirt, her fingers brushing your skin as she revealed more of you. Your bra followed, and you felt her breath catch at the sight of your breasts, full and heavy, your nipples pebbled with desire. Her touch was gentle, reverent, as she leaned in to kiss your collarbone, her lips trailing down to your chest.

You let out a soft sigh as her mouth closed over your nipple, her tongue swirling lazily. Her hands moved down your body, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them off your hips. You were naked now, exposed and vulnerable, but with Wanda, it felt safe. Her eyes drank you in, her expression a mix of awe and hunger.

“Your turn,” you whispered, reaching for the tie of her robe. She nodded, and you carefully undid it, letting the fabric fall away. She was stunning, her body a work of art. You traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

“I want to taste you,” you confessed, your voice hoarse with desire. Wanda’s eyes widened, but she nodded, spreading her legs slightly as you knelt between them. Her scent was intoxicating, a mix of soap and something uniquely her. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her shiver beneath your touch.

Your lips brushed her core, gingerly at first, as if testing the waters. Wanda let out a soft gasp, her hands tangling in your hair. Encouraged, you deepened your exploration, your tongue tracing the outline of her lips before delving inside. She was wet, her arousal coating your tongue as you tasted her fully.

Wanda moaned, her hips arching off the bed. “Y/N,” she breathed, her voice a plea for more. You obliged, your tongue flicking her clit with deliberate precision. Her walls clenched around your tongue, her breath coming in sharp gasps. You sucked gently, then harder, her cries filling the room as she teetered on the edge.

“Cum for me, Wanda,” you murmured against her skin, your words sending her over the edge. She cried out, her body trembling as her orgasm washed over her. You drank her in, savouring the taste of her release, your fingers pressing into her thighs to keep her grounded.

When she finally stilled, you kissed your way back up her body, her eyes glazed with pleasure. “Your turn,” she whispered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. You laughed, a soft, breathless sound, as she pushed you back onto the bed.

Her mouth was hungry, her kisses demanding as she explored your body with the same reverence you’d shown her. Her tongue traced your nipples, her hands roaming over your curves, before she settled between your legs. You were already wet, your body aching for her touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her breath ghosting over your core. You shivered, your hands tangling in her hair as she leaned in, her tongue dipping into your folds. You moaned, your hips bucking against her mouth as she sucked your clit, her fingers sliding inside you with ease.

The pleasure was overwhelming, her touch sending sparks through your body. You cried out, your voice echoing in the room as you chased your release. Wanda’s mouth was relentless, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony. You felt the tension coil inside you, tighter and tighter, until you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm.

Wanda drank you in, her lips pressing gentle kisses to your sensitive skin as you came down. You pulled her up, your lips crashing together in a desperate kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. “I need more,” you gasped, your hands roaming over her body.

She smiled, her eyes dark with desire. “Anything,” she promised, her voice a husky whisper.

You rolled her onto her back, your lips trailing down her body as you settled between her legs again. This time, you took your time, your tongue mapping every inch of her, from her thighs to her clit, her moans fuelling your hunger. You sucked her clit between your lips, teasing her with your tongue, until she was squirming beneath you, her cries filling the room.

“Y/N, please,” she begged, her voice desperate. You obliged, your fingers sliding inside her as you sucked harder, her walls clenching around you as she came apart. She screamed your name, her body trembling as she squirted, her release coating your face. You lapped at her, savouring the taste of her ecstasy, your heart swelling with the knowledge that you’d brought her this pleasure.

When she finally stilled, you kissed your way back up her body, her eyes shining with love and desire. Her hands pulling you closer. You laughed, a soft, breathless sound, as you rolled onto your back, inviting her to take her turn.

She didn’t hesitate, her mouth devouring yours as she kissed her way down your body. Her tongue was magic, her touch sending you spiralling into another orgasm. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as she ate you with abandon, her fingers and mouth working in perfect sync.

The room was a blur of moans and gasps, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. You pulled her up, your lips crashing together in a desperate kiss, your bodies pressed flush against each other. “I want to feel you,” you murmured, your hands guiding her leg over your hip.

Wanda nodded, her eyes dark with desire as she pressed against you, her clit rubbing against yours. You moved together, your bodies sliding in perfect rhythm, the friction sending sparks through your core. You moaned into her mouth, your hands gripping her hips as you continued, the pleasure building with every thrust.

The room was filled with the sound of your cries, your bodies moving as one. You felt the tension coil inside you, tighter and tighter, until you both shattered, your orgasms colliding in a burst of pleasure. You screamed each other’s names, your bodies trembling as you squirted, your releases mingling on the bed.

When you finally stilled, breathless and dazed, Wanda collapsed on top of you, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as you caught your breath. The room was quiet now, the only sound your ragged breathing and the soft hum of the air conditioning.

You turned your head, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were soft, filled with love and wonder. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

You kissed her then, a gentle, tender kiss that spoke of everything you couldn’t put into words. It was a kiss that said I love you, I’m here, I’m yours. And as you held her in your arms, the world outside fading away, you knew that this was just the beginning.

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

The soft rustle of linen is the first thing you notice.

Then warmth.

Not just the kind tangled in the sheets or the lingering heat of shared sleep but the kind that roots itself in the chest. Slow. Safe. Real.

Wanda shifts beside you, barely awake, her arm draped across your waist, her forehead nestled against your shoulder. Her breath is steady; her lips parted in sleep. A single sunbeam cuts across the room, falling over her bare back, painting her in gold.

You don’t move. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.

Your hand finds hers under the covers, fingers curling instinctively. Her skin is warm, soft, familiar now in a way it hadn’t been yesterday.

Last night was...

No, it wasn’t just anything. It was everything.

Every wall you'd built around yourself softened in her touch. Every part of you that lived in shadows had been coaxed into light.

You turn your head just slightly, enough to press a kiss to her temple. Wanda hums quietly at the contact, stretching like a cat before her eyes flutter open.

“Mm… good morning,” she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep.

You smile. “Morning, sunshine.”

She smiles too, but it’s slower, more vulnerable like she’s checking to see if last night really happened. Like part of her expects you to be gone.

But you’re here.

Still beside her.

Still holding her.

“Do you always wake up looking this smug?” she asks, squinting at you with mock suspicion.

You raise a brow. “Only when I have good dreams.”

Wanda lets out a low laugh and buries her face against your shoulder. “God, we’re gross.”

“Disgusting,” you agree, grinning as you tighten your arm around her. “Should probably never leave this bed.”

“Agreed,” she says without hesitation, her hand now tracing idle patterns on your stomach beneath the covers. “Although... I promised Pietro I’d text him. He’s probably pacing back and forth somewhere.”

You chuckle. “Let him pace.”

She peeks up at you then, serious all of a sudden. “Last night…”

You meet her gaze, steady and sure. “Was real.”

She nods. “Yeah. It was.”

Neither of you rush to fill the silence that follows. It’s comfortable. Earned. A rhythm the two of you fell into without ever really trying.

But even as you breathe her in, her scent, her presence, you feel it.

That tug.

That quiet reminder that your world is still out there. Waiting. Watching.

Wanda doesn’t know yet.

She doesn't know about the shadows. The syndicate. The weight you carry with every calculated move.

But she will.

Eventually.

And when she does... you hope nights like this will be enough to hold onto.

The quiet hum of the morning is broken by the sharp buzz of your phone.

You almost don’t move. Wanda’s still curled against you, the warmth of her skin grounding you in a world you never want to leave. But the sound persists, vibrating with urgency on the nightstand.

You reach for it with a reluctant hand, hoping it’s nothing.

It’s not.

The caller ID reads Clint.

Your stomach tightens.

You answer, already moving to sit up.

“What happened?”

His voice is tight. Controlled. But you know him too well.

“It’s Nat. She’s in the hospital.”

The breath leaves your body.

“The official word is Car accident.” But you both know it wasn’t just that.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, your mind already racing through scenarios, enemies, and unfinished business. Your body moves faster than your thoughts. You’re on your feet before the call ends.

“Send me everything. I’m leaving now.”

Wanda sits up behind you, the sheets falling from her shoulders, concern etched across her face.

“Y/N…?”

You turn, your phone already at your ear again as you call your crew.

“Prep the jet. We’re leaving within the hour. Medical crew standby. I want our people at the hospital before I land.”

You hang up, then face her.

“I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s Natasha. She’s been hospitalised.”

Wanda steps off the bed and crosses the room to you. Her hands reach for yours, steady and sure.

“Hey,” she says gently. “You don’t have to explain. Family comes first.”

You search her eyes for anything- hurt, frustration, hesitation. But all you find is quiet strength. Understanding.

The engines are already humming when you arrive. Your jet sits sleek and silent, the crew in motion as your world prepares to shift again.

You and Wanda, walk across the tarmac side by side, her coat wrapped tightly around her frame, your hand lightly resting on her back as if to remind yourself she’s real.

At the steps, you pause for a moment, your gaze drifting to the horizon. You can feel it already, the storm waiting on the other side of the sky. The war at your doorstep.

Wanda’s hand finds yours. She squeezes once.

You turn to her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

She leans in, her voice close to your ear. “Where you go, I go.”

And with that, you both board the jet.

The sky waits. So does the truth.

The jet touches down just after sunrise. The city feels sharper than it did when you left, like everything you had managed to soften for a moment has returned with edges. You drive straight from the airstrip to the hospital, your jaw tight, your grip on the wheel like a lifeline.

Wanda sits beside you, quiet but steady. You glance at her once during a red light. Her hand is resting on her lap, her eyes fixed on the passing city.

“You don’t have to come in,” you say gently.

She turns to you. “I want to.”

No hesitation. No fear. Just understanding.

The moment you step into the hospital lobby, you are already in motion. You leave instructions with your people to secure the perimeter and head to the ICU wing, pausing only long enough to speak with the lead physician. Wanda stays where you asked her to, just past the waiting area near a line of windows washed in morning light.

She doesn’t look nervous. She just waits.

Someone steps into her line of sight a few minutes later. Tall. Measured. Eye patch. Sharp coat and sharper silence.

Nick Fury.

He stops a few feet from her, his gaze steady.

“Wanda Maximoff,” he says.

She nods, straightens slightly. “Yes.”

“I know who you are,” he continues. “You’re important to her.”

Wanda’s lips part, unsure if it’s a question or a statement.

Nick doesn’t smile, but his tone softens. Just enough.

“I’m her father.”

A breath catches in Wanda’s throat, but she doesn’t flinch.

“I figured,” she says softly. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not here to make things complicated.”

Nick studies her for another moment, then nods once. It’s not approval. It’s something quieter. Permission, maybe.

“She wouldn’t have brought you here if you weren’t already part of this,” he says. “And I trust her judgment.”

That’s all.

He steps past her, disappearing around the corner as silently as he arrived.

You return shortly after, your expression unreadable but your presence grounding. Wanda rises to her feet the moment she sees you.

“She’s stable,” you say. “Bruised ribs, broken wrist, concussion. It could have been worse.”

Wanda nods, brushing her fingers gently against your sleeve.

You don’t say anything more as you lead her down the hallway. Clint sees you in passing and gives a small nod. Bruce looks up from his chair and offers a quiet glance in acknowledgment. No one questions who she is. No one needs to.

You reach the room. The door is cracked open.

You step inside. Together.

Inside, the room is quiet, save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. The lights are low, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging faintly in the air. Natasha lies pale against the white sheets, her left wrist wrapped in bandages, a bruise blooming along her collarbone.

Yelena is seated beside her, hunched forward with her elbows on her knees. Her head is bowed, hands clenched. Her eyes are red. It’s the kind of look she would punch someone for pointing out, but you see it clearly. You see all of her.

The moment her gaze lifts and meets yours, she stands and crosses the room in two strides. Her arms wrap around you without a word, and she buries her face against your shoulder.

"Ty zdes', spasibo Bogu," she mumbles into your neck.

You hold her close, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other steady on her back.

"Vsyo khorosho, Yel-bear. Ya zdes'. Ya s toboy," you whisper.

Yelena tightens her grip for a second, then lets go with a sharp breath and wipes her face. She nods toward the bed and steps back, keeping her eyes on Natasha.

Wanda stays quiet beside you, her expression unreadable. You can feel her watching you, and you know the moment she starts piecing things together. When you spoke Russian, it wasn’t with hesitation. It was fluent. Familiar.

Her voice is soft, curious. “You speak Russian?”

You glance at her. “I do.”

She looks at you a little longer. You know she is thinking back. Sokovian. The night on the rooftop. Every sweet, vulnerable thing she said in a language she thought was hers alone.

“You understood all of it,” she says quietly, almost to herself.

You nod. “Every word.”

Her mouth opens, then closes again, the flush on her cheeks blooming fast. You see the storm of embarrassment rising behind her eyes, but you reach for her hand.

“I never wanted to take that from you,” you say. “I just liked hearing you speak what felt like home.”

Wanda nods slowly, lips parting with a quiet exhale. She doesn’t say anything more, but she walks over to the side of the bed and places a small bundle of tulips by Natasha’s bedside. The stems are wrapped in ribbon, trembling slightly in her hands.

Natasha’s eyes flutter open. She blinks at the light, then focuses slowly on the three of you.

Her gaze slides to Wanda, then to you, and a weak smirk curves the edge of her lips.

“So,” she rasps. “She’s real.”

You roll your eyes, stepping closer. “Told you.”

Natasha’s smirk deepens just a little. “Didn’t think you’d bring her to a war zone.”

“She wanted to be here.”

Wanda turns to you, but before she can speak, you gently touch her arm.

“Can I have a minute with her?”

Wanda glances at Natasha, then at you, and gives a small nod. “Of course.”

You look at Yelena.

“Take her to get some coffee. I won’t be long.”

Yelena hesitates, eyes flicking to her sister, then to you. She gives a small nod and walks over to Wanda. The two of them leave the room without a word.

You watch the door close behind them, then pull the chair closer to the bed and sit.

You reach out and brush a few strands of hair away from her forehead. Your fingers are gentle, slow, the way they never get to be when it comes to her. There’s a pause before your hand settles against her cheek.

“Why are you always scaring me, sestra moya?”

Natasha closes her eyes for a moment at the sound of it, like the words are heavier than she expected. Her face leans into your palm, just a little.

“I didn’t plan it,” she murmurs, voice low and dry.

You let your thumb trace along the edge of her jaw. The bruises look worse in this light, but she is alive. That is all you care about right now.

After a quiet breath, your voice shifts.

“Tell me who.”

Her eyes open again, sharp and clear despite the pain.

“Castillo.”

The name drops like lead.

You sit back slowly, letting it settle.

“He’s out for revenge,” Natasha continues.

You nod once. You don’t need the details. The message is clear.

Your voice lowers, colder now. “He’ll regret this.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. She knows better than to doubt it.

You stand, pulling the blanket a little higher on her shoulder, your fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

“Get some rest,” you say softly. “I’ve got the rest.”

Her eyes follow you as you move toward the door.

“I know you do.”

You glance back at her once, the promise already burning behind your eyes.

Then you leave, ready to make good on it.

Night swallows the skyline as you step into the dark.

The cold metal of your weapon rests against your thigh. Your coat moves like a second skin. There is no wind tonight. Just silence, hanging thick above the city like a warning.

You give the order. One word.

“Now.”

Your team spreads through the city like fire through dry brush. Clint on overwatch, his scope sweeping rooftops with machine precision. Yelena moving between shadows with two blades strapped across her back. Bruce rides co-pilot with the muscle, already tense with rage waiting to be unleashed.

The location comes in. An abandoned meatpacking plant in Queens, repurposed as a supply hub for Castillo’s crew.

You arrive first.

The metal door swings open with a groan. The inside smells like blood and grease. You can hear boots scuffling. Laughter. A low radio buzz. They don’t know you are here yet.

The first man turns the corner and never sees it coming.

You bury a blade under his jaw, twist, and pull it free. His body folds with a wet thud.

Another appears, raising a pistol. You shoot him clean through the skull. Bone cracks, and he drops like a puppet with its strings cut.

Screams rise. Confusion spreads. That’s when it starts.

You move through the hall with deadly rhythm. One shot to the chest. Two to the face. A throat slit so deep the sound gurgles wet and slow before silence falls again. You step over twitching limbs. You fire into movement without blinking. A hand reaches for a weapon, and you crush it under your boot before pulling the trigger into the man’s neck.

Yelena appears on your left. Her knives are red already, her expression blank.

“They were still laughing,” she says flatly. “Not anymore.”

Clint’s voice comes in through the comm.

“Upper level clear. They ran straight into me.”

You enter the back corridor. The hallway is narrow. The men packed together.

Bad choice.

You unload six rounds into their legs first, watching them fall, broken and screaming. You walk past the ones who beg. Your aim is flawless. One bullet each. Eyes. Mouths. Hearts.

By the time you reach the center of the compound, blood coats the floor in thick streaks. It clings to your boots, seeps into the soles. You do not care.

Castillo is not here. The coward ran.

But his people didn’t. And now they will never leave this place.

Bruce and your clean-up crew arrive last. There is nothing left to secure. No survivors. No doubts.

Fifty-three confirmed dead.

Your side? Not one scratch.

You walk through the aftermath in silence. The orange glow of fire from the upper office reflects in broken glass. Ash floats through the air like dirty snow.

You reach the central support beam near the back wall. Blood still drips nearby, pooling beneath the shattered remains of Castillo’s second-in-command. The stench of gunpowder and death clings to everything.

You pull a knife from your belt. It’s the same blade your father once carried. Heavy. Balanced. Sharp enough to slice through bones.

You drive it into the wall and start to carve. Each stroke is deliberate. Deep. Rough.

You do not write Fury.

You write your name.

Your original name.

Y/L/N

The name that once ruled this city before you were old enough to hold a gun. The name whispered with fear behind closed doors. The name that should have died with your parents.

It didn’t.

You kept it alive.

Now they will remember.

Not just who did this.

But where you come from.

You don’t look back as you walk out.

Let the city whisper.

Let it kneel.

It had been three days since the warehouse burned.

Three days since you signed your name into blood and concrete. Since you reminded the city that you were not your father's shadow, but something sharper. Louder. Deadlier.

The café is unusually quiet when you step inside. The air is warm, the scent of vanilla and sugar still clinging to the walls. Sunlight filters through the windows, soft and golden. Wanda stands behind the counter, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled to her elbows. She looks up the moment you enter, and her smile is instant.

You walk up to the counter, letting your hands rest on the edge as she finishes frothing milk into a small ceramic cup.

“You okay?” you ask.

She pauses for just a second before nodding. “Yeah. It’s just... been quiet today. Feels strange.”

You nod slowly. That strange feeling? It has been sitting at the base of your neck since you got out of the car.

You glance at the front windows. The street outside looks the same as always. Clean. Calm. But something scratches at your instincts.

“Maybe it's the weather,” Wanda says, her voice soft.

You don’t answer. Your eyes are still on the glass.

Then you hear it.

Tires. Screeching. Fast. Too fast.

Your hand is already reaching for the holster inside your coat.

Three black cars come flying around the corner, engines roaring. They slam to a stop outside the café. Doors fly open.

Then everything explodes.

Gunfire erupts like thunder. Bullets slam into the windows. Glass shatters inward. Screams. Splinters. The coffee machine explodes behind Wanda. You grab her without thinking and throw her to the floor just as bullets rip through the air where she had been standing.

Her breath hits your neck. Your arm wraps around her head, shielding it with your body.

She doesn’t scream. She just clutches your shirt with trembling fingers.

Outside, the shooters reload.

Your rage is already boiling.

You are going to kill every last one of them.

The second the last shot rings out, you are already moving.

Your hand pulls the pistol from inside your coat. The safety clicks off with a metallic snap. Your pulse pounds against your skull like war drums.

But before you can fire, the cars screech again. Tires peel against asphalt. Engines roar as the shooters dive back into their vehicles and vanish down the street.

Gone.

Cowards.

You rise from where you had shielded Wanda, gun still in your grip, finger still near the trigger.

Your blood is boiling.

You want to chase. You want to hunt. But something worse holds you in place.

You turn to her.

Wanda is sitting upright now, her back pressed against the counter, hands shaking where they clutch her knees. Her eyes are wide. Not with fear of the attack, but with something else.

Her gaze drops to your hand.

Your weapon.

You freeze.

Slowly, carefully, you lower the gun and place it on the counter. Your breath is ragged, your voice low.

“Are you hurt?”

She doesn’t answer.

You reach out, your fingers aching to touch her, to ground her, to reassure her.

But the moment your hand nears her shoulder, she flinches.

Your heart cracks so cleanly it feels like it echoes in your chest.

You pull back immediately.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Wanda shakes her head once, but still does not speak. Her lips press tightly together. Her chest rises and falls too fast.

You do not ask her to understand. You just help her stand, gently, carefully, like handling glass already cracked.

You decide to drop her at Pietro’s Apartment. The car ride is quiet. She says nothing. You do not fill the silence.

Pietro opens the door before you even knock. His eyes snap between the two of you, instantly alert. He sees the tremor in his sister's hands.

“What happened?” he asks, voice sharp.

You place your hand lightly on Wanda’s back, guiding her inside.

“I need you both to leave the city. Tonight. Go somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Just for a few days.”

Pietro looks like he is about to argue, but something in your tone keeps him silent.

Wanda finally speaks. “Y/N-”

You step back from the doorway, the distance already beginning to burn.

“I’ll call when it’s clear.”

You turn before she can say another word. Before you see anything in her eyes that might stop you.

The door shuts behind you.

You slide into the driver’s seat, your hands gripping the wheel before the door even shuts. The engine hums low beneath your feet, but you do not pull away just yet.

You pull out your phone, hit a number you know by muscle memory, and press it to your ear.

Clint picks up on the second ring.

You do not waste time.

“One question. Who?”

There is a pause. Not hesitation, just confirmation.

“Castillo,” Clint says. “He put the order in last night. Hired guns, all local. We’re tracking the license plates now.”

You nod slowly, staring ahead through the windshield.

“I want everyone in. Now.”

“You mean-”

“All hands-on deck.”

You end the call and finally start driving.

Later at SHIELD Upper Level, War Room

The room is full when you arrive.

The table is long, steel, cold. Every chair around it is filled.

Maria Hill stands with her arms crossed, eyes sharp as glass. Yelena sits beside her, jaw clenched, still in her tac gear. Clint nods at you from the far side. Steve Rogers is already reviewing satellite feeds on a tablet. Tony taps impatiently on the edge of his chair. Bruce says nothing but looks like he hasn't slept in two days. Kate Bishop leans against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, silent for once. Thor stands near the windows, posture rigid. Loki lounges nearby, unreadable but present. Even that means something.

At the far end, Natasha sits upright in a chair brought in for her. Bandages wrap her wrist and ribs. One eye is bruised, but her stare is steady.

You step to the head of the table.

No greetings. No pleasantries.

“This morning, Castillo made a move on me. He tried to hit me where he thought I’d be vulnerable. He missed.”

You pause, letting the weight of your words settle.

“But he hit close. Too close.”

The room stays quiet, watching.

“He did not just attack me. He attacked the café. He’s made it clear he does not fear consequences.”

You look around the table, eyes locking with each of theirs.

“He’s about to learn the price of that mistake.”

The strategy continues around the table, voices moving fast, plans overlapping like loaded chambers. You let them work. Let them sharpen the edges.

But you know this won’t be enough.

This needs more than precision.

It needs brutality.

It needs finality.

You step away from the table, further into the shadows of the upper level, where the hum of electronics fades behind concrete and distance. You reach into your pocket and pull out the old phone. No biometrics. No apps. Just a number pad and one saved contact.

You press call.

It rings once.

Then silence.

No hello.

No breath.

Just waiting.

You speak.

“Castle?”

Ty zdes', spasibo Bogu - You are here, thank God

Vsyo khorosho, Yel-bear. Ya zdes'. Ya s toboy - It's okay, Yel-bear. I'm here. I'm with you.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mafia au #female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #lesbian #lgbt #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #clint barton #pietro maximoff #maria hill #yelena belova #tony stark #kate bishop #frank castle #Devi writes

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