#is that the same artist as Natasha?

[katfreaks-hidyhole]

[me-uglypretty]

do you think natasha romanoff only listens to radio hit singles while working out?

[rxmqnova]

*Natasha and Y/N on their first date*

Y/N: So do you like Taylor Swift?

Natasha: She writes about relationships-

Y/N, shoving breadsticks into her purse: Sorry, I have to go home, have to feed my ca-

Natasha: Which shouldn't be an issue considering that plenty of other artists do the same thing without being endlessly shamed for it.

Y/N, removing breadsticks from her purse: Go on.

(I've been listening to TTPD all day...)

[unholyhelbig]

Part two of mafia nat???

Title: The Oversight [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3079

Warnings: Hostage situation, brusing, mentions of child abuse, horrible grammar, and Quiznos

[a/n: Thank you all for the great response to the first chapter! I'm making this a thing, for sure!] Let me know if you're interested in being added to the taglist for this story!

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

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“The usual, sweet girl.” You set the plate of pancakes down in front of Veronica. A happy face was painted against the golden surface with whipped cream, with cherries and two slices of bacon divided perfectly for hair. Your daughter never seemed to grow tired of the meal and would swallow down a glass of milk with just a bit of strawberry syrup.

Despite having completed the maze on the back of the kid’s menu at least a dozen times, she remained infatuated, kicking her feet back and forth as the orange crayon made its way through the boldened lines.

You tentatively moved a lock of brunette hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Eat your food, kiddo. Big day tomorrow.”

Veronica nodded and started to fork down the smiling face. She didn’t speak much, a few words here and there, and that worried you enough to take the day off from work. You had found a speech therapist right outside of the city that accepted your HMO plan with enough fervor that you made the soonest appointment you could.

While you worked hard to shield Veronica from the life that you were determined to break away from, you were distressed. Kids were smart, they didn’t’ get enough credit. You were sure that she noticed the only meals she ate was at this diner and at school. The way that you were here all the time, dressed in the same uniform stained with ketchup and coffee. The way you fell asleep on the second-hand sofa for a few hours at a time.

“She your kid?”

While your back was turned, mind rushing with intrepid thoughts, someone had sidled up against the counter with an empty white mug, its mouth flipped to the ceiling. The blonde looked innocent enough, if not in despite need of the coffee she was asking for. Her accent was thick. Russian or Ukrainian, nothing you could fully place. 

“She is a very good artist.” She tapped her finger against the orange drawing of a sunset in the corner of the placemat. “A lot of talent in this one.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, picking up the coffee pot. The blonde nodded and smiled back as you poured her a cup. “She gets it from her father.”

While you weren’t entirely sure that was true, you did know that the talent wasn’t from you. You never had the artistic eye. Veronica, on the other hand, was a quiet force to be recon with when it came to art. Even at a young age, you knew whole-heartedly that she had a future in it if she stuck with it.

“That so?” The woman took a long sip of her coffee, not flinching at the heat. “She should keep going. It’s important to have something to hold onto.”

The memory flickered in our mind as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It could have been a day, or a week, and your heart ached just as fiercely for your daughter as it always had. She would be in safe hands for now, you were sure. Your sitter knew about your devoted love, your resilience to make sure that Ronnie was okay. You were all she had, and being tied to a chair until your muscles felt like jelly was not a good sign.

You weren’t sure what had pulled you out of a fitful sleep for a few moments, but there was a light squeeze on your shoulder. Your head shot back and collided with something. There was a soft grunt, and your inhale burned your lungs. When you blinked awake, there wasn’t complete darkness. A less harsh light had been turned on.

The blonde from the diner was standing in front of you, robbing a tender spot on the center of her nose. “Ouch, that really hurt!”

“Sorry, I-“ you frowned, snapping your mouth shut. You weren’t going to apologize. You were the one that had been kidnapped, not the other way around. “What’s happening?”

Natasha had left you without another word, and you hated the way you missed her presence. You’d drifted off in the quiet and considered it a better punishment than Clints vicious blows to the face. The girl in front of you held a bottle of water up as a peace offering.

She cracked open the top, and even if you weren’t quite sure if something was in it, you didn’t care at the moment. She guided it to your lips, and a few drops dripped over your chin. It cooled the burning in your throat.

“Thank you,” this time you meant it. Natasha had made it clear that there was no good cop, but this was starting to look like your reprieve. You tested your luck. “If they’re going to kill me, why hold me?”

“They are not going to kill you. Natasha is a cautious woman. She did not get to where she was without crossing a few lines. You claim that you’re not on drugs and my sister wants to make sure that is truthful. Can you blame her?”

From a technical standpoint- no, you couldn’t. You searched for some type of resemblance in the woman and came up with nothing but a slight similarity in the slope of her nose. She smiled, crossing her legs, and sitting back against the chair.  

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and it sent a shooting pain to your temple. “If I get one wrong, do you shoot me?”

She laughed, “No wrong answers. Can you believe that I want to get to know you? I’ll go first. My name is Yelena, and my favorite color is green. Forest green if you would like to get specific, which I would.”

“Dark red.” You said “I’m y/n.”

“Oh, I know. How long have you lived in the city?”

You rolled your shoulders back again. They were stiff. You’ve never been this uncomfortable in your life, and not just socially. There was a cool calmness about Yelena that put you at ease. Though, she was one of your kidnappers, and most-likely a member of the secret underground organization that had inexplicitly frequented the diner.

“My whole life. Not this part of town, though. East lower with my mom and my dad until my mom died and my dad got himself killed when I was seventeen.”

“Foster care?”

“For a year until I was old enough to be out on my own. I’m not going to let my daughter end up the same way. That was the hardest year of my life and if she loses me then… Her father isn’t around, but I’m afraid that going into the system would be best case scenario.”

“She’s six?” Yelena asked.

“And a half, but yes.”

“Non-verbal?”

You nodded again. This felt like a shitty game of twenty questions. Yelena already knew all the answers and you could still taste blood and the aching in your jaw. She tapped her fingers against her knee, uncrossing them and leaning forward.

The ceiling still stretched above you. There were rafters that you could barely make out in the darkness. You blinked so you wouldn’t cry. Still, when you spoke next, your words came out pinched and you couldn’t help but feel weak.

“The world is a horrible place, and the odds are already stacked against her, you know?” You sniffed to keep snot that you couldn’t wipe away from dripping onto your shirt already soiled with blood. “She’s a good kid. She’s funny, and smart, and I want her to have a life where she thinks everything is okay, even if there’s a possibility that it never is. Ronnie doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t need to know.”

Yelena swallowed hard and nodded. She stood and closed the distance between you. Her hand was warm against you skin as she tentatively wiped away the moisture on your cheek. She gave you the rest of the water. “Okay. Drink.”

You were foolish to trust her. There was something in the water that was tasteless but rendered you unconscious all the same. You blinked awake, not sure how much time had passed. Your mind was swimming relentlessly, being forced in and out of lucidity had done nothing for your resolve.

Sunlight, something you thought you would never see again, flitted through an open window. A cooling summer breeze accompanied the sight. You’d been freed somewhere along the way, and your gratitude wasn’t lost on you.

Dark purple bruises encircled both of your wrists. Your whole body ached, and you let out a low moan at the sudden blinking movement. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

Your back was pushed up against a dark oak bedframe, heels shoving you back. There was a lightheadedness swirling around you. A nice bedspread was underneath you, and the room itself was dripping in riches.

It was large with floor to ceiling windows, the walls slathered in deep maroon paint. There was a wall of bookshelves filled with expertly bound books. Two chairs and a small cocktail table was set up in a beam of sunlight.

Natasha held a crystal glass of unidentified alcohol in her hand. The ice floated within the deep brown liquid as if it were afraid to make a sound. She wore a suit, one that hugged her sides. Her lips were painted red to match the walls and she tapped her nail against the glass, observing you.

Her words sent a pang directly to your core, and that embarrassed you more than your exhaustion. Blood flooded into your cheeks and the very corner of Natasha’s lip twitched in response. She set her glass down on the table.

You recoiled as she rose and transplanted herself on the corner of the bed. She was gentle with her movements as if you were an animal that she was afraid to startle. Natasha had a tight hold on her operations. She was nothing more than a myth. Simply the boss.

Somehow, she scared you more now than she did before. When you were tied to the chair, you were certain that you were going to die. But now, in this royal-style room, you were filled with questions about why she let you live.

“I don’t make mistakes, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the people who work for me.” She was glaring at the design etched into the duvet, gold embroidery. Her perfectly manicured fingers thumbed the flower. “You were profiled, and you were profiled wrong. I don’t go after single mothers, especially ones that don’t keep certain… habits.”

There was a sinking feeling that you weren’t meant to speak. This was the delicate moment during a hostage situation where the robber has a gun pointed at your head, the finger on the trigger and a burlap sack of money in the opposite hand. Your words would do nothing but loosen the safety.

“This is being dealt with, believe me.” Natasha looked up at you, her eyes fierce, a beautiful fern color that bounded off the darkness of the walls. “But you must understand, y/n, I am not known for my kindness, and I am certainly not known for my mercy. You still took the money, and you still owe me.”   

You drew in a breath, opening your mouth to protest, but Natasha held up her hand and you snapped your jaw shut. There was a bit of amusement in her stare that you didn’t have the mental capacity to dissect.

“Yelena said that you know how to fight. Or, at the very least, take a hit. So, I’m not asking. I’m telling you that work for me until your debt is paid off.”

Natasha had gotten impossibly close to you. That same deep scent of mint filled your lungs. It wasn’t comforting, but it didn’t’ unsettle you anymore, and neither did her warmth. You winched when she reached up and grabbed your face, squeezing softer than Clint had, her nails still dug into soft bruising.

She whispered her words, breath hot on your lips. “You belong to me now, and I don’t always play nice.”

Natasha ‘not playing nice’ looked a lot like having a driver drop you off in front of your apartment without your shoes. The sidewalk was cold despite the hot day, and as you stared up at your unit, you swore that the curtains flickered. You blinked and squeezed the bridge of your nose immediately regretting it the second you felt the shooting pain reach your eardrums.

They had taken your keys, presumably to make copies, and the sweatpants that you were given were much too big around your waist. You had sinched them with a shoestring, just counting yourself lucky that they’d provided a change of clothes in the first place. Even the shirt was stained and had a logo on it for a defunct Quiznos in queens.

Your body threatened to give out as you took the stairs two at a time up to your apartment. You still didn’t’ have a grasp on how much time had passed, but it was evening when you left work, and the sun felt like a mid-day assault on your senses.

Frantically, you knocked on your neighbor’s door, wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Natasha’s pants. More than likely- Clints pants. It took a few moments for the door to swing open, but when it did, you were flooded with relief.

Darcy had an eyebrow lifted at you. “Holy shit,”

You didn’t let her get another word in edgewise before you engulfed her in a hug. She let out a breath at the impact and after a few seconds, pulled you in closer. Darcy was a friend, someone you trusted enough to watch your daughter. There was a soft spot in your heart for her. You didn’t let go when she backed the two of you into the living room and let the door fall shut behind you.

“I was three seconds from calling the police, y/n.” she pulled back, squeezing your shoulders. “What happened to you?”

You were instructed on what to say, word for word. You’d repeated it twice to Natasha and once to the driver. Lying to Darcy, someone who was the equivalent of a lie detector. Her eyes were hard, her voice hushed.

“I got jumped by a couple of guys on the way out of the restaurant. I was stranded on the other side of town, no phone. I tried to get here as soon as possible but I got a little banged up. I’m okay, a little shaken, but okay.” You frowned, “What day is it?”

Your eyes searched the room for a clock, for anything that would give you indication, but Darcy, while one of the sweetest people you had ever met, was a bit scatter-brained. You trusted her with your daughter, and with your own life, but there were spare computer parts strung out across her coffee table, on the couch, and the television stand.

“Y/n, you’ve been gone for two days.” She lifted your chin with a curled finger, making a hissing noise as she sucked in a breath “Oh they got you good. You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“More trouble than it’s worth.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I would love an icepack, though. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ve got frozen peas and corn, dealers’ choice. Ronnie finally fell asleep; I kept telling her that nothing was wrong but she’s too preceptive for her own good sometimes.”

It was a bad move, but you gave Darcy a thankful squeeze on the shoulder and moved down the hall to the guest room.  It was the cleanest place in the house, reserved for visitors. Darcy still had zoomed in photos of computer chips. They were like little mazes without an escape, her personality shining through.

Veronica was laying on top of the duvet, curled up in a blanket that was typically strewn across the base of the bed. She wasn’t asleep, her tempered gray eyes flicking to the door and then lighting up when she realized that it was you. You leaned against the doorframe, warmth flooding you.

You wrapped her in a bone-crunching hug, squeezing her into you as if you never wanted to let her go. She smelled like Darcy’s shampoo, a light floral concoction that comforted you. Ronnie’s hand squeezing the fabric of your borrowed shirt.

“Hi, baby” you pulled back slightly, enough room for you to give her a kiss on the forehead, pushing back ringlets of curly hair. “I missed you.”

Her nose scrunched up and her little fingers ghosted so softly over the pulsing bruises on your face. You never wanted her to see you like this, for anyone to see you like this, but at the moment you didn’t care. Having her in your arms was enough to erase all of that doubt.

“It’s alright. I’m alright,” You assured, and she crunched her nose again. “Oh, you think I stink?”

You probably did. You’d been strapped to a chair for 48 hours, nearly vomiting up what little food you’d consumed the night of your abduction. You’d sweat through your clothes, and the borrowed ones weren’t much better in the scent department.

“Too bad, little one,” you poked at her sides, eliciting an infectious giggle. “You’re stuck with me, stink and all.”

You let yourself go slack against her, trapping her under one of your arms. Veronica playfully tried to shove you off and you let out a grunt at each attempt. Eventually her arms wrapped around yours and she settled into you.

Maybe some sleep wouldn’t do you bad. Your body was about to give out, and the only instructions you’d gotten from Natasha other than the white lie of your injuries, was to hang tight and heal until she contacted you, and she would contact you.

“I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I brought both.” Darcy said from the doorway. You mumbled into the pillow in response, nothing legible. “Oh, we’re cuddling, or is this a hostage situation?”

You winced internally at the words, but sighed contentedly when you felt the weight of the frozen vegetables against your shoulder blades. You melted into the pillows, the bed dipping down as Darcy laid on the other side of Ronnie, as you drifted off to sleep.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 6

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

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Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more

Even though you and Ransom have started talking again, you don’t fully trust him like before. He could have warned you about his family’s plans for you.

If he claims he can't escape from his parents' grasp, you find it hard to believe, knowing how Ransom will stop at nothing to get what he wants. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s bribed people.

This time, you will stay on guard. At least you’ve got the pen drive with you. It’s your insurance in case someone tries to frame you again.

After Ransom left your apartment, you continued packing up all your things. Being a minimalist, you don’t have a lot of stuff, which is helpful. You quickly gather your essential belongings, load them into your car, and leave the city to return to your hometown.

🏙️🏙️🏙️🏙️🏙️

In the small town, everyone drives the same type of SUV. So, when your red Lamborghini enters the town, it catches everyone's eye. People are amazed, but there’s also a hint of jealousy, especially from Natasha. She grits her teeth when she sees you flaunting your wealth.

Before heading back to your father’s house, you stop at the pawn shop where you sold your Rolex.

You walk into the store and see Mr. Rogers carefully examining a pearl necklace while Steve talks to another customer. You clear your throat to get their attention.

Mr. Rogers looks up and says, “Yes? Oh, Tom’s daughter. I heard you went back to the city.”

You bristle slightly, realizing every move you make is a topic in this town. “I decided to stay a while to take care of my father. I’m here to buy back the watch I sold previously.” You show him a stack of cash.

“I’m willing to pay more,” you add, placing the money on the counter with a firm expression.

Mr. Rogers nods, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the cash.

Mr. Rogers was impressed with you. “It’s alright. I won’t ask you for more. Wait a second, I’ll get your watch.” Then he called his son, “Steve, could you accompany Y/N?”

'No, don’t leave me,' you thought. There was an awkward moment, but Steve followed what his father said.

He nodded at you, and you did the same. While waiting, you took a good look at him. He looked different, taller, and had put on some muscle. But one thing that stayed the same was the pencil he always kept on his right ear. He’s an artist and always draws, which is why he keeps a pencil nearby.

“Are you still drawing?” you asked.

Steve never thought you would want to talk to him. “Sometimes.”

“You should tell the truth to your dad,” you said.

“The truth?” Steve looked puzzled.

“Your dream of becoming an artist,” you clarified.

Steve widened his eyes, surprised that you remembered.

“Speak up. That’s what I did after I left this town, and everything opened up for me,” you said, then continued, "Not that I care."

Before Steve could respond, his dad appeared with the watch. “Here’s your watch.”

The Rolex, the first luxurious item you ever bought with your own money, was back in your hand. It had been a gamble to sell it, but it was a promise to yourself that you would find a way to get it back.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. Then you left the store without looking back.

After you left, Steve continued to stare at the door, even though your car was no longer in front of the store. Something you said had ignited a fire in him. He turned to his dad. “I want to say something.”

📄📄📄📄📄

You drove back home, the familiar sights and sounds of your small town easing some of the tension from your shoulders. Unexpectedly, Bucky's car was also there when you arrived.

Tom's face brightened when he heard the car, and he eagerly waited at the front door, greeting you warmly as you entered the house.

“Are you exhausted? Do you want something to eat?” Tom asked with concern, guiding you towards the dining table.

You glanced over and saw Bucky, but you chose to ignore him for the moment. On the table, there were scattered papers and a calculator, indicating some sort of ongoing work.

Tom let out a sigh, gesturing towards the mess, “Ah, it’s messy. I’m helping Bucky with the accounting, although I’m not very good at this.”

Then an idea seemed to strike him. Your father looked at you with hopeful anticipation, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, his gaze shifting to Bucky, “Maybe she could be a temporary auditor at your hotel.”

You and Bucky locked eyes, a mix of surprise and hesitation passing between you. What was this? You had just returned home, and now your dad was suggesting that you help the person who had once bullied you?

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[ageofevermore]

ITS BRIGHTER NOW

SUMMARY — until you met your girls, you once believed love would be burning red, but it turns out, it’s everything in between, and that couldn’t be more golden. i wanna be defined by the things that i love, not the things i hate, not the things that i’m afraid of, not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night, i just think that you are what you love

PROMPTS — “sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you” & “will you stay with me?”

WARNINGS — mentions of battle, injury, anxiety, overall just fluff and comfort for arguably the best avengers and their girlfriend

Like every relationship, yours has its ups and downs. Although most times, you’re met with nothing but outstanding partners who try their absolute hardest to maintain open communication and boundaries, they’re still human, and Avengers, and while some consider that a fairytale circumstance, not many stop to think about how challenging it can be at its worst moments. Not many people, or any at all who aren’t in the lifestyle or one similar, think about how they’re gone for days at a time, sometimes weeks or months if it’s an undercover mission, and how when they finally do get back, they’re never the same as how they left. But honestly, how could they be? They’ve done things no average citizen would ever be expected to do, seen things and handled situations that are dangerous and traumatizing, and just like anyone else, those things haunt them. Wanda is better about unpacking those skeletons in her closet then Natasha is, but the both of them take things personally, and if things go south, it’s never good.

Both of your girlfriends had been gone from the compound for days. They’d been called out to an active Hydra base in Russia, and three days later, things had gone south and they’d been in active combat since. You didn’t talk to them much, with battles and timezones and everything else that got in your way, but you had heard through the grapevine that Wanda was pretty banged up and Natasha had been left with no choice but to shoot to kill after a particularly gruesome fight. Hearing that never got any easier, especially when they were halfway across the world and had no idea when they’d return. It was missions like these that made you yearn for a simpler life. One where Wanda was an artist, Natasha probably took up something flexible like tattooing, and you did literally anything else to just have some peace and quiet and promised safety.

You had met Natasha first, after Maria recruited you to join Shield. She had been skeptical of you, as she was of everyone, but you broke down her walls as easily as you’d picked the lock to Clint’s farm the one time you were placed on a strike mission together. She had been hurt pretty badly, and his farm was the closest place to land. That had been an interesting day, no thanks to your girlfriend who was draped across your arm with a shallow bullet wound and a startled Laura who was screeching about blood on her new couch. Things with Clint were still chaotic as ever, but he eventually got over you busting his brand new lock, and the two of you joked about it now, although now you had a key so no locks had to be busted in the event of an unplanned visit happening again. When you met Wanda, she fell into your dynamic easily, and at first, neither you nor Natasha had realized that you’d kind of adopted her as a third girlfriend until a drunken night when she ended up in your bed and never left. Now, sleeping without them is hard, but you’re forced to manage as best as you can, seeing as you don't really have much of a choice.

It was going onto the sixth night without them home when you finally retired from the couch, and decided to head to bed, figuring that at two in the morning there was no chance of them coming back until the next morning at the earliest. It was hard enough when one of them was on an active mission with no return date, but when both of them were gone, it truly felt like your heart was missing from your chest and you were just going through the motions and holding your breath until they got back. Most people only had one person to worry about, but having two people to lose, with jobs in this line of work, you felt like you were always looking over your shoulder and expecting the worst. As often as they could, your girlfriends declined missions together, even though they felt comfortable on the battlefield together and it was a comfort to not be alone, but neither one of them wanted to risk not coming home to you. They didn’t have a choice this time, so reluctantly they packed up their duffles and headed for the quinjet, with a kiss on your head and a promise that they would fight to come home to you, that they would try to make it back. There were still two mugs of tea on the countertop in the mini kitchen, and although it was disgusting and the tea had gone bad, you couldn’t bring yourself to clean them up. If that was the last thing they ever touched with you, when they were just Wanda and Natasha and not Avengers, you wanted the picture of mismatched mugs burned into your eyelids for the rest of your life. They deserved to be remembered as real, genuine, soft and stubborn, sometimes infuriating but lovable and loved people, not just heroes who had a cause when things went south.

You tossed and turned for probably an hour, groaning in annoyance for how empty your bed felt without them. How had you gotten so attached? That was the one thing you’d tried your hardest not to do when you got into this, and yet here you are, in Natasha’s t-shirt and Wanda’s panties, unable to sleep because the bed feels too cold and the walls feel too big and the room feels too empty and your heart feels misplaced. You’d heard somebody say love is golden once, not burning red, and you’d never understood that until a moment like this a few years ago, when Natasha left for the first time and you were utterly alone in the tower. They were golden, they were light, they were pouring rain in the middle of the day with the sun shining and not a cloud in sight, and they are the best moments of your life that you wish you could frame in a moving picture, because no, a picture can’t say a million words when it’s them. You need every word in the dictionary and then some. You will never be able to elaborate on how much you love them without falling short, and feeling like there's still so much you could’ve said. Everything felt so gray without them. It had to be after three in the morning when you finally fell asleep, probably closer to four, but you didn’t think about how long you’d been waiting up for them, just flopped onto your back and sprawled out like a starfish, and let sleep take over so you could have a few hours without consciously missing them. Missing them was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

You’re pulled from your sleep by hushed voices and a door closing, convinced that the hinges are louder at inappropriate times just to spite you. You try to ignore it at first, finally in a comfortable position and getting some rest after a long day of running trials with Cho, but the noises persist despite your displeasure. A sound between a groan and a whine is extracted from your chest when something bumps into the bed, and any thought of going back to sleep leaves your mind. Unlike your girlfriends who can sleep through a natural disaster and fall asleep again if god forbid it wakes them up, once your eyes open you’re awake for the day, and it seems like this is where your day starts.

Although with blurred vision from the very few hours of sleep in your eyes, you’re able make out Wanda hunched over the bed, grasping at her side that is noticeably bloody, while Natasha is digging through the drawers to your left probably attempting to find a loose fitting top for Wanda to change into. All exhaustion leaves your body at the sight of them, and you spring up, rubbing your eyes with a wince as they burn in disagreement with your current state of consciousness. Wanda’s head snaps up, on high alert, but she forces her shoulders to relax when she realizes that it’s just you and not a threat.

“Sorry, we didn’t want to wake you.” She apologizes weakly, through clenched teeth and apparent sleepiness. You wonder when the last time they got a decent amount of rest, when they weren’t looking over their shoulders in paranoia or tossing and turning in pain from an injury that couldn’t be properly treated, but you force yourself to not dwell on it too much. You can’t change the past, and neither can they, all that matters is how they recover, and how they need you to help them heal from everything they were exposed to while in Russia. You’re the clean up, another factor that nobody considers while talking about how romantic and protected you must feel having two superheroes as partners. If anything, you feel more exposed. Like all eyes are on you and a monster is always lurking in the room over.

“No, no that’s okay. I only went to sleep a few hours ago, anyway. Here.” You know that the shirt Natasha is probably looking for is the one currently on your body, and you offer it to Wanda with no hesitation, already making a b-line for her when she just barely has the strength to reach for it herself. You pull the bloodied top over her head gently, thankful that the blood it’s soaked with is dry, and her wound is covered in gauze, meaning they’d probably stopped by the medbay before they made their way in here. “A little banged up, aren’t you?” You comment, although it's rhetorical and you know she won’t tell you how it happened just yet. That usually comes a few days after the mission, when the trauma isn’t so fresh and they’re not still on edge that something else is coming for them. You help her out of her pants as well, thanking Natasha when she hands you a fresh pair of undergarments to pull up Wanda’s legs before you even have to ask.

“We’re still in one piece.” Natasha promises, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around your waist. She’s tense all over, but she does her best to relax as she holds you, grounding herself in the moment and not the nightmares that have been going around in circles in her mind since getting on the quinjet to come home. “We missed you.” She kisses the skin beneath your ear, lingering for a few seconds before she untangles herself completely and gets ready for bed herself.

“That’s all that matters.” You reassure her, pecking Wanda’s lips gently, knowing she doesn’t have the energy or the strength to match any moment of passion right now. It’s not something that bothers you, maybe it used to, just the slightest bit, but it’s a routine you’re used to now. “I missed you too.”

“I told Steve we’re not taking any missions for a while. Especially not together.” Natasha hands you another one of her tops to slip into, and watches you throw Wanda’s bloodied one into the garbage beside your vanity. She won’t wear it again, not when it’s got so much history now, even if you could get the blood stain out. Again, it’s a routine you’ve found comfort in. The clothes they return home in almost always end up in the garbage, no time for working through PTSD that’s stitched into the fabric when you can just get something new to start fresh in.

“That’s good. I heard from Maria how tough this one was. I don’t know if I slept much the first few days.” You hate to worry them, or make them feel bad, but they hate when you’re not honest with them, and there’s nothing any of you can do about them being sent out on missions, so it’s not like you’re haroboring negative feelings toward them directly, which they understand, but your girlfriends do a great job of beating themselves up about certain things out of their control, this being one of them.

“Or at all. We still have cameras, you know.” Natasha muses, thoroughly amused when you turn a deep shade of crimson and kick Wanda’s discarded pants up toward her. Your other girlfriend, who has been noticeably quiet through the entire exchange, is curled up in bed, looking unbothered by the conversation but intent on finally getting some sleep in her own bed without the possibility of being blown to bits by the enemy.

“Spying on me, are you Romanoff?” You tease, shutting all the drawers Natasha left open and picking up all of her discarded clothes to throw them in the bin as well. She thanks you silently with her eyes that are practically bleeding with pain and adoration, but you don’t say anything. This is the least you can do for them right now.

“Gotta keep an eye on my girl.” Although it’s an easy statement, you know that it’s riddled with nothing but genuine anxiety. Both of your girlfriends are worrywarts when it comes to leaving you alone, for any amount of time but especially undetermined chunks like this mission, and although its heartwarming to be so cared for, it breaks your heart to know that they have valid reasons to be afraid. Another thing nobody even considers when they make comments toward your relationship. Wanda makes a huffing sound beside Natasha and both of your lips twitch in amusement, “On one of my girls, sorry, malysh.”

“You both should get some rest.” You comment, seeing that almost an hour has passed since they stumbled in. You won’t be able to fall asleep again, and even if you could, you’re apprehensive to crawl into bed with Wanda and accidentally hurt her more, so you have all intentions of wishing them a goodnight and going to finally clean up the mugs of tea that are resting on the counter.

“Where are you going?” Natasha wonders, watching you closely, like she’s scared that you’re going to fall apart right in front of her. You hate these moments, when they’re first getting back and they still feel like they’re stranded in a battlefield. It takes days to get back to some kind of normalcy without walking on eggshells, and by that time, they’re usually cleared to start training again and working their strength up for the next mission. One day, you just want to be done, but they’re not ready yet and that's okay.

“To clean up the tea mugs you left before you went. I didn’t have the heart to clean them up, in case…” You train off, but Natasha knows what you’re going to say and her face sinks even deeper.

“In case we didn’t come back.” She finishes your thought, hand rubbing Wanda’s back now that the woman is on her belly, seeking pressure against her wound that’s probably aching beneath the gauze. She shouldn’t be putting any pressure on it, but you’re not about to scold her right now. She needs to be comfortable, any torn stitches can easily be mended tomorrow morning when she’s well rested.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, releasing the tension that gathered in your shoulders at the simple thought of losing them. They’re okay this time, you can let go of all that pent up anxiety and dread for the time being. But it crosses your mind that there's always next time, and they might not get so lucky.

“Will you stay with me? Please?” Wanda asks, voice muffled by the pillow her face is pressed into, her arms beneath her head as she gives Natasha full access to her back, and the aching muscles that have probably been pulled a couple thousand times since leaving. Natasha works harder at releasing some of that tension, looking at you with broken eyes that you can’t say no too. Your worries are squandered when Wanda speaks again, lifting her head just enough to be able to see your face, peering into your eyes with a passion and seriousness that burns you inside. “You won’t hurt me, stop thinking that. I just want to hold my girl.”

“Ahem.” Natasha clears her throat, and Wanda lets the slightest smile pull her tired lips upward.

“One of my girls, sorry, detka.” She apologies before dropping her face back into the pillow, tightening her grip on it when Natasha hits a sore spot in her back. The redhead keeps at it, knowing how easily the Sokovian can pull her muscles when she’s lifting heavy things with just her tendrils.

“Are my thoughts that loud?” You ask meekly, abandoning your intention of straightening up the kitchen and instead coming closer to the end bed, still without pants and just Natasha’s shirt that hangs to your mid thigh.

Natasha stops rubbing Wanda’s back in order to grab at your thighs and pull you closer, rubbing the skin of your legs the same way she had been rubbing Wanda’s back. Though she’ll never admit it, you and Wanda have a sneaking suspicion her love language is physical touch, and that just maybe, physically feeling you both silences her anxieties over you just disappearing from her. Whatever her reason, neither of you protest, and admittedly crave her touch by the end of the night when you crawl into bed.

“Mhmm, I promise I’m okay. Doesn’t really hurt anymore, s’just sore.” She promised, sounding half asleep the longer she lays, adjusting her head so her neck is turned toward both you and Natasha, but her eyes are closed, a content smirk on her lips that only grows bigger when she hears you sigh your agreeance and then feels the bed dip with your weight as you climb into bed.

“Lay your ass down, or I’m gonna fall asleep sitting up.” Natasha scolds, playfully slapping your ass as you crawl over her and into the center of the bed, which is no longer warm from your body. You settle in between them, humming contently when Wanda loops an arm around your waist and then Natasha pulled you into her chest, your legs intertangling messily beneath the sheets.

“I missed this. I can’t sleep when you’re gone, everything feels so empty.” You admit, letting your eyes close even if you’re going to have a few hours of painful silence and stillness before you can even consider actually falling asleep.

Natasha presses her lips into your head and Wanda tightens her arm around your middle, neither saying anything, but not having to as their words and their presence says it all. Surprisingly, you fall asleep in minutes, and not a single one of you wakes up for the next ten hours, desperately needing the rest all together again.

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Just Another Notch

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Reader Masterlist

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong. Part 5/?

Word count: 1,682

AN: two chapters in one day because I can 💋🤷🏻‍♀️

So here you were, dressed in the most expensive fabric you’ve ever touched. Tony had a dress tailored for your mission, the style was nothing like anything you saw at any of his cocktail parties. It felt vintage, like old money. The dark green was almost black, but in certain lights you could see the emerald reflection. It was long, but not in a slim, skin tight way, it had a bust, and it flared out at the hips, dark tulle flowing to the floor. It was like the dress was actually made for you, designed for your body, not sized up.

Your hair and makeup was done by no one other than yourself. You didn’t trust the makeup artists Tony hired, if their faces were any indication of what you’d look like, you’d rather go bare faced. You were good enough at makeup, understanding that for this look, you needed to look classic, rich. To achieve it, a tiny black wing with a white shimmer on your inner corner was more than enough for your eyes. You didn’t touch your eyebrows or put foundation on, though you usually like to. You had to know that the other women there won’t be wearing nearly as much makeup. You brush a coral rouge powder over your cheeks, then dabbing it off with a big powder brush, practically blending it into your skin.

The only thing you knew to go all out for, is you lips. Dark red, almost purple: the bloodier the better. Nothing said evil conglomerate like a red lip. And your hair, no one touched your hair. You had that covered, heat was never applied, gel and foam rollers helped you achieve the thick curls that sit on your shoulders. You sucked in a breath as you walked out of your room, down to the elevator felt like a thousand steps.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflective metal elevator door, and now you felt the same as you did this morning, practically naked in a sports bra. When it dings and you step out onto the roof, you see your team, suited up like they’re going on a mission, as they climb into the quinjet. How lovely, they get bullet proof armor and you get priceless crushed velvet. You know what else is priceless? Your life.

You focus on walking in heels, keeping your eyes on the ground infront of you, when you step up onto the platform you look around, seeing where you should sit. Of course Natasha and Steve take the pilot seats, leaving you and Bucky to figure it out. You find a seat near the exit, your nerves getting the better of you.

Of course Bucky sits right beside you. You try not to make eye contact as you sit back and cross your legs, it’s gonna be a long ride. “I’m sorry, about this morning. I didn’t know he would say that.” He whispers to you, as if Natasha and Steve aren’t allowed to hear his apology. You roll your eyes, whatever you thought you were doing with Bucky, is over, too much has happened.

You had a job to do, and playing hard to get would be saved for a later date, never. He notices your eye roll and places his hand on your exposed shoulder, trying to relax you. But it does the opposite. “You look beautiful, doll.”. You nod your head, you couldn’t call him a liar, you knew you looked amazing. But that didn’t mean you had to be grateful for his compliment.

The thought sat in the back of your mind, he’s only trying to add you to his roster, don’t fall for it. You look over and your eyes connect with his and you can’t help but to feel a little guilt when you see the sincerity in his eyes. You always expect the worst from him, and every time he proves you wrong, except for this morning, you had no clue what he said to Steve after you left, he could’ve scolded him or laughed with him. You’d never know, cause you’ll never ask. You didn’t care to, you don’t want to be another one of his numbers.

Bucky can see the uncertainty in your eyes, moving his gloved hand from your shoulder to your jaw. “I mean it.”. The way the words fell from his lips had your skin igniting. Now here you were, betraying your own thoughts instantly. He runs his leather covered thumb over your bottom lip, he watches as it pulls with the friction. “I love this color on you.” He says in his hushed tone, but it didn’t feel hushed anymore, every breath he took reverberated off your eardrums. You were so focused on his mouth as he spoke you didn’t notice him scoot closer to you on the bench.

It’s like another person inside of you spoke, “Thank you.”, you’re not really sure what you’re thanking him for, but maybe it will make him ease on his intensity. He smiles genuinely as you accept his compliments. “It’s a shame, can’t take you out tonight, looking like this.” He smooth talks. And you hate yourself for blushing, so you try to play it off “What made you think I’d go out with you?” You squint slightly, watching his reaction.

He’s an award winning actor apparently, his parted lips forming a smirk, “You saying you wouldn’t?” He says lowly, his grip on your jaw tightening slightly. You don’t know, if you’re honest with yourself; you liked how he was making you feel right now, and you couldn’t imagine how it would be if you were on a date with him.

You decide, in that moment of lapsed judgement, that you did wanna play his game after all. You close your mouth, that hung agape giving him the permission to keep his thumb there, your lips subtly wrap around his gloved finger, it was a barely noticeable innuendo. You pull away before you can even taste the leather; shaking your head. “Depends, are you asking me?”.

Bucky’s eyes darken at the sight of your lips wrapping around him. It’s like a switch was flipped, this wasn’t another office fuck. The way you made him feel was primal, he never needed anyone like he needed you right now. “Do that again, see what happens.”. He says, practically groaning the words out.

Your heart starts pumping deep in your stomach, you could feel that nauseous feeling some would consider butterflies. Bucky wasn’t gonna answer your question about asking you on a date, because in his mind, once he had you, there was no need to pretend with dinners and movies. Bucky leans in, pulling your face closer to his with the strong grip he has on you. “I dare you.”.

You couldn’t back down now, you had him hooked, and you were obviously winning the game. You smirk at his possessive eyes, then you wrap your lips around the thumb again, a little more of it this time. Your tongue being able to flick against it, you would die at the thought of others blood staining it. But in this moment, it didn’t matter.

Bucky’s eyes watch your mouth intently, a little gasp escaping him. He was shocked, he didn’t expect you to do it. Now he had to figure out just what he was gonna do about it. He presses his thumb down on your tongue, paralyzing it. His eyes are almost black as they study your face. “You have no clue do you?” He presses his brows together.

You shake your head in his hand, not being able to speak. You don’t really know what exactly he’s referring to. “What I’m going to do to you when this mission ends.” He clarifies, pulling his thumb from your mouth, dragging his hand down your neck, a trail of your own saliva wetting your skin. Thank god you weren’t wearing foundation.

He presses the wet digit against your pulse point, and you can feel the blood stop rushing to your brain. Your mind starts racing with the possibilities, but the lack of oxygen is fogging it. Maybe you played the game a little too well. Maybe you want him and you’ve been denying it to yourself this whole time. “I-“ you begin to say but the shuttering of the quintet landing and the sound of Steve and Natasha unbuckling their seatbelts make you and Bucky snap out of the lust filled bubble you were in.

“We’re here.” Steve says, looking between you and Bucky, his eyebrows raising at seeing you to pressed so tightly side by side. Bucky removed his hand the second he realized we were about to be seen. But he didn’t care what Steve thought, so he didn’t move from his spot, just scowling at his so called friend from across the quintet. He gave him one more chance after the “needing to eat already” comment. But when he said you needed to lose weight, that was enough for him to feel differently about his friend, telling him to fuck off, and come back when he has some common decency.

He didn’t expect to be paired with him on a mission so soon. He ignores Steve’s hopeful eyes, turning to Natasha. “Coms on?” He says, sliding an earpiece over to you. Natasha gives a thumbs up, already typing away on a laptop, trying to find the blue prints for Bruno’s yacht.

He turns back to you, and Steve checks his watch, you had to go now, the boat was gonna undock soon. He presses the button that releases the platform, the heavy metal door slowly descending to the ground. Bucky had done such a good job distracting you, you almost forgot your mission entirely. Now you were in action mode, but you didn’t have the hang of your action mode quite yet. Bucky takes your hand in his. “I’ll be with you the whole night, okay?” He says, noticing the fear in your eyes. You nod, taking a cooling breath. “I’m ready.”

[the-ace-with-spades]

There's one fic idea from another fandom that I never wrote and would like to adapt to the TGM fandom, which is tattoo artist/florist but more like they're both tattoo artists but one of them doesn't know that (have I mentioned this before? i feel like I did)

tw: mentions of addiction and ODing

I'm thinking this happens in San Fran/Portland/Settle/Washington DC

Bradley had his papers pulled and accidentally started working part-time in a tattoo shop (just cleaning) and absolutely fell in love with tattoo art and switched majors from engineering to art history/etc. in his second semester. Not long after he started an apprenticeship at the same tattoo shop, his thesis was about tattoo art history and he became a well-known academic in the field and a popular tattoo artist.

Carole used to love flowers and had a very varied garden at their house and flower illustrations everywhere - Bradley used to draw flowers on every card for her - so flowers became his specialty

He now runs a tattoo shop (The Bloom) with Natasha, who he met at a tattoo competition TV show (because I'm a sucker for reality shows rn...) and flies as a side gig, but he also has part-time gigs at different colleges.

He is tattooed all over, but only on the parts of his body he can cover in some ways - it's really funny when he lectures because he looks like a stereotypical professor, cardigans, collared shirts, khakis and all, but sometimes when it's hot, he rolls up his sleeves and people can see his full-sleeve tattoos.

Now, Jake had a completely different route to the place he is at now. He got mixed with the wrong crowd and got kicked out of the Naval Academy first year, he got mixed with an even worse crowd when his family didn't take him back when he returned and he was an addict for some time. He had one of those born-again christian turn arounds - not in a super fanatic way, just woke up one day in a hospital after a close call with his (religious) crying mom praying with a rosary over him and realized he needed to change something about his life or he's going to destroy everyone around him. He starts going to church with his ma and gets a little involved in the local Christian charity, etc etc.

One of the therapies he attended was art therapy and at first, he thought it was bullshit but then he actually liked it and even designed some of his own tattoo cover-ups at the sessions (he had shitty tattoos he had done when he was high or drunk that reminded him about worse times). The tattoo artist who did his coverups was actually impressed and offered him training, which he took up.

Most of his shittiest tattoos are covered now, but he still has not very thought-through tattoos on his face, some of which are too big to ever do much about them, and some blackout tattoos, so he looks very 'stereotypically'.

Due to his background, cover-ups, black only, and trad/neo-trad tatttos are his specialty. He is also really good at pigmentation and tattoo restoration/longevity.

Now, Jake moves out of Texas with his mom after his dad (who has been completely unsupportive of him since he got kicked out of USNA) passed away, to be closer to his sister and her kids who lived on the other side of the states. He filters around, taking part-time gigs at other studios and gigs he gets from social media.

Eventually, he opens a tattoo shop with Javy, on the other side of the street as The Bloom is. Due to the amount of flowers and the name of the studio, he assumes it's a flower shop.

He and Bradley run into each other in a local coffee shop (run by Reuben and Mickey) and Jake, seeing Bradley's getup, is still under the impression Bradley is a florist.

Bradley spills Jake's coffee and asks him on a date when he pays back for his coffee a few days later

(Bob, working a street away, is the actual local florist)

[vase-of-lilies]

My World, Your World

❀ Mommies!WandaNat x Little!Shapeshifting!reader (f)

❀ MD/LG dynamics, fluff, shapeshifting reader, pet names (sweetie, little bunny, firecracker), SFW age regression.

❀ Request: Oh crap there are fanfics of us (Natasha and Wanda react to fics about them) Dragon AU (Reader is a little who can shapeshift into a Dragon)fem reader is a little who shifts into a dragon and her mommies find this adorable.

❀A/N: I got this request from someone who found me on AO3! @SashaWalker2, thank you for your request and I hope that I fulfilled it to your liking! I have never done anything with shapeshifting before, so this will be a fun and new adventure for me:D I have been doing research (watching how to train your dragon) so I really hope this turns out! :D

The world you live in is a little… crazy. Earth 0092 is what it is called by the Avengers. The Avengers are from a different type of earth, but they are currently being hunted on that earth, so they came to this one. The one where you call home. They made themselves a part of your world when they arrived through a portal at the top of a skyscraper in the city. At first, it was cool since you had seen something like it before, but once you saw a man made of Iron, a godly looking one with a hammer, and one with a metal arm, you were officially scared. 

Meeting two of them made it better. The two women you met were named Natasha and Wanda. Natasha had short, white-dyed hair, and Wanda had beautiful long natural red hair. They were both equally beautiful and equally different from each other. Both had different attributes, such as Natasha. She had more of a protective personality while Wanda had a motherly instinct as well as a loving personality. 

You had met them while you were working the register at a record store. It was Wanda that you had noticed first. However, it was Natasha that noticed you first. You stood out like a sore thumb in the dark lighting of the store. A pink striped shirt with a blue cardigan over the top, blue jeans with a couple tears in them, along with a pair of messy paint-covered Converse. [Or any type of stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb outfit:)]

Nat smiled at you, and you returned that smile with a question. “How can I help you ladies today?” You ask, and Wanda turns to you once she hears your voice. The two women look at each other and shrug. 

“We wanted to see what music you had here. We are new in town and would love to compare.” Wanda said, smiling at you from the first aisle of records for sale. You hum at the odd statement, the music you have here being the only music in the whole world. There are four artists that make music that you know of, and everywhere else streams the same music. They must be really new if they didn’t know about the four artists…

You nod softly, not sure what they were to expect, but you let them explore your shop without bothering them. You couldn’t help but hear them talk to each other about what they found; “Wait, these are the same people who wrote this. Are there only a few people who made it to this shop?” The white-haired woman asks, confusion lacing her voice.

You connected the dots from the day the portal showed up. 

“You must be a part of the Avengers team that showed up the other day!” You exclaim, walking over to them. They nod in response and watch you as you grab four of your favorite records. “These guys are super cool, they formed about 293 years ago and have been keeping up with the times. They are robots, in case you didn’t know. And this lady, she is super cool. She has written too many songs to count. But she sounds like a siren. Maybe she is one but cut out her powers when she sings. Im not sure. Anyway! I hope you can find what you are looking for.”

Wanda and Natasha watch you with a smile as you explain how the shops and music work in this world. They take the recommendations with open minds and decide that they would come back another time with more questions. And they did come back! They came every day that week to get to know you and the shop. 

It was after the full 7 days of visiting you that they finally decided to ask you out on a date with them. You said yes, and they were slightly surprised when you were so direct with them. On Earth 0092, there was no such thing as homophobia, everyone was equally ok with one another and left people alone. It was definitely a world that Wanda and Nat could get used to as they were ridiculed on the earth they were living on.

The first date you all went on was one of the best experiences! You had never been very active in the dating scene, but you knew once you found the right person (or people) you would know that you were in good hands. As you got to know Wanda and Natasha, you found out things about their earth that you never could have imagined. 

“Man, humans are assholes.” You conclude, hearing the way they explain the fact that politicians are the ones who target them, and are the most evil in their world. It surprises you most to find out that a lot of what is a reality in your world, is complete fiction in their world. One thing in specific: Dragons. 

When they came to Earth 0092, they notices immediately that there were dragons in this world. But they also saw humans, so they suspected that the majority of the population was just ok with having dragons from the mountains wander around. They of course didn’t know that those were actual people that lay underneath the vicious yet gentle dragons they see in the sky above all of the buildings. 

It was a dragon's world, with humans adapting and growing up with them. Some include shapeshifters who care for the pureblood dragons. You yourself were a dragon, but at your age in human years, you are [enter your above 18 age here]. Which means you are only a baby dragon at this point. You have not yet transformed yet, and you don’t know when it's going to happen. Some humans have transformed at the age of 14 or 15, but you were a late “bloomer.” Well, that's what your mother called you. 

You chuckled along with Wanda and Natasha as they expressed their fears of fire-breathing dragons, and dragons that they thought would hurt them. But you were able to soothe them easily, “I promise you, they are harmless unless you provoke them. They used to be our enemies, but someone decided to ride one and tame it. They are almost like puppies in that aspect. They just want to be loved, and cared for.” 

They listened to you, and you were so grateful for that. You really liked the way you felt when they were kind to you, and understanding the reality of your world. They told you stories of their world, where dragons were seen as enemies through movies, and how they were “slain” when a princess needed to be saved. They even told you about an interesting story from a movie called “Shrek” where a donkey and a dragon had children. (?) It confused you a little bit, but you listened with an open mind. 

“So, what do you like to do for fun?” Wanda asked you, and you really had to think about it without exposing yourself. Your… littler self. 

“Well, I really like to color, ADULT coloring books! I like coloring in adult coloring books, with colored pencils and paint and stuff. I also like listening to that robot band I told you about. But other than that, I really like to travel. Just around.” You said, almost exposing a rather embarrassing side of you in your opinion. What you would find out, is that it is perfectly natural and the two women would be supportive of you. 

~~~~~~~~

It had been a few months now since the Avengers had shown up to your world, and the two women you had gone on a few dates with had convinced you to move in with them. They had found a comfy apartment, slightly bigger than your former one, and had helped you adapt to a lifestyle of living with people that love and care for you. 

As Wanda sits on the couch and scrolls through this world's social media, you and Natasha are baking cookies in the kitchen. You two are laughing and taking in each other's company but as you look through the island window to the living room, you see Wanda staring at her phone in shock. You tilt your head and you ask her, “Is everything ok, Wan?” 

To your surprise, she responds with a small chuckle. “People are writing stories about us…” She says, piquing your interest as turns her phone towards you and Natasha. You approach her and you let out a small laugh as you look at the screen flooded with pictures and stories about Wanda and Natasha. You sigh in relief as you don’t see anything about you, but you can’t help but get a little jealous, seeing all of these men and women talking and fantasizing about your girlfriends. 

“Wait, are these fan fictions of us?” Nat asks, genuinely surprised. 

You let out a huff, and sit back against the cushions. You hear a small chuckle and you see Natasha giving you a side eye asking, “Aw, is our little baby jealous?” 

You shake your head defiantly and look at the pictures slide-showing on the large screen TV in front of you. Wanda and Nat give each other a sly look, and Wanda puts her phone down, giving her full attention to you. “Hey, sweetie, look we won’t read that stuff. I would rather spend my time with you and Natty. I wouldn’t want our little one to feel betrayed, right mama?” Wanda looks up at Nat smiling as you begin to fall into the space that they so willingly took in. 

You were certainly surprised at first when they accepted you but were eternally grateful that they loved you the same. Once you told them that you were got little, they understood knowing that it was a thing back on their Earth, but still wanted to explore more with you. 

As you fall deeper into your little space, you lay your head on your Mommy Wandas' chest, sighing and letting out a small whine. “Don wan to see ovver (other) peepo (people) tawking (talking) ’bout yous and mama.” Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, the quivering of your lip making your mommies coo at you. 

“Oh my sweet little bunny, it's ok, we promise to not read that stuff, ok? We pinky promise!” Nat holds out her pinky in front of you as she kneels down, and you link your pinky through hers. 

“Onwy (only) if yous pwomise (promise).” You reply, sighing, your eyes watching a piece of dust fly towards you. In the same moment of not really thinking, you sniffle and that little fleck of dust lands right inside of your nose. Letting out a whimper, you feel the sudden need to sneeze. 

Sucking in a deep breath, your nose tickles in just the right place and you let out a loud sneeze. In an unexpected instance the room filled with a soft pink puff of smoke. Wanda and Natasha looked at each other, confused beyond their mind. 

“Oh, my god…” Wanda whispers, looking at the little pink dragon curled up and asleep in her lap. 

“Why didn’t she tell us she was a dragon too?” Nat whispers, running her finger softly over the small spikes that line your back. “She’s just a baby one too…” You react to your spikes being touched by squirming a little bit. You let out a sigh and a little puff of smoke comes from your mouth, indicating that you were a fire-breathing dragon. 

Wanda tilts her head at your sleeping form, “She seems harmless, she has to be, right?” She says, praying to her god that she is safe, even in the loving presence of you. Well, dragon-you. 

Your breaths are soft and you look peaceful in your moment of sleep, the two women looking down at you with love, adoration, and care in their eyes. As you squirm a little, Wanda gently picks you up, fitting you perfectly in her cupped hands, up and lays you on the small pillow decorating the couch. “There you go, little one, all comfy and cozy.” Wanda smiles, gently running a finger over your pink, scaly snout. 

With a small ‘boop’ to your nose, your two mommies chuckle at the way your dark magenta nose scrunches in response. Wanda takes note and keeps that maneuver for future use. Wanda and Natasha sit on the couch together, holding each other and keeping an eye on you until you woke up. Just a few minutes later, your little legs stretch in front of you and the cutest yawn ever seen escaped your mouth. 

“Oh my god, that- that was absolutely adorable!” Wanda says quietly, not wanting to frighten you in your sleepy state. She ogled at your pink scales that shimmered in the light from the sun. She wondered ‘Does she play like a dog?’ She thought she could buy you toys and made sure to add a couple to her grocery list the next time she went. 

As you were waking up, you let out a small growl and your eyes flutter open. Once you see where you are and who is around you, you sit up and stretch almost like a dog. Your tail stretches out and wags a little bit as you sit down on the pillow, looking up at Wanda and Natasha with innocent, puppy eyes. 

They are a little cautious at first, knowing that some dragons can be dangerous. “Hi, little one, can you understand me?” Wanda says, leaning on her hands on her knees as she looks you over. A little tilt of your head and a small nod make it known to the two women to that you can understand them. 

You do a little spin, and you hold up your small yet big claws, indicating that you want to hold onto one of their hands. Natasha takes your talon (dragon paw) and smiles as you flex it just like you were holding it as a human. As you take your talon away from her hand you jump off of the couch, letting out a small ‘hmph’ as you lose your balance and topple over on the soft rug below you. With a little shake of your head, you stand up and walk around the legs of Wanda. 

They both chuckle and Wanda picks you up. “I didn’t know our little one was the cutest little dragon ever!” She coos at you and you visibly smile up at her. Your eyes sparkle in the sun and you nuzzle your snout against her chest, your tongue licking small strips on her neck. 

Natasha steps behind her wife, looking down at you with a bright smile, petting your head with a gentle hand. “Our little firecracker.” She says in a small voice.

~~~~~~~

After a few weeks of changing in and out of your dragon form, your two mommies have sometimes come home to a pillow or two torn up and fluff all over the place. Or you passed out on the little dragon bed they bought for you. As you grew, so did the bed, but since you were still just a baby dragon, you did not grow so big. But it was always a joy for your mommies to come home to see you. 

Even on days when you weren’t feeling yourself, they loved you to the fullest in both human and dragon form. They would know exactly how you feel the moment they see you laying down on the couch, where you really aren’t supposed to be when you are a dragon, but they can sense something is wrong. 

They care for you so, so much, and love you even more. Nothing would change that fact. No outburst, tiny fire your breath causes, especially being a dragon. Absolutely nothing. And you love them for that. You constantly thank them and never disappoint them in the slightest. The most you do is set a pillow on fire, but that's an easy fix thanks to Wandas' powers. 

They will never stop loving you, no matter what happens. 

[romanoffsbish]

You’re so Prettyyyyy…

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Warnings: Angst -> Fluff | Friends to Lovers | Drunk Confessions | Suggestive Content

Smut: Fantasy/Thought (2 blocks of writing). Mentions of strap on (R). Mentions of oral(N) (aka, no major smutty plot. You can blink it away)

Natasha was drunk; borderline blackout.

God, you loved her so much, her voice like an angel's melody, but right now, all you wanted was for the pretty drunkard to shut the fuck up.

Her heart, that she normally kept under lock and key was burning on the tip of her tongue.

——

Drunk words are sober thoughts, right?

Most of you hoped so, yearned for it to be true.

Regardless, she'd be embarrassed. She'd probably take off on a mission, nearly get herself killed, and she'd still avoid you when she returned and was benched. Most of her days likely to be spent in the garden moping over some book about sapphic heartbreak.

Natasha is predictably, an involved reader. She lets her favorite artists tell the story of her life.

Which is why you figured she'd bolt. All you can do is hope she is really blacking out so she won't remember this. So that she won't run.

"You're so prettyyy Y/N," the redhead fawned over you as she leaned her entire body against your side. You chuckled; it wasn't humorous. "The most beautiful girl in the universe."

If she could feel how tense you were she didn't let it be known. Her body simply molded into yours and yours stood as still as a statue. You stood there silently cursing vodka and Thor's mead for leaving Natasha in such delirium.

Natasha hiccuped, "My favorite girl," her hand slid into yours, she giggled, "Your hands are so soft." Her fingers slipped between yours and she sighed dreamily, "I just wanna kiss you."

An even tenser silence fell over you both as you said nothing, the redhead turned and shifted into you. Burrowing her face into your top, she sighed sadly now, "I wish you loved me back."

"I do love you Nat." You couldn't believe she'd question such a thing, like you hadn't made your feelings for her obvious for years now. Never with any pressure though, you were just as content remaining only the best of friends if it meant she was still yours in some fashion.

"Nope," she shook her head defiantly. "Because if you did you would've kissed me by now."

"You're drunk Nat..." She huffed, "Only now."

"Yeah, and when you're sober you don't want me. Not my fault." You were growing impatient with her, but you were also instantly riddled with guilt when you felt her body flinch.

"I always want you detka," she whispered her confession so softly into the fabric of your top that you'd miss it if not for being a spy yourself.

"Not outright." Natasha looked up at your avoidant eyes, lips pouting as you guided her into the elevator that finally arrived. An idea spurred her next movements on, catching you completely off guard as she found confidence.

Natasha shoved you against the elevator wall, or at least she tried to, her gross motor skills aren't the same after ten shots of vodka.

That pure shit Alexei smuggles into America too, from when he comes to see his 'girls', but really he comes to intimidate (fangirl over) Captain Ameeeerica. He only ever leaves in low spirits, without success. Even on his surprise visits is the star-spangled man not there when he arrives, he almost thinks that there is a drone following him around; there is, and Melina and Natasha are always in contact.

"Incoming. Two hours, abort America," her tone always serious, and mistakenly humorous.

If the big oaf was here you'd knock him out, along with Thor for only making it worse with promises of top of the line Asgardian mead.

Natasha had actually tripped, instead of the hot sequence she'd envisioned took place. Your hands quickly caught her by the waist, holding her steady. Her lips crashed into yours, slightly taking you by surprise, you'd expected it as a possibility, but were mortified by the actuality.

"Nat please," you were desperate for space, but her lips pressed to yours without any thought, her tongue sliding over yours hungrily. "This isn't fair," you whimpered into her mouth, hot breaths mixing as the one sided kiss continued.

Tears fell from your eyes, saturating both your cheeks as you settled into the moment. If this would be your only chance to kiss her now that she'd given you no choice, you'd lean into it.

Natasha pulled you from the elevator, shoving you haphazardly through the door of her room. Your body landed on the mattress, hers now on top of yours in a flash, hands roaming beneath your shirt the cause for your abrupt departure.

Natasha whined as you turned your head, forcefully separating her lips from yours as your hands tightly gripped her wrists, shaking your head as you flipped your positions. You hovered over her now instead, looking into her dejected eyes with concern. "You're drunk."

Natasha was drunk, but not as much as before.

Still enough to be out of it, but bold enough to make the moves she never could sober. She wanted you, and knew that even if sober her regretted it, it would only be outwardly. Deep down she'd hold onto the memory with joy.

"I'm fine," she attempted to rebut, "Please."

"We can't," you denied, you loved her too much to take advantage of her like this. But you were also weakened by her pleading gaze, there was no more denying it, she reciprocated your love.

So, in a moment of complete tenderness, you reapplied your lips to hers. Giving her all the love you'd hidden away behind playful flirting, soft embraces and the longing glances you'd send her way from across bustling rooms.

"Please," you whimpered breathlessly, "Forget this happened Natty, I-I can't lose you." You kept up the momentum of the soft kiss, even though you were practically sobbing into it.

"Just forget," you begged more firmly, "It'll be easier that way, we'll be okay, you'll stay..."

You fell asleep clinging to that hope.

But alas it was a fruitless thought.

Natasha remembered. It was an inevitability.

She could never forget her dream coming true.

Plus, she was trained to remember everything.

She flinched away from you, body softly trembling as she remembered the words she bombarded you with, and the accompanied laughter, one's uneasy the other's unaware.

The touches, and their implications. God, had she been in her right mind she would have been begging you to take her. Actually, she'd never have been bold enough, she didn't feel deserving of your tenderness, she knew of your love. She just wished you'd known of hers.

Everything would be easier if you did.

What she remembers most vividly, as in what haunts her most, was your desperate pleading that came with tears, and sniffling to prevent a runny nose; to prevent her from running.

Something you yourself tried to do last night.

She remembers you trying to leave, it's a bit of a blur, but you reluctantly stayed when she begged pitifully in her sleepy, drunken stupor.

Now she's uneasy at the sight of you. You were a beautiful, yet tragic reminder of all that she wanted, but never felt like she had a right to take. But while under the influence she did. And the tricky part is she doesn't regret it.

The longer she stared at you the more inclined she felt to face the mess she made. To stay put. So the redhead inched closer to you, you were magnetizing. She couldn't help but attract.

The fading light of the moon had lit up your face, and her heart ached with a longing for permanence. It also weighed heavily with guilt upon seeing pieces of your hair stuck to the dried tear tracks that stained your cheeks.

Lithe, calloused hands touched you with soft intentions. Rough, but oddly soft fingertips trailed up your cheeks as she moved to cup them. Natasha choked back a sob as to not wake you, her heart just couldn't handle how you melted into her so naturally; perfectly.

Natasha continued to sob semi-openly. The hand that wasn't cradling your face lovingly is covering her mouth, forcing her to minimize output as she must rely on her nose to breathe.

"I'm sorry this is how this went down," she shook her head, but you couldn't see, "I'm so embarrassed baby, I wanted our first kiss to be special. I'd schedule the sprinklers for an odd time under Tony in the system. He's far too easy to hack." —— Natasha set aside a whole afternoon to hack into the geniuses files, after 20 minutes she was in line to get popcorn before going in disguise to see the 'shitty' rom coms she'd always protest watching with you.

She loved them — god did she love you.

More than she'd ever dreamed possible.

Natasha obviously loved your body in a way that transcended lust. The redhead adored your plush thighs. She loved to nap on them, there have been days where she spent the entire day in your room doing just that. However, she never claimed to be a saint, and so, in a devious contradiction she'd always imagined the cellulite divots to be a challenge for her. Meant for her to press her thumb into, just to wind up wrapping her fingers around the malleable area, she'd use her attractive strength to press your thighs up and thrust her strap even deeper into your squelching cunt.

Your walls would quiver around the silicone and you'd cry out for her to stop and keep going all at the same time. Blissfully confused.

God she wanted that, but now she fears she ruined it all by not confessing with her sanity.

"We would've been having a spread of peanut butter sandwiches, grapes and oreos," she paused to catch her breath, she was nervous, your likely hearing this confession on some level. "Then just as I victoriously landed a light green grape into your mouth the sprinklers would shoot out of the grass without even a warning squeak before we'd be jumping up in shock, and quickly deflating as our clothes are officially soaked through. I'd hoped you'd be giggling. Smile as bright as the sun behind you, giving you that perfect angel glow."

You struggled to contain yourself, this crazy idea that Natasha 'the ever so stoic Black Widow' Romanoff had these girlish fantasies of you was amusing, and incredibly endearing.

Your body warmed as she spoke so tenderly.

Natasha sniffled into the sleeve of her hoodie, then a bitter chuckle left her lips. "We would have inched closer as we decided to dance in the metaphorical rain. Then I would have put my hand on your cheek, while my other lands on your waist. Then it would be up to you to ask me to pull you in." Natasha softly sighed.

She went to cradle your face with her free hand, but she lost her balance, shaking the bed and slipping your face from her right hands soft stabilization, right onto her left, your cold, damp lips pursed against the skin of her palm.

Natasha shivered at the delicate touch. Faint memories hitting her, a warmth settling over her pale pink lips, as she choppily remembered bits and pieces of last night in the elevator.

In a shaky whisper, the Russian beauty said: "Then when you sheepishly nodded, or squeaked out an adorable yes I would've pulled you in, and kissed you slow Y/N. Letting you, my precious girl, decide the eventual tempo."

Natasha let her face hover over yours, your breaths softly puffed against her skin as she whispered on about her perfect date. "We'd have probably ran to a dry part of land, likely further in the woods that gave way to shadows. Deep green leaves to gorgeously rival the pear green shaded ones. Then just as you caught your breath I'd rob you of it and push you into an oak tree; where I'd love you if you let me."

Natasha squeaked when you hastily broke the minuscule distance, leaning up to kiss her hard. Confirming her suspicions that you'd been awake the whole time. She was a spy, but so were you, so the usual context clues, like ones breathing patterns, aren't exactly credible.

The kiss was sloppy, full of obvious desperation on both ends. You were so afraid she'd run, but you realize now that you underestimated her.

"You're here," you acknowledged, tears springing to your eyes as you felt overwhelmed by immense happiness. She smiled solemnly. "I'm here to stay moya lyubov'," she promised in a hushed tone, "I won't run, I swear to it."

"You're serious Natty?" Natasha nodded with a grin that was widening at the sight of your face. A stray tear ran down your cheek, but it wasn't sad, it was one of relief, one she understood.

"Yes, I'm not going anywhere, at least not without you by my side." Her entire body warmed as you giggled unabashedly, she'd only booped your nose to emphasize her prior sentiments, in hindsight she saw how it could be deemed childish, but she didn't mind much. Hearing your joy is what manifested her own.

"Soooo," your voice trailed off, anxiety bubbled beneath the surface keeping you choked up.

"Yes," Natasha softly answered your wordless question, her lips pressing to your cheek as she sought to comfort you. "You're mine now." Her lips then pressed to yours. "And I'm yours."

"Please remind me to thank Alexei and Thor."

Natasha laughed, belly aching as her face fell into the crook of your neck. "You ruined it," she groaned against your skin, "the moment was perfect, and you just couldn't let it be."

"I'm known for my anxious responses Nat," you reminded her, "Be sure that's what you.." Natasha shushed you with a finger over your lips, pulling back from your neck she glared down at you without heat. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. I'm locked in baby girl."

Natasha smiled when your body melted into her mattress, it was as if her words unlocked the remainder of the tension in your body.

The moment was once again perfect, she leaned back down to slowly kiss you, her tongue was seconds away from entering your mouth until she was startled. The sounds going off in your stomach were reminiscent of hectic war times, it sent her head flying backwards in shock. "When did you eat last Y/N?"

You sheepishly laughed, "I think lunch."

Natasha gasped before immediately leaving you alone on her bed, she removed her phone from its charging dock then wordlessly slipped into her bathroom. You were confused, sure, but you knew there was likely a reason for her reaction. (She cared about you very much.)

"Okay, so I ordered breakfast from that diner up the street that you love," Natasha began to ramble methodically, "Today is a lazy day, I have deemed it as such so Steve was already told to fuck off, and to stay away from you."

Natasha's next set of words died on her tongue, you'd moved to sit up now, and under the light of the sun she noticed you were in her clothes.

An old, tattered Green Day T-shirt that she stole from Clint, and a pair of panties hidden beneath the length. She wondered what color.

"Natty?" The woman looked to you in a daze, but she quickly shook out of it at the sight of your extended hand. She accepted it with ease and you pulled her into your lap, the cold skin of your thigh pressed into the warmth of her own and she shuddered softly. Her viridescent eyes fluttered open to find your gentle smile waiting, and she could only think about kissing you, she'd pretend it was for the first time.

You sighed heavily, an indication of nerves, and she worried you'd changed your mind. But then you speak and everything settles, "I know it's a bit soon, but I hope you understand that I love you," you smile as you speak, "I've loved you for years, and I want to put it all out there."

"I think that it's actually a bit late," Natasha acknowledges with a teasing smirk, "We've been idiots for long enough Y/N. No more."

You shook your head in emphasis, "No more." Natasha mirrors your goofy smile as you cup her face, thumb stroking over the raised apple of her cheek just before you're pulling her in for a kiss that leaves you both feeling restless.

Natasha had moved to straddle your closed thighs, her arms lazily wrapped around your neck as she let you devour her mouth whole. There was a natural flow established, the redhead ground her hips down into you as burning arousal coursed through her veins. It seemed promiscuously promising even, especially with how she whimpered into your mouth shamelessly. Then the moment was over as Friday boomed through her speakers.

“Attention Agent Romanoff, your breakfast has arrived, and Mr. Stark refuses to send anyone upstairs in fear of a traumatic encounter.”

Natasha growls against your lips, “Pretentious fucking twat is asking for an ass whooping.”

You giggled, “Is he wrong Natty?” Natasha shrugged, her lips were pursed thoughtfully as she silently noted your compromised position.

“I mean,” you paused, pushing her even closer via the hand you had on her back, the one that was barely above her ass. “I wouldn’t exactly mind having you for my breakfast.”

Natasha smirked, her plump lips now ghosting over yours, and only brushing yours lightly. “Nice try detka,” she whispered, her lips found yours again, but in a much softer kiss that she controlled this time. “I don’t want to rush,” she timidly admitted, “We have time, and I want to take you out to dinner before serving dessert.”

The redhead winked as she left the room, you fell back against the mattress with a huff, she always was such a tease. Even in friendship. You loved her in spite of that, and as the lust faded you felt your mind reach the same place.

Meanwhile, in the elevator, Natasha was smiling like an idiot as she leaned her warm body into the cold metal. Her fingers brushed over her lips, they were burning with memory’s of yours and her heart fluttered in her chest.

When she returned to find you snoring softly she couldn’t help but to shake her head in amusement. Warmth overtook her body as she imagined this becoming a more familiar sight.

Natasha vowed to spend the rest of her life chasing down the sweet moments like these with you. Nothing in this world would ever mean as much to the woman as you do.

At least that's what she believed, until the day she first held your son in her arms, she swears she actually felt her heart doubling in size.

Everything made sense to her now, her heart at genuine ease for the first time in her entire life.

————

3,168 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥺

If you’re feeling angsty, here, have a bonus ending: Then it shattered, as yours flatlined...

[callimara]

The Characters

Main Cast

▶ Height Chart

Kirana Putri Anggraini

A full-time registered nurse and the holder of the Snake Aegis. She is 25 years old and has lived in Bougainville for the past 5 years to work at Bougainville General. Kirana is of Indonesian (half-Javanese, half-Balinese) descent: born and raised in Jogjakarta before undertaking her bachelor's degree in Paris. She has since gained permanent residence in France. Kirana is a sweet, kind, and motherly individual. She is empathetic and cares deeply for others: she will always extend a helping hand to those in need. Her family means more to her than anything in the world and she does her best to do right by them; even if it means pushing herself far too much. Though it can be challenging to live and work in a town where everyone perceives you as... Different, she tries her best to not let it affect her. Even when it does, deep down... She is very humble, though whether it's genuine humility or a genuine fear of standing out remains to be seen. But one thing everyone knows about her is her large appetite and love of food! She perceives food as an important part of culture and forming connections (which is a very fortunate common thread to have). So if she invites you for a coffee or lunch, be sure to say yes!

Learn more about Ulara!

Clara De Vries

A struggling artist who performs at cafes and bars - and occasionally sidewalks – all over town. She is the holder of the Songbird Aegis; 24 years old and a new face in town. Originally from Amsterdam, she arrived in Bougainville with nothing but the clothes on her back (quite literally). She is desperate to put her past behind her and move on to greener pastures. Clara wears her heart on her sleeve and is quick to give it away (which is often the cause of her troubles.) She craves affection and connection; but past experiences have given her a more pessimistic view on her chances of finding it. Yet still, she readily accepts it from anyone who offers: desperately. She is deeply troubled; though what it is that troubles her or why, she will never say. Perhaps it is her money trouble, or trouble finding a safe place to sleep, or any combination of the two: she is often lost in her own thoughts; slightly scatterbrained and distracted. But she truly comes to life when she is singing and playing music. Recently she learned of a full-ride music scholarship from Bougainvillea University. Perhaps it will finally help her turn her life around...

Learn more about Nightingale!

Natasha "Amber" Vasilieva

A park ranger and holder of the Tiger Aegis. She is 28 years old and is a military veteran of the Russian armed forces. She was discharged after being diagnosed with PTSD and Broca's Aphasia from a traumatic head injury while on active duty. To aid in her recovery, she had moved to the quiet, peaceful town of Bougainville for a job at the Emilie Francoise Nature Reserve: away from large crowds and loud noises. It has been several years since then. She was not as angry as she used to be; but living with her new disabilities still vexes her from to time to time. Amber is determined to get through her recovery as fast as she possibly can, but her progress is slow; a part of her fears that... She might never be the same person she was before. Despite this, she remains stoic and unshaken on the outside. Amber is severe and intimidating, even when she doesn't mean to be. If she can just learn to talk again... Maybe she wouldn't be stuck twiddling her thumbs in the middle of nowhere.

Learn more about Amura!

Colette Le Gautier

A student at Bougainvillea University? Who knows. Colette is very evasive about what she does. 26 years old and the holder of the Cat Aegis, she has an eclectic set of skills in her resume; one of which being a top gymnast for the Bougainvillea University's gymnastics team. Clever, quick-witted, and calculating; Colette uses her words carefully and purposefully. A social butterfly that fits into any social circle, but a recluse when it comes to her personal life. No one never really knows Colette. There is something unnerving about her: a certain pressure that could put anyone on edge. Is it her striking beauty? Her demand for perfection? Her uncanny ability to make someone want to please her regardless? Or something else? But one thing is certain: she looks out for no one but herself. So what is it does she hope to find in a small, quaint town like Bougainville?

Learn more about Felle Noire!

Supporting Cast

Carter Bishop

Carter is one of the library assistants at the Bougainville University Library, and has quickly become a popular fixture there; despite having only started in the last couple of months. He appears to be in his late twenties, and speaks with an extremely upper class British accent. He speaks fluent French with little difficulty, and is diligent and dedicated in his work. He tends to keep to himself most of the time, but he is pleasant to interact with: personable and friendly, albeit with a typical British dry wit. He is quick to help anybody who needs it, and his aid has already saved more than a few last-minute studiers with their coursework!

Elias Wright

Elias is the foul-tempered, acerbic chef in the local bistro, having already made a name for himself thanks to his explosive temper and overwhelming presence. The only thing that exceeds his apparently endless reserves of rage is his skill for cooking; the food in the bistro has taken a notable turn for the better, though whether that's from his skill, his leadership or simply the fact that the other cooks are terrified of angering him with sub-par products remains to be seen. He appears to be of American descent, and speaks with a difficult to place southern-states accent, but does not seem keen on sharing details. In dealings with people out and about town, he is prickly, standoffish and suspicious, preferring his own company to that of others. If he isn't shouting, then he's at least wearing a heavy scowl most of the time.

Markus Reiland

Markus is the suave, charming, popular bartender at the Bougainville watering hole, and is known probably intimately by most women - and half of the men - in town. His easygoing, charming demeanour, easy smile and dulcet tones have charmed more than their fair share of customers in any number of ways, and it seems like he always has his finger on the pulse of recent happenings in town. To be expected from the bartender who can wink and smile a secret out of anybody! He is eminently flirtatious and effortlessly charming, always ready with a wink, a smile and a flirtatious joke to anybody who crosses his path. He's a skilled cocktail mixer, and his party trick is making a custom cocktail for his customer based solely on his impressions of them as a person; he rarely misses, which just goes to show how easily he can read people. Unusually for rural France, he speaks with a thick hybrid accent, using many Louisianan cadences mixed with what appears to be an Iberian Spanish accent.

Casey Price

Casey is the bubbly and friendly waiter at the local vegan cafe, almost always being found on the morning and lunch shift. He's a friendly and talkative fellow who often chatters his customer's ear off with an earnest and sincere personability that makes it difficult to resist the urge to fall into conversation with him. He's a passionate animal-lover, extolling the virtues of vegetarianism to anybody who asks, but he is not one to judge or evangelise if the subject has not come up naturally. His accent seems to be from the American continent, though whether north-States or southern-Canadian is a little hard to tell at times. He's a little dorky, often tripping over his words in his excitement to say them, and often talks about his dreams of one day becoming a vet, or working in conservation...if he can find the time and money to go to school for the qualifications, that is!

▶ Wildward Master Post

[tom-whore-dleston]

the three of them

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f. reader, Joaquin Torres x f. reader, Sam Wilson x f. reader

This fic contains: angst, multiple situationships, implied poly!reader, long distance, implied infidelity, poetry format

Notes: This is my submission for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial theme: Great Expectations. The dating life is currently all over the place and I just wanted to dump all my feelings towards the relationships I have in a poetic way.

“What do you want?” They ask.

Isn’t it obvious?

You want Bucky.

But you also want Joaquin. 

And then there’s also Sam.

In a perfect world, you would have all three of them. 

Maybe even more if you wanted to.

Your heart is big enough to love them all the same.

Bucky feels a strong connection with you, yet he has Natasha.

It’s so confusing to both you and Bucky.

But Bucky makes you feel oh so good.

More than any other man has in your life.

Joaquin also wants you, but the distance between you both is greater than the yearning you have for one another.

Joaquin admires your artistic abilities and your passions.

He sees himself in you, hence why he loves you the way he does.

Someone said they see why you and Joaquin click.

Because you and Joaquin don’t take life so seriously.

You both know how to have fun and be silly.

You met Sam amongst the storm that is Bucky and Joaquin.

He is a safe haven for you. 

But this safe haven will be shipped off to the other side of the world before you know it. 

You have all this love in your heart that you’re ready to give.

But is now the right time?

Perhaps, there is another man, maybe woman, that is Bucky, Joaquin, and Sam combined.

They could be out there in this world.

It’s up to you if you want to explore that possibility.

But you’re not ready to let go of Bucky, Joaquin or Sam yet. 

You suppose that’s okay.

Until those dreams manifest into nightmares.

What do you want?

Who will you choose?

In the end, you must choose yourself, no matter what or who you want.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Joaquin Torres Masterlist | Sam Wilson Masterlist

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Title: The Charming Man

Author: @zenaidamacrouras1 (on AO3)

Artist: @late-to-the-party-81 (on AO3)

Rating: E

Word Count: 65,000 ish (how am I supposed to know till it's done posting? it's not like I'm in charge of writing and posting this fic.)(oh wait I am)

Warning: Smutty m/m times, canon typical violence, angst in the middle with a happy ending, Sam Wilson's patience is tested

Relationships: Steve Rogers / James “Bucky” Barnes

Other Characters: Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Kate Bishop, Natasha Romanov, Skye | Daisy Johnson

Summary:

Steve Rogers is quite happy with his pleasantly simple life working as a graphic designer, chatting with his best friend Sam who has the desk next to his, eating the same gluten free sandwich for lunch every day, and staring out his office window hoping to catch a glimpse of The Charming Man walking by. Unfortunately, life has a tendency to get complicated without our permission, particularly when Steve begins to suspect that a certain evil corporation is doing criminal things that decidedly grate on his nerves. Will Steve find himself over his head (which is precisely 5’5” inches off the ground)? I'll never tell. (Yes. The answer is yes.)

Written for the Shrinkyclinks Double Bang at @buckybarnesevents. Thanks for being the best mods ever and putting together such lovely events.

A million thanks to @late-to-the-party-81 for choosing my weird idea and making amazing art for it, and to my squad of betas including but not limited to: @burberrycanary @booksandabeer @late-to-the-party-81 and @fsbc-librarian

[thelittleliars]

Eventful concert

Natasha Romanoff x Singer Fem!Reader Black Widow x Female Singer Reader

Warnings: mention of depression and being suicidal

Words: 1.7k

Summary: The Avengers couldn't prevent hydra from attacking you during one of your concerts.

AN: Not proof read. I somehow wrote this all today without having a writers block or ideas falling flat! Also since it's October 2023 *cough* Endgame events happening *cough* this is a part of remembering Natasha Romanoff. Nat moya lyubov, I will love and remember you forever 😭🖤

You heard tons of screaming fans as soon as the lights went dark. Usually you'd start with a bit of dancing and walking around from one end of the stage to the other, but you couldn't do it that night since you had a fractured foot. Instead you limped with one of the two crutches you had towards the middle of the stage where your microphone stood. When you were on your mark for the night, lights turned back on and shone on you. "Hi everyone! How are y'all doing?" You asked the crowed in which you got only screaming as an answer. "I'm excited to be here tonight. New York City baby!!!" The crowed was excited and hyped as you said the city you were in right then. You were the same back in the day when you went to concerts and you favorite artists said your hometowns name. It was always something special. "Unfortunately I fractured my foot last night and I can not give you all a 100% performance as I usually do but I hope this slowed down show is still something you'll enjoy." You smiled as you heard some get well soon's and we love you's. "Alright let's get started!!" 

The first song was a faster more upbeat and happy one. You tried your best walking with a single crutch in one hand and the microphone in your other hand from one side to the other side. Just because you needed crutches didn't mean  you wouldn't walk around to see all of your fans. You loved seeing your fans, interact with them and hear them sing the lyrics with you. The second song was slower than your first one but still faster than most of your work. It was also more of a song that was about the struggle of finally finding happiness again after dark patch. As your third and fourth song you played the saddest songs you'd ever written. They still broke your heart each night you sang them but the pain was worth it since you knew they were fan favorites and helped them as much as they helped you. 

"Thank you all so much for coming and singing along. I just wanted to make sure to let you all know that you're welcome here for whatever reason you came tonight for. It's valid if you came for only to see me and do nothing more than look at me. It's valid if you came here because I'm a lesbian artist and you wanted some safe space to relax. It's valid if you came because you can relate to my depressed and suicidal lyrics. I'm here for you all. I love you all. And thank you for having enough energy to come here tonight." You looked at your pianist and gave her a signal for them to start playing slowly. "Since I'm here in New York right now, I decided to play a cover of a huge song back in 2009. If you know it, please sing along." It was 'Empire State of Mind' by Alicia Key and Jay-Z that you decided to cover a small portion off and the crowd went absolutely wild as soon as they recognized which song it was. With fans shouting the lyrics and them screaming in general you nearly missed hearing security through your ear piece saying that there was a breach. After that somehow chaos broke out. Fans were screaming in fear and tried to leave the venue to get to a safe place. Your pianist was about to reach you to get you to safety when a huge bald guy launched at you. You tried to fight the best you could. If you hadn't your crutch you were helplessly lost. He got some good punches on you though but before you got knocked unconscious, he was flung through the entire room. Confused of what had happened you tried to move your head but two hands came out of nowhere and held your face steady in place. You looked up only for the first thing to see red hair falling down to your face. Your vision then cleared more and you saw the most mesmerizing green eyes you had ever seen in your entire life. "Let your head rest like this for a minute first. You shouldn't move your head too fast too, you might have a concussion from the brutal hits you received." When the sound of her voice hit your ears it felt like the wind got knocked out of you. Her voice was so warm and soothing but at the same time raspy and sexy. 

"I-I-I'm Y/N" You stuttered out like an idiot. She simply gave you a genuine smile. "Yeah I know." She said before she helped you up slowly. After she made sure you were good and there was no sign of a concussion she introduced herself. "I'm Natasha." Oh lord. You thought. A pretty girl with an even more prettier name. How will your lesbian ass ever not fall in love at first sight? "Let's get you backstage."

"What? No, I can't go." You started to protest. "I need to make sure that my fans will be alright!" 

"Don't worry. They're safe." She gave you your crutch. "I saw the Avengers out there helping." You took your crutch and you both started to walk very slow in the direction of the backstage. She kept a close step near you in case you loose your strength. "The Avengers..?" You said confused but by the look of her gaze it was as if you should know them. Out of fun you acted as if you realized that you them. "Ohh yeah sure THE Avengers.."

The sarcastic remark shocked Natasha a bit. After what happened with the Civil- War they caused she was sure that everyone knew about them. "You-you don't know the Avengers?"

Your face fell stone cold. "God damn why do americans always assume that people know for sure every single person in their stupid country.." You huffed down the couple of stairs that would get you behind the stage leading to your backstage room. Natasha was close behind you giving you room to take the steps at your pace. "I'm not american." She almost said it in an angry tone. You stopped when you finished going down the stairs. "But your accent...? You don't- I'm sorry for assuming." Natasha stepped closer to you before speaking in russian. ">No worries darling<" Your knees suddenly gave in a bit, the redhead was quick to steady you by having a good grip on your waist. There was this churning feeling deep inside of your stomach as she touched you again. How come that you felt like you just fell in love with her? This was insane, it possibly couldn't have happen this fast, right?

"I think I might really have a concussion." You blamed your little incident on your weak knees instead of the real reason that is your gayness. Though nobody could ever blame you for going weak for a woman, they're women for goodness sake!

Natasha knew you weren't serious but was also going to make sure you were going to see a doctor to rule it out officially. "This must be one hell of a bad day then."

"Being held by a beautiful girl is never a bad day." Natasha didn't know what to say. Men always commented on her body in a sexual way and a bunch of women were always body shaming her so hearing your sincere compliment made her feel a lot of different things. "So I have to ask since I'm too curious for my own good. Are you a fan of mine or just a casual music enjoyer?" Before she could answer she was saved by your manager who came running towards you. "Oh thank god you're alright so far. Or do you have other injury I don't know of?"

"She got pretty harsh hits to her head as you can see by all the blood." Natasha stated the obvious. "I'm no doctor but so I can't rule out a concussion." He nodded as he listened closely. "Is it still far to her room?"

He shook his head. "No but there are another set of stairs." That was enough for Natasha to swoop you up in her arms. You let out a yelp, not expecting to be carried - especially not bridal style. This truly made up for being almost beaten unconscious. Shortly after she sat you down gently on a chair, a doctor came in and made a concussion evaluation. While you were busy with the doctor, Natasha checked in with the other Avengers, said she'd come back to the Tower once you were cleared and stitched up. It didn't take long until the tests were over and you had a stitches on your forehead and temple. You ended up only with a mild concussion and thankfully nothing worse. "About that question earlier.. I'm still interested in an answer."

"Unfortunately neither." She said with a heavy heart since she didn't wanted to see you sad but lying to you didn't see the right choice either. You nodded, she noticed you not being sad or disappointed and that got her wondering what you were thinking about her. "Then what's your reason of coming to my show? There are more than two choices here." At that Natasha opened up about being an Avenger, even explained what that is and also about Hydra, you were shocked to hear it all since you apparently missed a bunch of things that were going on. Not long after her explanation you manager rushed you to get to your tour bus since you had a show the next day in another state. That was how you ended up giving her your cell phone number, even boldly told her to call or send a text since you wanted to give back something for her help. And that was exactly what Natasha did the day she knew you finished touring.

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

cowboy like me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: As a part-time criminal and a full-time escape artist your first priority was always to keep people at arm's length. When you meet someone who also knows what it's like to live from day to day, you're not so sure you want to let her slip away.

Foreword: Title taken from the Taylor Swift song cause it’s evermore season y’all

The first time you met the Black Widow was aboard a train heading south toward London. 

You sat, facing the window and watching the people mill about the terminal outside. Your cheeks were still red and wind bitten from your commute to the station. The car was almost full now, most everyone dressed in Manchester United jerseys and hats and the like. You blended in just fine among them. Another fan headed home after the match with a scarf and an old pair of trainers. 

You rehashed the details of your current mark in your head like a mantra. Jameson Harris. 42 Malcolm Rd. Wife was Anna Harris. Two children, Marcus and Emily. 

“All aboard. The 5:00 train from Manchester to London is off in three minutes,” the conductor announced from a speaker overhead. You could barely hear it over the excitement of the crowd. A little boy ran screaming down the aisle, his mother giving a futile chase. 

In the set of seats facing you two men about your age sat down. They were clearly drunk, laughing like hyenas and shoving each other in a manner that bordered on real anger. At least one of them smelled like heavy smoke.

“Hey, mate,” the tall, lanky one with a bad neck tattoo waved at you. “How about that game, eh?” 

You grinned widely as if you had one too many drinks coursing through your veins. “Fucking wild.” You stumbled over the words as if your tongue didn’t sit correctly in your mouth. “Best match of the season, if you ask me.” 

The other guy, fitter and dark-haired took out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit it and pulled a huge drag. The exhaled smoke blew right into the face of a passing attendant. 

She coughed stiffly into her hand. “Sir, there is no smoking allowed onboard. I am going to have to ask you to step out or please put it out.”

“Are you talking to me, sweetheart?” You averted your gaze, scrolling mindlessly through the contacts in your phone. If the woman was looking for a hero, you were a false beacon of hope. 

“Yes. Now, please. There is truly no smoking allowed in the car.” The acrid stench of nicotine once more assaulted everyone misfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity.

The man took a deep breath and stood. Elaborately he stubbed the cigarette out on the back of his seat, little bits of ash flaking into the air. The attendant moved on and he dropped back into the chair. “Fucking cunt,” he swore loud enough to cut through the din. 

You closed your eyes to shut out the cloudy winter light intent on piercing your retinas and the jerky movements of the other passengers, high off the energy from the match. You swore you would take a break after this job. You had made that exact same promise to yourself last week in Bogota, and the time before in Cairo. No, you wouldn’t stop. Just as relentless as the blood rushing through your veins, stopping would be tantamount to death.

“Excuse me.” A voice caused your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. Innocence dripped from the words like honey, and you could tell the woman’s voice was pitched up from her normal tone. “Is anyone sitting here?” A slender hand gestured at the seat next to yours. 

You pushed yourself up from the slouch you had been lounging in, feeling self-conscious. “No. Go right ahead,” you answered, cockney accent shining right through. She was pretty, you noted; about your age as well. A hitch tugged at the back of your brain. An evolutionary alarm from living your entire life on the move. This woman was not to be trusted. Underneath the wide eyes and the girlish smile was a viper coiled to strike. 

“Thank you,” she said, looking quite small against the backdrop of the raucous train car.

A wolf whistle pierced the air, looking for trouble. The bloke who had been smoking flashed a predator’s grin at the blonde beside you. “Where are you traveling to all alone now, girlie?” 

You watched the exchange from the corner of your eye. Why did conflict seem to follow wherever you stepped foot? The woman merely glanced up from her book, unwilling to feed the fire. 

“Oi. Why don’t you go ahead and look at me when I’m talking to you? I know you can hear me.” The train had begun to depart, ushering in a wave of quiet to the car as passengers settled down. The demand was impossible to ignore. Even as parents hushed children and drunkards passed out in increasing numbers, his voice only gained intensity. 

“This train is headed for London, is it not?” She asked, face as innocent as a blank sheet of paper. 

“Hey Jack. She’s a witty one,” he said, slapping his friend on the chest. The woman flicked her gaze at you. Your attention wandered to her like a moth to a flame. You stomped down on any inclination to help her. You weren’t going to lose this game of chicken.

“Sweetheart.” The man so called Jack joined in the instigating. “How about you come home with us, eh? I’ve got a real nice flat. I bet you’d like the bedroom.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come with me to the bathroom right now?” The dark-haired one surged forward, grimy hand outstretched toward the woman. Caution gone with the wind, your arm darted out on its own accord. You intercepted his wrist, tugging harshly enough for him to stumble closer to you. 

The blonde’s eyes widened and she shrank in on herself in her seat. You saw right through the act. An elderly man with a newsboy cap across the aisle watched the altercation like a deer caught in headlights. You prayed he wouldn’t call for help.

The entire damn point was to not draw attention to yourself. Today though, electricity charged the air with biting energy. The presence of the mystery-shrouded person beside you drove you past the gates of reason. 

You squeezed the man’s pinky until you heard the crunch of bone pushed too far. He screeched like a cat. “Go and find yourself another seat. I don’t care if the car is full. You’ll throw yourself out the rear if you have to. Don’t let me see your fucking face again,” you whispered in his ear. The words leapt flaming from your tongue.

Eyes wild with adrenaline and the courage of alcohol, he swung at you with his free fist. You caught the clumsy punch, seized the man by the wrist, and snapped it clean. He screamed, turning the heads of the other passengers. Your gaze swept like a searchlight through the crowd, promising more hurt to anyone who might even think about interfering. 

He crashed back into his friend’s lap before staggering to his feet. His sniffles and shuffling footsteps echoed through the silent traincar. “Go on,” you directed his buddy, who wasted no time before similarly scrambling from his seat. A final burst of dauntlessness flared up your throat. “What the fuck are you all staring at me for?” You broadcasted to the intrigued onlookers.

Half of these people weren’t sober enough to remember this in the morning. For those who did, you would be a completely different person the second you stepped foot off this godforsaken vehicle. 

“Thank you,” the woman said, sickly sweet.

“Don’t mention it.” You admitted beating up assholes wasn’t an entirely cumbersome task.

“I feel obliged now to ask what your name is,” she continued.

You raised your eyebrows, turning in her direction. “What about stranger danger? How do you know I didn’t just stop them so I could be alone with you?”

“How do you know I needed your help?” She batted the question back at you.

“Touche.” You knew she didn’t. But she had indeed wanted to keep her cards close to her chest at the expense of you revealing yours. You offered a hand. “I’m Sam.”

“Nadia,” she replied, conceding the handshake. Her palms and fingers were lined with ridges of calluses. 

“That’s a pretty name.” But not one that belonged to her, you thought.

She was so close now. The setting sunlight streamed through the window and coaxed the vibrance from the green of her irises. You stopped yourself from lingering there too long. You imagined all the people who had lost to her siren’s call before.

You cleared your throat and broke off the staring match. “Can I ask what you’re doing in England? Excuse me assuming that you’re not from around here.” If she wanted to play this game, you didn’t see the harm in joining in. 

“I’m visiting a friend.” Her American accent drew attention. Odd for a thief or a spy or whoever she was to forgo language assimilation. “What about you, Sam? Did you grow up here?” 

“I did. Never been out of the country meself.” Lies to you, but truths for Sam the football fan.

“Got anyone special at home?” She smirked, looking up at you from a downturned face.

You scoffed. She was messing with you. “No. Not for me. I like to keep available. You never know when an opportunity might come around. I’m not usually one to let a good thing pass me by.”

“And what makes a special opportunity? How do you know one when you see it?” How fitting that smoke still lingered in the air. 

“I guess,” you started slowly. “Some people just have this spark about them.” 

She wet her lips. “Do you think I have it?” If some people sparked with electricity, she certainly blazed with the sun’s heat. 

The corner of your mouth lifted in a smile. You rolled your eyes with playful mirth. That was all the answer she needed.

Good thing as soon as the train pulled into the station in London you would get your ass as far away from her as possible. And with any luck, as the moon eclipses the sun your paths would cease to cross for a very long time.

—

Prime Minister Jameson Harris had an expensive taste in liquor. You were alone in his house, save for a half dozen security agents scattered about various entryways. Tonight you doubled as the man himself while he and his family had been whisked away to another secure location. You owed a friend in MI6 a favor, so you played the sitting duck amidst rumors of an assassination plot. Just another average night.

You snagged a crystal bottle of mystery alcohol from the shelf. Twisting the cork off with a pop you smelled it experimentally before taking a swig straight from the jug. Mister Harris had a fine taste in whiskey indeed. You rounded a giant mahogany table and sat, polished leather squeaking in protest. 

The study lights weren’t overwhelming thanks to the dimmers you had spent way too long fiddling with. In addition you had lit a couple of candles. The room had smelled too much like mothballs and stale paper for your taste.

You raised the whiskey bottle in a toast to an imaginary gathering. “Long live the United Kingdom. To the prosperity of humankind. May all mutant scum drop dead,” you pronounced with the fanfare of a juvenile king. No one had stuck around to tell you your birthday, but you still had a good year or two before you were of drinking age. That much at least, you knew.

You didn’t follow politics, not keen on allying yourself with a particular nation, but the anti-mutant sentiment reached you anyhow. Hate and fear for you and your kind served as a rallying point for human leaders. They ceased pointing their guns at each other and instead set their targets on you. 

Bottle in hand, you stood abruptly and turned toward the giant bookshelf behind you. Classic novels, history collections, and political theory publications lined the entire wall. You traced your fingers down their spines. You had to stay the night here, but thought it may be wiser to resist the call of sleep lest you don’t wake in the morning. 

You pulled a relatively thin volume down. Between the stealing and fleeing and occasional strong-arming you didn’t have a lot of time to read. Tonight, you could start playing catch up with The Scarlet Letter. 

You meandered back toward the desk. Glancing up, a cool breeze rushed at you from an open window. Your stomach dropped, heavy with an iron pit. The curtains flapped in the wind, taunting you for letting your guard down.

You set the whiskey and the book down on the desk and instead wrapped your hand around the slick steel of a pistol hidden beneath. “Show yourself,” you called in the voice of Jameson Harris. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you for breaking and entering.” 

The study was by no means cramped for room, but even still there were few places to hide. You cleared the room in less than a second before realizing the door was ajar too. 

You stalked out into the hall, only to find a guard passed out on the floor. You dug your fingers into your temple. Someone was clearly amusing themselves with the game they were playing. Even so, a chill ran down your spine. You weren’t used to being the rat in the maze in these situations. 

Outside the study, the rest of the house was blanketed in darkness. For you, the absence of light made no difference. You could see just fine with the barest hint of sunshine. From above the bannister, you peered down the sight of the gun at the foyer. The ground floor lay still, as if holding its breath. The security guard posted at the front door sat slumped against the wall. You couldn’t tell if the dark spot pooling beneath his body was born of shadow or something much more sinister. 

A cold hand on your shoulder jolted you from your search. Before you could turn around, meticulously sharpened steel carved a grinning line across your throat. You clamped a hand around the wound, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped canary. From the corner of your warping vision you saw a figure, wrapped in a shawl of shadows. The light from their eyes waited eagerly for the one in yours to wink out.

You stumbled, choking on your own blood. Pink froth bubbled from your mouth, burning with the chase of death. Your attention slipped and you shifted from the body of Jameson Harris and back into yourself. Well, almost. What you imagined you might look like without the lizard eyes and cobalt blue skin of a freak. 

Beneath your palm your skin grew unnaturally warm. The waterfall of blood ceased its torrential flow. Slowly your skin sewed itself back together. You sighed in relief. You knew you could heal, but had never tested your powers to this extreme.

Behind you a voice muttered in Russian, “What the fuck?” 

You stood straight up, flicking blood absentmindedly from your hand. Surprise gripped your heart. Standing in the corner, as still as a statue was the girl from the train that had brought you here. Nadia no longer looked the picturesque part of a wonderstruck American teenager visiting London. Blonde hair, that you now decided had definitely been dyed, lay neatly down her back in an intricate braid. She wore a black form-fitting tactical suit. Not military issued, you thought. 

You blinked and found yourself staring down the muzzle of a pistol. You raised your hands in surrender, assuming the form you had been posing as on the train. A familiar rush raced from the top of your head to the ends of your limbs as your skin reformed itself. “Remember me?” You asked, spitting out a glob of blood and exposing red-stained teeth.

She cocked her head ever so slightly and just a moment of opportunity presented itself. You lunged for the gun while she grappled with the fact you’d been three completely different people in less than a minute. You let yourself shift back to your common appearance and vaulted across the floor. Muscles wound tight, you straightened your torso and kicked at the weapon.

Snapping back to reality she snatched the gun away just in time. You stood before she could re-aim and cut at her wrist. The gun clattered to the floor and you kicked it further down the hall. 

You craned your head to avoid a viscous elbow to the nose. Sweat began to build along your hairline and drip down the back of your neck. You didn’t fight often, preferring to run into the foliage rather than confront the enemy and run the risk of being caught. You missed the rush.

She fought like a dancer. Momentum built from a lunge forward charged a stinging jab at your ribs. You pushed her two steps back and she went for a low sweep at your legs. You moved so fast you could hear the rush of cloth through the air, the sound of a fist soaring at your gut. A knife appeared in her hand, opening a surgical gash along the length of your tricep. 

Hot blood ran down your arm. You weren’t sure what the limit of your healing factor was, but as the cut refused to close, you realized you might have spent it for tonight. 

Your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn’t lose, no doubt that if she caught you she wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck and unload an entire round into your head, just in case. But you had to think five steps ahead even as a boot came flying hairwidths from your face and lightning fast slashes struck at any spot you left unprotected. 

She flipped herself and suddenly you were flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. You pulled air back into your spent lungs, gasping as your fingers dug into the floorboards. From the corner of your vision you saw her bolt for the discarded gun. Panic flared through you and you sprung yourself up, tackling her off course.

The both of you crashed through the bannister and went soaring onto the ground floor. She managed to maneuver herself midair so that she would land on top of you. The impact shot up the knobs of your spine, your head whipping painfully against the cool floor. Her shoulder dug into your collarbone, breaths coming in steady little exhales. You lost your focus for a split second, the pain radiating from the back of your skull overwhelming everything else. 

Involuntarily you transformed into your natural appearance, attention split in so many ways you couldn’t hold onto maintaining your looks. You grit your teeth and shoved the woman off of you with all the strength you could muster, which admittedly beat the strongest of humans even on your worst days. She flew back and smashed into a side table, residing lamp tumbling down and shattering on the floor. 

You hurdled over the staircase railing at the halfway point and cleared the rest of the steps in one bound. You normalized your complexion, hoping the dark had shielded you from her seeing the momentary exposure. 

You scooped a gun up from the ground and whipped around, catching her at the top of the staircase. Strangling the grip, you tensed the muscles in your forearms and leveled it at her chest.

“Where’s Harris?” She asked, voice as harsh as the blade caught in her fist, still drip, drip, dripping with your blood. 

“A safe place. Somewhere far away from pretty women with sharp objects.” Your pointer finger ghosted over the trigger. A voice in the back of your mind urged you to pull it. Return the favor.

She arched one eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re good.” You’d never tell her, but even with your enhanced strength and agility she’d had you on the ropes the entire fight. If you had so much as breathed differently you were sure the roles would be reversed right now. 

“But not good enough for you,” she finished. Even as she bowed completely at your mercy her expression gave nothing away. A long time ago, you thought, she sculpted her face from marble, and the mask had been cemented in place since.

You lowered the gun. You weren’t a killer anyhow.

Blood crusted under your fingernails and in the lines of your palms, your shirt was starting to stick to your skin. You slid it over your head and tossed it on the floor, well aware of the woman’s lingering gaze. 

You turned your back on her and strode into the bedroom, stealing a new shirt before locking yourself in the bathroom.

With a sigh you stopped holding a normal appearance and shifted back into your innate form. Staying in shape had become easier as you’d grown and fully navigated your powers but the process still ate up much of your concentration. Exhaustion slogged endlessly at your mind. 

You eyed your arm which had thankfully stopped actively bleeding, but the flesh still gaped open in a deep red valley. You pulled all the cabinets open, coming up with a roll of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Catching your lip between your teeth you washed the stinging wound, a hiss escaping as you flushed it out. You wrapped the bandage tight around your arm, ripping the extra with your teeth.

Methodically you cleaned yourself up. Filling your mouth with cold water from the tap, the sour coppery taste flushed away from your tongue. Then you scrubbed at your face, neck, and chest, trying hard to ignore the blue ridged flesh of an aberration. As the adrenaline started to drain from your system, the realization that death had been seconds away from stealing your life weighed on your mind like a wet blanket. 

You scrubbed harshly at your hands until the water ran clear and then some. Staring at your reflection you slowly recomposed yourself. Freakishly red hair gave way to a more muted color, the yellow in your eyes faded to white, and bit by bit, the blue scales that cursed you with this power overturned into ordinary skin.

You curled your lips into a careless grin lined with a protective amount of cockiness. The great Mystique smiled back at you.

There you are, you thought.

The first time you had ever lied you were small and alone and desperately hungry for food. You had stolen a loaf of bread from a baker’s cart and bolted around a corner before shifting into someone else. When the seller asked you if you had seen a child run off, you looked him in the eye and told him no. 

You weren’t sure how that one little lie had consumed you until there was no you left. Every morning you woke up and put on a charming show at the cost of further warping the person you ought to be. You’d die in your castle of lies, alone and bitter. 

You walked back out into the hall, finding your attacker right where you left her. She stared down at the pool of blood staining the wood floor as if maybe she had imagined the entire ordeal.

“Unfortunately for you, I am still here,” you said. Unease churned in your stomach. Perhaps she was simply lying in wait, like a predator crouching in the tall yellow grass. “Made quite the mess though, don’t you think? The Prime Minister might have to look at new flooring.” You cringed as you stepped over the dark, coppery smelling spot. The warm light from the study spilled out into the hall. You walked into it, boldly turning your back on the woman. “Come on. I know you have questions.”

You leaned against the desk, next to a little bobble head of a dog. She walked in a few moments later, looking infinitely more at ease than she had in the hall. The knife had disappeared from her grasp. You saw right through the veil, having constructed a similar one in the privacy of the bathroom. 

“So you’re not Jameson Harris, and you’re not Sam from London’s east end.” You shook your head, flicking at the toy. “Then who are you?” She stopped a respectable distance away, standing with her shoulders back and chin high.

You told her your name. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done that truthfully. Yet this stranger managed to coax it out of you with one question. Faith was a funny thing. “And you?” You asked, tracing the curve of her jaw with your eyes.

“Romanova. Natalia.” She told you so almost robotically, as if the name was reserved for other people to use against her. As if she did not have the right to define herself.

“Nice to meet you, Natalia.” You took another sip of the whiskey before offering her the bottle. She eyed it suspiciously. “It’s not poisoned, I promise. It’ll get you damn drunk though.”

She took the bottle, fingers brushing yours momentarily. “I prefer vodka,” she said, drinking as if she’d been denied water for the past week. She passed it back, staring at you as if searching for something. “How?” She asked, your expression denying her any plausible answer.

“How what?” You asked, failing to suppress a growing smirk.

“The disguises.” The firm line of her lips told you she wasn’t entertained by your antics. “You’re wearing some kind of suit, are you not?” You could imagine the gears turning in her head, trying to explain the impossible.  

You slid yourself back until you sat fully on the desktop. “Nope. Fanciest piece of technology I own is a little flip phone,” you said, tracing the smooth lip of the desk with your fingertips. “And I don’t wear tacky suits.” 

“I’m offended,” she said lowly, not sounding the slightest bit bothered.

“Don’t be. The whole dark assassin thing suits you,” you said, waving your hand. “Not me though. I mean, could you imagine me in a skin tight suit?” 

“I wouldn’t sell yourself short. I think you could pull it off.” She raked her gaze over you and heat rose to your cheeks. 

You transformed into an exact copy of her, inspecting your hands in wonder as if she wasn’t standing an arm’s length away. “You’re right,” you said in her voice. “I do look good.” You threw a toothy grin her way before shifting back with a woosh. 

Realization dawned on her, green eyes brightening. “You’re one of them,” she said.

“Yep.” You swirled the alcohol around, watching how the light played off the bottle. “One of them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just I’ve never—I’ve never met a mutant before.” She seemed awestruck at the revelation. You were so used to being met with fear and disgust. 

“I’m sure you have. Especially with all of the traveling you do,” you said. You remembered the window, still propped open from earlier. “Those of us that can try to blend in with everyone else. Take any street in a big city, for example. If you walked around for a little I guarantee you’d pass at least one of us.” You gazed up at the night sky, dotted with a billion brilliant stars. The estate sat well removed from the city and its hungry lights. “Most of us learned pretty quickly how to adapt, how to stay safe and hidden in the crowd,” you explained. 

“And those of you who can’t?” You looked over your shoulder at Natalia, so curious yet so far from innocent herself. 

“We go underground to survive. Or run the risk of being killed, or worse.” You’d heard the rumors. Missing mutants spawned stories. Stories of various governments and other organizations abducting your kind for experimentation. A shiver crawled down your spine.

“Sounds like a lonely way to live.”

You slammed the window shut with more force than necessary. “Takes one to know one.” You guessed people in her life were nothing more than fleeting moments either. “My turn,” you said. “What’s got you sneaking around in the middle of the night, attempting murder on the British prime minister?” 

“That’s none of your business,” she said as if speaking to a child. She took another long drink, fingers twitching at her side as a nervous tic. “What’s got you sitting in his house playing body double?” Her voice had taken on a defensive edge.

“A friend,” you replied smoothly. “And money, of course. Turns out protecting politicians pays almost as well as stealing from them.” 

“Well I’m not a sellout.”

You narrowed your gaze. “No, you just slit throats because you’re told to, then.” Natalia furrowed her brow. “Unless you’re telling me you got bored and picked up a new hobby.” She stayed quiet, your words seemingly falling on deaf ears. “What?” You asked. Her lips were slightly parted. She stalked closer, eyes flickering over your face. “Hey, hey,” you stuttered, tripping over your feet as you backpedaled. 

You huffed as you slammed into the wall. She reached out, so close now you could feel her breath on your face. You froze, heart thundering in your chest. She cupped your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing your flaming skin. 

“Your eye,” she whispered as if it were something holy. 

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“It’s yellow. They weren’t different colors before.”

You broke out of her hold, forcing yourself not to run to the mirror on the wall. The frame was a golden oval, hung in between a family portrait and a pair of framed university degrees. Sure enough your right eye had slipped back. You blinked and it fixed itself, but the damage was done. 

“I should go,” you muttered, staring at the floor and beelining for the door. Too much alcohol and too little sleep and this was what you wound up with. 

Natalia snagged your wrist and held you from taking off. You knew if you pulled away she’d let you go. You untensed the muscles in your back and let her spin you around. 

You tilted your head down and met her in a slow kiss. She had you hooked and you didn’t care. You couldn’t think straight, the taste of her lips clouded your head like a powerful drug. 

You threaded your fingers through her hair and undid her braid while her hand wandered down to your belt. You pulled back, breathless. “I’m not looking for nothing here,” you insisted, even if only to try to convince yourself.

“Me neither,” she agreed. “One night.” She kissed your neck and a low grunt wound its way up from the back of your throat. “You’ll never have to see me again.”

You didn’t know why a pang wracked your chest still her words. That was the plan, after all. You knew you weren’t cut out for more than tonight. And with the way Natalia dragged her nails down your back, you guessed she wasn’t either.

“Bedroom,” you demanded, stepping out of your pants that now lay pooled around your ankles. You stumbled down the hall, blinded by her body as she lost her suit, and deafened by the way she panted your name between desperate kisses.

God, you were screwed.

—

You didn’t sleep, knowing you’d lose grip on your appearance if you did, but with each passing minute you found it harder and harder to stay awake. Natalia lay pressed into your side, so close that you could feel her heartbeat in your ribcage. Her body radiated heat, not the kind that made your face flush with infatuation, but the kind that felt like finally finding shelter after an eternity in the freezing rain. Her breaths wound in and out as if she were sleeping, but you knew she couldn’t. No. Someone who led her life had to be hardwired to never let their guard down.

Finally, after catching yourself almost dozing off for the tenth time you peeled back the covers and forced yourself to leave the confines of the mattress that seemed intent on sucking you back down. Goosebumps immediately rose along your skin, but you didn’t dare to glance back at bed and the woman feigning slumber. You stood and stretched, working the stiff muscles in your back and shoulders. Don’t look back. You followed the trail of hastily removed clothing down the dark hall and back to the study, candles still alight. 

You buckled your jeans and grabbed your bag, lingering by the door. Don’t go back. Hastily you rummaged through the desk drawers, finding a pen and pad of paper. You scribbled down the address of a PO box that you checked quarterly along with a note that read, For another one night. 

A/N

If you didn't catch it, R is a shapeshifter like Mystique from the X-Men. I wrote this piece with the intent of having it serve as the first chapter in a longer story. I wasn't certain of the amount of interest in a series though... I fear Tumblr may be drying up some.

Let me know if you'd like to see more and I can post up the second chapter, otherwise I'll leave it be as a one-shot.

As always, thanks for reading and just a reminder, my requests are open.

[togrowoldinv]

Tattoos pt. 2

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Natasha convinces you to get a tattoo

Note: Hehe this is a part 2 to my fic Tattoos, but it can also be read as a stand alone. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff is damn good at convincing people to do things. You learned that quickly.

But now, as you sit in the waiting area of a tattoo shop, it’s working on you like never before. Natasha convinced you to get a tattoo for her.

“Y/n,” a woman calls your name. Presumably the tattoo artist. But you don’t hear it.

Natasha’s hand pulls yours to bring you out of your nervous daze.

“You got this, detka. I’ll be with you the whole time,” Nat says.

“First time?” The artist asks.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“It won’t be bad, I promise. And Natasha here can hold your hand the entire time,” the woman says. She’s tattooed Natasha before. The smile she gives you reassures you.

You listen to her instructions as she tells you how to lay down and about the process. Natasha holds your hand and feels it get warmer and warmer.

“Baby, you’re okay,” Natasha says. She leans down and kisses your forehead.

The leather from her jacket brushes against your other hand and you grip onto it. Nat takes it as her cue to sit even closer to you.

“Are you ready?” The artist asks.

“Yes,” you answer. “What did you pick out, Nat?”

“Oh yeah,” Nat says, a smirk on her face. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting.”

“I see. Here we go,” the artist says, bringing out the stencil of the tattoo. “I think it’ll suit you well.”

It’s a stem of roses and leaves that will line up perfectly under your breast. They look similar to Natasha’s roses but not exactly the same.

“Oh wow,” you say. “Nat, this is perfect.”

“Yeah?” She asks. She was nervous about her choice. Steve must’ve drawn her fifteen different designs.

“Yeah baby,” you assure her. “You brought me roses on our first date.”

“I sure did,” Natasha says. She remembers your face when she handed them to you. Nobody had ever given you flowers before.

The artist places the stencil on you and gets to work on tattooing you. You hold your breath as the needle touches your skin for the first time, but with Natasha’s hand in yours you know you’ll be okay.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Natasha encourages you. “You’re doing so well.”

It goes by quickly with Natasha’s encouragement and the swift work of the artist. And you have to admit that you love the way it looks on you.

“What do you think?” The artist asks.

“It’s perfect,” Natasha answers, causing you three to chuckle. There’s stars in her eyes. “My bad.”

“No, no. You’re right, Nat. It’s perfect,” you say, admiring it in a mirror.

The artist wipes the area down with cool gel and wraps the tattoo. Natasha refuses to let you pay for it, so after she pays you leave the shop together.

“I’m so proud of you,” Natasha says when you get into the car.

She leans over the center console and pulls you in for a long kiss. Her tongue finds its way into your mouth as she deepens the kiss.

“What was that about?” You ask her once she breaks for air.

“The tattoo is really fucking hot,” Natasha says.

“So that’s why you wanted me to get one,” you say, a smile on your lips.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she says. “You’re beautiful no matter what, but think about how mine make you feel and multiply it by 100.”

“Damn,” you mumble as she kisses you again. You try to move over to her seat but you feel a soreness where you just got tattooed. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?” She pulls away.

“Yeah, just sore. Is that normal?”

“Definitely. Let’s get you home and relaxing. I’ll be sure to worship your body as soon as you can,” Natasha says with a mischievous grin.

She puts the car in drive and takes you home. Just as she promised when you’re able, she worships every inch of you. But especially this new area of focus with the tattoo.

You’re glad that Natasha Romanoff is so good at convincing you to do things.