#leaving room for barton | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

Text

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

God, I love Marvel Comics...

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.

He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.

“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.

Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.

He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”

The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.

He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.

“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”

But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.

Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder

Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.

He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.

The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.

Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief

Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.

He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.

His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.

Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.

He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.

“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”

The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.

She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.

The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.

Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.

He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.

Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.

Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.

Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.

“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.

Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.

He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.

The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.

He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.

Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.

He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.

Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.

The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.

He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.

For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”

Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.

She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.

Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”

Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.

He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.

His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”

The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.

He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.

The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.

Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.

The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.

“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”

Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.

He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—

“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.

Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.

He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”

Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.

The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.

“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”

Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.

3K notes · View notes

thebarneschronicles · 4 months ago

Text

A Quiet Escape

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: This is barely a holiday fic with Bucky - it’s mostly smut with barely any plot. I just had a vision. Don’t consider the MCU timeline - everyone is alive and together in this. And Clint’s kids are a little older but still proper kids.

—

You told him no.

The word hit the air like a thunderclap—sharp, unexpected, and rare enough to make his icy blue eyes narrow in disbelief. Then they widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm.

Slowly, his hands retreated, leaving the curve of your waist, hot and cold pulling away at once. Arms lifted, palms open, as if surrendering to the sharp finality in your voice.

“Did I… do something?” Bucky’s voice was low, rough around the edges, his frown deepening as a steady breath expanded his chest.

“No,” you said again, firmer this time, though your heart stuttered at the flicker of hurt that crossed his features. Your gaze darted past him, locking onto the narrow crack of the door behind his towering frame. Three sets of eyes stared back, wide and unblinking, from the shadows of the barely open door.

“I don’t get it, doll,” Bucky murmured, confusion twisting his expression. His metal hand lifted toward your hip, the motion almost instinctive, only to grip empty air as you leaned back and pressed both palms flat against his solid chest.

“Bucky,” you hissed, nodding toward the door. “We’ve got company.”

He blinked, brows knitting together, before his head swiveled to follow your line of sight. The moment he turned, the door slammed shut with a loud bang, and the sound of frantic footsteps thundered away on the other side. Three pairs of little feet, retreating as fast as they’d been caught.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as realization dawned, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upward, a mix of exasperation and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Company. There was always company.

At least, there had been for the past week, ever since you’d been swept into the whirlwind that was Clint Barton’s home. What had once been a cozy haven for his family had turned into a buzzing hive of activity, packed with super-soldiers, gods, and genetically—or technologically—enhanced heroes. The Avengers had descended, and while the world might have known them as Earth’s mightiest protectors, to you, they were beginning to feel like the world’s nosiest roommates.

It was the holidays, and by some miracle—perhaps one granted by Saint Nick himself—the planet wasn’t teetering on the edge of destruction. No alien invasions, no terrorist plots, no missiles hurtling toward oblivion, and, to your immense relief, no Hydra agents lurking in the shadows.

For once, it was a somewhat normal holiday season. If you ignored the superpowers and the enhanced DNA floating around the house, that is. More importantly, you were finally getting to see Bucky in an everyday, domestic setting.

And you loved it.

You’d caught him horsing around with Clint’s kids—Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel—who had taken an almost unhealthy fascination with his metal arm. Your normally stoic, brooding boyfriend had become their favorite jungle gym. You’d walked into the living room one afternoon to find all three of them hanging off his arm like little monkeys, giggling uncontrollably as he lifted them effortlessly.

You’d marveled at the sight of him brewing your coffee in the mornings, the way his lips twitched into a subtle smile when he handed you the mug, the steam curling between you. He shoveled snow off the driveway with Clint, laughing at the older man’s dad jokes, and indulged the kids in their never-ending demands to walk the family dog. While they chattered away endlessly, he listened with that quiet patience of his, nodding and occasionally chuckling.

But as much as you adored seeing Bucky like this—calm, grounded, happy—you couldn’t help but notice one glaring downside: you hadn’t had a moment alone together.

Not one.

Between Clint’s kids, Steve dragging Bucky out for “quick” trips to the store (which were never quick), and Nat luring him into sparring sessions when she couldn’t sit still anymore, your time with him had been thoroughly hijacked. And Lila—sweet, mischievous Lila—had an uncanny knack for giving you the stink eye every time you got too close to Bucky.

You were losing your mind.

It had been a month since you’d had real time alone with him. Work had pulled you apart, his responsibilities to the team had swallowed every spare moment, and now, what you’d thought would be your chance to reconnect had turned into a holiday circus.

You’d imagined this trip differently. Romantic walks in the snow, cozy kisses by the fire, maybe even some stolen, steamy nights in the attic of Clint’s house. But those dreams had been systematically dismantled by the chaos around you.

Everyone wanted a piece of Bucky—or you—or both of you. And while the holidays were supposed to be about togetherness, you were starting to think that all this togetherness might drive you both completely insane.

You let out a frustrated sigh, closing your eyes as you leaned back against the door of your shared attic bedroom. From down the hall, the giggles of your boyfriend's three tiny shadows echoed, fading into the room they’d darted into.

The sound of your frustration pulled Bucky closer to you, his hand finding the doorknob near your hip. With a gentle turn, he pushed the door open and guided you inside. The soft glow of the moon coming in through the large window spilled across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his features as he quietly shut the door behind you both.

“Alright,” he started, his voice low but edged with concern. “You’ve been sighing like that for three days now, doll. What’s eating at you?”

You tilted your head to look at him, folding your arms. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I haven’t had you to myself in weeks. Or that every time I even think about kissing you, someone—usually under four feet tall—pops up like a whack-a-mole.”

You pointed toward the direction of the room where the kids were hidden, having interrupted you and Bucky’s rare alone time for the millionth time today alone. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile, and it just aggravated you further.

“They’re kids, sweetheart. What am I supposed to do? Ignore them?”

“No,” you grumbled, seemingly for the thousandth time, dragging your hands down your face. “But I didn’t realize signing up to be your girlfriend also meant being a full-time babysitter, snow-shoveling assistant, and third wheel to Steve freaking Rogers on your bromantic grocery runs.”

That did it—he laughed, a low, rich sound that made your annoyance falter for a moment.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious!” you snapped, shooting him a glare, dropping down at the edge of the bed, both hands sliding into your hair, a clear sign of the frustration that seemed to be pouring out of your pores.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “I get it. This… isn’t how I pictured this trip either.” He crossed the room to sit beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. His flesh hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “I miss you too, doll.”

You softened at his words but refused to let go of your irritation entirely. “Then do something about it, Barnes. You’re a super soldier, a former trained assassin, a ghost agent—surely you can figure out how to steal your girlfriend away for five minutes without someone barging in.”

His eyes gleamed mischievously. “You think I haven’t been trying? Clint’s kids are like little spies. Lila’s practically Natasha junior. And Steve? Forget it. Guy has a radar for when I’m about to kiss you.”

“Of course he does,” you groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s Captain America. Always watching. Always judging. It’s like dating a guy whose best friend is a giant Boy Scout.”

You paused, raising an eyebrow. “Wait—do you think Steve’s ever even been kissed?”

Bucky snorted, the sound so uncharacteristic it made you glance up. “What? You think I’d know that?”

The furtive way he avoided your eyes told you he did.

“C’mon, you’ve known him forever.” You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes. “He gives me virgin energy, Buck.”

“Virgin energy?” Bucky repeated, a smile spreading over his lips despite himself. “Doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m serious!” you said, barely stifling your own laugh. “The guy probably spent the ’40s too busy punching Nazis to even hold someone’s hand. And now? Forget it. I bet if you kissed me in front of him, he’d faint on the spot.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face, unable to hide his amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You know I’m right,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your foot. Your stomach tightened as his flesh hand wrapped around your ankle, tugging you closer. “It explains so much,” you went on, voice faltering slightly when he dragged his hand up your inner thigh, sending a shiver through you. “He’s probably the reason we never get a moment alone,” you added, squirming under his touch. His hand settled firmly on your hip, his chest solid against you as he laid beside you, his head propped up on his metal hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What, because he’s a cock block?” Bucky asked, voice dropping lower.

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, shifting to allow his one leg between yours, ignoring the intense burn that settled low in your belly. “Think about it—if he’s not getting any, there’s no way he’s letting anyone else get laid. Misery loves company.”

Bucky shook his head, his grin making your heart flutter. “You’ve officially lost it, doll.”

“And yet, here we are. Still not kissing,” you shot back, looking at him pointedly, lifting yourself up onto your elbows so you could tilt your head up, lips ghosting over his.

“I’m done talking about Steve and his virginity,” he said, icy blue eyes dropping to your lips, his nose dragging over yours. “And for the record, doll, you’re the only one I want to see faint when I kiss you.”

“Oh, smooth recovery, Barnes,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself, breathing shakily with his proximity.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours, voice low and rumbly in his chest, sending a surge of heat from your toes all the way to the center of your body. “How about this? Tomorrow morning, we sneak out. Just you and me. We’ll take the bike, get some coffee, and maybe… I don’t know… find a spot where no one can find us for a few hours.”

You stared up at him, your annoyance giving way to hope. “Promise?”

His frown softened into something more sincere, understanding. “Promise. I’ll even turn my phone off. No Avengers. No interruptions. Just us.”

“Okay,” you whispered, allowing yourself to relax into the idea.

But just as his lips brushed yours, the door creaked open, and a small voice called out.

“Bucky?”

You both froze, and he let out a soft curse under his breath. “Yeah, Nate?”

“Can you come read us a story? Lila said you promised!”

You turned your head, glaring at the ceiling while Bucky sighed, standing up. He glanced back at you with a sheepish smile. “Rain check?”

“Nate,” you called out, loud enough for the little boy to hear. “When you’re older, remind me to teach you about boundaries.”

His laughter followed Bucky out the door, leaving you to bury your face in the pillow, groaning dramatically.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, you were still face-down, your muffled voice rising from the comforter. “Why are you a children magnet? It’s like you’re Santa Claus, and they’re all lining up for their turn.”

Bucky chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I guess I’m just irresistible.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “You used to be scary. Remember those days? Big, brooding Winter Soldier? People crossed the street to avoid you. I miss that guy.”

He leaned down, grinning as he kissed the top of your head. “That guy never would’ve gotten you to fall for him.”

“Yeah, well, that guy wouldn’t be getting interrupted every five minutes either,” you muttered, pulling the pillow back over your head.

The first rays of sunlight peeked through the attic window, casting a warm glow over the small room. You stirred at the soft sound of movement, the creak of the floorboards familiar enough to pull you from sleep. Cracking one eye open, you saw Bucky crouched by the foot of the bed, lacing up his boots.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. The room is warm and you can smell the soap and shampoo coming out of the bathroom, the steam of Bucky’s shower still rolling out under the door even after he’d gotten out of it.

He glanced over his shoulder, wet hair dropping onto his forehead, his dog tags dangling from his neck, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You, me, the bike, and some much-needed alone time, remember?”

You blinked, processing his words, before groaning and flopping back onto the bed. “It’s too early, Barnes.”

“It’s not. You just want to stay in bed,” he teased, leaning over you, his lips brushing your temple. “C’mon, doll. Coffee awaits. And I’ve got a spot picked out where no one will find us. Not even Steve.”

“Not even Steve?” you repeated, hope warming your heart, cracking a smile despite yourself. “That’s ambitious.”

Bucky chuckled, his fingers trailing lightly over your arm. “Trust me, I’ve planned this escape like a military op. Now get dressed before Clint’s kids wake up and ruin everything.”

The mention of his tiny shadows jolted you awake. You sat up, pushing your hair out of your face. “Fine, but if one of them catches us sneaking out, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning as he stepped back to let you get ready.

Half an hour later, you were showered and wrapped in your warmest coat and scarf, perched on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle as it roared to life. The crisp morning air nipped at your cheeks as you sped away from the Barton farmhouse, the sound of the engine loud enough to drown out any lingering holiday chaos.

“Where are we going?” you shouted over the wind, your arms tightening around his waist.

“You’ll see,” he called back, his voice filled with a levity you hadn’t heard in days.

After about half an hour, he pulled off onto a narrow dirt road that wound through a dense forest. The bike came to a stop in a clearing, where a small cabin stood sturdy and welcoming, the promise of warmth, quiet, and alone time beckoning you inside.

The cabin was nestled among tall pines, their branches heavy with snow that caught the early morning light, casting a soft glow over the place. The structure was rustic, with a large stone chimney rising above the roof, smoke curling lazily into the pale blue sky. The wooden exterior, darkened by age, gave off a comforting, lived-in feel, as if it had been waiting just for this moment. The windows glowed faintly from within, a sign of the warmth that awaited inside.

Bucky killed the engine and swung off the bike, turning to help you down. “What do you think?”

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the scene, the stillness of the forest enveloping the cabin like a protective embrace. “It’s perfect,” you said, your voice full of awe.

He grabbed the large bag he’d stuck on the bike’s saddlebag and handed it to you. “Coffee, as promised. Some other things as well. And no interruptions. Just us.”

You felt the warmth seep through you, both from the shee relief you felt and the way he was looking at you, his eyes soft with affection. “Okay, Barnes. I’ll admit it. You nailed this one.”

“Damn right I did,” he said, tugging you closer, lips brushing against your temple. His arm wrapped around your shoulder as the two of you headed towards your little safe haven. A satisfied smirk played on his lips, and you could feel the tension in his body ease as you walked together, just the two of you, heading toward the cozy cabin.

When you stepped inside, the scent of wood and pine mixed with something warm and comforting. The interior was just as inviting as the outside. The open space was simple but cozy, with a stone fireplace built into one wall. There was a leather couch near the hearth, a soft rug underfoot, and shelves stacked with books and a few family heirlooms - you didn’t have to ask him who it belonged to, the pictures lining the shelves told you you and Bucky weren’t the only couple who sometimes needed a reprieve from the Barton household.

Through the large windows, you could still see the vast expanse of the snow-covered forest, but inside, it felt like you were in a world of your own.

Bucky dropped the bag at the kitchen counter and turned to you, his expression softer now that you were finally alone. “How does it feel? No Steve, no Clint, no kids…”

“Perfect,” you murmured, crossing the room to stand by the fire, arms crossed over your chest.

Bucky followed you, his hands finding your waist as he pressed himself gently against your back. The cold of his clothes from the sharp wind outside sent a shiver down your spine, but the heat of his touch, his body against yours, was enough to make your heart race. The tension between you was palpable, growing bigger with each mile you put between you and the Barton farmhouse, unwinding itself as the space grew and crackling in the air like an electric current.

His hands, one cold and one warm, were steady on your hips, anchoring you in a way that made you feel safe and desired all at once. It wasn’t just the fire in front of you that made the room warm—it was the pull between you two, the undeniable chemistry that neither of you could ignore.

You tilted your head back slightly, allowing him to place a kiss on your neck, his warmth seeping into you, the fire’s crackle making the moment feel even more intimate. “This was exactly what we needed”, you hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Exactly,” he agreed, his breath warm against your skin. “Now, where were we before we got interrupted last night?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I think you were about to make me faint.”

His amused laugh was the only sound that filled the space between you two, a low, warm chuckle that made your heart flutter. Then, before you could react, his hands turned you around gently, pulling you into him as his lips captured yours in a deep, consuming kiss. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no distractions—just the two of you, wrapped in the fire of the moment.

His tongue traced the curve of your bottom lip, a teasing stroke that made your breath hitch, and then he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. His hands slipped beneath your jacket, finding the soft, heated skin of your hip, and you sighed into his mouth, a sound full of longing and need. You melted against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, your head tilting to the side to allow him more access. The taste of him overwhelmed your senses, the familiar warmth of his mouth, the intensity of his touch, and you felt your legs grow weak, trembling with the hunger that surged between you.

Every inch of your body seemed to respond to him, to the press of his chest against yours, the way his hands moved with a quiet urgency that matched the pounding of your heart. You lost yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of his lips, his touch, as if everything outside of this moment didn’t exist. There was nothing but him and the intoxicating pull of his affection, and you knew, in that instant, that nothing else mattered but being with him—your Bucky, in the most intimate way you’d ever shared.

It had been so long—too long—since you’d been able to be this close to him, to feel his body against yours without hesitation. The longing, the quiet yearning that had built up between you, was finally starting to break free. You could feel the weight of it in every touch, in the way his fingers brushed over your skin, as if he was finally letting go of the last remnants of his walls. It was like you were rediscovering each other in this moment—his warmth, his presence—reminding you of the man he was when he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you.

His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and you could feel him trembling ever so slightly as you turned toward him, your eyes meeting his. In his gaze, you saw the storm of emotions—desire, need, love—that he rarely let others see, let alone act upon. The man you loved, the man who had once been a stranger even to himself, was now standing in front of you, and for the first time, he wasn’t pulling away. His lips hovered just above yours, the anticipation between you two thick, hanging like a breath waiting to be taken.

It hadn’t always been like this—him, so open, so ready to let you in. There was a time when he had been reluctant to trust, when the thought of giving his heart to someone had been suffocating, terrifying, downright impossible. But you had weathered the storm with him, through the nightmares, the quiet doubts, the fear that he wasn’t worthy of love. And with every touch, every word, you had proven to him that you could be his anchor. You were his safe place. His refuge. And now, he let you in, fully, in ways he had never allowed before.

His lips found yours in a longer kiss that was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but the hunger, the need, was undeniable. You could feel it in the way his hands tightened around you, the urgency behind his lips a testament to the desperation you shared throughout all the weeks you had been deprived of each other’s bodies, each other’s skin. He kissed as if he feared this moment would slip away, like so many had when friends had knocked on closed doors and children had tugged him away for a snow fight.

You responded in kind, deepening the kiss, pulling him closer, needing him just as much. The world outside, all of it faded into the background. There was only this—him, you, the electric tension that had been building for so long, and the quiet promise that this was just the beginning.

As his hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your body, you could feel the weight of everything between you both—the time it had taken to get here, the quiet moments of trust and understanding, the slow building of love. But now, in the heat of the moment, all that mattered was the connection. The way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way his touch seemed to ignite something inside you that you couldn’t explain.

He undressed you in a way that could only be described as deliberate—although his mouth was hungry, his hands took their time with every piece of clothing, hot and cold dragging over every inch of skin he managed to uncover. It was maddening, really, the calm he could have in certain moments where all you wanted was for him to lose control.

You pulled away from him slightly, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “You know,” you said, your voice low and sultry, “if you keep undressing me like that, I’m going to start thinking you’re waiting for someone to interrupt us… or that you’re torturing me on purpose.”

His grin was slow, all confidence and mischief. “Maybe I am,” he teased, his voice rougher now. “Maybe I like making you wait.”

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers running lightly down the front of his leather jacket, lingering on the zipper. “You know, I could make you wait too,” you purred, fingers pulling on the zipper until it opened, enough for you to drag your hand under the sweater he had underneath, his skin blazing.

He could’ve once been called the Winter Soldier, but there was nothing cold about Bucky. The icy blue of his eyes sent wild fires burning through your skin, his own skin always running a few degrees hotter than yours… you always joked he was your personal furnace, but it made it all the more true as you dragged your icy fingers under the thick knit that covered his torso.

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening around your waist as if he was fighting the urge to pull you closer, to devour you. “Doll–” he said in warning, the edge of longing crystal clear in his voice.

You leaned in closer, lips grazing his ear as you whispered, “Maybe… maybe I’ll make you wait. Maybe I won’t let you touch me… maybe I’ll go back to the house and leave you like you did me… desperate, warm and so wet… Let’s see how you like that…”

You could feel him shudder at the words, the tension between you two growing thicker with every second. “You have no idea, Bucky… no idea how empty I’ve been, how much I’ve been aching–”

Before you could continue, he pressed his lips back to yours, deeper this time, more urgent. He didn’t hold back, his hands roaming over your body, tugging you closer, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the fire building in both of you.

"God, I’ve missed you," Bucky breathed against your lips, his voice strained with need, his words sending a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea how much.”

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, the feel of him intoxicating. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you replied, your lips brushing over his, teasing, before pulling back slightly, your hands working quickly to push his jacket off. "But I guess we can talk about it later..."

His grip on you tightened, the words barely leaving his mouth before his lips moved to your neck, trailing hot, desperate kisses down your skin. “Later?” His voice was rough, his breath a heated whisper against your throat. "You think I can wait any longer?"

You nodded, a teasing smile curling on your lips, but it faltered when he pushed you back onto the leather couch, his lips never leaving your skin. You didn’t mind. Not one bit. This was finally your moment—just the two of you. The cabin, the fire, the stolen time, and all the teasing, the tension, the pure want that had been simmering between you two for so long.

"I want your mouth busy with something else," you gasped, voice shaking as he kissed a path lower down your skin.

Bucky's eyes darkened with desire, his lips pulling into a wicked smile as he moved, doing exactly what you suggested. "I think I like the sound of that”, his voice low and teasing. His hands had already stripped your jacket away somewhere along the way to the couch, and now they were eager, pulling your top up, inch by inch, exposing more of your skin. His mouth followed, leaving heated kisses down your stomach as his hands worked to unfasten the waistband of your pants.

Your breath caught in your throat when his teeth grazed the spot just below your belly button, and you could feel your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, and you instinctively arched your back, urging him on, breathing getting harder as he exposed the top of your knickers, the skin of your thighs, your knees, little by little until he finally took away your pants like the obstacle they have been - with a violent sway of his arm, that landed the garment in a heap across the room. “Bucky…” you whispered.

He wasn’t gentle when he maneuvered you, grabbing you by the backs of your thighs and moving your body until he was kneeling between your open legs, hands pushing your knees back until he could spread you further, eyes hooded as he took you in.

You know he could see the damp, dark spot on your knickers - the one you had purposefully picked in the hopes you’d both find a bathroom somewhere and take advantage of it - but you couldn’t be self conscious about it. Never in your wildest dreams you had expected him to find a place for you to fully enjoy each other’s bodies and as he dragged the fingers of his metal arm down your covered slit, you silently thanked Clint and Laura for having a sex drive.

“Bucky–” you repeated, whiny and desperate, eyes stuck on where he’d slipped his fingertips on the side of your bottons, gliding slowly up and down, the cold of the vibranium pressing to your heated folds and sending goosebumps all over your body. “Quit teasing me!” you gasped, breath catching as he pulled on the damp fabric until he could finally see your glistening slit, his lips parting in awe, eyes darkening and filled with promise.

He smiled, the sight making your stomach twist, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins. "Teasing you? Baby, I’m just getting started," he murmured, his hands slid up and down your thighs with deliberate slowness, savoring the way you trembled beneath his touch, his mouth pressed to the inside of your knee as he leaned in.

You shivered, your hands reaching up to tug at the back of his hair, a muffled growl leaving his lips as he traveled further down your body, until his mouth was hovering over your aching cunt. "I swear, if you don't get on me, I—"

"Or what?" he teased, leaning down to brush his lips against your slit, just barely grazing them before he pressed a kiss to your mound. "You think you can fight me?” His voice was thick with amusement, but there was a rough quality to it that made your pulse race.

“I could strangle you… with my thighs…” You threatened with no real intent behind it, eyes closed for a moment as you tried to steady yourself, swallowing thickly against a gasp when you felt his flesh fingers spread you open, exposing more of your dripping core to him.

“And I’d die a happy man”, Bucky breathes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he licks his lips. “A very happy man…” he adds before he pulls your clit between his lips with the softest of sucks.

When you first started dating, the sheer idea of having Bucky’s mouth between your legs had been comical to you. The broody super soldier, the stoic, serious, impenetrable walls he’d put up made you believe he hadn’t been capable of this kind of passion - had he even had time to learn what giving head was?

You knew he wasn’t totally oblivious - you’ve read the files, you knew he was a ladies man in the 40s, the kind to run away from armed daddies who caught him with a hand up their daughter’s skirts. But with everything he’d gone through, the many years he’d spend locked away - from his body and his mind - you had no idea how far his… sexual education (or should you say experience) had gone.

So it is an understatement to say you were shocked when he first begged to get his mouth on you… and how much he enjoyed it. Every time he did you’d praise his skill, his eagerness, his urge to please and you’d get paid double the effort, double the delight.

This time was no different, as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit, humming when his lips closed around your aching clit. He was thorough, leaving no spot untouched, tongue dipping into your weepy entrance as he buried his face closer, unashamed and unabashed.

All you can do is moan and scratch his scalp, pulling his hair whenever his cheeks hollow and he suckles harshly against you. Every time Bucky puts his mouth on you, you can’t pick what you like most: when he’s lapping at your entrance with greed or sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but either way your toes curl and you pull him closer as he feasts as if it’s his last meal.

He’s so lost in it at times, he’s almost sloppy in his technique, choosing to lie there and taste your cunt and smell you. You’re lost in the sensations when he lazily probes your entrance before he pushing two of his fingers in and spreading them, exploring you gently, and you swallow back a moan.

“Bucky, please,” you whisper, face scrunching and you bite your lip, one of your heels digging into the couch. You’re begging for him, his body, his cock, because this? This is torture.

Because you haven’t had him in weeks and you feel everything - from the insistent licking of his tongue against your clit to the scissoring of his fingers - and it’s coming quicker than you had expected. He’d been between your legs for all of five minutes, but you’re barely able to take the combination of his eagerness and your needs, all of it stretching the elastic band that is your orgasm farther and farther, until you’re ready to snap.

“I don’t—“ you gulp, trying to push him off with your foot but he grabs you by the ankle with his free hand, icy metal fingers wrapping around your ankle with a tight hold. “I— fuck me, you’re gonna make me c-cum!”

Your words are supposed to deter him - to stop the assault on your swollen cunt, to stop the ballooning of pleasure building deep in your belly from the way his fingers work you - but he presses his face closer, because that’s what he wants. He won’t be able to do this again, not when you’re in a house full of children and heroes and people who can’t seem to understand what privacy is. This is what he wants to hold with him and carry with him when he’s got a long night with you laying by his side, unable to touch you how he so desperately needs, how he’s so sure both of you want. He wants to be able to bite his lip and still find ways to taste you from his memory.

Bucky pulls away with a filthy wet noise, lowering his forehead to your thigh, his voice suddenly raw. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you,” he confessed, his hands gently spreading your thighs further, his touch reverent, as if he couldn’t believe this was finally happening. “I’ve missed being this close to you.” His lips brushed your opening, a smacking kiss making your thighs tremble before he licks deeper, more fervent than the last.

“Me too,” you cry out, hips lifting up towards his mouth, sweat slicking down the back of your neck. The urgency in your body mirrored the way he gripped you tighter, his hands firm around your hips, pulling you closer, never wanting to let go.

“Fuck, Bucky, come on–”, you cry out, both hands shooting down to grab at his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted– I want you in me”, you beg, unabashed, and he groans against you, the vibrations of it pushing you closer to the edge.

“Give me a good one,” he breathes out, pulling away for a second to nuzzle at your clit. “Just one good one and I’ll give you my cock, doll. How’s that?”

It’s a delicate negotiation, but he never falters. Not until you’re biting down hard on the heel of your hand, desperately trying to silence the scream clawing its way up your throat, shaking thighs closing around his head as he brings you to your orgasm, your other hand twisting into the shoulder of his sweater.

His fingers are just as insatiable as his mouth and you’re panting, crying out his name pulling him closer and pushing him away until the waves of pleasure, one after the other, have subsided and your vision - that had gone dark, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids - is less blurry.

“That’s it,” Bucky breathes, teeth closing on the supple skin of your thigh, his chin, nose and lips glistening with your slick. “That’s my girl.”

Your fingers are shaky but insistent as you pull him upwards, profanities leaving your mouth as he drags himself until he’s settled between your spread legs, jean covered cock pressing against your swollen cunt. He’s still wearing the damned sweater and you nearly scratch him raw in your desperate attempt to pull it off, seeking bare skin and intimacy you had been craving.

When he finally pulls it off and settles on top of you, you taste yourself on his tongue, fingers dragging over the expanse of his broad back, the kiss animalistic and unbidden. “God, I love your mouth–”, you confess, heat pinking up your cheeks at the sincerity.

“Just my mouth?”, Bucky questions, muttering against your neck. You can feel his smile on your skin and you can’t but bite into your bottom lip.

“Your stamina too,” you whisper, moaning when he ruts against your core, the shape of his cock clear even under the fabric of his pants. “Cause I’m not done with you”, you shake your head, accepting the kiss he licks into your mouth.

"You’ve waited long enough, doll”, His eyes locked with yours, a playful yet intense look in them, his lips curling into a smile that spoke of things only the two of you understood. “I’m not going to stop now.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader smut

2K notes · View notes

bethanydelleman · 7 months ago

Text

People who want female characters to cry less? No. Stop it. You're doing it the wrong way. Make male characters cry. Make those beautiful men sob on their knees. Down with all this stupid emotional constipation! Here, I can fix it:

Colonel Brandon after he tells Elinor about his lost love Eliza? Stumbles out of the room, finds somewhere private, and bawls. Edward after leaving Barton Cottage thinking he'll never be able to marry Elinor? Make him weep! Mr. Knightley was glad it was raining when he rode back to Hartfield after learning about Frank's engagement because it gave his tears plausible deniability! Wentworth thinks Anne will marry her cousin? Sobbing mess of a man. Bingley can cry during the proposal when he thinks about all the time he lost not being with Jane. Edmund cries alone in his room after Mary calls clergymen "nothing". Henry Tilney cries without realizing it when Catherine accepts his proposal because he's so glad that no one is angry with him and confronting his father was way more emotionally taxing than he let himself acknowledge at the time. Henry Crawford feeling wretched and alone after the affair and sobbing into his hands. Show us post wedding and make Darcy cry after the birth of his first child.

Make them cry! MAKE THEM ALL CRY

#adaptations #jane austen #make men weep #pride and prejudice #mansfield park #northanger abbey #sense and sensibility #emma #persuasion #Wentworth is so emotional he can cry more than once #he can angry cry and passionate love cry #they can do it in private because they are British #but they need to weep #couldn't think of one for Darcy #I bet I could make Edward cry like 6 more times if I tried #and Colonel Brandon

1K notes · View notes

ivyasproperty · 5 months ago

Text

Hold me, console me.

natasha.r x fem!reader

summary — good things never come for ex hydra experiments, well that's what you had always thought. but a certain redhead is determined to prove you wrong.

warning(s) : cursing ( just a bit ), some mentions of anxiety

word count : 1.03k

A/N : istg this fic took me FOREVER TO WRITE because i was lazy ( oops ), so i hope you guys enjoy it cuz its kinda sloppy.....

You'd already been apart of the avengers for a few months now, and that meant living in the avengers compound. And even though you've been living with the heroes of New York for the past 7 months, you've always felt out of place in the team. Your team members worked in sync, always backing each other up without needing to vocalize it, but there was you, who struggled to even maintain a conversation with them. That was the main reason why you decided to take less part in missions, and of course Fury bit you in the ass for it, nothing got out of his sight after all, even after losing an eye. But there was also another reason, being an ex-hydra experiment took it's toll on you. You knew you were never the kind of person to harm others, but the words that the guards of doctors at the hydra facilities would yell at you always stayed in the back of your mind and gnawed at you.

ᯓ★

You had once again turned down the offer of helping out in a mission from Steve. He was a nice guy, so it hurt your heart after seeing the worried and upset look on his face. Steve Rogers was the person who had saved you from the hell hole you were raised with, alongside Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. Speaking of Natasha, you may or may not have harbored a huge small crush on the said spy after staying at the compound. The confidence that radiated off of her had always inspired you to be better, but you guessed it wasn't enough since you've been locking yourself inside your room for the past few weeks. You could tell your behavior was worrying others, you weren't always the cheery type but you'd at least hang around in the kitchen or joined them for movie night, but as your anxiety became worse, you grew cold and snarky, barely coming out of your room during both day and night.

Tony Stark, being the person he was, wanted to barge into your room and confront you. The others protested but he wouldn't relent, not wanting to hurt his ego after shouting so loudly. But he seemed to shrink into himself a bit after receiving a glare from the redheaded assassin. She was the most worried one out of all your teammates, and rightfully so, considering how she was the one to take care of you after the avengers took you under their wing.

Natasha had knew long ago about the crush you had on her, you were discreet with it yes, but nothing could get past a highly trained assassin. Natasha had tried to brush the fluttery feeling she felt in her belly after finding out, thinking it was just her imagination. But as days went by and you not coming out of your room, she got even more worried, so worried that she had broken into your room once just to check on you. It was then that she realized that she liked you too.

"I'll talk to her, Tony," her voice left no room for an argument as she got up from her seat on the couch and left the room in search of you. Tony had wanted to tag along, wanting to see what was about to unfold but was stopped by a hand gripping strongly onto his wrist. "Leave her be, Stark. She'll know how to handle it, and you need to stop meddling in other people's business." Wanda knew of your struggles, considering how she was also an ex-hydra experiment, so she knew you needed time and space.

Tony being Tony, denied the accusation of meddling in other people's business. Your teammates groaned, done with his shenanigans and left the room, but not before a small banter between them and the big boss.

ᯓ★

Natasha walked to your room in a hurry, not wanting to waste a single second. She knew the way to your room by heart, she always visited you during the night and waited outside your door, just in case you decided to come out of the confinements in your room.

Once she had reached your room, she knocked on your door, calling out your name. She wasn't surprised that there wasn't a response and decided to just pick lock her way through your door. She knew it was wrong but she didn't seem to care anymore. She needed you to come out of your room, she needed to see you.

After she successfully pick locked your door, she was met with you under your covers with trash littered everywhere in your room. It was obvious you weren't taking care of yourself. You noticed a presence in your room and turned to look towards your door, not that surprised at the shocked look on her face that disappeared and was replaced with a worried look. You didn't know why but all the emotions that were bottled up inside of you suddenly burst out and you started sobbing like your life depended on it. Natasha, quickly breaking out of her stupor, ran to your side to console you.

"It'll be alright, I'm right here, malysh." You didn't know how long your cried for, you didn't care how long you cried for. Natasha was there for you and you didn't care about anything else but that.

After calming down and drying your tears, she cupped your cheeks and placed her lips on yours. Your eyes went wide in shock, not knowing what to do. You could feel her smile against your lips, amused in your reaction. "You'll be alright, I''ll always be here to help you through it, alright?" You could feel tears welling up in your eyes again, but for a completely different reason.

Even though you knew it'd take time for you to feel like you were a part of the team and open up about it to them, you didn't seem to dwell on the matter. Your mind was somewhere else as confessions were whispered into the dead of night into your bedroom with your lover, that you knew would be there to hold you and console you, even in your worse times.

A/N : NO BC THIS IS SO BAD IM CRYING, i regret being lazy and procrastinating on this one bc it turned out so rushed to me, but i hope you guys still enjoyed it >< feel free to leave requests anytime!!!!!

#ivyawrites.ᐟ #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x reader #natasha x you #marvel #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x you

423 notes · View notes

unfgvien · 2 months ago

Text

daring desires

pairing - natasha x reader

summary - The team at Tony Stark's penthouse plays a game with Natasha, revealing deep secrets. Yn, introverted, shares her wildest mission experience. Natasha kisses Yn, leaving a sense of vulnerability and belonging.

word count - 2.2k

The living room of Tony Stark’s penthouse is a mess of discarded champagne flutes, half-eaten canapés, and the lingering scent of expensive perfume. The party, as always, has been a whirlwind of laughter, music, and the kind of decadence only Tony can orchestrate. Now, as the night winds down, the team has gathered on the plush sectional sofa, the air thick with the kind of camaraderie that comes from shared battles and late-night conversations. Tony, ever the instigator, claps his hands together with a grin that’s equal parts mischievous and charming. “Alright, folks, let’s end this night with a bang. Truth or dare. Who’s in?”

The suggestion is met with a mix of groans and eager nods. Clint Barton, lounging on the arm of the sofa, raises an eyebrow. “Truth or dare? Really, Tony? We’re not teenagers.”

“Age is just a number, Barton,” Tony retorts, already spinning an empty bottle on the coffee table. “Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good old-fashioned game night. Who knows? Maybe we’ll uncover some deep, dark secrets.”

Natasha Romanoff, seated cross-legged on the sofa, smirks. “Or maybe we’ll just end up with Clint doing something ridiculous.”

Clint feigns offense, but the corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a man of many talents.”

Yn, perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, feels a flutter of nerves as the bottle spins. She’s never been one for games like this—too shy, too introverted. But she’s also curious, especially when she catches Natasha’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment too long. It’s a look she can’t quite decipher, but it sends a warm tingle down her spine. She tugs at the hem of her tight black dress, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that always makes her feel both confident and exposed. The rose tattoo on her right thigh, a recent addition, feels like a secret only she knows, a reminder of her independence and strength.

The bottle slows, its tip pointing directly at Steve Rogers. Tony grins. “Truth or dare, Cap?”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his blond hair. “Truth, I guess.”

“Alright, then,” Tony says, leaning forward. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you on a mission?”

Steve hesitates, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Well, there was this one time in Berlin…”

As Steve recounts his story, Yn can’t help but glance at Natasha again. The redhead is listening intently, her green eyes sparkling with amusement, but there’s something else there too—something Yn can’t quite name. It’s as if Natasha is studying her, analyzing her reactions, and it makes Yn’s heart race. She’s never been the center of attention like this, not in this way, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

The game continues, the bottle spinning and landing on one person after another. Clint is dared to serenade the group with a love song, his off-key rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” earning both laughter and applause. Wanda Maximoff, her eyes gleaming with mischief, chooses dare and is tasked with doing her best impression of Thor, complete with a makeshift hammer made from a cushion. The room erupts in laughter as she strikes a dramatic pose, her accent hilariously off.

When the bottle finally lands on Yn, her stomach twists with anxiety. She’s been dreading this moment, knowing her shyness would make her an easy target for teasing. Tony’s grin is almost predatory as he leans forward. “Truth or dare, Yn?”

She swallows hard, her glasses slipping slightly on her nose. “Truth,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the hum of conversation.

“Alright,” Tony says, his tone playful. “What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done on one of your travels?”

Yn’s mind races. She’s traveled the world, seen things most people only dream of, but she’s always been cautious, always played it safe. Except for that one time in Paris… She bites her lip, debating whether to share the story. Finally, she takes a deep breath. “Well, there was this one time in Paris when I snuck into a private concert. It was One Direction, and I was determined to see them perform. I ended up climbing through a bathroom window and hiding in the catering area until the show started.”

The room erupts in laughter, and even Yn can’t help but smile. She glances at Natasha, expecting to see amusement in her eyes, but instead, she’s met with an intense, almost hungry look that makes her pulse quicken. Natasha’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile, and Yn feels her cheeks flush.

The game moves on, but Yn can’t shake the feeling of Natasha’s gaze on her. It’s like a physical presence, warm and insistent, and it makes her acutely aware of her body. She shifts on the sofa, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress over her thighs. The rose tattoo feels like a beacon, a secret invitation that only Natasha seems to notice.

When the bottle lands on Natasha, the room falls silent. Tony’s grin is smug. “Truth or dare, Nat?”

Natasha’s eyes flicker to Yn for just a moment before she turns back to Tony. “Dare,” she says, her voice steady.

“Alright,” Tony says, leaning back. “I dare you to kiss the person you find most intriguing in this room.”

The air seems to thicken, heavy with anticipation. Natasha’s gaze sweeps the room, lingering on each person before finally settling on Yn. Yn’s heart stops, then starts pounding so hard she’s sure everyone can hear it. She feels frozen, unable to move or speak, as Natasha rises gracefully from the sofa and takes a step toward her.

The room is silent, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant thump of music from another part of the penthouse. Natasha’s presence is overwhelming, her scent—a mix of lavender and something distinctly her—filling Yn’s senses. She’s never been this close to Natasha before, and she’s struck by how intense the redhead’s eyes are, how they seem to see right through her.

Natasha stops just inches away, her hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of Yn’s hair behind her ear. “You’re blushing,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky.

Yn can’t find her voice, can only nod slightly, her breath coming in short gasps. Natasha’s fingers brush her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. Then, slowly, deliberately, Natasha leans in, her lips brushing Yn’s in a kiss that’s soft and tentative, yet electric.

The room erupts into a mix of gasps and cheers, but Yn is barely aware of it. All she can focus on is the feel of Natasha’s lips against hers, the warmth of her breath, the way her hand cups Yn’s cheek as if she’s precious. It’s a kiss that’s both gentle and demanding, a kiss that leaves Yn trembling and wanting more.

When Natasha pulls back, her eyes search Yn’s, and Yn sees something there—desire, curiosity, and maybe even a hint of vulnerability. Natasha’s lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. “Intriguing indeed,” she whispers before returning to her seat, leaving Yn reeling.

The game continues, but the atmosphere has shifted. Yn feels Natasha’s gaze on her constantly, a silent thread of tension connecting them. She’s hyperaware of her body, of the way her dress clings to her, of the way her heart still races from that kiss. She steals glances at Natasha, noticing the way the redhead’s eyes darken every time their gazes meet, the way her lips part slightly as if she’s about to speak but thinks better of it.

As the night wears on, the group begins to disperse. Clint and Wanda head to the kitchen in search of leftovers, while Steve and Tony engage in a heated debate about the best superhero landing techniques. Yn finds herself alone on the sofa, her mind still reeling from Natasha’s kiss. She’s just starting to process what happened when she feels a presence beside her.

Natasha sits down gracefully, her thigh brushing against Yn’s. “You okay?” she asks, her voice soft.

Yn nods, her throat dry. “Yeah, I… I just…”

Natasha’s hand reaches out, her fingers brushing Yn’s knuckles. “You didn’t have to like it,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “It was just a dare.”

Yn shakes her head, her heart pounding. “I did like it,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t expect it.”

Natasha’s eyes search hers, and Yn sees the same intensity she felt during the kiss. “Neither did I,” Natasha murmurs. “But I’ve been watching you all night, Yn. There’s something about you… something that draws me in.”

Yn feels her cheeks flush again, her body warming under Natasha’s gaze. “I… I felt your eyes on me,” she confesses. “It made me nervous.”

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “Good nervous or bad nervous?”

Yn bites her lip, her heart racing. “Both,” she admits.

Natasha’s hand moves to cup Yn’s cheek, her thumb brushing her jawline. “Do you want to know a secret, Yn?” she asks, her voice low and intimate.

Yn nods, unable to look away.

Natasha leans in, her breath ghosting over Yn’s lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you tonight,” she whispers. “There’s something about you… something that makes me want to know everything about you.”

Yn’s pulse quickens, her body humming with anticipation. She’s never felt this way before—this intense, overwhelming attraction. She’s always been the shy one, the observer, but with Natasha, she feels seen, desired.

Natasha’s lips brush hers again, softer this time, a promise of more. “Do you want to explore this, Yn?” she murmurs. “Or do you want to pretend it never happened?”

Yn’s heart pounds in her chest, her mind racing with possibilities. She’s always played it safe, always followed the rules, but with Natasha, she feels a pull she can’t ignore. She takes a deep breath, her hands reaching up to grasp Natasha’s wrists. “I want to explore it,” she says, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Natasha’s eyes light up, her smile triumphant. “Good,” she says, her voice thick with desire. “Because I have no intention of letting you go.”

Their lips meet again, this time with more urgency, more hunger. Yn melts into the kiss, her hands tangling in Natasha’s hair as the redhead deepens the embrace. It’s a kiss that’s both tender and fierce, a kiss that speaks of unspoken desires and untapped passions.

As they pull apart, breathless and trembling, Natasha rests her forehead against Yn’s. “Come with me,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with need.

Yn nods, her heart pounding with anticipation. She follows Natasha out of the living room, down the hallway, and into one of the guest bedrooms. The room is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood. Natasha closes the door behind them, her eyes never leaving Yn’s.

“Are you sure about this?” Natasha asks, her voice gentle but insistent.

Yn takes a deep breath, her hands trembling as she reaches for the zipper of her dress. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she says, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Natasha’s eyes darken with desire as she watches Yn slowly unzip her dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet. Yn stands before her in nothing but her lace bra and matching panties, her rose tattoo a vivid splash of color on her thigh. Natasha’s gaze lingers on the tattoo, her lips curving into a small, appreciative smile.

“You’re beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her voice thick with want.

Yn feels her cheeks flush, her body warming under Natasha’s intense gaze. She’s never felt this exposed, this vulnerable, but with Natasha, it feels right. She takes a step forward, her hands reaching out to grasp Natasha’s hips. “Show me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Natasha’s eyes flash with desire as she begins to unbutton her shirt, revealing the sleek lines of her black lace bra. Yn’s breath catches in her throat as Natasha’s hands move to the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with practiced ease. The fabric falls away, revealing her breasts, full and perfect, her nipples already tight with arousal.

Yn’s hands tremble as she reaches out to touch Natasha, her fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach before moving up to cup her breasts. Natasha gasps softly, her head tilting back as Yn’s thumbs brush her nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yn murmurs, her voice filled with awe.

Natasha’s hands grasp Yn’s hips, pulling her closer. “Touch me,” she commands, her voice low and husky. “Make me feel it.”

Yn nods, her heart pounding with anticipation. She lowers her head, her lips brushing Natasha’s neck as her hands move down to the waistband of her pants. Natasha’s breath hitches as Yn unbuttons her pants, sliding the zipper down with slow, deliberate movements. The fabric falls away, revealing her lace panties, already damp with desire.

Yn’s fingers tremble as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of Natasha’s panties, sliding them down her legs. Natasha steps out of them, her body flushed and trembling with need. Yn’s gaze lingers on the sleek lines of her body, her eyes tracing the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the tight bud of her clit.

DO NOT TRANSLATE, COPY PUBLISH OR EDIT MY WORKS, I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORKS BEING PUBLISHED ON ANY 3RD PARTY WEBSITE. © bunbun 2025 - 2027🖇️ ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

#marvel #top reader #dom reader #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #x female reader #female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x y/n #natasha x reader #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #marvel smut #gxg smut #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader smut

229 notes · View notes

myfictionaldreams · 2 years ago

Text

Accidents Happen // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were visiting a friend when you were accidentally hit in the face, leaving behind a cut across your cheekbone. How will Steve and Bucky react when they see their girl injured?

Requested by: @theatrelove3000 (thank you so much for the message! I hope your eye is doing better and I hope you enjoy this fic)

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hints of winter solider, minor injuries/reader is injured, protectiveness, possessive behaviour, anxiety, pool sex, butt plugs, anal/vaginal sex, double penetration, handjob, multiple orgasms, sir kink, praise kink, size kink, bucky needs a hug, mentions of murder, not beta read

Words: 6.4k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Making friends whilst being in close connection with the mafia was both easy and difficult. Easy because you meet hundreds of new people every month and difficult because many of them were dangerous and untrustworthy. On the rare occasion, a friendship would be created and even though you were busy nearly every day for the gang, you still attempted to spend time with them.

Especially on special days such as your best friend’s baby's birthday. You’d met Laura Barton through her husband Clint, whom you’d met through Natasha. The two of you instantly bonded over having partners in dangerous jobs and if you ever needed a break, she’d always welcome you to her home with a hot drink ready and the kids running rampant which was a great distraction.

Today, it was her youngest, Nate’s 2nd birthday so you’d spent the afternoon celebrating with cakes and toys with the family. By early evening, you were the only one remaining, finally having time to cuddle with the toddler who was playing with the plastic toy train that you’d bought him as a present.

“What time are you and the boys leaving for the hotel?” Laura asked in between bites of vanilla cake.

Your head flew back to avoid the wild swing of Nate’s tiny arm as he continued to play with the toy, making little noises with his mouth that made you smile. “Um, I think around 7, it’ll only take us half an hour to drive there but I can’t wait! Even though we are going for work, the hotel is stunning, and of course, Steve had to buy the best room, I think we’ve even got our own private pool”.

Laura’s eyebrows raised, letting out a low whistle, “They really do live a life of luxury. If they ever want to treat Clint and me to a weekend away any time soon I’d be forever in their debt”.

You laughed at your friend, “I’ll see what I can do”. Turning to look at Nate and poking the tip of his nose, “Do you think mommy deserves a trip away?” As you asked, you made the grave mistake of not watching his arm and there's one thing about toddlers, it was that they were surprisingly strong as he swung the train toy and accidentally smacked you in the face with it. “Oof, ok I’m taking that as a no”.

“Shit! Are you ok? Nate be careful”, Laura chastised to her son as she took him into her arms.

“It’s ok, he didn’t mean it, I’m fine”.

“You aren’t fine, you’re bleeding!” Laura was looking at you with wide eyes.

You were still slightly in shock, trying to remain calm to not scare Nate but you couldn’t deny it, your face was throbbing. Excusing yourself, you rushed to the bathroom and glanced into the mirror. “Shit, the boys are going to go crazy”. The toddler had managed to hit you right underneath your eye, the sharp corner had cut the skin and the surrounding area was already swelling and felt tender. Sighing to yourself, you cleaned the bleeding cut, thankfully it wasn’t deep enough for stitches and the bleeding had stopped already but with the location, you knew you’d probably end up with a black eye over the next day or so.

After you finished cleaning up, you spent a couple of minutes contemplating what the fuck you were going to say to Steve and Bucky. There wasn’t any way you’d be able to hide it with makeup and there wasn’t anything they hated more than seeing you hurt and you knew an overreaction was coming your way. Should you call them or tell them in person? At least in person, you could stop them from running off on a vengeance before you could even explain what had happened so decided you’d wait to tell them.

Leaving the bathroom, you found Laura waiting anxiously with the kids all playing in another room. She took one look at your face before mumbling, “Shit. Does this make me number one on the Rogers mafia hit list?” she joked but you knew she was also slightly serious.

Walking closer to your friend, you took her hands and grinned, even though the action hurt your cheek. “Not it doesn’t, it’s absolutely fine, the boys love Nate they’ll forgive him for anything. I should probably go through, face the music now rather than waiting around”.

You called Sam to pick you up and he text you once outside. Giving Laura and the kids a big hug, you reassured her once more that everything would be ok before leaving her house and walking down the path to the parked SUV with Sam in the driving seat. As you saw him, you waved happily, trying to appear as at ease as possible to keep the tension calm.

However, the moment you were close enough for him to notice the injury to your face, his smile dropped, eyebrows frowning as he hastily got out of the car, rushing to you. “Sam it’s fine-”.

“Who did this to you?” he asked urgently, hands cupping your jaw and tilting your face so he could examine your cut closely. Sam’s face was contorted into anger, something rarely displayed by your bodyguard and friend as he usually likes to be sarcastic and funny when around you.

Lifting your hands, you held onto his wrists, trying to pull him away but he held strong having not finished checking your injury. “Nate accidentally hit me with his toy train… A TODDLER hit me Sam so please relax”.

Thankfully he did. The tension in his shoulders eased as well as the frown on his face. Eyes still flicking across the cut, he instructed, “Tell me when it starts to hurt”. Carefully, he pressed his fingers across your face, inching towards the wound and you informed it where it began to be tender, so he knew just had big the injury was and how bruised it was beneath the swelling. It took a couple of minutes before he seemed somewhat at ease about the injury, finally looking away from the injury to look at the rest of your face before the corner of his lip turned up, “so a baby hurt you this much, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, gently pushing against his shoulder, “Yes! He’s stronger than he looks and yes, I am very embarrassed so please never bring it up again”.

Sam laughed as well, placing his arm over your shoulder and turning the two of you back towards the car. “Oh, you know I’m going to bring it up at any opportunity right?”

Rolling your eyes, you climbed into the car, pulling your seatbelt across your front as he did the same in the driver’s seat. “I could just have Steve or Bucky demand you to never bring it up again”, you suggested unseriously.

Sam’s smile faltered as he began to drive the two of you to the office, “I’m assuming you’ve not told either of them yet? Feel like we need to call everyone in to try and keep them both calm, they’re going to go apeshit when they see you”.

Sighing heavily, you had to refrain from wiping your face. “I thought about calling them but I know they wouldn't listen to me after I’ve told them about it so decided it was better to tell them in person. I just hope that it doesn’t ruin our trip away, I mean, maybe they’ll be calm because it was a baby, there will be no need to go on a vengeance tour of Brooklyn”.

Sam looked towards you with an awkward smile and that’s all you needed to see to know that was most likely not going to happen today.

Arriving at the warehouse, you tried to ignore the glances from other gang members when they noticed the cut to your face, a tension quickly building in the atmosphere which only meant your anxiety increased. You tried to smile at everyone to ease the nerves but it didn’t seem to work. It was only as you and Sam walked into the elevator and it was just the two of you did you release a deep, aggravated groan.

“I’m screwed aren’t I”, you say, glancing at Sam as he rolled up his sleeves like he was preparing for a fight.

“You aren’t screwed, I think you’re the only one who is actually safe”, he reminded you as the doors opened to the corridor to Steve’s office. The two of you walked at a slow pace, your head hanging low so that you didn’t see Steve and Bucky’s bodyguard waiting outside of the closed office door.

“Who died?” Natasha joked, seeing the solemn reaction from you both. Your head snapped up to her, about to reassure her that everything was fine but the words floated away as her grin instantly dropped at seeing your cheek. “What happened?” she asked in an authoritative tone, closing the gap with a single step, hands gripping your face much like Sam had.

Trying to keep your voice as steady and as calm as possible, you explained, “Little Nate decided the toy train had better use on my face than in the normal way”.

It took Natasha longer than usual to believe you, only accepting it as she glanced towards Sam who nodded his head and let go of your face. “Well… we’re all in for a long night then”, she joked but this time there was a hint of warning in her tone.

“Don’t say that, you should have seen what it was like downstairs”. You took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s going to be absolutely fine. I’m going to walk in there, explain to them that a toddler hit me in the face, let them have a little freakout and then we are all going to remain calm and continue with our trip away and it’s all going to be fine”. Niehter Sam or Natasha seemed convinced so you sighed once more, chewing on your bottom lip with nerves. Shaking your head, you rolled your shoulders to try and look as unbothered as possible, “I need to get this over and done with. If either of them leaves, could you follow them please and make sure they don’t do anything stupid”.

“We can try our best, boss lady”, Sam responded for the two of them, walking towards the office door and holding it open for you.

Taking a deep breath, you walked into Steve’s office, seeing both of them sitting at the large oak desk that was positioned in the centre of the room, laptops in front of them, face set with concentration. As your mouth opened to announce your arrival and quickly explain what had happened before they could freak, Steve’s eyes had already glanced away from his screen.

“What the fuck!” he growled, standing with such force his seat toppled over as he stormed towards you. “Who did this to you? What happened?” Steve was in front of you within half a second, his hands cupping your face, eyes full of a whirlwind of seething anger, worry and concern.

“Please don’t freak out, it’s absolutely fine, it was just an accident”, you managed to say as your face was turned in different directions by Steve as if the size of the cut would change but it remained the same. As Steve finished his inspection, Bucky was right there over his shoulder, eyes full of fury as he too checked the cut but then continued further past just your face.

“Accident or not, I’m fucking killing someone”, Bucky barked, lifting your arms and searching for any more injuries and it was only as he lifted the front of your shirt did you push his hands away and take a step back.

“Both of you just wait, please. Absolutely no killing is happening because it was done by a two-year-old” you emphasised, not sure if they were even listening as they crowded around you. Placing a hand on either of their chests, you tried not to concentrate on the pounding of both of their hearts beneath your palms as you explained. “I was sitting with Nate, he was playing with his toy train that he loves by the way. I happened to get too close and didn’t see him swinging the toy and it caught me across the face and let me tell you, that boy is strong!”

You grinned to show the humour, looking between Steve and Bucky, waiting for any sort of reaction from them. Both sets of ocean-blue eyes were flicking from your mouth to your injury and just as you were able to explain again to them, it was Steve who moved first by cupping your jaw with his hand, this time it felt more comforting rather than him assessing you.

“Right let me just make sure I’m understanding this, Nate hit you in the face with the toy that you bought him and caused this much damage?”, he tilted your chin as he finished his sentence to show off your injury more.

“Yes that is exactly what happened. You can check with Sam if you want. Nate is a lot stronger than you’d expect someone so small to be”.

Steve nodded whilst taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down but his heart was still pounding under your hand. Leaning down, he kissed your forehead, showing his understanding of the situation. “How does it feel? Does it hurt?” he questioned, his blonde eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“It feels tender and bruised but only when I touch it and I can see the swelling out of the corner of my eye but otherwise it’s fine. I’ve had worse that’s for sure”, you tried to once again defuse the tension with a little joke but all it caused was Bucky’s jaw to tighten.

Steve noticed too and suggested, “Why don’t you go and wait by the car baby, we just need to wrap up everything here and we can start heading to the hotel

It was a simple idea but put you on edge with worry as Bucky had yet to say anything or snap out of the protective trance. Instead of arguing with Steve, you nodded, knowing that Steve could handle Bucky when he was like this and it was best to leave the two of them to it.

Stepping out of the office, you released a long heavy breath, now facing Natasha and Sam who were waiting in a stance like they were ready to tackle someone but relaxed seeing that it was you. Glancing over your shoulder, they were surprised when no one else followed after you. “Everything ok, Sugar?” Natasha questioned uncertainly.

“I’m not entirely sure. I think Steve’s ok but Bucky… he didn’t say a word to me. I think they’re having a talk so I’ve been sent to the car like a naughty child”. Sam chuckled, finally stepping forward and holding his elbow out for you to take.

“Well let then me escort you to the car m’lady”, he mocked and managed to pull a smile to your lips as you accepted.

It took nearly 45 minutes for them to finish whatever talk that needed to happen, and you’d hoped that Bucky would rush to the car but it was quite the opposite. He inclined for Sam to get out of the car and they spoke out of sight.

Sam wouldn’t be coming with you to the hotel, it was just supposed to be you and the boys so you waved to him in farewell as he climbed out of the car. Steve then slide in next to you, closing the gap in the middle so his body brushed against yours as you blinked up at him with a worried expression. Once again, his hand slide along your jaw as he kissed your temple. “You know I hate seeing you hurt”, he admitted against your skin before pulling back and looking at you with an apologetic gaze.

“I understand that, but that doesn’t mean you have to shut me out”, you countered, lifting your hand to stroke along his stubbled cheek.

“It doesn’t”, he contemplates. “But, I also don’t want you to see me in this state, the things going through my mind when I saw your face, I was just about ready to kill everyone in this building to find out what happened. No one hurts what’s mine”.

Your heart was thumping hard in your chest at his passionate declaration. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to push me away. I know you don’t want to see me hurt but accidents happen and if there was something wrong, you know I would call you immediately”.

Steve’s eyes softened, “Yes I know that now but, it doesn’t stop the panic that I feel when I see you’re hurt”.

Shifting even closer so that you could kiss his cheek, you continued, “I’m sorry for scaring you, it’s hard to tell you when these things happen, I don’t know whether I should call to prewarn or wait to see you in person”.

Steve’s lips lowered to yours, giving you a quick kiss to your lips, “We’ll figure it out”.

“What about Bucky?” you asked nervously.

“Buck might need a little more time, he’s still struggling to process his emotions”.

This did little to ease your anxiety, especially as the said man got into the driver's seat and didn’t say a single word to you, only glancing at you from the rearview mirror for a moment before beginning the drive to the hotel.

Steve easily managed to fill the silence with natural conversations which did little to distract you from the nerves of Bucky not talking. Even when the three of you arrived at the hotel and were shown to the penthouse where you’d be staying, Bucky didn’t say a word. After a quick tour of the breathtakingly beautiful surroundings which included a kitchen, living room area and pool that overlooked the city, you decided to go and freshen up.

After returning in a flowing dress that felt more comfortable than the jeans and shirt, you looked for the boys but only found Steve who was leaning against the kitchen island, staring at a spot in deep thought. “Steve?” this snapped him out of his trance as he instantly looked at you, standing to his full height. “Where’s Bucky?” you continued to look around but didn’t see him and by the look on Steve’s face, you knew you wouldn’t find him. “Where is he?”

“He said he needed a moment so has gone to the bar a few floors below”. Your shoulders dropped hearing this, feeling awful that he was struggling so much. “He’ll be ok sweetheart, he just has his own demons that he’s trying to fight with at the moment, you know the sort of headspace he gets into when you’re hurt”.

“I know but I haven’t seen him like this for a while, I guess I thought that side of him was over”. Sometimes when Bucky was overtly stressed with work, or needed to protect someone, particularly with regards to work, it was almost like his mind would shut down and someone else would take over. It was hard for him to deal with especially as he tended to get his emotions out violently when like this but as he hasn’t had an outlet today, he felt the need to separate himself from everyone. You knew he would never hurt you, even when he was like this so you asked Steve, “What floor is the bar on?”

Steve walked down with you and you both found him sitting on a stool in front of the bar with a very large glass of dark liquor on the bar in front of him. Steve decided to stay back and let you talk to him considering his talk earlier seemed to have done nothing to help him but reassured if you needed anything just nod.

As you walked towards Bucky, you thought about what you were going to say but your mind seemed to be completely empty of thoughts as you were so anxious you felt nauseous. Stepping next to him, he made no move to look in your direction or acknowledge your arrival and continued to stare forward. Every single muscle in his body was tense, eyes blazing with a look that you hadn’t seen in eyes like he was figuring out a way to murder everybody in the room. Your eyes flicked over his face, noting his jaw was so tense it looked like it was going to break. Unsure whether to touch him or not when he was like this, you said the only words that sprung to mind: “I miss you”.

Bucky’s entire body shifted, all of the tension seemingly melting away like a reset button had been pressed, as his eyes softened their glare as he flicked them to finally look at you. Seeing the change in him and drawing his attention, you reached across him to grip his metal hand, lifting it up to your face and reeling in the recognisable coolness of the metal against your uninjured cheek.

Turning to kiss the metal palm, you repeated, “I miss you Bucky”. There was even further relief when the pad of his thumb stroked across your cheekbone. Your boyfriend doesn't say a word, he didn’t need to as he stood from the stool, towering over you as he wrapped both of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest, his face nuzzling into your neck, taking a deep breath against your skin which seemed to also calm him further.

You hugged him back just as fiercely, eyes squeezing tight as you clung to the back of his shirt, probably crinkling the expensive material but neither of you cared. After a couple of minutes, he finally began to pull back enough that your arms could wind around his neck, pulling him down so you could kiss him passionately, ignoring the ache in your injured cheek from the movement.

His hands clenched around your waist at the kiss until you pulled back but that was only so you could kiss his cheek repeatedly whilst whispering, “I’m so sorry I’ve scared you Bucky, everythings ok I promise but I need you to be here with me and Steve”.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first, his only response was a nod as his body continued to try and calm down from its heightened alertness. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity he said with as much passion as possible, “I’m sorry, I love you”.

“I know, it’s ok, I love you too Bucky, now let's go back upstairs and relax for the evening, ok?” he nodded his head in agreement, his hand clasped around yours as you pulled him towards Steve who smiled at the two of you.

In the elevator up to your floor, Steve turned to Bucky and placed a tender hand on the back of his head, pulling him roughly into his side, “It’ll be alright Buck”, he spoke tenderly into his ear before kissing him on the side of his head. The sight had your chest warming at the intimate show of support from the mafia leader but your thoughts didn’t dwell as the elevator dinged to indicate arrival to the penthouse.

The three of you opened a bottle of champagne and watched the sunset over the city before you decided that it was time for the pool and needed a moment to get ready. As you stood in the bathroom, you decided to continue with the plan that you’d had since you knew you were coming here. Of course, when travelling anywhere, especially somewhere this beautiful, you would want to be intimate with them both and you were hoping to take them both at the same time. So, you had decided to prep yourself a little bit with the use of your favourite butt plug and then when the three of you were ready, they could simply take it out and save the time of prepping.

It took a few minutes to work inside of you but you were happy to see the jewel gleaming from within your arse cheeks and then continued to dress into your swimsuit. You looked somewhat ridiculous with the stunning swimsuit and swollen cut to the face but it would have to do as you finally exited the bathroom.

Bucky turned to you first, hearing your footsteps as you approached the edge of the water but it was his raised eyebrow and deadpan expression that had you faltering. “What?” you asked, looking down at yourself and wondering what was out of place.

“Doll, seriously? We have our own private pool and you still think to change into a swimsuit?” Your cheeks warmed at the realisation that both Steve and Bucky were completely nude in the water and with a small smile, began to remove your own swimsuit which captivated Steve and Bucky’s attention, especially as you revealed your breasts.

As the material gathered at your waist, you turned on the spot so they were looking at your back, you bent forward to fully remove the outfit but it also gave them the perfect view of your arse with the butt plug on display.

“Fuck”, Steve cursed under his breath as he moved towards the stairs just as you began to walk over, holding out his hand for you to take and carefully descend into the water, being careful not to splash your face too much in the process. The water was the perfect warm temperature and it felt so relaxing to be almost weightless as Steve pulled you easily through the water you couldn’t reach the floor like he could, until you were near the edge, looking out over the city with Bucky on the other side of you.

The three of you huddled close together, your arms holding onto the edge of the pool, enjoying the ambience and serene moment of blissful quiet. However, Bucky couldn’t keep himself restrained for long as his hours of not seeing or touching you were beginning to get to him. Sliding behind you, his arms crowding you closer to the pool edge, his lips kissed delicately below your ear, moving south down your neck and to your shoulder. You tilted your head to the side to give him more room, releasing a soft breath at the tingling sensations his lips were causing, especially as his stubble brushed against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful”, Steve admired from beside you, his words making your cheeks flush with warmth at the compliment.

“Even with a black eye”, Bucky joked from where he was kissing the top of your back. You let out a shocked laugh, attempting to elbow him in the ribs but he easily held your arm away as he chuckled. The noise and joke were welcomed from him though to know he had calmed down enough from the initial shock of seeing you injured. “Could I make one request for tonight?” Bucky enquired, returning to kiss the pulse point on your neck.

“Yes?” you asked, already sounding a little breathless as you lazily moved your legs through the water, still holding your weight up by holding onto the edge.

“Don’t hold your noises in tonight, even though we are outside, I want this whole damn city to hear you”, Bucky grunted as he thrust his hips against your lower back, making you feel his considerably hard cock. Once again, your body warmed thoroughly at the thought of those a few floors below potentially hearing through their open windows but that also turned you on, knowing people could hear how much your boyfriends were making you feel good.

Nodding your head in answer, Bucky’s hands began to graze over your stomach under the water, stroking near your hip where you had a particularly sensitive spot that had you shivering and leaning further into him.

Steve’s hand cradled your chin, turning your face towards him where he began to kiss you desperately, his tongue immediately teasing the seam of your mouth to gain access that you granted instantly. You moaned as his warm muscle twisted with yours, loving the dominance of the kiss as he easily stood over you in the pool with his tall stature.

Bucky’s metal fingers then began to do their own exploration as they travelled between your legs, first stroking over your pussy lips, giving you a little warning for his next movement before he pressed more firmly until he was rubbing your clit. He moved in slow circles, and your hips jerked at the action, more moans rumbling from the back of your throat and into Steve’s mouth.

The blonde man pulled back first, breathing heavily as he instructed, “What I want you to do is take Bucky and after you cum, we’re going to fuck you at the same time, understand?”

“Yes, sir”, you automatically responded, your arousal aching in your core.

“Good girl”, Bucky praised as he shifted his position but continued to play with your clit as he moved. His lower half moved further beneath you so your body was moved a little out of the water, revealing your breasts to the cool air as you balanced on his body. The tip of his cock nudged against his fingers at the apex of your thighs, and with a flick of his hips, it moved to your hole. Even though you were in the water, he still took his time, being careful to not move too quickly as he stretched your cunt. Each inch that moved in had you gasping and moaning, grabbing tightly onto Steve’s arm that shot out to support your body from toppling forward. “That’s it, you’re taking me so well, Doll”, Bucky continued to encourage you as soon his hips were flush against yours which meant that he subtly pressed against the plug in your arse which only added to the heightened pleasure.

“Feels so good Bucky”, you say, closing your eyes for a moment to try and savour the feelings but then they snapped open as Steve began to squeeze your nipples. Your back arched into the touch, loving the twists and pulls he was doing to them that sent shivers straight to your centre which only meant that you kept clenching around Bucky.

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky finally began to move, slowing his fingers at your clit to match the pace of his thrusting. Each snap of his hips would cause the plug to be pushed and even his cock within your pussy was brushing against it, you already felt so full and you only had one cock in you. The motions increased as Bucky nuzzled into the back of your neck, the water surrounding the three of you splashing over the edge.

As you got used to the position and pleasure that was being pounded throughout your body, you felt aware enough to reach into the water and grip Steve’s throbbing shaft. It floated in the water and you could feel it bob at your touch as well as Steve’s very audible gasp. He always did love it when you pleasured him so even though Bucky’s cock and fingers were very distracting, you attempted to try and also make Steve feel as good as you felt.

“Fuck, I love the feeling of your hands on me baby”, Steve grunted, thrusting into your palm as you squeezed harder, moving up and down the shaft in time with Bucky’s cock. Steve’s eyes closed, head tipping back as he fell into the pleasure, but his hands never stopped with both supporting your upper half and squeezing your breasts whilst tweaking the nipples.

Bucky moved faster now, feeling your pussy clenching harder around him, his fingers swiping back and forth in firm motions. You didn’t even need to tell him that you were going to cum, from the feeling around his cock and the sweet moans escaping your mouth, he knew you were close. He fucked you harder which meant your hand moved faster up Steve’s shaft.

“Oh-God, yes!”, you chanted, eyes closed as you squeezed Steve’s cock hard as the pleasure took over you, Bucky not stopping his thrusts as you came, extending the length of your orgasm as he continued. All until Steve quickly cursed and grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away from him did your pussy stop fluttering as you looked at him in worry. “Did I hurt you?” you asked, realising that you were probably squeezing too hard.

Steve chuckled, a light pink shade tinging his cheeks as he shook his head, “No baby, you were going to make me cum if you carried on like that”.

“Oh”, was all you managed to say as you felt proud of yourself for making him nearly cum so quickly.

Bucky laughed under his breath at your reaction, kissing the back of your head before easing his cock out and wrapping his arm around your waist so he could move you further away from the wall, giving Steve room to move in front of you. Both of your hands moved to his muscular shoulders, holding on as Steve pulled both of your legs around his waist, the waterline now at your navel.

Bucky's warm hand massaged one of your arse cheeks as he instructed, “Relax for me, Sweetheart”. You made sure to ease all of your muscles down as he gripped onto the butt plug and began to slowly pull it out. You gasped loudly at the feeling of your hole stretching around the toy before relief as it moved past the thickest part.

Bucky dropped the plug, declaring that he’d retrieve it from the bottom of the pool later and began lining up his cock at your asshole. You mewled into Steve’s shoulder as you felt the thick tip breaching your hole, the stretch was just as intense as the other hole but he moved slower this time, making sure not to hurt you.

“You’re so tight, shit”, Bucky groaned as you took his length, his hands flexing against your hips as you tried to adjust to him. After a long moment, you nodded your head against Steve and felt him moving his hips, the tip of his cock now penetrating your cunt, slowly but from the fucking by Bucky, it didn’t take you as long to adjust.

As they both were fully inserted into your holes, you let out a desperate moan, feeling so full it was nearly overwhelming. Your thighs were shaking in Steve’s grip around his waist and you wanted to speak to tell them how good it felt but your tongue felt heavy in your mouth so you told them through moans and mewling noises.

Steve moved first, pulling out a few inches before moving back in. Then Bucky copied his action. Both of your boyfriends fucked you, their thick cocks stroking against every single nerve and with the way your legs were wide and spread to be wrapped around Steve, your clit was brushing against his abdomen.

Your head dropped back against Bucky’s shoulder and you had to refrain from hissing as you accidentally brushed the injury of your face against his stubble. However, with the overwhelming pleasure that was being fucked into you, you didn’t vocalise the momentary discomfort and simply turned your face away so it didn’t happen again.

With how much you were being stimulated, it didn’t take you long to orgasm again, your body tightening like a coil around both of their cocks as waves of pleasure pulsed through you.

Bucky let out a deep groan and that was your only warning as he came suddenly, the feeling of your tight ass around his cock was too much for him and he was already so pent up from the day that he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His balls emptied everything within them into your ass, his teeth biting into the junction between your neck and shoulder as he grunted your name over and over until there was no more cum within his body.

You shivered as he pulled out, wishing you had a camera under the water to see the cum seeping out and clouding the water slightly. Bucky’s hands moved to under your thighs, taking them out of Steve’s grip as he took your weight instead so that Steve could fuck you without any restraint.

With your eyes half-lidded, you watched as Steve leaned forward, one hand on your waist and the other on Bucky’s shoulder, using the two of you to help ground him as he continued to fuck your pussy. With the more sturdy position, he was able to fuck you as hard as he could with the water adding some restraint so that he didn’t hurt you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little crescent-shaped dents in the skin but he enjoyed the sparks of pain that came with it. “I want you to orgasm one more time for me baby, I know you can do it”.

You shouted out in pleasure at his words, hearing the desperation in his tone so you knew he was holding back from cumming because he wanted you to do it one more time. Steve fucked you, hard and fast, water splashing everywhere as Bucky continued to hold onto you tightly.

It didn’t take you long to cum again, especially as Steve dipped his head and began to suck on each of your sensitive nipples. By the time your pussy stopped pulsing around him and you were becoming entirely too overstimulated, Steve finally shouted and stilled his thrusting, his cock throbbing with each spurt of his cum as he filled you up.

The three of you took a couple of minutes to catch your breath and stretch your muscles from being in the squished position. “At least we’re in the water, don’t have as much of a clean up”, you joked as the cum mixed with the pool water. Bucky laughed before ducking into the water and returning with your butt plug.

“For you, hot mama”, he handed over the toy and kissed your cheek before helping you over to the stairs but swiftly picked you up with a steady hand at your back and under your knees. “Please tell me you two are hungry, once we’ve finished drying up, I’m ordering some room service”.

You groaned in a different sort of need from only a few minutes ago, your arms wrapping around his neck, “yes please, I’m starving after all of this activity!”

#mafia au #mafia stucky #stucky x reader #stucky smut #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky smut #marvel one shot #marvel smut #mine*

5K notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

Note

no bc why would a loki friends to lovers be so good?? 😭 ✋✋✋

can i request loki trope best friends to lovers with female avenger!reader from love is in the air? i have a whole plot and i am so sorry in advance so here we go:

reader is lokis best friend and they became friends bc she was the only avenger who was nice to him when he first came to the compound and they got really close. he still gets bad nightmares and when he does, he goes to readers room and she just accepts him and holds him while he cries until the nightmares are over!! (she’s so book boyfriend coded i literally can’t) and then this happens a lot but is only mentioned like a few times in the story (i really hope you understand this im so sorry my thoughts are literally all over the place) and then one night he goes to her room again bc of another nightmare and she comforts him and they fall asleep and he doesn’t have any nightmares while sleeping and then in the morning when they wake up (tangled in each others limbs) he goes ‘i love you’ and she smiles and goes i know and then he goes like ‘no, i LOVE you’ and she smiles more and whispers ‘i know’ and then kisses him!!!

thank you for making this new game and always specifying the as much detail as we want part i love u and ur writing soso much and you are so amazing and im so sorry for making you read this super long request

— anon 🌷

NIGHTMARES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just some angst

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Loki has no choice but to be here.

It is a punishment, though not the kind he expected. No dungeons, no chains—just the ever-present weight of Midgardian hospitality, which is its own sort of prison. After Asgard’s fall and the madness that followed, Thor petitioned to bring Loki to the Avengers Compound rather than leave him to whatever grim fate awaited him elsewhere. It was a mercy, Thor claimed. Loki knew better. It was just another way to keep him under watch, to keep him leashed. So he plays along, lets them believe he is something tame and manageable, even if the mere presence of this place makes his skin crawl.

The others do not trust him. That much is expected. Even if Loki had miraculously decided to change his ways, there is too much blood between them all. Stark especially watches him like a vulture, always ready with some barbed comment, some clever little jab to remind Loki that he is not welcome. Rogers is quieter about his disdain, ever the noble soldier, but he does not mask it well. Romanoff does not bother with pretense—she does not speak to him at all. Barton is much the same, still nursing whatever wounds Loki left behind in New York. Maximoff has her own reasons to hate him. Strange treats him as one might treat an unpredictable wild animal, barely interested beyond the occasional veiled threat.

Thor is the only one who does not look at Loki like an enemy, though his efforts to bridge the gap between them are clumsy at best. Loki does not want his brother’s pity. He does not want to be here at all.

And yet, somehow, against all odds, you happen.

You are the only one who speaks to Loki without venom in your voice, the only one who does not look at him like a problem that needs solving. From the very beginning, you offer him kindness. Not the strained, obligatory sort Thor extends, nor the artificial niceties of someone waiting for him to slip up. You are simply… kind. It baffles him. It frustrates him. It keeps him awake at night, replaying your words and gestures in his mind, trying to decipher your angle.

He tests you at first. He is cruel, the way he has always been, sharp-tongued and dismissive. He tries to chase you away, because he cannot fathom why you would want to be close to him. But you stay. You take his barbs with an infuriating sort of patience, countering his wit with your own, refusing to let him push you into the shadows. And slowly, against his better judgment, he stops trying to push at all.

Loki does not know when exactly things change. One moment, you are just another foolish Midgardian trying to play nice with the villain, and the next, you are something else entirely. A constant. A presence that lingers in his mind even when you are not there. He finds himself seeking you out, watching for you when he enters a room. He makes excuses to be where you are, though he is certain you see through them all.

You are different from the others. Perhaps that is why he lets you in. Perhaps that is why, when you tease him, he does not feel the usual bite of mockery. When you speak to him, he listens. When you laugh, he does not wish for silence.

It is strange, this… whatever this is between you. He does not know what to call it.

There is a night, early on, when he realizes how much he enjoys your presence. The others are away on some mission, leaving the compound oddly silent. You do not know he is there when you slip into the common room, curled up in the corner with a book, lost in the pages. Loki watches you for longer than he should before making himself known. You do not startle when he speaks, do not tense like the others do when they notice him lurking. You simply glance up, meet his gaze, and smile.

It is a small thing. A meaningless thing. And yet, Loki feels it somewhere deep in his chest, in a place he thought long since turned to stone.

From then on, things are… different. You and Loki fall into an easy rhythm, one that does not require explanation. You are his friend, though he still struggles with the weight of that word. It is unfamiliar on his tongue, but there is no other way to describe what you are to him. You speak to him as though he is not a monster. You listen when he speaks, even when his words turn bitter. You do not pity him, nor do you fear him. It is a delicate balance, and yet, you hold it effortlessly.

The others notice, of course. Stark makes his comments, forever incredulous that you would willingly spend your time with Loki. The others exchange looks when they see you together, silently wondering what exactly has formed between you. Even Thor is perplexed by it, though he does not question it aloud.

Loki does not care what they think.

For the first time in what feels like centuries, he is not entirely alone.

---

The first time it happens, Loki does not intend for it to happen at all.

It is late—long past the hour when even the restless find sleep. The compound is silent, steeped in the kind of darkness that makes everything feel heavier, more oppressive. He should be resting. He knows this. And yet, as he lies in the too-soft Midgardian bed, the sheets tangled around his restless limbs, Loki cannot shake the remnants of his nightmare.

It is not the first time he has suffered such things. They have plagued him for years, twisting his thoughts into cruel shapes, dragging him into memories he cannot escape. Usually, he endures them alone, swallowing down the horror, letting it fester in silence. But tonight is different. Tonight, the weight of it is unbearable.

He sits up, dragging a hand down his face, breath still unsteady. The dream clings to him like a second skin. He can feel it—thick, choking, inescapable. His own screams still echo in his mind, a cruel reminder of how easily he unravels when left alone with his thoughts.

He needs to breathe.

Loki forces himself out of bed, out of his room, into the dimly lit hall. He does not know where he is going at first. He does not think at all. His body moves on instinct, his feet carrying him forward before his mind catches up.

And then he is standing in front of your door.

The realization strikes him like a blow. He should not be here. He has no reason to be here. And yet, something in him will not allow him to turn away.

He hesitates, jaw tight, fingers curling into fists. He should leave. The last thing he wants is for you to see him like this—weak, vulnerable, broken. You have only ever known the pieces of him that he allows you to see, the sharp wit, the clever smirk, the mask that keeps the world at bay. This… this is something else entirely.

And yet, before he can stop himself, he lifts his hand and knocks.

It is soft, barely audible, but in the silence of the compound, it may as well be a thunderclap. His heart pounds against his ribs, and he almost turns to flee before the sound of movement reaches his ears.

A moment later, the door opens.

You stand before him, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, confusion written across your features.

"Loki?" Your voice is thick with sleep, but there is no irritation in it, no impatience. Just quiet concern.

He does not know what to say. He does not even know why he is here, why he has come to you instead of locking himself away like he always does. The words catch in his throat, his pride warring with his need for something—anything—to ground him.

But you look at him, really look at him, and something in your expression shifts.

You step aside without a word, leaving the doorway open in silent invitation.

For a long moment, Loki simply stands there, waging a battle within himself. He should not do this. He should not need this.

But the alternative is far worse.

So, with slow, reluctant steps, he moves inside.

You close the door behind him, and the quiet settles between you, not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. You do not ask why he is here. You do not press him for an explanation. Instead, you gesture toward your bed, a silent offer, as if you have already decided what he needs before he can admit it himself.

He swallows, shame burning in his chest, but he cannot bring himself to refuse.

Without a word, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. His hands tremble slightly as he presses them against his knees, his entire body taut with tension. He feels exposed, raw in a way that terrifies him.

And then you sit beside him, so close he can feel your warmth.

Still, you do not push. You wait.

It is this—your patience, your quiet understanding—that breaks something in him.

He exhales sharply, his composure fracturing at the edges. His shoulders shake before he can stop them, and then, before he even knows what is happening, his hands are gripping the fabric of his own sleeves so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

You move before he can react, before he can even think to stop you. Your arms come around him, careful but certain, pulling him into your embrace.

Loki stiffens at first, instinct screaming at him to pull away. He is not used to this—to being held. He does not know how to accept comfort, how to take something so freely given.

But you do not let go. You do not waver. You simply hold him, warm and steady, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

And Loki breaks.

A shuddering breath escapes him, and then another. His body sags against yours before he can stop it, his forehead pressing into your shoulder, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline. The dam bursts, and before he can stop it, he is trembling, shaking, silent sobs wracking his frame.

You say nothing. You do not tell him it is okay, do not offer empty reassurances. You simply hold him through it, your hands moving gently along his back, your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

Time loses meaning. He does not know how long he stays like this, pressed against you, his breath uneven, his body betraying him. But you never pull away. You never make him feel as if he is too much.

When the storm finally begins to pass, when his breathing evens and the tremors fade, he feels exhaustion settle deep in his bones. He should move. He should leave before he humiliates himself further.

But then you shift, adjusting your grip so that you are holding him more fully, your chin resting gently atop his head.

"Stay," you murmur, the word barely above a whisper.

He does not fight it.

For the first time in his life, Loki allows himself to be held.

That night, he sleeps.

And then, somehow, it becomes normal.

It does not happen every night, but often enough that neither of you question it anymore. When the nightmares come, when the weight of his past becomes unbearable, Loki finds himself at your door.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

The shame he once felt begins to fade, replaced by something he does not have the words for. You do not judge him for his weakness. You do not make him feel like a burden. You simply accept him, in all his fractured, broken pieces, without hesitation.

It is terrifying.

It is the most comfort he has ever known.

And Loki does not know what to do with that.

---

Loki does not know when it begins. Perhaps it has always been there, buried beneath layers of denial and self-preservation, something too delicate to acknowledge, too dangerous to name. But slowly, steadily, it grows.

He notices it in the quiet moments, in the spaces between words.

It is in the way he seeks you out without realizing it, the way his day does not feel quite right until he has spoken to you. It is in the way his chest tightens when you laugh, in the way his mind lingers on your voice long after you have left the room.

It is in the nights spent wrapped in your arms, when the nightmares become too much.

At first, those nights were a necessity, a last resort when his own mind betrayed him. But now, they are something else entirely. The shame that once clung to him has faded, replaced by something far more dangerous. He no longer fights the pull toward you—he welcomes it. He does not know when it became so natural to find solace in your presence, to lean into your warmth without hesitation.

But it is not just about the nightmares anymore.

It is the way he lingers when he does not need to. The way his fingers brush against yours in passing, the way he memorizes every shift in your expression, the way your touch lingers on his skin long after you have pulled away. It is the way his heart pounds in his chest at the smallest of gestures, the way your absence leaves an ache that he cannot name.

And then, one night, it happens.

It is late, but Loki is not in his room. He is in yours, as he has been countless times before. The routine is familiar—he wakes from a nightmare, the echoes of it still clinging to his skin, and without thinking, his feet carry him to you.

You let him in, as you always do.

Tonight, the weight of it is heavier than usual. The nightmare lingers in his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke. He does not speak of it, and you do not ask. You simply pull him into your arms, letting him bury himself against you, his breath uneven against your collarbone.

For a long time, neither of you move. The silence is comforting, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his back, grounding him.

And then, in the stillness, something shifts.

You sigh softly, a sleepy, content sound, your arms tightening around him just slightly before relaxing again. It is the simplest thing—an unconscious movement, a meaningless moment.

But it unravels him.

The realization hits Loki with the force of a thousand suns. It is sudden and absolute, as if it has been waiting for this exact moment to make itself known.

He loves you.

It is not friendship, not even close. It never has been.

His love for you is deep and consuming, something that lives in his very bones. It is in the way he looks at you when you are not watching, the way your presence soothes him in a way nothing else ever has. It is in the way he would burn the world to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.

The realization is terrifying.

Loki does not move. He does not breathe. He simply lies there, pressed against you, as the weight of it crushes him.

This should not have happened. He should not have allowed it.

Love is a weakness. It is a thing to be used, to be twisted and turned against him. He has seen it happen too many times before. He has felt the sting of rejection, the sharp bite of betrayal. He knows better than to hope.

And yet, it is too late.

Loki swallows hard, willing the ache in his chest to subside. He cannot tell you. He will not. You are his closest friend, the only person who has ever truly seen him, the only one who has never turned him away. If he speaks this truth aloud, he risks losing that.

And that is something he cannot bear.

So he does what he has always done—he buries it.

He forces himself to breathe, forces himself to relax against you, as if nothing has changed. Because for you, nothing has.

You do not know. You cannot know.

And Loki will make sure it stays that way.

From that night on, everything feels different.

He pretends it does not. He is careful, measured. He acts as he always has, keeps his words and actions the same. He does not allow himself to linger too long, does not let his touch betray him.

But inside, he is unraveling.

It is a constant war, a battle he fights every second he is near you. He is hyperaware of every glance, every touch, every breath. He cannot stop looking at your lips when you speak, cannot ignore the way his heart clenches when you smile.

And the worst part? You do not even notice.

You treat him the same as always, utterly unaware of the storm raging inside him. You laugh with him, tease him, pull him into your arms on those quiet nights, completely oblivious to the fact that every moment is torture.

Because he wants.

Gods, how he wants.

There are nights when he stands outside your door, debating whether or not he should knock. Not because of the nightmares—those still come, but they are no longer the only reason he seeks you out. He knocks because he aches for your presence, because the thought of being alone feels unbearable.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

You do not question it. You do not ask why. You simply welcome him as if he belongs there, as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe, to you, it is.

But for Loki, it is agony.

Because he cannot have you.

Not the way he wants.

And so, he suffers in silence.

He lets himself be near you, lets himself feel your warmth, your touch, your kindness. But he never says a word. He keeps it locked inside, where it cannot hurt either of you.

Because if you do not know, then you cannot leave.

And for Loki, that is the only thing that matters.

---

It happens again.

Another nightmare. Another night where the ghosts of his past pull him under, drowning him in horrors he cannot escape.

Loki wakes with a sharp inhale, his breath coming too fast, his chest tight with panic. The darkness of his room feels suffocating, the walls too close, the air too thin. His hands tremble as he presses them against the mattress, trying to ground himself, trying to remind himself that he is here, not there.

Not falling. Not failing. Not alone.

The thought comes unbidden, as it always does.

Because he is not alone.

Without thinking, without hesitating, his body moves on instinct, slipping out of bed and into the hallway. His bare feet make no sound against the floor, the compound silent in the deep hours of the night. He does not question where he is going. He does not stop to consider if he should.

Because he already knows the answer.

Your door is slightly ajar, just as it always is. You never lock it. You never turn him away.

Loki hesitates for only a moment before pushing it open.

The room is bathed in darkness, the faint glow of the city outside casting soft shadows along the walls. You are curled beneath the blankets, your breathing slow and steady, lost in sleep.

He should leave. He should not do this.

But the remnants of his nightmare still cling to him, cold and suffocating, and he cannot bear the thought of returning to his room, to the silence, to the weight of his own thoughts.

So he steps inside.

The floor creaks beneath his weight, but you do not startle. You stir slightly, shifting against the pillows, but you do not wake.

And yet, as he stands there, lingering in the doorway, you sigh softly, murmuring his name in the dark. Not with fear, not with surprise—just quiet understanding, as if you expected him to be there all along.

Something in his chest tightens.

He does not speak, does not explain. He simply moves toward the bed, and when he hesitates, you lift the blanket in silent invitation.

He exhales, slow and shaky, before slipping beneath the covers beside you.

The warmth of you envelops him immediately, soft and steady, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

He presses closer without thinking, without meaning to, his forehead brushing against your shoulder, his hands curled near his chest.

And then, as if sensing the last of his hesitation, you shift just enough to pull him fully against you, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes everything inside him unravel.

Loki breathes.

The tension eases from his body, the nightmare fading into nothing, the ghosts retreating into the shadows where they belong.

You hold him, just as you always do, your fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns along his back. He feels your breath against his temple, soft and even, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself relax.

His eyes grow heavy, his body warm, and then—

Sleep finds him.

And for the first time in years, there are no nightmares.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, golden and soft, chasing away the last remnants of night.

Loki stirs slowly, caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, his mind still wrapped in warmth, in comfort, in you.

There is something different this time. Usually, when morning comes, he is awake before you, careful to slip away before you can stir, before you can see him in the vulnerable light of day.

But this morning, he does not move.

He is tangled in your limbs, his head resting against your chest, your arms still wrapped around him.

He does not want to move.

Your scent surrounds him, your warmth pressing against every inch of him, and for once, he allows himself to savor it.

His eyes flutter open just enough to catch the golden light spilling across the bed, the way your hair glows in the morning sun. You are still asleep, your breath slow and steady, your heartbeat a gentle rhythm beneath his ear.

And he is safe.

The thought settles in his chest, warm and unfamiliar, something he has never allowed himself to believe before.

And before he can stop himself, before his mind fully catches up with his body, the words slip out, slow and sleepy and utterly unguarded.

"I love you."

The words are barely above a whisper, a sigh against your skin, but you hear them.

Because you smile.

Loki does not see it at first, but he feels it—the shift in your body, the way your arms tighten around him just slightly, the way your breath catches for half a second before settling again.

And then, still drowsy, still wrapped in the warmth of morning, you murmur, "I know."

Loki freezes.

His breath catches in his throat, his body going rigid against you as his mind finally catches up with his words.

What has he done?

Panic rises in his chest, sharp and sudden. He had not meant to say it, had not meant to ruin this. He was supposed to keep it buried, to let it fester in silence where it could not hurt either of you.

But it is too late.

You know.

And then, just as he is about to pull away, just as the weight of his own foolishness threatens to crush him, you shift beneath him, tilting your head just slightly, pressing your lips to the top of his head in a touch so soft it makes him ache.

And then—

"I know," you whisper again, and this time, your voice is different.

He swallows hard, eyes squeezing shut, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

"No," he breathes, barely audible, as if saying it again will somehow change the meaning, make you understand the weight of it.

But you do.

You have always understood him better than anyone.

"I love you," he says again, more certain this time, more him, his voice rough from sleep and tangled in something too big to contain.

He feels you smile against his hair.

And then, gently, finally, you whisper, "I know."

And then you kiss him.

Loki stills, every thought in his mind vanishing into nothing as your lips press against his.

It is soft and slow, something delicate, something precious.

It is not hurried or desperate. It is intentional. Certain.

Your fingers brush against his jaw, tilting his face up to yours, deepening the kiss just enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

And Loki—Loki, who has spent his entire life running from things he cannot bear to lose—lets himself fall.

When you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, Loki does not move. He cannot. His heart is still catching up with what just happened, his mind still drowning in the warmth of you.

You smile, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before murmuring, "Took you long enough."

A breath of laughter escapes him, something he did not expect, something light and unguarded.

He presses his face back into the crook of your neck, exhaling slowly as the last of his fear dissolves into nothing.

"You are insufferable," he mumbles, but there is no heat behind the words, no bite.

Only love.

And this time, he does not try to hide it.

315 notes · View notes

unholyhelbig · 11 months ago

Note

More Wandanat pls 😊

Title: Are you Avoiding me?

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word Count: 2935

Warnings: pet names, sexual situations implied, broken glass, and horrible spelling (I don't proofread).

Summary: It's becoming harder and harder for reader to avoid both Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. Things only get worse when they're cornered in their lab.

[A/n: This is just a little drabble, that's been sitting in my drafts for months, nothing with too much sustinance! I've been distracting myself lately with Wenclair content instead of writing]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

There were thousands of mugs with Shield’s logo on the side that floated around the compound, changing hands between agents and the high-ranking Avengers. It’s why you felt less bad about dropping the one in your grasp to the floor. It shattered into dozens of pieces, and the rest of the pale coffee you were drinking seeped out of the wreckage.

“Ow! Why? Why?” Clint’s voice had turned to a growl by the end of his sentence. He had righted himself and gripped his own mug to his chest, leveling you with a glare that was much too vicious this early in the morning.

The words were trapped in your throat and you dropped down behind the kitchen island, pressing yourself close enough to the wood to become apart of the grain. If you could just hide long enough for them to wander away, then all would be well.

The archer glanced down at you, and then back to the hallway that passed the communal kitchen. Natasha Romanoff had her brow furrowed, lifting a sculped eyebrow at him. She had just come back from her morning run, a fine sheen of sweat coating her muscles. He gave her a shrug and that was enough encouragement to send her on her way.

You let out a long sigh at the sound of her footsteps retreating. “Don’t look at me like that, Barton.”

“I can look at you anyway I want to, you’re the one that would rather be on the ground than talk to Natasha.”

It wasn’t just talking to Natasha. It was looking at her too; breathing the same air as her, meeting her fern-colored eyes across the room and ceasing to have a tangible thought pattern. You were an Avenger, for fucks sake, an ex-KGB spy shouldn’t make you fumble the way that you did.

“It’s not that hard, y/n. She’s harmless, really.”

That was easy for him to say. You huffed quietly and picked up the broken pieces of mug before depositing them into the trashcan. Coffee would make you too jittery anyway. So, if you really thought about it, your nerves had done you a favor.

“She’s terrifying.” You said, reaching for an empty glass. You filled it up with tap water and tentatively took a sip. It went down clunky and cold. “And gorgeous.”

“A combination that renders you absolutely useless.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Clint lifted both of his eyebrows at you, not saying a word. He didn’t have to. And you didn’t need all of this judgement from him in the first place. He had been so scared of Natasha that he couldn’t bring her in, in the first place. He would tell it differently, but you didn’t stick around to find out.

There were other things that you had to do; like a mountain of paperwork and a few modifications to the Vibranium arm that had found its way onto your desk. A cold shower wouldn’t do you any harm either. And if your fingers were to wander? No one would know.

You flashed him the middle finger, abandoning all thoughts of nourishment for the day. Tony kept his labs stocked with bottled water and granola bars after some nagging from Pepper. That would hold you over until lunch and if you started to drift, there were plenty of electrical sources that would give you a low-grade jolt.

Most of the time, you kept your head down, earbuds in even if they weren’t playing music. It was easier not to get caught up in the fanfare of the Avengers. Most of them were human, and they made human mistakes even if they weren’t.

You answered your superiors and fixed any problems that arose with tech and machinery, sometimes even costuming. Those things were simple, cut and dry. Your feelings for Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff weren’t even slightly that.

There was admiration from afar, and Clint would even say a numbness that clouded your brain completely. That celebrity that all other agents produced around any of the spandex wearing heroes often evaded you.

But each time Wanda stepped through the doors of your lab to get a personal watch fixed, or once, a VHS player that had the scent of smoke and burning plastic. She’d jutted out her lower lip when a copy of ‘I Love Lucy’ was burnt to a crisp.

Despite your meager salary, you had found one at the thrift and set it outside her door without a word. Not a romantic gesture, Clint. You should have seen her face. It was something you’d do as a friend, a co-worker.

Your shoulder collided with something strong, yet soft. There was a small grunt released from the back of your throat. You got a mouthful of the scent of rain and vanilla tobacco. But strong hands were suddenly gripping your forearms, keeping you steady.

Your eyes widened and met with curious hazel ones. You thought you gave Natasha enough time to get back to her room. But here she was, in that tight tank top, sweat drenching the collar. She looked beautiful, the lights overhead hitting her.

Agent Romanoff reached up and pulled one of your earbuds out, letting it hang loose against your chest. “Doctor y/l/n, are you avoiding me?”

“Avoiding?” You laughed with a little too much force, compensating for the lost air by snorting and instantly regretting it. A light blush fell over your cheeks. She didn’t look mad, in fact, she looked quite amused. “No, no. I’m not avoiding.”

“So, what would you call ducking down behind the counter in the kitchen?”

“How did you…”

“I’m a superspy and you’re not exactly subtle.”

Yeah. You’d forgotten about that. She didn’t’ allude to the fact, simply continuing on her way and leaving you to your horrible conversation with Clint. But then she had waited in front of your lab, her own clearance not allowing her past the sliding doors without you in it.

She lilted her head to the side “Don’t worry about it, it’s actually rather adorable.”

The heat against your cheeks started to spread down your neck and to your collarbone. If she noticed, and of course she noticed, she didn’t’ say anything. But she released her hold, and you fought back a whimper of disappointment.

“What can I do for you, Agent Romanoff?”

“Us, actually.” She responded, eyes darting towards the locked doors. “I’d rather talk somewhere a bit more private, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely that’s alight. If this is about the Widow Bites that I redesigned then I can most definitely tweak them. We don’t want you to get a jolt every time you use them. Not that I’m saying you’re not skilled enough to avoid that,”

You kept talking as you swiped your card and it with a beep, walking into the instant familiarity of your lab. There was a coolness there for tactical purposes, but it washed over your heated skin and hopefully took some of the soft color away.

You started to flit around the lab, flicking on all the lights and the different purifiers. There was an experiment that Fitz was working on that needed a rotating heat source and that was turned on as well.

“If we remove the outer panel and with a little tweaking, we can make them non-lethal, heavy with stopping power. They can break up under the sub-cutaneous tissue-“

Again, you ran into Natasha. Her body was so warm and solid, stable compared to the way you buzzed about. The door had slid shut behind you, its frosted glass exterior shielding you from the rest of the world.

This time you didn’t’ rush to apologize, instead you pushed your glasses up to the center of your nose and stared at her in a comfortable silence. “This wasn’t about your widow bites. You said us.”

She nodded at you, suddenly seeming quite shy herself. You’d never seen her avert her gaze before and something about the reaction worried you. Your stomach was doing somersaults, flipping back and forth between pure panic and excitement. This was the longest you two had spent in one another’s space without you bolting from the room.

“For the past six months I’ve been involved in a sexual relationship with Wanda Maximoff.”

“Uh,”

It was the only word that you could muster. Thoughts that flushed your cheeks all over again ran through your mind; bare breasts pressed against each other, lips hungrily clashing, hands raking up perfectly toned muscles. Your eyes were hazy with lust, but you blinked it away just as fast as it had settled. Natasha ghosted a smirk regardless.

“It was purely sexual, we both needed to blow off some steam. I’m sure you know how that is.”

On nights when you needed to ‘blow off steam’, you went into the empty training room and ran for six miles before taking a stark cold shower to loosen your muscles. When you ran, you forgot about the dip of Natasha’s collarbone and the dexterity of Wanda’s fingers.

Now that you thought about it, there were signs that the two of them had something and why shouldn’t they? Subtle touches that led to more. The tenderness in Natasha’s eyes betrayed more. If she hadn’t noticed yet, you weren’t going to be the one to tell her.

“It was fun for a while, a supply closet here, the gym floor there. But going on month seven it’s almost losing its… spark.”

“I’m sorry?” You were cautious with your words, and she giggled, the Black Widow herself was giggling at you.

“I’m not so good at this.”

“You’re good at everything.”

She smiled “Wanda insisted that I come and talk to you first because you’re skittish. Moreso around her than me. She was upset when I told her you let me stay the afternoon in here last week, just watching you work.”

Each move you made that day was languid. There was a nervousness to you that seemed to vanish when you could open up the back of a monitor and stare at the innerworkings. You were recruited right out of MIT, and though you had been offered more than one job, you jumped at the idea of working in the Stark tower, living here.

She worked her hand through her hair and sighed “see, not so good at this.”

“What exactly is this?”

Natasha furrowed her brow and a small crease formed between her eyebrows in response. You wanted to reach up and smooth it away with the subtle touch of your thumb. That part wasn’t complicated, not like people usually were.

So, you did just that, you touched the pad of your finger to her soft, warm skin and pressed until the tension started to leave her body. Natasha’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and moved your hand until you cupped her cheek. She sighed into the embrace; eyes closed for more than a single moment.

“I want you, y/n.” She mumbled against the palm of your hand, turning it to the side and delivering a single kiss to the pulse point on your wrist. You were sure that she could feel the quickness in which it thrummed. “So does Wanda.”

You were dizzy, suddenly glad for her hold on you. Months, close to a year, you had spent ducking behind counters and taking the long way back to your dorm. They were both stunning to an intimidating degree, to the point where it devastated you.

“Say something, please” Natasha whispered, voice breaking “I know this is a lot and you can absolutely decline. We can forget this conversation ever happened and you can go back to breaking coffee mugs.”

“No! I mean, no. I don’t want to go back to breaking coffee mugs. I think Clint is running a tab, and Mr. Stark isn’t exactly generous with our salaries.”

A grin spread across Natasha’s face. It was like being wrapped in a warm towel after a long day in the rain. You’d do anything to make her smile. You were in down bad, not that you’d admit it to Bird Boy.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, not trusting your ability to vocalize anything right now. Her lips were on yours, soft and tender. She kissed you slowly, with purpose. The two of you savored the moment, a sigh of extasy escaping you, your arms winding around her shoulders, hers pressing against your spine.

Natasha broke the embrace, staring hazily at you. That cocky smile had turned into a wonderstruck and borderline goofy one. Have you broken the superspy? She’d certainly made you waver. You were effectively rendered silent.

“Oh, sweet girl, how easy it is to fluster you.” Natasha pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “But I fear that a certain witch is lurking just close enough for you to open the door.”

It slid open on its own with a dejected beep. You glanced down at the pocket of your lab coat, badge still attached. A small pout made its way to your lips but softened when Wanda stalked into the mostly empty lab, you felt your defenses lower.

The remnants of red twirled around her fingers- and god, you didn’t mean to stare, but they held a power to them. With Natasha slotted against your body, the primal scent of her, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Oh, how good they’d feel on your tongue.

A pink blush crept up her collarbone and at the tips of her ears. Wanda raised a perfectly sculpted brow at you. There was no doubt in your mind that your thoughts were loud enough for her to hear them. And somehow, you didn’t mind one bit. You’d never imagine being this bold with either of them, but the kiss with Natasha had left you heady, greedy for more.

“Have you been able to do that the whole time?” You panted out, watching the door slide shut once more.

“Well, yes. But I respect your privacy… to an extent. You have quite the dirty mind, don’t you?”

“I… you… no!”

You pulled away from Natasha, crossing your arms over your chest. If you weren’t careful, your glasses would fog up just by being in the same vicinity as them both. Sure, there had been a few times where you’d let your mind wander; images of Wanda shoving you against the wall, pinning your arms above your head.

Natasha taking you over the lab table that you made sure was meticulous in every single way each night before you left. The thought of them taking control was alluring, tantalizing. You thought all the time, too much about every move you made. You didn’t want to admit that you’d welcome not thinking at all, even if it was only for a few moments.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Wanda soothed.

“That’s why Stark keeps me in the basement.”

She’d gotten impossibly close. You could smell the lavender shampoo that often accompanied her. They were both taller than you, though, not by much. Your breath still hitched in your throat at her proximity. Wanda tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, lilting her head to the side in a way that made your knees feel unstable.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, and a smile moved across her lips. “You need to use your words, sweetheart.”

“Oh, don’t be mean, Wanda.” Natasha wrapped her arms around your midsection, resting her chin against your shoulder. You felt the incredible warmth she provided, nearly sighing into it. “This is a lot to take in. Baby steps.”

You couldn’t tell which of the two held more control over the situation, but didn’t much care when you felt Wanda’s breath hot against your lips. She closed the distance and you kissed until it stung, until your lungs were begging for air. A desperate noise that you had never made before escaped you when she broke the embrace.

All the while, the calloused pads of Natasha’s fingers were running softly over the expanse of skin between your waistband and shirt. Her touch was so delicate and impossibly warm compared to the coolness of the lab.

Natasha hugged you closer, and you allowed her to. Everything about both women surrounding you screamed control. The darkness that settled over Wanda’s stare made a wetness pool between your thighs. You squeezed them together in an attempt of subtly.

It was like fooling a seer. They could read your body like an open book and you clenched your eyes shut but could still feel the grin that stretched across Natasha’s face in the crook of your neck. It would be so easy to give up control to them.

“Does anyone else have the key to your lab?” Wanda purred, her hand splayed on your chest in a startling grounding motion. Your eyes snapped open, hazy with lust.

You were breathless, stunned. “Just you.”

Wanda’s head tilted, her tongue darting out against her bottom lip. Chills pushed down your spine, Natasha’s hold tightening around your center. You were sure that you’d catch flame right there and wake up from this dream. But neither of them vanished when you blinked.

“Good. What’s your safe word, darling?”

Natasha’s grin was nothing short of wolfish. She squeezed both of your hips possessively, hauling you with a spy’s quickness onto the nearest counter. You nudged a white mug with a SHIELD logo on the front. It fell to the floor, shattered into a million different pieces.

None of that seemed to matter.

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanov x reader #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Wanda Maximoff x reader #Wanda maximoff #Wanda Maximoff x y/n #Wanda Maximoff x you #Wandanat #Wandanat x reader #Wandanat x you #Wandanat x y/n

877 notes · View notes

cobaltperun · 21 days ago

Text

The Catalyst - Stronger On Your Own

WandaNat x Female Reader

Story summary: A peaceful life could never be an option, especially not when backing out of a fight means leaving your loved ones to fight. It still doesn't change the fact that you hate having these powers.

Chapter summary: A reunion with an old friend brings you back into the life you tried to leave behind. How do you deal with once again being in the same room with the woman you once loved? The same woman that left you to die?

Spotify Playlist

Masterlist / Next Part

Word Count: 3.8k

-Self-destruction is the name of the game, I say I've had enough, but still want it all again-

Annoyance, that's what this man was. Just another thug that got powerful enough to feel like he's untouchable. Just another man thinking he caught her, boasting to himself that he outsmarted the infamous Black Widow.

Typical.

Well, it certainly made her job much easier.

It wouldn't take long for Luchkov to start talking, feeling like he was in control, like he didn't walk right into her web. “I thought General Solohob is in charge of the export business,” Natasha faked being clueless, not being up to date on the information.

“Solohob? A bagman, a front. Your outdated information betrays you. The famous Black Widow turns out to be just another pretty face,” Luchkov taunted her, underestimated her, believed having her tied to a chair would be enough to be safe. He turned away from her with hands in his pockets, full of himself.

“You really think I’m pretty?” and she let him believe all of that. Even when one of the two thugs Luchkov brought along grabbed her jaw and forced her mouth open.

“Tell Lermentov we don’t need him to move the tanks,” Luchkov took his sweet time getting to the table. “Tell him he is out. Well,” he took pliers and turned to look at her. “You may have to write it down,” he couldn’t even threaten properly.

A phone suddenly ringing did catch her by surprise, especially when it turned out it was for her, and Natasha was fairly sure Coulson was the one who called and was now threatening Luchkov into handing Natasha the phone. She didn’t show it in any way, but she wasn’t happy with this interruption, she was on a job, and all this was doing was making the job take more time than necessary.

Still, she’d hear Coulson out. But it better be important. Luchkov handed her the phone and she held it on her shoulder.

“We need you to come in,” she slightly frowned at that.

“Are you kidding? I’m working,” surely it wasn’t that urgent. This would have taken her another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.

“This takes precedence,” Coulson remained persistent, and for a moment Natasha was reminded of last year, where it felt like the whole world was turned on its head in one week. Aliens, monsters, technologies and weapons she had no hopes of matching even with the super soldier serum the Red Room gave her.

She pushed those thoughts out of her head. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. Instead, she pushed back against Coulson. “I’m in the middle of an interrogation, and this moron is giving me everything,” it didn’t even matter that he was right in front of her, hearing every word she spoke. By this point Natasha knew the job was finished, the flow of the interrogation was stopped, Luchkov was no longer in control, she wouldn’t get what she needed.

“I don’t give everything,” Luchkov stammered to the thug on his left and Natasha just looked at him almost unable to believe how stupid the man was.

“Look, you can’t pull me out of this right now,” maybe Luchkov was that stupid to fall right back into her trap if he played her cards right.

“Natasha, Barton’s been compromised,” in a single moment everything changed and this job no longer mattered.

“Let me put you on hold,” she said and the moment Luchkov took the phone she kicked him in the leg and headbutted him. He went down, dazed and taken by surprise as she got up and, while still tied to the chair made quick work of his two thugs, dodging their attempts to hit her and using the chair against them. She fought on autopilot, breaking the chair on one of the thugs. There was only one thing on her mind, Clint being compromised, and her not knowing anything, not where he was, not even if he was alive or for how long he would remain alive.

The lack of attention to the fight allowed one of the thugs to grab her, but it didn’t matter, she twisted his arm and knocked him out, focusing just for a moment on ending this whole thing and immediately heading back so she could rescue Clint.

As she tied a chain around Luchkov’s leg and pushed him over the edge she resolved to do anything to get Clint back. No matter what she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Natasha didn’t even spare the man a second look, she just turned around, took her high heels and phone and headed for the exit.

“Where’s Barton now?” she asked.

“We don’t know,” that was close to the worst answer she could get and that familiar dread set in once again. What would happen by the time they managed to locate Clint?

She didn’t have the luxury to dwell on the possibilities. “But he’s alive?”

“We think so,” yet another uncertainty. “We’ll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the big guy,” Coulson told her and Natasha figured this was it, the Avengers Initiative was being restarted.

Still, she wasn’t the best person to talk Stark into joining, and as far as she was aware Fury would handle Rogers. “Coulson, you know that Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me.”

“Oh, I’ve got Stark! You get the big guy,” the moment Coulson said that she stopped, understanding exactly who the big guy was.

“My God,” she whispered in Russian, doing her best to suppress the last year’s incident from her mind.

Coulson didn’t hang up though, and Natasha didn’t like that one bit. “We also need you to get L/N,” she froze, nearly dropping her high heels.

She felt like something squeeze her chest, but she pushed it to the back of her head. “She won’t come,” it was naïve of Fury to even consider you for the Avengers initiative. You wouldn’t even hear them out, and you especially wouldn’t hear her out. It’s been almost three years since she last saw you face to face, three years since that cursed mission that ruined everything between the two of you, and you abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D.

“She will if we send you,” Coulson was always too optimistic, too willing to hope for the best.

Natasha was more realistic, aware that she was actually the worst person to go and meet up with you. Countless times she rewatched what little recordings there were of the mission, desperately wishing she could yell at her younger self to turn around, to go back and reach you, save you, everything else be damned, but there was no changing the past.

“Where is she?” she asked, willing to at least give it a try. You wouldn’t turn hostile, that much she could still be sure of.

“You know where,” she heard sympathy in Coulson’s voice, maybe even pity. It was true though, she knew where you were, she’s always known where you were, not that you were trying to hide.

~X~

You frowned in your sleep, memories plaguing your mind once more. Always the same, always the same cold eyes, the same red helmet, the same purple cape, the same destruction and rage, unstoppable, focus solely on erasing everything in his path.

A monster driven by rage and grief, too powerful to be stopped by mere humans. Metal constructions twisted and broke apart, falling to ruin in his rage.

"Stop!" you screamed, abruptly jumping to your feet, shaking as your hands lit up in flames. Your eyes widened, the flashes of the nightmare still fresh in your mind, as you extinguished the flames you unwillingly lit, and sighed. There was no way you could go back to sleep now.

You glanced at the clock; it was barely past midnight. You sighed, ready for a sleepless night, the cabin you spent the past two years in felt suffocating tonight, so you went outside and sat down at the table on your porch. The dense forest looked ominously dark, with no lights anywhere around you, other than the moonlight, but you’ve gotten used to it. You appreciated the peace and quiet it brought, but tonight you just couldn’t find peace. You were restless, and it annoyed you.

The sound of the night was suddenly disturbed by a familiar sound of a quinjet and you looked up just in time to see it flying toward your cabin and landing with perfect precision that ruled out damn near every agent.

You stood up, watching as the doors opened and Natasha Romanoff stepped onto the grass. You watched her, stuck between confusion and annoyance, but somehow it all vanished when she approached and you got to see her up close. It wasn’t the fact that she wasn’t in her uniform, or that there were clear signs of exhaustion on her face, it was her eyes that told you everything.

You didn’t greet her though, you just turned around, opening the doors and going inside, but the doors kept open were enough for her to get the message.

“I need you to come in,” Natasha said as she walked inside, immediately and instantly taking every detail of your cabin in. The ways out, the distance to the nearest weapon, the small signs of life left everywhere, a nicked glass of water you didn’t finish before going to sleep, the newspaper neatly folded on the side of the table, the glaive hanging on the wall, always close enough for you to grab.

“You do?” you asked, leaning back against the table with your arms crossed.

“I do,” she didn’t explain it any further.

“I’m not in the mood to be depowered again, Romanoff,” you went through it once, it nearly cost you your life. Maybe it would have been better that way. The way it was right now, it cost you a lot more than your life. You were alive, but you lost the life you built, betrayed by the people you trusted and the woman you loved.

“That isn’t Fury’s intention,” you tried resisting her, you wanted so desperately to resist her, yet that look in her eyes, that desperation and fear, the storm inside her mind.

You should have kept questioning her, should have argued against coming with her, but you knew the decision was made the moment you saw that look in Natasha’s eyes. “Bathroom is to your left, I need five minutes,” just to grab essentials, change into something more appropriate for potential combat and then freshen up yourself to properly wake up.

Natasha looked like she needed a moment to herself a lot more than you did, and perhaps a bit of cold water would clear her mind enough.

There was no need to know exactly what was going on. Natasha was desperate enough to come to you, even if it was likely an order. Still, she came to you, after everything that happened, and you couldn’t ignore that.

You didn’t put on your old uniform, you no longer had it, instead you just went with civilian clothing, simple jacket, shirt and pants, and the moment Natasha stepped out of your bathroom you went in.

You finished freshening up a bit and grabbed a towel, and it immediately hit you. The familiar comforting scent of Natasha’s perfume, subtle, yet so definitively her own. “Fuck,” you cursed, giving up on drying your face and throwing the towel in the basket. You watched the towel with disdain, as if it was the towel’s fault that you suddenly felt at ease. You huffed, pushing the old feelings aside and just wiped your face dry with a clean towel.

When you stepped out you saw Natasha was already outside, not wanting to intrude on the peace you tried to build in this cabin with her presence and you did your best to ignore how right it felt when she was in the cabin with you. You took your bag and glaive and joined her in front of the cabin. “Let’s get this over with,” you muttered, letting Natasha take the lead. And she did it, without a single unnecessary word spoken.

~X~

To your surprise you didn’t go straight to where the helicarrier was at the moment. Instead you went to India. Still, it gave you enough time to get caught up to speed with things that happened. The Avengers Initiative, including Natasha, Clint, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner and Thor, as well as you. You paused when you reached the data on Banner, remembering last year. While you and Natasha didn’t meet up, Clint did pull you back in and you went, keeping your distance but you were there in case Natasha needed backup.

You glanced toward her, wondering what was going through her mind, what got her to seek you out instead of sending Clint. Whatever it was, it had to be bad for Natasha to be like this.

“I doubt you’d be this concerned over the Cube,” sure, she cared, but this was more than that. This was desperation, this was something you weren’t used to seeing from her.

Natasha sighed. “Clint’s been compromised,” and it all made sense now. You stood up on instinct, approaching her and reaching for her shoulder, but you stopped, turning away at the last second.

“You’ll get him back,” you left it at that, returning to the files and not speaking another word, even though the silence was deafening at times. Neither you or Natasha said a single word for the rest of the flight, or as she met up with other agents in Calcutta and set up a plan to convince Banner to come with her.

You just stood by, taking note of the tension everywhere around you. This wasn’t just because of the dangers that came with trying to convince the Hulk to come aboard, this was more than that, this was the reality of being utterly outmatched hitting every single agent all at once. You sat near the comms and yet again your eyes found Natasha. She changed into a beautiful black dress and you forced yourself to look away, fearing the old emotions would reemerge, pushing aside the anger you felt because of her betrayal.

She went inside the old house, waiting for Banner to show up and you chose just to listen, to not get involved even if a fight broke out. You wouldn’t fight. You wouldn’t do anything unless the whole world was in danger.

About five minutes later Banner entered the shack and you listened to Natasha talking to him. Calm, steady, but with just the tiniest hint of fear buried deep under the mask she put on. None of the other agents here could have possibly caught it, Clint and Fury could, and you, apparently, still could, but no one else.

Unless she let someone else in over the past three years.

“Just you and me,” you heard Natasha saying, lying to Banner who correctly guessed the shack was surrounded.

“And your actress buddy? She a spy too? They start that young?” there was no animosity in his voice, not yet, but there was something a tiny bit eerie about his tone. It was too calm, like a calm before the storm, or a quiet rage waiting to be unleashed. Yeah, maybe that was more appropriate for his case.

“I did,” Natasha replied and you got caught up in memories for a moment, remembering her opening up to you about the Red Room. And then, not even a month later, it all fell apart. The conversation between them continued, a back and forth that for once had Natasha putting in all of her effort to keep the situation under control. Armor piercing bullets wouldn’t even scratch the Hulk. “I’m here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. How’d they find me?” you heard a hint of that rage slipping through and sat up, now more alert of their conversation. The entrance to the shack was directly in front of you.

Yet Natasha regained control over the situation, at least for now. “We never lost you, Doctor. We’ve kept our distance, even helped keep some other interested parties off your scent,” her voice didn’t waver, almost as if she was trying to soothe him. Even if it probably affected you more than it affected Banner.

“Why?” or maybe it worked on him too, as that rage turned more into confusion.

Clearly Banner still hasn’t met Fury, that man was in a league of his own when it came to his own methods and reasons. “Nick Fury seems to trust you. But now we need you to come in.”

“What if I say no?” Banner asked, once again proving he didn’t know Fury, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking such questions.

“I’ll persuade you,” she just… you knew that tone, the same seductive tone she used on her targets, and you glared at the comms, annoyed a lot more than you had any right to be.

“And what if the Other Guy says no?” you once again got alert against your will, waiting anxiously for even the smallest hint of danger.

You weren’t going to fight.

“You’ve been more than a year without an incident. I don’t think you want to break that streak,” Natasha remained as in control as she could be, given the situation.

“Well, I don’t every time get what I want,” there was a clear threat in those words, a warning, and an acceptance of the circumstances he was in.

“Doctor, we’re facing a potential global catastrophe,” Natasha chose to plead to his sense of humanity. His empathy, or what was left of it. Considering what he went through you’d be surprised if he had any desire to help or protect people. And yet he was a doctor in a poor part of town. Necessity? Certainly. But you weren’t quite sure what kind of necessity drove him to do it.

Banner chuckled, though it wasn’t out of amusement. “Oh those I actively try to avoid.”

“This is the Tesseract. It has the potential energy to wipe out the planet,” and then there was that. The stolen Cube, Tessaract. Fury was desperate. From what you read this team, if it even got formed, would be volatile, clashing ideals, big personalities, tensions. Nothing short of a miracle would get all of these people on board.

A miracle or…

You glanced toward the shack for the first time, approximately to where Natasha could be. Maybe that was Fury’s miracle.

“What does Fury want me to do? Swallow it?” despite the tension you felt you still smirked a bit at that.

“He wants you to find it. It’s been taken. It emits a Gamma signature that’s too weak for us to trace. No one knows Gamma radiation like you do. If there was, that’s where I’d be,” Natasha explained.

“So, Fury isn’t after the monster?” Banner questioned, alost unwilling to believe that.

“Not that he’s told me,” even if all the signs pointed toward the opposite.

“And he tells you everything?” no, Fury barely says anything to anyone. No one but Fury can know everything.

“Talk to Fury, he needs you on this,” Natasha didn’t answer, she didn’t need to.

“He needs me in a cage?” Banner immediately countered.

“No one’s going to put you in a-“ Natasha tried to reassure him.

“Stop lying to me!” Banner yelled, slamming his hands on the table.

You moved without thinking, crossing the distance and reaching the entrance in less than a second. “Don’t move,” you pointed your glaive at Banner, ready to fight. You didn’t take your eyes off him, you didn’t notice the tears in Natasha’s eyes, but you could hear the subtlest shift in her breathing and it was enough for you. “Unless you want me to fry your brain,” you kept your weapon raised as you closed the distance and pusher the table to the side, putting yourself right between Natasha and Banner. He seemed more amused.

“That’s not a good idea,” he told you, but he didn’t move. And it wasn’t for his sake, it was for your own and Natasha’s, because the Other Guy, as he called the Hulk, wouldn’t let you kill him.

“The best I can come up with,” you weren’t stupid. You knew you had nothing that could stop the Hulk, that you had no chance of beating him in a fight. You could still probably stall enough to get Natasha out of here. Even if Banner had all the advantage at this distance. You had no idea how quickly he could transform, but chances were that you and Natasha were both a split second from being blood splatters on he walls, even if you were both alert and ready to react.

“Stand down, L/N,” Natasha warned you, and you wanted to, you really did. You made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t get involved yet here you were.

Before you could answer Banner raised his hands. “I’m sorry, that was mean,” he actually smiled and looked over your shoulder at Natasha. “I just wanted to see what you’d do,” he took a few steps back, giving Natasha and you a slightly bigger window to react. “Why don’t we do this the easy way, where you don’t use that,” he pointed at your weapons of choice and then at himself. “And the Other Guy doesn’t make a mess? Okay? Natasha?”

You dared to look back at Natasha, finally noticing the tears in her eyes. “Stand down. We’re good here,” she spoke to the rest of the agents.

“Just you and me?” Banner seemed almost amused by the situation.

“Does it make a difference?” you asked and he shrugged, as if agreeing that, no, it really didn’t make a difference. He stepped outside and headed toward the agents, silently accepting to come along.

“That was reckless,” Natasha scolded you and you looked to the side, not quite willing to look her in the eyes. “L/N,” she raised her voice just a tiny bit, just enough to show you that she was actually angry at you for putting yourself in danger. “What if something happened to you?”

You slowly looked back at her, not quite sure you heard her correctly. “You did not just say that,” you laughed, even if your laughter was hollow, almost mocking her. “You know what, I don’t care,” you shook your head and magnetized your glaive to your back before heading back to the quinjet.

A/N: That's the first chapter. So... anyone interested in a taglist?

Masterlist / Next Part

#wandanat x reader #wandanat x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #x reader #x female reader

217 notes · View notes

natsaffection · 9 months ago

Note

Please can we have something with top!reader please?

Reversed. | N.R

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI!, Oral (n receiving) fingering (n receiving) begging, edging multiple orgasm.

Word count: 4,8k

A/n: Actually found this in my notes..

You found yourself in a circle with other agents and Avengers, the excitement in the air amplifying as the night progressed. The game of Truth or Dare was in full swing, and when it was your turn, all eyes fell on you. "Y/n.." Clint Barton grinned mischievously, "I dare you to seduce Natasha."

The group erupted into a chorus of whoops and cheers, their eyes darting between you and the redhead seated across the room. You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you accepted the challenge with a nod. It wasn’t the dare that was the challenge. It was Natasha herself. The Black Widow was an enigma, her emotions as guarded as her past, and yet you felt a thrill at the idea of unraveling that mystery, even if just for a night. You stood, smoothing the fabric of your dress, and made your way toward the bar where Natasha sat. Each step was calculated, purposeful, as you approached the formidable assassin. Natasha didn’t look up as you neared, but you knew she was already aware of your presence. It was in the way Natasha’s posture shifted ever so slightly, her body attuned to the movements around her.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, your voice low and smooth. Natasha’s eyes flicked up, meeting yours with an intensity that could stop a lesser person in their tracks. She studied you for a moment before nodding, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "Be my guest." You slid onto the barstool beside Natasha, signaling the bartender for a drink. The silence between you was thick, not with discomfort, but with the weight of unspoken words and mutual intrigue.

"I hear you’ve got quite a reputation, Y/n." Natasha said, finally breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, measured, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity. "I could say the same about you." you replied, your tone equally measured, though with a hint of playfulness. "But I’m not interested in what everyone else says. I prefer to form my own opinions." Natasha chuckled softly, taking a sip of her drink. "And what opinion are you forming now?"

You leaned in slightly, your eyes never leaving Natasha’s. "That you’re even more intriguing up close." Natasha’s eyes flashed with amusement, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, studying you with a new intensity. "And what is it you’re hoping to find, Agent Y/l/n?"

"Maybe I’m hoping to find out if the Black Widow is as untouchable as everyone says." you replied, your voice dropping to a near whisper, an edge of challenge lacing your words. Natasha set her glass down, turning in her seat to face you fully. The air between you crackled with electricity, a tension that was palpable and undeniable. "You might find that some things are better left untouched." You smiled, a slow, confident curve of your lips. "Maybe, but I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge."

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you, locked in a battle of wills and desire. Natasha’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as she considered your words. Then, she leaned in, her lips brushing lightly against your ear as she spoke. "Careful what you wish for." Natasha whispered, her voice sending a shiver down your spine. "You just might get it."

With that, Natasha pulled back, her smirk widening as she took in the subtle flush on your cheeks. Your heart raced, but you kept your composure, matching Natasha’s smirk with one of your own. "That’s what I’m counting on." you replied.

When you and Natasha finally stood from the bar, walking together toward the private rooms that lined the edge of Stark Tower’s upper floors, a knowing grin spread across Tony’s face. He nudged Clint with an elbow. "Looks like you might be losing this one, Barton." Clint groaned but couldn't suppress his smirk. "Never thought I'd see the day someone could match Natasha like that." The team exchanged glances, some amused, others a little concerned. But they all knew that whatever was about to happen, it was going to be explosive.

You and Natasha slipped into one of the private rooms, the door closing softly behind you as the sound of the party faded into the distance. The room was luxurious, dimly lit with plush furniture and a large bed dominating the space. But it was the air between you both that was thickest of all, humming with anticipation. Natasha turned to face you, her eyes dark with intent. She took a slow step forward, her movements deliberate and predatory, like a panther stalking its prey. You felt your breath catch, but you weren’t about to back down. Not when the game was just getting interesting.

"I’m impressed." Natasha said, her voice low and sultry. She reached out, trailing a finger down your arm, sending shivers through your body. "But I think it’s time you realized who you’re dealing with." There was a challenge in her words, one that you weren’t about to ignore. Natasha was the Black Widow, used to being in control, to being the one who dictated how things went. But you had your own reputation, and you weren’t about to let Natasha take the lead so easily.

You took a step closer, closing the distance. You reached up, cupping Natasha’s face with one hand, your thumb brushing over the assassin’s bottom lip. "Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with." you whispered, "But maybe you should see that I’m not the type to be dominated so easily." Natasha’s eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. She wasn’t used to being challenged in this way, and you could see the gears turning in her mind. But before Natasha could make a move, you pressed forward, your bodies nearly touching, your hand slipping around to the back of Natasha’s neck, pulling her in close.

"I know you like control, Romanoff." you whispered against Natasha’s ear, "But tonight, you’re going to let go of that. I’m not here to play by your rules, Natasha."

For a moment, Natasha hesitated, her body stiffening as she processed your words. She was torn between her instinct to dominate and the strange, electrifying thrill of someone standing up to her in this way. You felt the tension in Natasha’s body and leaned in, your lips brushing against Natasha’s in a feather-light touch that was more of a tease than a kiss. The touch seemed to spark something in Natasha, something raw and primal. But instead of trying to regain control, she found herself curious, curious about what it would feel like to let someone else take the reins, if only for a moment. Her lips parted slightly, and you took that as your cue.

With a firm but gentle hand, you pushed Natasha back against the wall, pinning her there with your body. Natasha’s breath hitched, a flicker of surprise and something else..something akin to excitement passing through her eyes. "You might be the Black Widow.." you murmured, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of Natasha’s neck, "but right now, you’re mine."

Natasha let out a shaky breath, her hands instinctively moving to grasp your hips, pulling you closer. But you weren’t about to let Natasha dictate the pace. You moved your hands, pinning Natasha’s wrists against the wall, holding them there with a strength that belied your appearance. "You wanted to see what I’m capable of," you continued, your voice a husky whisper that sent shivers down Natasha’s spine. "so let me show you."

Natasha’s eyes darkened with a mix of emotions, lust, curiosity, and a grudging respect. You weren’t like anyone she’d ever encountered before, and that was enough to make her relinquish control, if only for a little while. With a slow, deliberate motion, you captured Natasha’s lips in a searing kiss, one that was more of a claim than anything else. Natasha responded with equal passion, but there was no mistaking that, in this moment, you were in charge. You deepened the kiss, your hands roaming over Natasha’s body, touching, teasing, and exploring with a confidence that left Natasha breathless.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, the air between you thick with the promise of what was to come. Your gaze was steady, your control unshakable, as you looked into Natasha’s eyes. "Tonight, I’m in control." you whispered, "And you’re going to love every second of it." Your gaze bore into Natasha, a smirk playing on your lips as you reveled in the fact that you had one of the most dangerous women in the world at your mercy. Without warning, your hands moved with surprising strength and precision, pushing Natasha back until she was forced to her knees on the plush carpeted floor.

Natasha's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and defiance crossing her face. "You-" she started, her voice carrying that edge of command she was so accustomed to wielding. But you weren’t having it. You silenced Natasha with a firm hand on her shoulder, leaning down to whisper in her ear, your voice low and laced with authority. "I told you, Natasha. Tonight, you’re mine. You’re going to do exactly what I say."

Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest. This was unfamiliar territory for her, being on her knees, looking up at someone with power over her. Her instincts screamed at her to regain control, to flip the situation and take charge, but there was something intoxicating about the way you commanded her, leaving no room for negotiation. Your hand slid into Natasha’s hair, tugging lightly, forcing the assassin to look up at you. The dominance in your eyes was unmistakable, a sharp contrast to the playfulness that had marked your earlier exchanges. "Now, Natasha," you murmured, your tone soft but firm, "I want you to eat me out."

She tensed, her muscles coiled, ready to flip the script and take back control. But you sensed the shift, and with a quick, forceful tug on Natasha’s hair, you brought the redhead’s attention back to you. "Don’t even think about it." you warned, your voice a growl that sent a shiver down Natasha’s spine. "You’re going to stay right there, on your knees, and do exactly what I tell you. You wanted to see if you could handle me, didn’t you?"

You watched the battle play out in Natasha’s eyes, a knowing smile curving your lips. "Good girl." you purred, your voice soothing, as if coaxing a wild animal to submit. You released your grip on Natasha’s hair, sliding your hands down to cup Natasha’s face. "Now, do as you’re told." Natasha hesitated for a fraction of a second, her pride flaring one last time. But there was something in your touch, in the way you exerted control with such confidence and precision, that made Natasha’s resolve falter. Slowly, she leaned forward, her hands gripping your thighs for support as she obeyed the command she had been given.

You let out a soft sigh of satisfaction as Natasha’s lips pressed against your inner thigh, moving closer to where you wanted her most. The feeling of Natasha at your mercy, doing exactly as you commanded, was intoxicating. Your hand found its way back into Natasha’s hair, guiding her with a gentle but firm touch. But just as Natasha was about to take things further, you suddenly tightened your grip, pulling Natasha back slightly, just enough to remind her who was in control. "Not so fast." you whispered, your voice teasing, as if savoring the moment. "You’ll go at my pace, Natasha."

A frustrated growl escaped Natasha’s lips, but she complied, her body betraying her desire as she leaned in again, slower this time, more deliberate. Your breath hitched as Natasha began, her touch both skilled and tentative, as if testing the limits of her submission. You arched your back slightly, your grip tightening in Natasha’s hair as the pleasure began to build. "That’s it," you murmured, your voice breathy, "just like that.."

Natasha’s pride still burned, but it was smothered by the heat of the moment, by the way you commanded her with such skill, reducing her to a vessel of pleasure. Natasha's instincts told her to take back control, but each time she thought about it, you would tighten your grip or whisper something that sent a thrill through her, reminding her exactly who was in charge. You reveled in the power you held, knowing that you had reduced the Black Widow to this..on her knees, fully compliant, her every move dictated by your will. And as the pleasure mounted, you knew there was no going back from this. You had won, and Natasha knew it too.

Your control never wavered, not even as you felt the crescendo building within you. Natasha’s skilled tongue and lips worked wonders, but it was your dominance, your control over the situation, that pushed you over the edge. As the waves of pleasure crashed over you, your grip on Natasha’s hair tightened one last time, holding her in place, forcing her to continue until you were completely spent. Only then did you release her, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you looked down at her.

Natasha pulled back slightly, her lips swollen, her breathing just as heavy. She looked up at you with a mixture of satisfaction and submission, her pride wounded but not broken. There was a new understanding between you, a bond forged in the heat of your encounter. You smirked, brushing a thumb over Natasha’s lips, which were still glistening with your essence. "I told you," you said, your voice a soft purr, "I’m not like the others. You’re not the only one who knows how to take control."

You stepped back slightly, taking in the sight of Natasha, her usually composed and powerful demeanor now slightly frayed at the edges. But even now, there was a resistance in Natasha, a stubborn refusal to fully submit. You could see it in the way Natasha held herself, in the tight line of her jaw, and in the steely resolve in her eyes. But you were determined to break through that last barrier. You wanted to hear Natasha, to feel the powerful assassin surrender completely, not just physically, but emotionally. You wanted to push Natasha to the edge, to the point where she had no choice but to beg.

You reached down, taking Natasha’s chin in your hand, tilting her head up so your eyes met. "You’re strong, Natasha.." you murmured, your voice low and filled with a dark promise. "But even you have limits. I’m going to find them." Natasha’s breath caught, her eyes narrowing as she stared up at you. She wasn’t about to back down, not even now, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. You smiled, a slow, predatory grin, before you leaned down, capturing Natasha’s lips in a fierce, possessive kiss.

As you pulled Natasha to her feet, your bodies pressed together, you felt the tension in Natasha’s muscles, the way she held herself taut, as if bracing for what was to come. You wasted no time, your hands moving with practiced ease as you led Natasha toward the large bed in the center of the room. Natasha followed, her movements reluctant but inevitable, like a moth drawn to a flame.

When you reached the bed, you spun Natasha around, pushing her down onto the soft mattress with a force that left no room for protest. Natasha landed on her back, her hair splayed out around her like a fiery halo, her breath coming in shallow gasps. You climbed on top of her, pinning Natasha’s wrists above her head with one hand, while the other trailed down her body, tracing the curve of her waist. "You can fight all you want," you whispered, your voice a dark, seductive murmur in Natasha’s ear, "but we both know how this ends. You’re going to beg for me, whether you want to or not."

Natasha’s eyes flashed with defiance, her lips parting as if to argue, but you silenced her with a searing kiss, one that left no room for resistance. Your hand slipped between Natasha’s thighs, your fingers finding the wetness there, and Natasha gasped, her body betraying her with its response. You smirked against Natasha’s lips, your fingers moving with deliberate slowness, teasing but never quite giving Natasha what she craved. You could feel the tension building in Natasha’s body, the way her hips subtly bucked, trying to get more, trying to take back some control.

But you weren’t going to let her. You wanted Natasha to break, to give in completely. "Comon, Natasha.." you murmured, your lips brushing against Natasha’s ear as you spoke. "Stop fighting it. You know you want this. You know you want me." Natasha groaned, her head tossing back against the pillows, but she still didn’t give you what you wanted.

"I..won't..!" You could feel the struggle within her..the battle between pride and desire, between control and submission. And you were determined to make sure desire won out. You increased the pressure, your fingers moving faster, more insistently, driving Natasha closer and closer to the edge. Natasha’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling beneath your relentless touch. You could feel how close she was, how much Natasha was holding back, and it only spurred you on.

"Don’t hold back." you commanded, your voice sharp and authoritative. "I want to hear you, Natasha. I want to hear you beg." Natasha’s eyes squeezed shut, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as if to keep herself silent. But you weren’t about to let that happen. You slowed your movements, your fingers stilling just enough to keep Natasha on the edge without letting her fall over it. "Say it." you whispered, your voice a tantalizing caress. "Beg me, Natasha."

Natasha’s breath hitched, her body quivering with the need to release, but still, she held on, her pride refusing to let her give in. You admired her strength, but you also knew it was only a matter of time. You leaned down, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Natasha’s neck, your teeth grazing lightly. "Beg me." you repeated, your voice a dark command. "Or I’ll stop."

The threat hung in the air, and you could feel Natasha’s resolve cracking, the thin veneer of control slipping away. Your fingers moved again, this time with a precision that had Natasha gasping, her back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through her.

"F-Fuck..Please.." Natasha finally whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop it. Her voice was strained, thick with need and the remnants of her shattered pride. But you weren’t satisfied with just that. You wanted more. You needed to hear Natasha fully surrender.

"Louder." you demanded, your fingers pushing Natasha closer to the brink, her body writhing beneath you. Natasha’s breath came in harsh pants, her mind clouded with desire, her body aching for release. The last of her resistance crumbled as she finally gave in, her voice breaking as she cried out.

"Please!" she begged, her voice hoarse, desperate. "Please, I need it.." The sound of Natasha’s surrender sent a thrill through you, a heady rush of satisfaction as you pushed her over the edge. Natasha’s body tensed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she climaxed, her entire being consumed by the intense pleasure that wracked through her. You didn’t stop, drawing out Natasha’s orgasm, making sure she felt every last wave of pleasure until Natasha was left trembling and spent, her body limp beneath yours.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from Natasha’s flushed face. "There you go " you murmured, your voice soft but filled with the satisfaction of victory. "Was that so hard?"

Natasha lay there, her body still trembling from the intense orgasm that had ripped through her. Her breath was ragged, her mind swirling in a haze of pleasure and confusion. But as the aftershocks began to fade, the familiar desire to regain control, to be the one in charge, crept back into her consciousness. She shifted slightly beneath you, her muscles tensing as she prepared to turn the tables. But you, ever vigilant, sensed the shift immediately. A sly smile tugged at your lips as you watched the fire flicker back into Natasha’s eyes, the determination to reclaim her dominance clear. You weren’t about to let that happen. Not yet.

"Oh, no you don’t." you murmured, your voice laced with authority as you tightened your grip on Natasha’s wrists, pressing them back into the mattress. "We’re not done here. You think you can just switch back to being in control after one orgasm? Think again."

Natasha’s breath hitched, her body still sensitive from the overwhelming pleasure, but she couldn’t help the small flicker of defiance that flashed in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, to protest, but you silenced her with a firm kiss, one that left no room for argument. Your hand moved with purpose, sliding down Natasha’s body, your fingers finding the slickness between Natasha’s thighs once more. Natasha gasped against your lips, her hips instinctively bucking as a fresh wave of pleasure surged through her. She wasn’t ready, she thought she was, but the intensity of your touch was too much, too soon, and her mind scrambled to catch up with the sensations overwhelming her.

"Y/n-" Natasha tried to protest, her voice cracking as she attempted to regain some semblance of control. But you weren’t having any of it. You pulled back just enough to look into Natasha’s eyes, your gaze sharp and commanding. "You’re going to stay right here, Natasha. You’re not going anywhere until I say so." Natasha’s pride flared up, but your relentless fingers left her no room to argue. You expertly teased her, bringing her close to the edge once more, only to back off slightly, leaving Natasha teetering on the brink. It was maddening, this push and pull, the way you held her at the precipice of release without letting her fall over.

"F-Fuck, Y/n comon.." Natasha finally whispered, the word slipping out unbidden as her need began to overpower her pride. You smirked, your fingers increasing their pace, knowing exactly how to push Natasha to the edge and keep her there. "What’s that, Natasha?" you taunted, your voice dripping with dark amusement. "I didn’t quite hear you."

Natasha’s body trembled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she fought to hold on to whatever sliver of control she had left. But you were relentless, your fingers working in tandem with your lips as they traced a hot path down Natasha’s neck, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin. "Please, let me cum.." Her voice more desperate now, her body aching for release.

"That’s more like it." you whispered against Natasha’s lips, your voice thick with satisfaction. Your fingers curled just right, pressing against that spot that made Natasha cry out, her body bucking uncontrollably as the second orgasm ripped through her.

Natasha’s world exploded in a blinding haze of white, hot pleasure, her mind shattering as she was pulled under by the sheer intensity of it. But even as she climaxed, you didn’t stop. You kept going, your fingers never pausing, drawing out Natasha’s orgasm until the assassin was left a trembling, quivering mess beneath you. Natasha’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body completely at your mercy. She thought..hoped that it was over, that you would finally let her rest. But you had other plans.

Before Natasha could even catch her breath, your fingers were moving again, relentless in their pursuit of Natasha’s total surrender. Natasha whimpered, her body oversensitive, her mind struggling to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. "P-Please!" Natasha pleaded, her voice broken, her body trembling uncontrollably as you pushed her closer to the edge once more. "Please, I can’t-"

"Yes, you can.." you whispered, your voice a soft command as you leaned down to kiss Natasha’s neck. "You’re strong, Natasha. Strong enough to take everything I give you."

Natasha’s pride was shattered, her body and mind pushed beyond their limits. She had never been this vulnerable, this out of control, and yet she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. "That’s it, Natasha.." you murmured, your voice soothing as you brought Natasha to the brink one last time. "Let go. Give it to me."

Natasha couldn’t hold back anymore. Her body tensed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as the third orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a force that left her gasping for air. You held her through it, your fingers never stopping, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until Natasha was left utterly spent, her body limp and trembling. You finally slowed, your touch becoming gentle, soothing, as you leaned down to press soft kisses to Natasha’s flushed skin. Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze dazed, her body still humming with the aftershocks of the intense pleasure you had wrought.

"You did so well, Natasha.." you whispered, your voice filled with warmth as you brushed a strand of hair away from Natasha’s face. "You took everything I gave you." Natasha’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling with the effort of trying to catch her breath. She felt utterly exposed, completely vulnerable, but there was also a strange sense of peace, a peace that came with knowing she had given everything, that she had let go completely.

You smiled down at her, a soft, satisfied smile, before leaning in to capture Natasha’s lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. It wasn’t about dominance or control anymore..it was about the connection you had forged in those intense moments, a connection that neither of you could deny. When you finally pulled back, you brushed your thumb over Natasha’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped during the intensity of your encounter. Natasha looked up at you, her eyes still wide with the remnants of her vulnerability, but there was also a newfound respect and trust in her gaze.

You slid down beside Natasha, pulling her close, letting the silence of the room envelop you both. For now, there was no need for words. You had said everything that needed to be said through your bodies, through the way you had challenged and ultimately surrendered to each other.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut

521 notes · View notes

jedi-luca · 2 months ago

Text

Avenger Lane: Chapter 17: Heartbeats

Summary: You and your wife Quinn move your family outside of New York City to Avenger Lane; a small private suburbia. There you face your toughest obstacle of your marriage. Will your marriage with Quinn be strong enough when a certain redheaded beauty captures your attention?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Warnings: Smut and, Reader has a Penis

Previous Chapter

Quinn watched as you walked downstairs with your last box in hand.

“I think that’s it… I took my things out of the garage. I’ll figure out how to move the shed. We’ll have to go to the tax office and fix our titles but that’s about it.”

“You can keep it there.” She nodded, biting the inside of her lip to keep herself from crying. Truthfully she’s been crying for weeks. She lost you for good, and though you may say it wasn’t because of another woman. She can’t help but feel that way. How could she not? For months you said she wasn’t anything but a friend, and maybe you were telling the truth, but at some point, you lied. Right? You had to have lied? Feelings don't just come out over a week. At least she feels that way. It doesn’t matter much now. You got your divorce. You packed up your things, and now you’re leaving for the woman next door.

“Really?”

“It’s not a big deal.” Quinn nods.

“I guess I’ll see you at the custody hearing?”

She inhales blinking away a tear. “Yup.”

“Quinn, you know I’m not taking them away… Right?”

“I know you’re not.” She nods again looking down at your feet waiting a beat before changing the subject. “Y/N, we still need to talk about Beth.”

“I know.” You whisper, looking at her photo on the mantel.

“She’s still very upset. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she just locks herself in her room. Her grades are dropping and she’s always starting arguments with me.” Quinn sniffled.

“I- I don’t know what to do with her she won’t even look my way.” You stuttered.

“Be her parent, Y/N.” Quinn glared.

“She won’t even give me the time of day. Don’t get me wrong I’ll keep trying you know I will, I just…” you sighed. “I’m at a loss here. I can only do so much she has to meet me halfway just a little. I won’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

“I get that I do, but she needs us right now. She’s hurt, angry, and confused. She doesn’t know how to navigate her feelings at all. We have to figure it out together. By doing that I’m going to request she stay with you every other week.”

“She’s the one that gets to choose.” You sigh.

“Not when I’m the one she chooses. It’s important that you are in both of their lives.”

“I didn’t think you would.” You say in surprise.

“As much of a hard time I gave you about the divorce I won’t about our children. They love you so very much, and it would kill them if I took them away from you. I don’t want them to resent me the way I resent my parents.”

You walked over pulling her in a hug. You felt the way your ex-wife tensed and slowly relaxed hugging you back before crying in your arms.

“Everything will be okay just one day at a time. We will work with Beth together, and when you’re ready you can work on things with Rachel.”

Quinn nodded, pulling back as she wiped her tears.

“I’ll see you soon, and I’ll get Beth from school today. Maybe take her to that arcade she likes and we can talk about everything.”

“Okay.” Quinn nodded.

“We are all going to get through this Quinn, I promise.”

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You stood by the passenger side door of your truck as Beth got out of school.

You waved only to see her roll her eyes and walk past you with her friends. The only one who looked back concerned was Lila.

“Beth your-“ The Barton child began only for Beth to stop her.

“I know and I don’t care.” Beth huffed

You sighed as she kept walking.

“Mx. Y/L/N?”

“Agatha, you can just call me Y/N.” You nod.

“I’ve been hearing Beth is starting to show signs that she’s struggling. Have you thought about maybe bringing her to my office for some one-on-one time?”

“I don’t think we’re there yet. I’m still trying.”

“Court for custody is tomorrow right?”

“Yes, I spoke with Quinn about it earlier she wants me to have equal time with the girls.”

“That’s good, I’m glad the two of you were able to work that out for the kids.” Agatha nodded.

“I was surprised but grateful.”

Agatha nodded watching as Beth looked back as she continued her trek with friends. “Just remember I’m here for her when you’re ready to bring her.”

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You step into your new home you share with Natasha setting the box aside as you watch her cooking dinner. You walk over holding her from behind as she stirs.

“This smells delicious.” You sigh in her neck.

“I figured I’d make your favorite since you’re all moved in.” She turned her head, capturing your lips.

“Hmm, my favorite is you.” You smirk letting your hands roam her freshly showered body.

“Baby.” She sighed, as you suckled on her sweet spot.

“Hmm.” You hum drying humping into her from behind feeling yourself growing in need.

“Malysh, dinner.” She smirks pushing back into you.

“My dinner is right here.” You say placing a firm hand on her pussy that is currently growing wet beneath her shorts. Natasha lets out a moan pushing into you further. “So I guess you better lie down on the table so I can eat, or bend over the counter. Whichever you prefer.” You smirk as she brings you into a sloppy kiss.

“Daddy, I’m so wet for you already.”

“That’s good, princess 'cause I’m salivating.”

You quickly bent her over the counter. Rocking against her letting your staff have some relief.

“Fuck baby you’re so hard.” She moans, rolling her body with yours.

You tug down her shorts and lift one of her legs on the edge of the counter before inhaling her scent.

“Fuck you’re making my mouth water.” You open her cheeks a bit more before eating her ass.

“Oh, my-“ she moans loudly, one hand gripping the counter and the other the cabinet.

You let your fingers feel how slick she was before turning around beneath her, licking her pussy clean. You can’t help but crave the way she tastes. The way she quivers when your tongue runs up her slick folds right against her little bundle of nerves. She moans with every swipe of the tip of your tongue.

Natasha is slowly feeling the coil in her loins wanting to spring but she needs more.

“Oh God, daddy more, please! More!”

You smirk looking at how frustrated she is. “More?”

“More Daddy please!” She begs and that’s enough for you. You’ll have mercy on her needs.

You coat your fingers in her wetness before sliding them down her clit inside her sweet pussy.

“Ohh yes!” She groans and grinds down your fingers as your tongue goes back to her taste. Natasha whimpers scratching your scalp with her nails.

“You taste soooo good babe.” You mutter between her thighs.

“I need you inside me.”

“I am inside you.” You smirk.

“You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you?” She glared pushing you away.

“Yup.”

“I need your cock daddy.”

You stand up behind her and rub yourself against her before pushing inside.

“Y/N!” She moans, turning to bring your lips against hers.

“You always feel so good, baby.” You gripped her ass roughly as you continued your thrusts.

“You’re so thick and long.” She whimpered.

“And you take me perfectly every time.” You say feeling yourself ready to unleash your load.

“Oh my-! Faster!” She groaned and you obliged.

“I’m about to cum baby, where do you want it?”

“Inside of me.” She husked bringing you in a kiss.

You felt her pussy constricting around you when you thrust inside of her one final time before cuming deep inside of her.

“Fuck.” You sigh against her shoulder as she arches into you letting her continue her waves of pleasure.

You both kissed softly as you felt your cum rolling down your shaft. You both whimper as you pull out slowly and gather your cum on the tip of your cock before pushing back inside of her.

She hummed as you massaged her back.

“Why is it that we have made love so many times, and once is still not enough? I could go on for as long as you’d let me.” You smirked against her cheek.

“I hope you always feel that way about me.” She whispered with a hint of a smirk.

“I know I will.” You replied. “You’re my soulmate, Natasha.”

She smiled, kissing your lips. “As you are mine. Now as much as we wanna keep going, I worked hard on this dinner so how about you let me feed you?”

You pull out slowly and she picks up her shorts and panties before heading to the restroom.

“Clean the counter and wash your hands!” She shouts from the restroom.

You smirk bending over to grab the cleaner and paper towel before smelling your fingers. “Fuck that’s good.” You chuckle, sucking on them once more before doing as you were told.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You watched afar as your fiancé finished up her nightly routine. You can’t help but notice how some of your favorite parts of hers have grown. Her breasts and bottom have grown a bit thicker. She actually has a small hint of a tummy now and you can’t help but bite your lip at how sexy she looks. You remember that’s what happened with Quinn when she got- Neh that can’t be it. You shake the thought out of your mind.

“You okay?” Natasha asks as she walks back into your shared bedroom.

You nod, giving her a tired smile. She lays next to you, turning you by the chin.

“What’s wrong?”

“Quinn, wants me to try harder with Beth.”

“She’s right.”

“I just don’t know how… I feel like every time I try she ignores me. Earlier today I went to pick her up from school, and she just walked past me. Her grades are struggling, and she’s giving Quinn a hard time. Agatha wants me to let her have a session with Beth.”

“Maybe that’s the best thing for her?”

You shake your head. “That means I’ve failed as a parent. I just need some more time.”

“You haven’t failed. That’s not what that means, but if you want more time to try and mend it yourself then okay.”

“I love you. I’ll fix this, I promise.” You say bringing her against you cuddling into her.

“It’s just going to take some time.” Natasha reminds you.

You kissed her chest letting your fingers graze her thighs. Natasha brushes your hair back.

“Sometimes this doesn’t feel real.” She chuckles with a shake of her head.

“What doesn’t?” You stop your motions looking down at her.

“That we’re finally here together. You moved in with me, and now we’re going to plan a wedding soon. It almost feels like a fairytale. Almost. It probably would be if you hadn’t been married, or I could have had children.” She sighs.

You kiss her nose not knowing what to say to that. You were married and you know how much it kills her to not be able to carry her own child.

“Did you tell Quinn?”

You cringed and shook your head.

“Y/N.” Natasha sighed, pushing you off of her.

“It’s too soon, but I will tell her.

“I don't know what I’m more upset about. You taking off your ring or not telling her.” Natasha sighed sadly.

“Nat, I will tell her. I just thought if I told her earlier she’d explode so I decided to wait.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

“I’m sorry, I took off my ring for her. I’ll tell her soon I promise.”

Natasha nodded stiffly.

“One good thing though! She wants us to have the girls every other week. She said she won’t let Beth choose one place. Which hopefully will help.”

“We have to finish fixing up their rooms.” Natasha mentioned.

“Maybe tomorrow? I’m off anyway for the hearing. We can go to the store after?”

“Okay.” Natasha nodded.

“We still get to plan our wedding.” You grin. “Have you given it any thought?”

Natasha beams, unable to contain her excitement she jumps up. “Wait here!”

You chuckle sitting when she runs back in bed carrying a large binder. ”Whoa!” You raise your brows seeing a picture of you proposing on the cover.

“I have ideas!”

“That’s great baby. Show me.” You grin as she cuddles against you opening the binder.

“So, I always wanted an outdoor wedding. Preferably Spring or Fall. It has the perfect temperatures. Plus the trees and flowers are beautiful.”

“That sounds perfect.” You grin seeing a picture of what you suspect is the wedding from Twilight. “Are you walking down the aisle to Flightless Bird or A Thousand Years?”

“Don’t make fun of me.” She frowned, biting your arm.

“Ahhh, I wasn’t! You vampire.” You laugh.

“I was actually thinking maybe Can’t Help Falling In Love but the Kina cover.”

“She does a great cover.” You nod.

“Do you have one?” She asks, creating a wedding playlist and sharing it with you on her phone.

“Uhh yeah actually.” You reach over on the nightstand for your phone before quickly adding the song to the playlist.

“Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez. I don’t think I’ve heard of this.” Natasha smiled while playing.

“It’s a cover as well.” You add as you hear those familiar strums. “He’s one of my favorite artists.”

“It’s beautiful.” She whispers.

“The original is great too but it’s more fast-paced. What other songs were on your mind?”

“First Day of My Life.” She smiles, kissing your cheek as it plays.

“Ooo such a great song.”

She flips the page showing you the colors she was thinking of having. “You could be my something blue.” She smiled pointing at the blue tux.

“I love it!” You grinned.

“Yeah?” She smiled.

“Nat, I want you to have the wedding of your dreams. Anything you want, I will make it happen.”

“I don’t think you should give me that much power.” The Russian woman smirks.

“You have all the power, Princess.” You say softly near her ear. Natasha shivers before bringing you in a kiss. “Now what about the honeymoon?” You smirk.

“I’m thinking somewhere private and very tropical. Bikinis or maybe no bikinis.”

“Sexy.”

“Maybe Bali?”

“Beautiful.”

“Belize, Costa Rica, or maybe Seychelles?”

“Any of them as long as we have endless sex, sunbathe with nonstop drinks, and great food.”

Natasha giggles, kissing you once more. “Yes to all of those ideas.”

You attempted to flip the page but Natasha stopped your hand.

“Those pages are dress ideas.” She smirked, gathering the pages by her fingernail and turning them as one.

“Ooooh food!” You grinned letting your eyes pour over the steak and chicken options. “Oh man, I love steak! Oooh is that a fajita plate? I love tacos!”

“Yeah, I even found an option for a pizza theme and a Sunday bar.”

“A Sunday bar?!” You gasped.

“Hmhm.” She hummed happily.

“Is that a chicken fried steak?” You grinned looking up.

“Yeah, I found one place that does more of a family-style dinner.”

“Fuck, I’m hungry now…” you look up at your fiancé.

“Baby, we just had dinner.”

“Yeahhh I know.” You sighed.

Natasha turned opening her nightstand handing you some mini chocolate bars.

“Ooooh!” You ripped into it taking a bite before offering the other half to your girl.

“Thanks, baby.” She took the last bite as you turned the page.

“Oooh flowers.”

Natasha yawned.

“Here we can look again tomorrow, let's get some sleep.” You smiled, shutting the binder and placing it on your nightstand.

You both lay down intertwining your legs and facing one another.

“I love you Detka and I can’t wait to marry you.” Natasha kissed your cheek and stroked your hair.

“I love you too darling.”

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You were awoken in the early morning hours to Natasha jumping out of bed and running to the toilet.

You quickly lifted the sheets off running to your fiancé.

“No Y/N it’s so gross!“ Natasha groaned before throwing up into the bowl.

You held Natasha’s hair back as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

She groaned, leaning against the tub as you grabbed a small hand towel. She watched as you ringed out the water, placing it on her forehead.

“I’ll be right back.”

You rushed downstairs grabbing a cup of water, ginger ale, and some saltines before running back upstairs. You set it on the dresser before opening it and grabbing a fresh set of clothes.

If she weren’t feeling like absolute garbage she’d comment on how sweet and doting you are with her. You had helped her change into a fresh set of clothes and even got her toothbrush and mouthwash ready.

“Nat, are you sure you can’t get pregnant?” You found yourself asking as you wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“Yes… well. That’s what the doctor said.”

“It’s just that Quinn went through this twice. I know morning sickness when I see it. Also, that woman from our trip said she could tell you were pregnant, and I’m not being mean baby, but your moods have been swinging lately. Again not being mean but your body is-

“My body is what?” Natasha quirked her brow. “Tread lightly Y/L/N.

“You’re slightly thicker in a great way if I may add. I just would feel better if we got you checked out.”

Natasha smiled at your concern and agreed. She knew in her heart she wasn’t pregnant, but if you were this worried about her. Then she’d do it just to ease your worries. Even when the eventual negative test hurts her heart.

“Okay.” She nodded.

“I’ll see if they have an opening after the hearing.”

“Babe?” Natasha kinked her brow with an amused smile on her face.

“Huh?”

“I can call my gyno.” She chuckled.

“Right.” You nodded, hitting your head.

“Get ready for court and I’ll call.” She smiled.

You leaned in to peck her lips only for her to turn her head.

“Wha-“

“Y/N, I just puked my guts out.” She glared.

“You brushed your teeth and had mouthwash.”

“Hnhn.” She shook her head negatively.

You chuckled and pecked her temple instead.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

“You both agree to equal custody of the children?”

“Yes.” You and Quinn spoke in unison.

Soon you were both signing an agreement and walking out of the courthouse.

“That was easier than I thought it would be.” You sighed.

Quinn nodded quietly.

“Quinn?”

The blonde looked up holding back her tears.

“Thank you for not fighting me on this.”

“I couldn’t do that to you.” She replied.

You nodded looking down at the court documents.

“It’s all real now.” She said softly looking down at your ring-less finger.

“It’s better this way. You and I lost our way years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered as your eyes softened. “I’m sorry, I hurt you. I’m sorry I took your career away.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“For what? I’m the one who ruined us.” She scoffed, wiping her tears.

“I fell for Natasha while being married to you. Even after all our fighting I still feel guilty for being with her while we were married. Separated but still.” You say.

“Can I ask you something?” Quinn’s eyes were a soft hazel.

“Of course.”

“When did you start falling for her?”

“Well, I know, I was attracted to her on my birthday and it just grew into love.”

Quinn nodded, she knew it would hurt to ask but she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m sorry.” You cringed.

“Don’t be.” The blonde shook her head.

Quinn hugs you and you hug her.

“I’m gonna go pick up, Fin, and have lunch with my sister,” Quinn said.

“I’m gonna go get things for their rooms.” You reply.

“You know they can bring some stuff from home too.”

“Yeah, but it sounds bad to have them lug things back and forth.”

She nodded, crossing her arms.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” She agrees.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

“Hey, baby.” You smile as Natasha hops in the truck.

“Hi.” She smiles leaning in to kiss you only for you to lean back.

“Eh, I don’t know, you threw up earlier.” You joked.

Natasha slapped your shoulder.

“Kidding.” You chuckled.

“Kiss your fiancé hello.”

“My pregnant fiancé.” You grinned, kissing her softly.

“Y/N, don’t get your hopes up please.” She says softly, buckling in.

“I don’t know, Nat, the signs don’t lie. Plus, I didn’t tell you this but I had a dream. It just seemed too real.”

“What did you dream about?” She asks as you start driving.

“Well before you got sick this morning I dreamt I was holding our son in my arms. He had your eyes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You grinned.

Natasha bit her lip looking out the window. She was so afraid you would not want to be with her when the negative test inevitably appeared.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You both hardly had to wait long. Soon Natasha was on the bed feet in the stirrups with lubricant being rubbed on her belly.

It wasn’t until a heartbeat echoed in the room.

“Looks like you’re in your first trimester. Everything is normal for 9 weeks.”

“Wait… did you say- Is that a baby?“ Natasha sputtered.

“You’re 9 weeks pregnant.” The doctor smiled widely.

You both looked at one another. It had been 9 weeks since the first time you had sex. You knocked her up on the first try. You wanted some time with her before you even thought about kids. To be honest, you have 2 girls and you always wanted more, but you wanted just some time with Natasha to yourself.

You briefly remember a vasectomy pamphlet Santana snuck in one of your stockings for Christmas one year.

“Congratulations Mrs and Mx. Y/L/N. You’re going to be parents in about 7-8 months. Just start taking prenatal vitamins. I’ll have a few copies of the ultrasound made for you, and schedule you this time next month in 3 weeks; for a checkup.”

“Wait, I have so many questions!” Natasha huffed.

Her doctor chuckled and nodded. “Of course go on.”

“First off how?! I tried years ago through insemination. They told me after testing that my eggs and my uterus just weren’t fertile. Second, I have been drinking. Not a lot, but I have. How bad will that affect our baby?”

“Well for the first question, there’s a small chance the tests could have been inconclusive, swapped, or maybe you weren’t fertile at the time due to stress. There’s a multitude of reasons that could have happened. As for your second question, it happens more than you think as long as you stop now, and begin your vitamins. Your baby should be just fine. Any more questions?”

“No, that’s all, thank you.” Natasha shook her head.

“Well if you do feel free to send me a message through the medical app, and I will get back to you right away. Have a great day and congratulations to you both again.” With that the doctor left you and Natasha alone together.

“Wow.” You said looking at the video image of your baby.

“I’m pregnant.” Natasha smiled, feeling tears prick her eyes. Her hands cupped her stomach.

“You’re pregnant.” You chuckled, covering her hand with yours.

“We’re having a baby Y/N.” Natasha whispered a beautiful smile on her face.

You both let out a soft chuckle thinking of a future with a baby in your life.

You both blatantly ignore the fact that you both only got together 9 weeks ago, and you were very much still married at the time.

“You owe that woman from our trip an apology.”

Natasha laughed as you both walked out hand in hand. Soon you were helping her in the truck.

“I’m only 9 weeks pregnant,” Natasha smirked, biting her lip as you retracted your hand to help her in.

“Right.” You chuckled, backing off, you distinctly remember Quinn slapping your arm every time you tried to help her in the car.

“It’s okay детка.” She chuckled, bringing you back down. She kissed your lips softly. “You’re just taking care of me.”

“I’ll always take care of you and our kids.” You whispered against her plump lips.

“Hmm, thank you malysh.”

“Come on Mommy, let's get your vitamins and check out the new baby fads.” You smirked before closing the door.

“Mommy.” Natasha whispered a ghost of a smile appearing as she touched her stomach. Everything was finally happening for her all at once. She has her soulmate, you’re both engaged and now she’s pregnant. Something she always wanted but never thought she’d get.

You were both at the local pharmacy picking up the vitamins when you walked into an infant store a few doors down.

“детка look at this!” Natasha gasped, lifting a tiny onesie that said ‘Gingersnap Fresh Out The Oven’. You were desperately hoping your baby would come out looking like Natasha.

“That’s perfect.” You chuckled subtly, taking one of the onesies and setting it near the cashier with a wink. You walked away to keep looking.

“Whoa, this has gotta be the Cadillac of pumps!” You chuckled while lifting the product. “It’s a wireless breast pump!”

“Makes pumping so much easier!” The woman at the cash register gushed. “I haven’t seen you two in here before. I’m going to assume you’re expecting. If you haven’t done your baby shower yet we do have a registry so whenever you’re about ready maybe keep us in mind.” She smiled.

“Of course.” Natasha smiled back, taking your hand. Oh my God, I get a baby shower. She internally squealed.

Natasha was currently looking at all the pregnancy books. She wanted all of them.

“I still have a few books if you want them.” You say softly remembering where you put them in the attic.

“Okay only if Quinn doesn’t want them.” She nodded. “Do you have this one?” ‘What to expect when you’re expecting.’

“I had no idea there were editions.” You chuckled gulping, taking the book from her hand.

After buying your fiancé nearly every book in the store. You stopped at a restaurant knowing she needed to eat. You slyly slid a small bag across the table.

“детка you're the sweetest.” She smiled, taking your hand.

“You haven’t even opened it yet.” You laugh.

“Everything you give me is special.” She winked subconsciously, setting her hand over her stomach before bringing it up to open her gift. She gasped seeing the onesie she was in love with. “I thought you said no clothes or gadgets until our next appointment.” She smirked.

“Come on, you know I couldn’t leave the store without getting a ginger onesie.” You smirked, kissing the back of her hand.

“I love you.” She stood leaning down to kiss you.

“I love you too.” You smiled in the kiss before she sat back down.

“Now let’s get the girls things for their rooms.”

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You were both cuddling after a long day of exciting news and getting the rooms ready for the girls.

“I was thinking.” She spoke softly into your chest.

“Hm?” You hummed trying not to fall asleep.

“I think it’s time for me to meet your parents as your fiancé. I wanna meet them before I start expanding like a balloon.”

“Really?” You inhale looking down at her.

“Yeah! I wanna see where you grew up, and get to know your parents!” She smiled, kissing your shoulder.

“That’s awesome! Maybe we can spend Christmas with them?!”

“That’s a great idea, detka.” Natasha smiled, kissing your cheek. “We can tell them they're going to be grandparents again on Christmas!”

“Alright.” You chuckled. “I’ll call up my parents, and buy the tickets. “Does this mean I finally get to meet the infamous Alexei and Melina?” You grinned.

“You want to go to Russia?” She grinned.

“Well, I thought maybe we can pull the trigger and bring them down here for good.” You shrugged.

“Really?” She beamed.

“Yeah, maybe we can get them down here next month. We just need to talk to Thor about a job and I’ll talk to Tony about Melina to see what he thinks. Plus we can get them an apartment for now until they figure out another place to live. Our place is gonna be pretty packed now with our little one coming.”

“Okay.” She sighed contently, laying her forehead against yours.

“Everything is happening so fast.” You chuckle.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Natasha asked hesitantly.

“God no! I just can’t believe how quickly everything is coming together. First, us getting together, my divorce going through quickly, us getting engaged, and then moving in together. Now you’re carrying our first child, and soon your parents will finally be getting their green card. Everything is slowly falling into place.”

“You’re going to be a daddy again.” Natasha smiles, pecking your lips and scratching your abs.

“Hmm, I got you on the first try.” You chuckled squeezing her ass.

“Hmm yeah, you did daddy.” Natasha husks kissing your lips before straddling you rubbing herself against you feeling you growing beneath her.

“Fuck, baby. You wanna ride daddy now?” You smirk squeezing her hips as she arches her back.

“Hmm you’d like that wouldn’t you daddy? Mommy riding this thick long dick?”

“Fuck yes, I would.” You groan.

“Hmm, then I guess you better tell Quinn you’re engaged to a pregnant woman. Because until then you won’t be enjoying this ride.”

Suddenly she is up and lying beside you.

“Wait what?!” You sit up.

“You heard me.”

“Babe, seriously? You get me hot and bothered, and now you're withholding?!”

“Guess you better tell her soon, I know you can’t go long without being inside me.” She smirked.

“That’s so unfair! Babe?” You chuckled in disbelief. “Come on Nat you know I’ll tell her.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow I’ll tell her tomorrow. I promise. Come on baby we’re gonna have the girls for the weekend and the week. We may not get to have sex again.”

Natasha contemplates her decision as she purses her lips.

“Come on baby, please? I love you so much and I just wanna show you how much tonight. We heard amazing news today and Daddy wants to celebrate with mommy so badly.” You coo, kissing her hand and up her arm.

Natasha giggles she wants to hold her ground and deny you, but you’re too irresistible.

“I’ll tell you what.” She smirks. “I’ll give you what you want but Y/N, I’m warning you now if you don’t tell her tomorrow. I will nut punch you the way you did Scott.”

“Yes ma’am.” You nod in agreement. “Wait, I'm only telling her we’re engaged. Mom always said it’s bad luck to tell people you're pregnant until after the first trimester.”

“That’s fine. It kind of sucks though. I’m finally pregnant and I have to wait another 3 weeks to tell people?”

“i mean… you can if you really want to. The reason most people wait is to make sure the risk is down by the first trimester.”

Natasha nodded, taking your hand.

“I can’t wait to tell Yelena, my parents, and our friends.”

“You’re going to be an amazing mother.” You say softly brushing her hair back, kissing her tenderly.

“Thank you, baby.” She muttered nibbling your neck. “I still can’t believe you got me pregnant on our first time together.” She smirked.

“Hmm, I remember every detail of that day.”

“You fucked me right all day and night.”

“You were in those little shorts and my cock was rock hard for you. I still remember how wet you were for me.“

“I was always soaked for you just like I am now.”

You groaned, tearing off each other's clothes. Natasha laid you down before lifting your member. She kissed you sloppily as her hand slowly pumped you. Soon Natasha left your lips and kissed her way down your taut body. Her tongue darted out as she licked your cock up and down and all around before opening her mouth. You hissed, holding her hair as she gagged you down.

“Fuuuck!” You groaned looking at her in her sultry eyes as she bobbed her head. “That’s so good.” You sigh.

Natasha hummed feeling you throb inside of her mouth. Feeling you this way makes her gush. She sucks on you harder and harder, making you moan.

Soon she feels the way you buck into her mouth gripping her head with both hands. You’re getting closer she can feel the way your abs twitch against her hand.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck I’m gonna-“

Natasha bobbed her head faster as she sucked you harder.

You groan as your dick cocked and unleashed your seed right on her tongue.

She pumped you slowly as you bucked and groaned in appreciation.

Natasha stuck her tongue out showing you your cum. Your cock twitched in the air still hard for her. She lathered your cum on your staff hearing you moan before straddling you.

”Wait baby, let me taste you first.” You hummed as she rubbed her slick sticky pussy against your cum ridden meat.

“You know how hot and bothered I get giving you a blow job. I need you inside me now.” She whined grinding down on you.

“As much as I wanna taste you I wanna please you more. Use me then babe.”

Natasha moaned, pushing you inside as she rocked back. “Oh my God, yes! Ugh, you fill me up so well baby!”

“Shhhhhhhiiiiiit Natasha!” You groaned, leaning against the headboard as she slid down your member.

“Hmm.” She hummed, arching her back as she flung her hair behind her shoulders.

You reach for her nipples letting your thumbs play with them before bringing your mouth around them.

“Oh Y/N. Daddy.” Natasha wiggled around you. “I love you. You fill me up so good. I want you all the time, especially now that you’re mine.” She moaned loudly, picking up speed.

“You can have me anytime for the rest of our lives baby. I love you and the way you take all of me every time.” You wrapped your arms around her, kissing her with passion.

“I love you. Fuck, Y/N! I love you so much!” She moaned as she began lifting a bit higher to stroke your cock.

“I love you too. I’m getting close.”

Natasha moaned loudly as she continued stroking you faster and faster.

“Hm, that's it, baby move with me.” You say against her lips helping her lift up and down.

Soon she cried out as she paused her motions constructing around you.

“Ohhh fuck.” You groaned feeling your seed shoot inside of her.

You both panted and shook in the aftershocks of pure bliss. She lifted up and down riding it out. You also pumped inside of her a bit more before she lifted off you.

“Ahhh.” You hissed feeling your spunk land on your cock. You looked down gathering it all on your dick. “Oh baby, this is one of my favorite parts.” You bit your lip as you watched your fiancé take your cum ridden member and taking you back inside of her.

“Oooohh fuuuuuuck that’s it, fuuuuck that’s it.” You groaned feeling your toes curl.

“I want your cum deep inside me. I wanna have all of your babies.”

“If I could toss an extra bun in the oven I would baby. Fuck you feel so good.” You say pushing up and laying her down.

“Yessss!” Natasha began groaning as you thrust inside of her. “Fuck you’re so sexy daddy!” She moaned rubbing your flexing abs.

”That’s alllll you love.” You smirk letting your hands rub her hourglass of a body. “You’re gonna look so fucking good when your belly gets bigger.” You pant.

“Yeah?” She moaned.

“Fuck yes! Your boobs and ass are gonna be so fucking thick. Not to mention your pussy is gonna feel soooooo fucking good. I can’t wait.”

Natasha smirked, bringing you down with her legs.

Your moans grew louder and the sound of the bed creaking spurred you both on.

“Shit, shit, shit, baby I’m gonna-“ Natasha let out a porn-worthy moan as she shook in your arms.

You hissed pulling out as she squirted against your abs. “Fuuuck that’s it, baby.” You smirked as she jolted feeling your cock against her little bundle of nerves.

“One more time baby for daddy?”

“Hmm yes, daddy.” She whined.

Your pussy monster is holding back. It wants to become a cave person and celebrate breeding your fiancé. They want nothing more than to flip her over and fuck her silly, but she seems so tired from her last orgasm. You have to tame the pussy monster inside of you.

“Don't worry baby girl daddy will go nice and slow.” You say getting into the missionary position entering her once more.

“Ohhhhhh daddy.” She groaned as you suckled on her sweet spot.

“Daddy’s got you sweetheart.” You grunt thrusting deep inside of her.

“Ugh, Daddy I already feel so full.” She whined.

“Daddy’s getting closer. Just a few more strokes inside this magnificent pussy you have. It’s so fucking perfect.”

“Keep going daddy make me cum again.”

You kiss her lips keeping a steady pace as she begins to meet your thrusts.

“Fuck I’m about to cum already.” You huff.

“Rub my clit daddy I’m getting there.”

You reach below rubbing against her clit with her hand on yours.

“Ohhhh! Ohhhhhhhh! Yesssss Y/N fuck yes! Ohhhh daddy!”

“Oh, baby!” You moan with her feeling your cock sputter inside of her. You hiss, thrusting little by little until your high lightens up.

You both kiss softly. “I love you so much.” You whisper.

“I love you so much.” She replies sleepily.

“I’ll clean up love.”

She hums in response.

You leave to grab a damp towel wiping her body clean before grabbing a fresh set of sheets.

You lift her up, placing her on the chair with some panties and your shirt before changing the bedding.

“You're so sweet Y/N.” She yawns as you lay her back down.

“I love you, baby mama.” You chuckle seeing her smile sleepily. You lean down kissing her stomach before circling around her.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

“Mommy where we goin’?” Fin asked as Quinn finished packing some clothes and toys in her pack pack.

“You’re gonna go stay with papa for a week.”

“Papa?” Fin furrowed her brows. “You're not coming?”

“No baby, but I will be right here if you need me. Beth and Ollie are going with you too.

“Otay.” The toddler replied in confusion seeing Ollie with his leash and all his things.

Quinn looked over at her phone seeing you knocking on the door.

“Come on, your papa is here.” The blonde placed the Bluey backpack on her back and lifted her up. “Beth, come on.”

“This is stupid.” Beth groaned.

“Beth. Don’t start.” Quinn muttered, walking them down the stairs, and opening the door.

“Hi, girls.”

“Papa!” Finley beamed.

“Hi, Finny!” You littered her face with kisses before stepping inside.

“Hi, Beth.” You see her sitting on the last stair.

She looked up from her book to briefly roll her eyes at you.

“Lovely.” You sighed, before turning to your ex-wife. “You cut your hair. It looks great!”

“Thank you.” Quinn had chopped off most of her blonde locks leaving her with a bob. She always kept it shoulder length or longer because she knew you loved it that way. “I know you said you got their rooms ready, but I still packed them with some clothes and toiletries.”

“Thank you.” You nod.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn muttered leaning against the sofa.

“Nothing is wrong, I just… can we talk?”

“Uh, sure.” She nodded.

You put on Bluey for Fin sitting her on the sofa with some goldfish. Beth begrudgingly sat next to her before you took Quinn aside to the kitchen.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” You say not wanting to ruin the new vibe between you and your ex-wife.

“That doesn’t sound too good.” She chuckled while sitting at the table. “If it’s about you two being engaged I already know.”

“It’s not about- wait you know?”

“I think you forget that people post things on social media.”

“I was going to tell you-“

“I’m sure you were… wait you said that wasn’t what you were going to talk to me about.”

“I wanted to ask you if I could have the kids for Christmas and New Year's. I wanted to go back home to Lima to see my parents.”

Quinn’s eyebrows raised. “Uhh sure that’s okay.”

“Do you want to join us?”

“God no.” Quinn chuckled. “It’s funny that you brought that up, Rachel asked if I wanted to spend Christmas with her dads in Saint Martin.”

“Oh. That’s nice, really nice actually. You always wanted a tropical Christmas.” You chuckled.

“Yeah?” Quinn furrowed her brows.

“Yeah, it sounds relaxing and luxurious.” You grin.

“So you don’t mind?” She asks looking up at you.

“Of course not, I want you to be happy.” You smile.

Quinn nodded and after a beat said: “Thank you, I’ll have an early Christmas with them.”

“Great.” You nodded. “Well, we should get going.”

Quinn nodded and watched you walk towards the girls.”

“Alright let’s go Fin, Beth.”

Beth ran to her mother hugging her tightly.

“It’s okay Beth go.” Quinn nodded, caressing her cheek.

The young blonde nodded reluctantly following you out the door.

“No papa Bluey!” Fin whined.

“We can watch it again soon I promise. Beth, let's go grab Ollie.” You say again opening the door.

As you were all walking next door Finley spoke up.

“We go to Nattys?” Fin wrinkled her brow.

“Yeah, bub we live there now.”

“But I also live with mommy?”

“Yes, you also live with mommy. You have two homes now. One with mommy and one with papa.”

“Two?” Fin tilted her head as you walked up the steps.

“Yes, bub.”

The toddler was silent for a moment almost as if the young gears in her mind were spinning.

“Hmm smells good!” You say stepping inside.

Natasha took a deep breath smoothing out her clothes before stepping into the living room.

“Natty!” Fin beamed, wiggling in your arms. You set her down and she dropped her backpack.

“Hi, Finny!” Natasha catches your toddler in her arms lifting her up.

You bent down picking up the backpack to see Beth looking down at her feet. You reach over gently, taking her hand. “I know this is a lot. I know you’re still upset, but thank you for being here. We can work through this together.”

Natasha watched as Beth nodded letting a couple tears fall on her sneakers.

“Nat and I just want to be here for you one step at a time.” You whisper, wiping her tears away. “Let’s put away your things and come back down for dinner.”

You lead Beth to her new room as Natasha follows with Fin in her arms.

Natasha smiled to herself seeing Beth’s eyes widen at her new room.

She had a nice bed with a cute comforter set and a bookshelf you built and painted for her. As well as a nice pc setup.

“Bethy look!” Fin giggled pointing to your neon sign on the wall.

“Beth, I know you have another room right next door, but we want this to feel like home too.”

The young blonde nodded, lifting a photo frame of her and her friends at soccer practice. Another of her and your parents, and one with the three of you in the pool.

“Thank you,” Beth spoke softly.

Before you or Natasha could speak, Fin spoke up.

“My room now?”

“Sure.” Natasha chuckled.

Beth set her duffle bag down and followed the three of you to the next room.

Natasha set the toddler down.

“Bluey!” She squealed, pointing to the stuffies on her bed. “Look Bethy! Big Lego!” Fin gasped, seeing a Lightning McQueen track set and a small toy box. Fin quickly grabbed Lightning and placed him on the track. She giggled and squealed as she raced to the end.

“You both have a conjoined bathroom as well.” Natasha added.

Beth looked in, nodding at the cute colors Natasha picked out.

“Alright, bubs let’s go eat.”

“Awww.” Fin frowned.

“We can play again later, Finny. Let’s eat first.” Natasha spoke lifting the toddler up in her arms

“Aw, Natty nooo.” Fin whined.

“No dinner, no dessert.” You say.

“Desert?” Fin perked up as you all made your way downstairs.

“I thought that we could all make our own pizza.” Natasha smiled, shrugging. “I made the base sauce and I laid out all the toppings.”

You set Finley in her high chair with her dough. She squealed when she squeezed the dough.

The hint of a smile on Beth’s face did not go unnoticed by Natasha.

“For dessert, I made us a cheesecake.”

“Hmmmmm.” Fin, looked like a cartoon looking at the cheesecake. She even had a little drool on her lip.

Beth giggled, wiping her face. Natasha took that as a win.

“After dinner, I thought we could have a Mario Kart championship. The winner gets an extra slice of cheesecake.”

“Ohhh you are all going down!” You bellowed.

“Please I’ll hit you with the blue shell.” Beth scoffed.

“I’ll just do a spin move.” You shrugged.

“You mean on the banana peel?” Beth smirked.

“No, I win, I win!” Fin giggled.

Natasha smiled seeing the three of you laugh as you roll out your dough.

“Beth you gotta do the spinny thing.” You said tossing your dough in the air.

Beth laughed and threw hers in the air as well.

“Me too, me too!” Fin giggled only for hers to end up on her head.

“That’s just too cute.” Natasha smiled as all three of you snapped a photo.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

“Hmm, tasty.” Fin nodded, as Natasha helped feed her. “I do it now Natty, I do it.”

“Ohh okay, you’re such a big girl.”

“Yes.” Fin nodded watching you eat yours from the side of the crust and took a bite.

You reached under the table taking Natasha’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. You had both decided to keep the PDA in front of the kids at a very low state. It kinda killed you both a bit as neither of you can keep your hands off the other. Especially right now when you just want to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you. For all of this. It’s pretty awesome.” You grin.

“Tank you, Natty.”

“Thank you.” Beth said softly.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

“Alright, this is it.” You grin nudging Beth.

Natasha looked down at her phone and picked it up.

“It’s Yelena.” She said to you.

You nodded and looked back at the game.

“Hey.” Natasha answered.

“Hi Cestra, how’d your first night as stepmother go?”

“It’s still going but it’s been great so far.”

“That’s great! Has Beth talked to you?”

“Not really but she seems to be having a good time.” Natasha smiles seeing you both laughing and playing the game as Finley plays with Ollie. It was killing her not to tell her sister about the baby.

“She just needs more time just don’t be all over Y/N, and she won’t murder you in your sleep.”

“Lena.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“I’ll let you go. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

With that Natasha walked over to the sofa sitting down to watch the two of you play.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

“Natty I not deepy.” She shook her head playing with her stuffies.

“You’re not?”

“Hmhm, I stay up late.”

“Ohh okay, well how about I read this to you for a bit then you can keep playing.”

“Oooo okay.” She nodded seeing the book she loved.

You pecked Finley’s temple and kissed Natasha’s cheek before moving on to Beth.

You leaned against the panel seeing her messing with her computer. “Gonna keep playing? Was the win not enough?” You chuckled seeing her smirk.

“Just getting everything set up.” Beth replied, not looking up from the computer.

“Well I’m going to bed but if you need anything feel free to wake me up. I’m just down the hall.” You nodded.

“Goodnight.” Beth replied looking over.

“Night, sweetheart.” You pecked her cheek and walked down the hall seeing Finley asleep and Natasha tucking her in. You grinned at your fiancé and took her hand.

You both started your nightly routines.

After brushing your teeth and doing some flossing, you held Natasha from behind.

“Thank you for tonight, it was perfect.”

“It really was.” Natasha smiled, through the mirror before she washed her face.

You bit your lip looking down between your bodies. You gripped her hips and ever so lightly rolled yours. You hiked up her nightgown a bit and kissed her exposed back. She chuckled as she dried her face and applied night cream.

She turned her chin kissing your lips which you took as an opportunity to wrap your arms around her and really let yourself dig into her.

“Hmm, not tonight baby. I don’t want to traumatize them on their first night here.” She smirked patting your shoulder as she walked away but you grabbed her and pinned her against the wall.

“Daddy can be quiet.” You say nibbling on her neck.

“Hmm, but mommy can’t.” She smirked hearing you groan. “When they leave back to their mother's house you and I can have a marathon of our own.”

“Aww, but that’s a week from now.” You groaned.

“Just think of every way you want me.” She husked.

“Oh wow.” You shuttered against her. She pecked your lips once more before sliding out from under you and sliding under the covers.

Natasha giggled at your frozen state seeing the tent you were pitching. “Babe come on cuddle me to sleep.”

“I just need a minute.” You squeaked.

Natasha chuckled as she watched you shuffle over to the toilet letting out a grunt and a long sigh.

You washed your hands and lotioned up before lying next to her.

“That was way too fast.”

“The image you gave me was enough.” You smirked bringing her over to you.

“No funny business.” She smirked.

“No funny business. Just cuddles.” You nodded, pecking her lips.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You woke up to a poke on your cheek. “Hmm?” You hummed before opening your eyes seeing Fin and Ollie.

“Papa, I hungy.” Fin sang.

“You don’t wanna snooze a bit more with papa?” You ask sleepily lifting her up in bed.

“No! I wanna watch Bluey now pwease.” She giggled, waking up Natasha. “Morning Natty!”

“Morning Finny.” Natasha yawned.

“It’s alright babe go back to sleep.” You yawned sitting up to stretch.

“It’s okay, I can start on her breakfast while you change her diaper.”

“Natty, I no wear diapers no mores! I’m a big girl!” She huffed glaring at her.

“Oh excuse me! I had no idea.” She chuckled.

“What do you want for breakfast bubs? Pancakes, eggys, or cereal?”

“Hmmm, cereal!” She jumped. “Bluey O’s!”

“Okay come on toots.” You picked her up heading downstairs Ollie hot on your heels.

You quickly let him out back while you make your toddler a bowl of cereal. You set the bowl on the coffee table and turn Bluey on.

You chuckle watching Fin jump and dance to the intro song when Natasha walks downstairs.

“Hey, baby.” You smile sleepily. Natasha smiles still sleepy as she brings Ollie back inside, and crawls into your lap with a blanket.

You both watch TV with Fin as she eats her cereal. It wasn’t until the end when she turned around looking at you both snuggling.

“Done?” You smile.

“Um, why you both snuggly?” She tilts her head. “Why live here and not with mommy?”

“Fin, do you remember when Mommy and I sat you down and explained what divorce meant?”

“Hmm maybe.”

“Okay well.” You sit up and so does Natasha. “Even though Mommy and I live side by side we aren’t married anymore.”

Fin furrowed her brows once more.

“Daddy is with Natty now.” You gesture.

“Natty?”

You nod.

“Natty is mommy now?”

“Uh well…” you stammered.

“Your mommy is still Quinn. Technically I’m your step-mother.” Natasha added.

“Like cinder ellie?”

“Uh yeah, except she’s not evil or mean.” You chuckle.

“Okay.” Fin nodded before asking. “… can I get some of my toys?”

“Of course.”

Fin beamed before running upstairs and bringing down her Lego and plushy.

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

The weeks went by quickly and soon you were planning on letting the people in your lives know about the bun in the oven.

“Where’s Beth and Fin?” Yelena asked as you all sat down in the living room.

“They’re with their mom.” You say.

“Oh okay I guess we’re drinking tonight then.” She smirked.

“Uhh about that-“ you chuckled.

“Y/N and I asked you over for dinner to let you know our holiday plans.”

“Okay?” Yelena chuckled.

“We’re going to be with my family down in Ohio, and of course, you are more than welcome to join us.” You say.

“We really want you to join us.” Natasha smiled.

“What’s up with you two?” Yelena smirked.

“Three.” Natasha smiled.

“Wait what?” Yelena furrowed her brows in confusion.

“What’s up with you three?” Natasha reiterated.

“What the hell are you-“ like a bulb going off Yelena jumped up realizing what her sister was trying to say. “No way?! You’re pregnant?!”

You and Natasha nod excitedly.

“Oh my gosh!” Yelena cheered jumping with her sister.

You chuckled while taking a video Of them.

“I’m gonna be an aunt!”

“You’re gonna be an aunt!” Natasha cried, nodding.

“Oh my God!” Yelena and Natasha laughed joyfully as they hugged one another.

“So now will you come with us?” Natasha asked

“Of course, I’ll come.” Yelena smiled, wiping her eyes.

“I just really want to meet Y/N’s parents again as an engaged couple, and of course let them know we’re having a baby.” Natasha couldn’t stop smiling as she held her tiny bump.

“I’m sure they’re going to be thrilled.”

“Oh for sure.” You chuckled.

“Have you told your ex-wife yet?” Yelena cringed.

“No.” You sighed. “I’m gonna have to tell her and then the girls.”

“Well, I’ll be here in case she wants to fight my sister.”

“She wouldn’t do that, but I don’t know how Beth will take it.”

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

You invited Quinn out for lunch; you had both been making decent conversation until you finally told her as you both made your way to your truck.

“Quinn, Natasha is pregnant.”

Quinn’s smile slowly faded. It was silent and her stare went from your eyes to her ringless finger.

“That’s why you brought me here.” She whispered brokenly.

“Not the only reason.” You reach over taking her hands. “Quinn, I'll always have love for you, and I do miss our talks like this. Maybe we could do this more often and talk about our lives and the girls.”

Quinn squeezed your hand.

“Y/N, I love you too, always have, and I always will, but I need more time. We had been together since we were 15. You have no idea how much I miss you.” She said laying her hands on your abdomen. “I think about you all the time. When I’m cooking, when I’m putting the girls to bed, when I’m putting myself to bed.” She smirked, husking out the last part.

You cleared your throat with a light chuckle. Normally that would send you into a frenzy. The kind where you would have her mounted on your cock in no time.

“I’m sorry but I need more time. I love you Y/N. I love you enough to let you go. Can’t you love me enough to support me moving on too?”

“Of course.” You smiled, taking her hand and kissing it softly.

“So she’s pregnant huh?” She smirked as you two began walking once more.

“Hmhm.”

“Yeah, you probably should have warned her that you have magic sperm.” She chuckled. “You got me on the first try twice!”

You laughed nudging her shoulder.

“She’s really excited. She always wanted to have kids, but she honestly thought she couldn’t.” You explain.

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah… Fuck Quinn how do I tell the girls? How do I tell Beth?”

Quinn sighed knowing too much was happening to fast for the girls to understand.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t really know.”

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

Quinn takes a deep breath as she knocks on the Russian’s door.

“Oh hi, Quinn.” Natasha smiled; opening the door.

“I um… well I went through the attic this morning and thought these might help.” The blonde set the box on the side table.

“Y/N told you.” Natasha smiled in surprise before looking in the box. It was nothing but pregnancy books, and some old gadgets to baby-proof the house.

“They did, congratulations Natasha.”

“Thank you, Quinn.” She replied softly.

“Just a heads up, Y/N’s sperm is literally magic. Gets you on the first try every time.” They both chuckled.

“How do you think the girls will take the news about the pregnancy?” Natasha asked hesitantly.

“I think Finley will be okay. She might not fully comprehend the situation, but she’ll be excited to be the bigger sister now. Beth… I’m not sure she’s a teen now. She’s constantly wanting to argue with me nowadays. Y/N and I are on unfamiliar ground with her lately.”

“Y/N was telling me.” Natasha nodded.

“I’m just so scared she’ll end up like me in high school.” Quinn sighed.

“Beth is a smart young lady. She has the best of both you and Y/N. There’s not much you two can do except trust her to remember what you’ve taught her.”

“Oh hey.” You smiled seeing your ex-wife and newly dubbed baby mama speaking.

“Hi.” They smiled at you.

“Well, I hope the box helps, I should get going.” Quinn spoke.

“You sure? I brought Chinese.” You grinned holding up the bag of food.

“Carbs Y/N.” She grimaced, shaking her head. She turned back to Natasha gesturing towards the box. “Oh, by the way, the cream in the box, I would start using it now.” She gave you a side hug before walking out the door.

God that felt great and weird at the same time. You don’t realize you’re staring at your ex until she waves again entering your old home.

“It’s for stretch marks.” Natasha smirked, lifting the cream and gaining your attention.

“Oh yeah, that stuff really works. Quinn used to make me put it on her every night.”

You make your way to the kitchen when Natasha speaks up.

“I know we have been thinking of how to tell the girls I thought maybe we could tell them after your parents? Maybe closer to our flight home? That way if she needs space Quinn will be back home.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” You nod, sighing. You just have a feeling Beth is not going to take this well.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x gn!reader

216 notes · View notes

urdreamydoodles · 1 month ago

Note

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T��Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

1K notes · View notes