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urdreamydoodles · 4 months ago

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MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

The Marvel Comics Characters babysit your dog, Mr. Pickles

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, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Mr. Pickles: 100 | Marvel’s Most Dangerous Characters: 0

Peter Parker & Mr. Pickles

- Peter Parker thought he had seen chaos. He had battled the Sinister Six, fought off symbiotes, and saved the city more times than he could count. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for babysitting your tiny, fluffy, utterly reckless dog, Mr. Pickles.

- The first incident happened within minutes. Peter had barely set his backpack down when he turned around to find Mr. Pickles teetering on the edge of the kitchen counter, somehow having climbed up without opposable thumbs or logic. A split second later, Peter was diving forward, catching the little menace midair like he was saving a falling civilian from a burning building.

- Webbing became his only salvation. After Mr. Pickles managed to squeeze himself into the vents (how?!), Peter had no choice but to create an elaborate web barricade in the apartment. The place looked less like your home and more like a Spider-Man containment field.

- When he tried to work on some web fluid at your kitchen table, Mr. Pickles took it upon himself to bat at the vials like he was a cat, sending one flying straight into Peter’s hair. “Oh, come on, dude—do you have a vendetta against physics?!” he groaned, now stuck to the chair.

- By the time you returned, Peter was sitting on the couch, hair a mess, web fluid staining his fingers, Mr. Pickles curled up in his lap like an innocent angel. “Your dog is not real,” Peter muttered, voice hollow from exhaustion. “He is an agent of chaos.” But then you laughed, kissed his cheek, and suddenly, he decided maybe babysitting Mr. Pickles was worth it.

Tony Stark & Mr. Pickles

- Tony Stark was a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—and now, apparently, an unwilling dog sitter. He had babysat robots more predictable than your tiny, fluffy terror, Mr. Pickles, who seemed to have a personal grudge against his entire penthouse.

- Five minutes in, the dog had already hacked into JARVIS. “Sir,” JARVIS reported, “Mr. Pickles has managed to override security protocols and is currently sending an email to Pepper Potts.” Tony whipped around. “He what?” The email in question was just a string of random letters and a single attachment: a blurry photo of Mr. Pickles’ own tail.

- The next three hours were spent chasing the demon-dog through the penthouse. Mr. Pickles had chewed through a custom Italian leather shoe, knocked over an entire tray of expensive whiskey glasses, and somehow ended up inside the Iron Man gauntlet display.

- Thinking himself the superior intellect, Tony built a small tracking device for Mr. Pickles. That lasted exactly fifteen minutes before the dog removed it and buried it inside one of Tony’s prized sports cars.

- By the time you came home, Tony was slumped in his chair, his expensive suit now covered in dog fur, while Mr. Pickles pranced happily across the table like he had won the war. “Your dog needs an exorcist,” Tony grumbled. You just kissed his forehead and said, “But you love him, right?” Tony sighed. “Unfortunately… yeah.”

Steve Rogers & Mr. Pickles

- Steve Rogers had fought in wars, led the Avengers, and stared down threats that could destroy the world. But nothing prepared him for babysitting Mr. Pickles, a dog whose only purpose in life seemed to be challenging the laws of nature.

- It started with the shield. Steve had set it down for one minute��one single minute—and somehow, Mr. Pickles had lodged himself inside the strap loops, running across the apartment with it stuck to his back like a medieval knight.

- The escape attempts were relentless. Every time Steve turned away, Mr. Pickles was finding new ways to jailbreak from the apartment. He squeezed under doors, climbed onto furniture he had no business reaching, and at one point, managed to activate Steve’s emergency communicator by jumping onto the counter. Sam Wilson showed up at the door minutes later, breathless. “Did you just summon the Avengers?” Steve sighed. “No. The dog did.”

- Steve had fought entire battles with less stress. When he tried to cook dinner, Mr. Pickles stole an entire steak off the counter and stared Steve dead in the eye as he ate it. When he tried to read a book, the dog somehow ended up inside the couch cushions.

- When you walked in, Steve was on the floor, holding Mr. Pickles upside down like he had accepted defeat. “Your dog has the soul of a war general,” Steve muttered. You just smiled, kissing his cheek. “That’s why I trusted Captain America to babysit him.” Steve sighed, looking at the fluffy criminal in his arms. “Yeah. I guess I kind of like him.”

Thor & Mr. Pickles

- Thor, the God of Thunder, had faced frost giants, dark elves, and cosmic horrors. But none of them were as terrifyingly determined as your tiny, fluffy white dog, Mr. Pickles.

- The moment Thor sat down, Mr. Pickles leapt onto his lap, staring into his soul with his beady eyes. Thor grinned. “Ah! A warrior spirit!” He scratched behind Mr. Pickles’ ears, convinced that this small creature was surely an Asgardian beast in disguise.

- Things took a turn when Thor left Mjolnir on the ground. Mr. Pickles, in his infinite foolishness, tried to pick it up. When the hammer didn’t budge, he began barking at it, circling it like it was an enemy. Thor, amused beyond belief, sat back and watched the battle unfold.

- Mr. Pickles did not win. But he did not give up, either. Thor, impressed by his persistence, lifted Mjolnir just enough for Mr. Pickles to wiggle underneath and emerge victorious. “You are brave,” Thor declared. “And terribly, terribly dumb.”

- When you returned, Mr. Pickles was sitting atop Thor’s shoulder like he was king of Asgard. Thor beamed at you. “Your small beast is worthy! I shall take him to battle!” You simply sighed. “Thor, please don’t take my dog to battle.”

Loki & Mr. Pickles

- Loki, Prince of Asgard and God of Mischief, should have known better. He was the master of deception, the embodiment of chaos—but even he was not prepared for your small, dumb, fluffy menace, Mr. Pickles.

- The trouble started the moment you left. Loki, confident in his abilities, had settled in with a book. Within ten minutes, Mr. Pickles had stolen one of his enchanted daggers and was running laps around the room with it.

- Loki was not amused. He summoned illusions of himself to try and corner the beast, but Mr. Pickles—defying all reason— managed to sniff out the real Loki every time.

- Realizing he had met his match, Loki decided to strike a deal. “You may keep the dagger,” he told Mr. Pickles, “if you agree to cease your foolishness.” Mr. Pickles promptly ignored him and chewed on the dagger handle.

- By the time you returned, Loki was sitting on the couch, holding Mr. Pickles like a defeated king cradling his downfall. “Your dog,” Loki said, “is the single most infuriating creature I have ever encountered.” You just smiled. “But you like him, right?” Loki sighed, reluctantly scratching behind Mr. Pickles’ ears. “Against my better judgment… yes.”

Clint Barton & Mr. Pickles

- Clint Barton thought he had dealt with enough chaos in his life. He had fought aliens, battled crime syndicates, and survived on a diet of pizza and sarcasm. But babysitting your tiny, fluffy, perpetually confused dog, Mr. Pickles? That was an entirely new level of disaster.

- The first mistake Clint made was underestimating Mr. Pickles. “Yeah, yeah, I got this,” he had said as you left. Five minutes later, the dog had vanished. One second he was on the couch, the next, he was gone—like a ghost with bad decision-making skills.

- The next three hours turned into a full-blown tactical operation. Clint used every trick in the book—tracking skills, stealth maneuvers, even an actual infrared scope—only to find Mr. Pickles sitting inside Clint’s quiver, chewing happily on an arrowhead. “Dude, I need those,” Clint groaned, prying the slobbery mess from tiny jaws.

- He tried distracting Mr. Pickles with treats. That worked for exactly two minutes before the dog somehow managed to jump onto the kitchen counter, knock over a coffee mug, and hit the emergency call button on Clint’s burner phone. When Kate Bishop picked up, laughing, Clint groaned, “Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.”

- By the time you came home, Clint was laying on the floor, defeated, as Mr. Pickles slept soundly on his chest. “Your dog is part ninja, part escape artist, and entirely evil,” Clint muttered. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But you love him, right?” Clint sighed, reluctantly scratching behind Mr. Pickles’ ears. “…Yeah, yeah. I love the dumb little menace.”

Natasha Romanoff & Mr. Pickles

- Natasha Romanoff was an elite assassin, a master of espionage, and completely unbothered by most things. Until, of course, she had to babysit Mr. Pickles.

- At first, she thought it would be easy. “He’s small,” she had told herself. “He’s fluffy. How much trouble can he be?” Two hours later, Natasha was standing on the coffee table, arms crossed, watching as Mr. Pickles circled her boots like a tiny, unhinged shark.

- She quickly realized Mr. Pickles had a taste for destruction. He tore apart a throw pillow, attempted to climb inside the dishwasher, and somehow chewed through her phone charger within ten minutes. “You’re worse than Clint,” she muttered, watching as he tried (and failed) to jump onto the windowsill.

- Despite the chaos, she found herself impressed by his persistence. When he got stuck in a blanket, he wiggled until he was free. When he knocked over his water bowl, he marched right through it like an unstoppable force. He reminded her, in some strange way, of herself—small but relentless, completely unaware of limits.

- When you returned, Mr. Pickles was curled up in Natasha’s lap, snoring softly. She glanced at you and smirked. “Your dog is dangerous,” she said. You laughed, leaning down to kiss her. “But you like him, right?” Natasha rolled her eyes but continued petting him. “…I tolerate him.” That was Natasha-speak for yes.

Bucky Barnes & Mr. Pickles

- Bucky Barnes had fought in wars, survived decades of brainwashing, and carried the weight of his past like an iron chain. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy disaster of a dog, Mr. Pickles, should have been easy. It was not.

- The first problem was the metal arm. Mr. Pickles was obsessed with it. He barked at it, licked it, and then tried to bite it—only to look extremely offended when his tiny teeth did nothing. “Buddy, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here,” Bucky muttered, watching as the dog attempted (and failed) to wrestle his vibranium fingers.

- Mr. Pickles had no fear. He ran headfirst into furniture, nearly launched himself off the couch three separate times, and somehow got his head stuck inside a cereal box. Bucky spent a full five minutes just sighing and shaking his head before helping him out.

- By the end of the night, Bucky had fully accepted his fate. He sat on the couch, watching as Mr. Pickles zoomed around like a tiny white blur of chaos. “You’re exhausting,” Bucky told him. Mr. Pickles just wagged his tail, happy as ever.

- When you returned, Bucky was sitting on the floor, Mr. Pickles curled up in his lap, peacefully snoring. He glanced up at you, face unreadable. “We had a long discussion,” he said. “He’s still an idiot. But he’s our idiot.”

Matthew Murdock & Mr. Pickles

- Matt Murdock had dealt with enough surprises in life. He had lost his sight as a child, trained as a fighter, and spent his nights protecting Hell’s Kitchen. But nothing prepared him for the absolute chaos of babysitting Mr. Pickles.

- The first issue was his heightened senses. Mr. Pickles was small but somehow louder than an explosion. Every tiny footstep, every excited bark, every disastrous moment of chaos was amplified to near unbearable levels.

- Then came the smell. Matt had barely turned his back before he caught the unmistakable scent of a chewed-up shoe. He turned, unamused. “You did not just eat my dress shoes.” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, entirely unremorseful.

- When the dog managed to escape into the hallway, Matt had no choice but to rely on his enhanced hearing to track him down. He followed the tiny, frantic paws to the stairwell—where Mr. Pickles had somehow managed to get stuck between two steps. “You are so lucky I like you,” Matt muttered, scooping him up.

- When you returned, Matt was sitting on the couch, Mr. Pickles resting on his lap. He turned his head toward you and smiled. “You didn’t tell me your dog was a criminal mastermind,” he teased. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. “But you like him, right?” Matt sighed, stroking Mr. Pickles’ tiny head. “…Yeah. I do.”

Frank Castle & Mr. Pickles

- Frank Castle had seen hell. He had been to war, lost everything, and waged a bloody battle against crime. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy, completely clueless dog should not have been the hardest mission of his life.

- It started with the growling. Mr. Pickles hated Frank’s boots. Every time Frank took a step, the dog charged at them like a feral beast, tiny tail wagging in pure, misplaced aggression. “You got a death wish, pal?” Frank muttered. Mr. Pickles barked once.

- Frank was not a dog person. But somehow, Mr. Pickles was determined to change that. He followed Frank around like a tiny, white shadow, completely ignoring the fact that Frank was actively trying to ignore him.

- At some point, Frank gave up. He sat down, glancing at the tiny beast sitting next to him. “Alright, you win,” he muttered. Mr. Pickles immediately rolled onto his back, demanding belly rubs. Frank sighed, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

- By the time you came home, Frank was sitting on the couch, a tiny, snoring Mr. Pickles curled up beside him. He looked at you, completely serious. “Your dog is a menace,” he said. Then, after a long pause, he sighed. “…But he’s a good kid.”

Marc Spector & Mr. Pickles

- Marc Spector has fought gods, mercenaries, and monsters lurking in the shadows. He has survived betrayals, bloodshed, and nights spent drowning in his own mind. But he was not prepared for Mr. Pickles.

- The dog hated structure, which was a problem, because Marc thrived on it. He tried to set a routine—food at seven, walk at eight, no chewing on anything remotely important. Within minutes, Mr. Pickles had knocked over a lamp, chewed on Marc’s combat boots, and somehow disappeared inside a kitchen cabinet.

- Jake Lockley found him first. When Marc blinked, his reflection smirked and said, “El perrito es un desastre.” (The little dog is a disaster.) When he switched to Steven, he just heard a horrified, “Marc, he’s got your cape!”

- By the end of the night, Mr. Pickles was asleep on Marc’s chest, his tiny form rising and falling with each breath. Marc sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve fought Anubis. I’ve walked the path of the dead. And I was defeated… by you.”

- When you returned, you found Marc asleep on the couch, Mr. Pickles curled up against his ribs. You kissed his temple, whispering, “So, how’d it go?” Marc cracked one eye open. “I think we made a blood pact,” he muttered. “Your dog owns me now.”

Johnny Storm & Mr. Pickles

- Johnny Storm thought babysitting Mr. Pickles would be easy. He was a superhero, a celebrity, a professional fun-haver. Dogs loved him. He loved dogs. It should have been a perfect match.

- He was wrong.

- The first issue arose within ten minutes. Johnny had turned his back for two seconds when he heard a crash. He spun around to find Mr. Pickles standing victoriously on top of a knocked-over shelf, a chewed-up sock in his mouth. Johnny pointed at him. “Okay, that’s strike one.”

- Strike two came when the dog managed to climb onto Johnny’s bed, get tangled in the sheets, and somehow turn on the ceiling fan. Johnny barely caught him before he became airborne. “Buddy, you cannot just try to take flight,” he scolded, untangling him.

- By strike three, Johnny had accepted defeat. He laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling, as Mr. Pickles happily licked his face. “You win, little dude. I can’t keep up.”

- When you got home, Johnny was half-asleep, Mr. Pickles curled up in his hoodie. He groaned dramatically. “You didn’t tell me you had a tiny, fluffy supervillain.” You smirked, ruffling his hair. “But you love him, right?” Johnny sighed. “…Yeah, okay. He’s cool.”

Reed Richards & Mr. Pickles

- Reed Richards has solved equations that baffle the greatest minds of the century. He has rewritten physics, built machines that defy reality, and held the fabric of the multiverse in his hands. But nothing could have prepared him for Mr. Pickles.

- It started as an experiment. Reed, ever the scientist, wanted to study the peculiar behavior of your fluffy, oblivious dog. “It’s fascinating,” he mused, adjusting his glasses as Mr. Pickles attempted to bite his own tail and immediately fell over.

- That fascination quickly turned into mild horror when Mr. Pickles found his way into the lab. Within seconds, he had knocked over a beaker, chewed on some incredibly important notes, and—somehow—turned on the molecular destabilizer.

- Reed had to stretch halfway across the room to shut it off before anything catastrophic happened. He picked up Mr. Pickles, holding him at arm’s length. “You, sir, are an anomaly.” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, completely unbothered.

- By the time you came home, Reed was sitting on the couch, reading quantum mechanics to Mr. Pickles, who was dozing on his lap. He adjusted his glasses. “He’s… quite the experiment.” You laughed, kissing his cheek. “But you love him, right?” Reed hesitated, then sighed. “…I suppose I do.”

Ben Grimm & Mr. Pickles

- Ben Grimm, the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing, had faced cosmic horrors, supervillains, and existential crises. Babysitting your tiny, fluffy, dumb dog should’ve been easy. It was not.

- Within the first five minutes, Mr. Pickles had somehow gotten himself stuck under the couch. Ben sighed, reaching under with his massive hand and plucking the tiny dog up like a stubborn sock. “Kid, I’m tellin’ ya, you got no survival instincts.”

- Mr. Pickles, undeterred, immediately tried to chew on Ben’s massive rocky fingers. Ben raised a brow. “Oh, so you wanna scrap, huh?” The dog growled playfully, yapping at him with all the confidence of a creature who had never faced consequences.

- Eventually, Ben sat on the couch, Mr. Pickles curled up on his lap, snoring. He huffed, crossing his arms. “Ain’t no one better tell Reed about this. I got a reputation.”

- When you came back, you grinned at the sight of them together. “So, did you two bond?” Ben scoffed. “Bond? Nah. But… maybe he ain’t so bad. For a troublemaker.” Mr. Pickles snored louder. “…Yeah, yeah, I get it. You win, furball.”

Susan Storm & Mr. Pickles

- Susan Storm had dealt with far worse than a tiny, fluffy dog. Or so she thought.

- At first, everything was fine. Mr. Pickles wagged his tail, looking deceptively innocent. Susan smiled. “Oh, you’re adorable. This will be easy.” She would regret saying that.

- The second she turned around, Mr. Pickles vanished. Not literally, but it sure felt like it. Susan searched the Baxter Building, using her invisibility to sneak up on him. She found him in Reed’s lab, chewing on a very expensive-looking piece of tech.

- “Oh no, no, no—bad dog!” She swooped in, scooping him up before he could cause an explosion. Mr. Pickles licked her nose. She sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

- By the time you got back, Susan was sitting on the couch, petting Mr. Pickles with one hand while rubbing her temple with the other. You grinned. “So, how did it go?” She gave you a tired smile. “…I love you, but next time, Johnny is babysitting.”

Felicia Hardy & Mr. Pickles

- Felicia Hardy had done a lot of reckless things in her life. She had stolen diamonds from locked vaults, toyed with superheroes, danced along the razor’s edge of disaster. But Mr. Pickles? He was a different kind of challenge.

- At first, she wasn’t impressed. “This is the little menace?” she had said, eyeing him. Then, five minutes later, she was chasing him around the apartment, cursing under her breath as he dodged every attempt to catch him.

- She realized, with a sort of begrudging admiration, that Mr. Pickles was fast. He slipped through her fingers, ducked under tables, and even managed to knock over a priceless antique vase she had definitely stolen.

- By the end of the night, Felicia had completely given in. She sat on the floor, watching as Mr. Pickles happily gnawed on a stolen hair tie. “You’re a little criminal,” she murmured, “and I kinda respect it.”

- When you came home, you found Felicia curled up on the couch, Mr. Pickles sleeping on her stomach. She cracked an eye open and smirked. “He’s growing on me.” You grinned. “So you love him?” Felicia stretched, running her fingers through his fur. “…Yeah. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Stephen Strange & Mr. Pickles

- Stephen Strange was one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. He had traveled across dimensions, held the fate of the universe in his hands, bargained with cosmic entities. Babysitting Mr. Pickles should have been beneath him.

- And yet, here he was, standing in his Sanctum Sanctorum, staring at the tiny, fluffy creature wreaking absolute havoc. “No,” he said flatly as Mr. Pickles climbed onto the Cloak of Levitation, chewed on the enchanted embroidery, and then tried to ride it like a tiny, ill-advised chariot.

- Wong walked in, took one look at the chaos, and turned right back around. “Not my problem.”

- Stephen sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, you little menace. You’ve bested gods and mystics alike. What do you want?” Mr. Pickles barked once, wagging his tail. “Of course. Attention.”

- When you returned, Stephen was sitting in his armchair, the Cloak of Levitation draped around both him and Mr. Pickles. He didn’t even look up as you entered. “Your dog has no respect for the eldritch arts.” You bit back a laugh. “But you love him, right?” Stephen sighed dramatically. “…Against my better judgment, yes.”

Namor & Mr. Pickles

- Namor, King of Atlantis, First Mutant, Imperius Rex—babysitting a tiny, fluffy, absurdly dumb land creature was beneath him. He had ruled for centuries, waged wars, and stood against titans. And yet, you had looked at him with those eyes, and suddenly, here he was.

- Within minutes, Mr. Pickles had launched himself into a decorative Atlantean fountain, paddling with all the grace of a drowning pearl diver. Namor, unimpressed, crossed his arms. “You are not suited for the ocean, tiny beast.” Mr. Pickles barked, thrilled.

- The palace was not meant for creatures like him. In the span of an hour, he had chewed on an ancient scroll, attempted to befriend a very unamused sea serpent, and somehow found his way into the throne room, where he proudly sat upon Namor’s throne. The royal guards had never been more confused.

- By the time you returned, Namor stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as Mr. Pickles wagged his tail at his feet. “Your creature is reckless, absurdly ill-equipped for survival, and entirely too confident for his own good.” You bit back a smile. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

- He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Against my better judgment, I will tolerate him.” You knelt, scooping Mr. Pickles into your arms. “Oh, so you love him?” Namor scoffed, turning on his heel. “Do not push your luck.” But the way Mr. Pickles trotted after him suggested otherwise.

Johnny Blaze & Mr. Pickles

- Johnny Blaze, the Ghost Rider, had made a deal with the Devil himself—but even Mephisto hadn’t prepared him for Mr. Pickles. He was expecting something manageable, maybe even chill. Instead, he got a tiny, fluffy tornado of chaos.

- Mr. Pickles immediately attempted to fight his motorcycle. Not sniff it. Not inspect it. Fight it. The little thing barked furiously at the flaming wheels, jumping up in a wild, futile attempt to bite them. Johnny had seen demons with more self-preservation.

- When Johnny tried to take a nap, Mr. Pickles climbed onto his chest, stared directly into his soul, and promptly sneezed on his face. Johnny wiped his face with a groan. “You’re lucky you’re cute, man.”

- At some point, the dog managed to run off with Johnny’s favorite leather jacket. By the time he caught him, Mr. Pickles was rolling around in it like it was his new personal throne. Johnny narrowed his eyes. “…Alright. You win. It’s yours now.”

- When you got home, you found Johnny on the couch, absently scratching Mr. Pickles’ ears. You grinned. “So, how’d it go?” Johnny sighed. “I think I just sold my soul again. To your dog.”

Eddie Brock / Venom & Mr. Pickles

- Eddie Brock had Venom. You had Mr. Pickles. The problem was that Venom did not understand why Mr. Pickles existed.

- “Is it prey?” Venom asked within the first five minutes. Eddie sighed, rubbing his temples. “No, buddy. It’s a pet.” Venom tilted its head. “We do not eat it?” Mr. Pickles wagged his tail obliviously. “No. We do not eat it.”

- Venom, unfortunately, did not like competition. Mr. Pickles demanded attention. Venom demanded you. The standoff began immediately. Eddie woke up to find Mr. Pickles asleep on his chest, while Venom loomed above him like a shadow, glowering.

- It only got worse when Mr. Pickles stole Eddie’s sandwich. Venom raged. “The creature has taken OUR food! We must retaliate!” Eddie sighed, watching as Mr. Pickles happily chewed on his stolen prize. “Yeah, buddy. I don’t think we’re winning this war.”

- When you returned, Eddie sat on the couch, Venom’s tendrils twitching in irritation, Mr. Pickles napping peacefully on his lap. You grinned. “Venom, did you make a friend?” Venom hissed. “He is an adversary.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “…Yeah. That means yes.”

T’Challa & Mr. Pickles

- T’Challa had fought in battles that shaped history, had led a nation, had outmaneuvered gods and kings. He had not, however, anticipated Mr. Pickles.

- Shuri was absolutely delighted. She took one look at the tiny, ridiculous dog and immediately declared, “He is my favorite guest.” T’Challa, arms crossed, simply said, “He is… something.”

- Mr. Pickles was determined to challenge every Wakandan security measure. Within an hour, he had gotten past two Dora Milaje, slipped into the royal chambers, and was found happily wagging his tail atop the Vibranium throne.

- Okoye was not amused. Shuri was entertained. T’Challa sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “This dog fears nothing.” Shuri smirked. “Much like someone else I know.”

- By the time you returned, Mr. Pickles was curled up beside T’Challa, who was absentmindedly scratching behind his ears. You crossed your arms. “So, do you love him?” T’Challa did not look up. “…I tolerate him.” Mr. Pickles licked his hand. “…Perhaps a little more than that.”

Elektra Natchios & Mr. Pickles

- Elektra had survived assassins, taken down empires, and danced in the dark with death itself. She was elegant, precise, a living weapon. Mr. Pickles, on the other hand, was a small, fluffy ball of pure idiocy.

- He immediately tried to steal one of her sais. She watched, unimpressed, as he grabbed the handle in his tiny jaws and attempted to run away. He tripped, rolled over, and barked at the ceiling in defiance. She had seen warriors with less determination.

- Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself watching him, observing. There was something admirable about his foolish bravery. His absolute lack of fear. The way he took up space despite his size.

- Eventually, he curled up next to her, snuggling against her side. Elektra, without thinking, ran her fingers through his soft fur. She had never had a pet before. She had never let herself want one. But this? This, she could allow.

- When you returned, Elektra simply looked at you, one hand still on Mr. Pickles’ back. You smirked. “So… you love him?” She arched a brow. “Love is a strong word.” Mr. Pickles snored softly against her. “…But perhaps, just this once, I can allow it.”

Victor von Doom & Mr. Pickles

- Doom did not babysit. Doom did not serve. Doom did not tolerate fools. And yet, here he was.

- He stared at Mr. Pickles. Mr. Pickles stared back, tail wagging. Doom narrowed his eyes. “You are beneath me.” Mr. Pickles barked happily. Doom scowled. “Cease.” Mr. Pickles barked again.

- The dog, completely oblivious to the concept of fear, followed Doom around Latveria. At some point, he clambered onto Doom’s throne, tail thumping against the armrest. The royal guards exchanged nervous glances. Doom exhaled slowly. “I despise this.”

- However, when a diplomat dared to insult Doom, Mr. Pickles yapped aggressively, standing protectively in front of him. Doom observed this. “Hmph. At least you recognize greatness.”

- When you returned, Doom crossed his arms. “Your creature is an idiot.” You smiled. “But did you like him?” Doom huffed. “Doom tolerates him. Nothing more.” Mr. Pickles jumped into his lap. Doom sighed. “…Fine. Perhaps a little more.”

Peter Quill & Mr. Pickles

- Peter Quill thought babysitting a tiny dog would be easier than babysitting Rocket. He was wrong.

- “Okay, little dude, let’s make this easy.” Mr. Pickles promptly stole one of his mixtapes. “HEY! That’s vintage!” A chase ensued across the Milano, Star-Lord versus a fluffy menace.

- Eventually, Peter gave up. Mr. Pickles sat triumphantly atop his pillow, the mixtape still in his mouth. Peter sighed. “You’re lucky I got a soft spot for troublemakers.”

- The dog, realizing he had won, curled up beside him. Peter smirked. “Alright, fine. You can stay.” Mr. Pickles snuggled closer. Peter grumbled. “…Don’t tell Rocket about this.”

- When you got back, you found them both asleep on the couch. You whispered, “So, how did it go?” Without opening his eyes, Peter muttered, “I think I just lost my ship to your dog.”

Nova & Mr. Pickles

- Richard Rider had fought space tyrants, cosmic gods, and existential threats. Mr. Pickles, somehow, was worse.

- Mr. Pickles had no concept of galactic law. Within minutes, he had tried to steal a Nova Corps helmet, chewed on an important report, and attempted to fight a very confused alien.

- Richard sighed, picking up the tiny menace. “Okay, dude. I don’t have time for intergalactic incidents. Work with me here.” Mr. Pickles licked his face. Richard groaned. “…I give up.”

- By the end of the day, the entire Nova Corps had begrudgingly accepted Mr. Pickles. Someone even made him a tiny Nova helmet. Richard just sighed. “I am never living this down.”

- When you returned, Richard handed Mr. Pickles to you. “Your dog is now an honorary Nova Corps member.” You laughed. “So, did you love him?” Richard huffed. “…He’s alright.” Mr. Pickles barked happily. “…Fine. Maybe a little more than alright.”

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olsenmyolsen · 10 months ago

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Request from anon: Wanda and y/n have been in a relationship for some months and both of them have a crush on Natasha so they decide to invite her for a threesome and she accepts. Y/n and Natasha are g!p

You Both Huh? (18+)

maroon master list . dark master list . request marvel master list . short n’ sweet master list

Post Age of Ultron: (Wanda Maximoff X G!P Reader X G!P Natasha Romanoff)

Summary: You, Wanda, and Natasha discover and learn about each other's bodies.

Word Count: 2.6K

Content: Fluff, Comfort, Feelings, wlw, sex, threesome, oral, porn with plot

This was my first time writing G!P, and I hope I did it justice! Please let me know if I did anything wrong ❤️

Natasha was exhausted.

After a month of being deep undercover and alone with her thoughts in another country, she was finally back home.

Back at the compound.

Back to be with her found family and friends.

Yet only you and Wanda seemed to be home.

As the elevator doors opened, Natasha found the two of you curled up on the couch in the living room. What Natasha doesn't know is how the two of you were waiting for your favorite redhead to come back home. So, as she steps out from the elevator and her boots hit the floor, Wanda lifts her head up and looks back.

A huge smile breaks out on the younger brunette as she turns to you and shakes you awake from your cat nap.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes as Wanda grabs your hand, and the two of you fly off the couch to Natasha. "Oh my gosh, Wanda! Y/n!" Natasha exclaims as she sees you two quickly make your way over. Her bags hitting the ground as she wraps her arms around her friends.

Her friends that just so happen to be a couple that have a crush on her.

But that's for in a little bit!

Natasha's had her suspicions, but she's a spy, so being on guard 24/7 is like her thing.

As you breathe in the dry shampoo from Natasha's hair, you hear Wanda communicate to you. "Tonight can be perfect." You can't help but smirk and turn your head to eye Wanda. "If Natasha is up for it." You communicate back, making Wanda playfully roll her eyes—something Natasha catches.

"Already? I just got back and you two are already having secret conversations?"

"Sorry, babes!" You comment as you let go of Natasha. "Just about our plans for later." Natasha shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Okay, sure, whatever." Wanda can't help but laugh as Natasha pretends not to believe you.

"So, where's everyone else?" Natasha asks as she picks up her bags, but Wanda's magic stops her as red tendrils pick them up. "Still need to get used to that," Natasha remarks, even if Sokovia was a year ago. Wanda smiles wide.

"Thor is off-world. Tony and Pepper are doing stuff with M.I.T. Cap and Sam are busy with their missing friend. The toaster is still on sleep mode." Natasha laughs at the last dig you throw in while Wanda rolls her eyes as the three of you arrive at Natasha's door.

"And Banner?" She questions before Wanda can make a comment about her robotic friend. You shake your head. "Nothing to report." Natasha hums and nods her head as she opens her door. "Well, maybe that's best."

"Yeah, it's not like you need him," Wanda says, surprising all three of you. You turn to your girlfriend of the last six months, shocked as she drops her mouth. "Oh my gosh! Natasha, I'm so sorry that was supposed to be an inside thought!"

Natasha looks shocked and looks from you to Wanda. Her surprised face slowly morphs into a quizzical look as she tilts her head and leans against her open door. "An inside thought, huh? What did you mean by it?"

Wanda opens and closes her mouth. "Umm." She looks to you, but you don't know how to help Wanda other than telepathically telling her: "Maybe now's the time."

Wanda closes her mouth, and she decides to go for it.

She looks from you to the redhead, still waiting for an answer. "I meant what I said. You don't need him. You don't him for a release o-or for someone to.. connect with... when... when you have us." When Wanda finally gets through her sentence, she peeks into Natasha's green eyes and does her best not to tap into Natasha's mind.

"When I have you both?" Natasha softly questions as you stand next to Wanda and grab her hand. Letting her know you fully appreciate her for speaking up for the both of you.

You nod to the older woman in front of you. "We like you, Tasha."

"A lot," Wanda adds on.

Suddenly, Natasha's suspicions and nagging feelings made a lot more sense. She was right. The two of you had a crush on the Black Widow. Natasha's body relaxed against the door frame as her neutral face turned into a light smile.

"You both, huh?" She questioned as her smile turned more into a smirk. This made the ever-growing feeling in your stomach flip and turn as Wanda squeezed your hand tighter. "Yes," Wanda spoke for the two of you.

"How long?" Natasha asked as her eyes danced from you to your girlfriend and back. "Since... always?" You said as Wanda nodded. "You're kind of impossible not to develop feelings for," Wanda replied, making Natasha laugh before she took a step closer.

"Well, it's a good thing I like to keep an open mind about these types of situations," Natasha said, confusing you slightly. "What type of situations?" You asked as Natasha turned around and kicked open her door wider as she walked into her room.

Wanda's green eyes and your own followed the figure of the redhead. Her back to you as she lifted up her shirt, revealing her black bra straps underneath. She then turned her head halfway towards you and your girlfriend. "These types... Now, are you two going to join me or not?"

Your girlfriend and you had waited for this moment, so it was no surprise when the door closed behind the two of you and locked in record speed due to Wanda's powers. Natasha smiled and loved it as the two of you continued to watch the show she put on. She smirked and kept her back to you both as she slowly unclipped her bra and unbuttoned her black jeans after kicking off her boots.

The sight of Natasha's creamy ass hidden beneath a pair of black boxers made you want to bite your fist. It was hot and slow and left you wanting more as she turned around to you two.

And that's when you saw it.

Your eyes went wide as Wanda's stomach officially blew up with butterflies. The bulge in Natasha's skin-tight boxers was astounding and, best of all... real.

You and Wanda had no idea.

Natasha who had been nervous and otherwise embarrassed with her reveal in the past could see the look in you and your girlfriends eyes and knew she had nothing to worry about.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Natasha smirked as you and Wanda stepped closer and closer. "That's not the word I would use," Wanda spoke shakily before she looked at you.

You swallowed and wasted no time. You slowly undressed and lifted your eyes to Natasha's green orbs. Wanda followed along as her sundress quickly slipped off and pooled around her feet.

A sight Natasha lightly gasped at as the only thing Wanda wore underneath was a pair of red cotton panties.

"I guess this is one more thing we have in common." You spoke to Natasha as she turned her eyes to you as you slipped off your black pants.

Now it was Natasha's turn for her eyes to go wide as she drank you and your sizable middle section. "Holy shit." She whispered into the room as you threw your shirt off and grabbed Wanda's hand.

All three of you standing in your underwear. Your eyes dance from one person to the other.

Natasha took the lead after a moment and closed the distance between you and Wanda. She dropped her hand to where you and Wanda held each other and grabbed it. "I have to say you two continue to surprise me." Natasha turned her head to the brunette. "Especially you, Wanda."

"Me?" Your girlfriend questioned, making Natasha nod as she led you to her king-sized bed.

Leave it to Natasha to never be at the compound but have a king-sized bed.

Natasha's legs hit the bed before she swung her legs around and started moving back toward her headboard. You and Wanda followed as you crawled onto the bed on your knees. "Well, I never would've thought that Sokovian girl in my red jacket would be up for such... activities."

Wanda blushed as she turned her head away. Natasha looks to you. "But now I see why." Natasha looks you up and down and moves her hands to brush along your sides as Wanda looks back at you both. You shiver and feel your body jolt at the contact. "Kiss me," Natasha speaks to you as her hands form a grip on your hips as she moves her legs out from under her.

"Do it."

You listen to Wanda's voice in your head, and Natasha commands and moves forward, crashing your lips into Natasha, making the older woman fall back with shock before she closes her eyes and savors the taste of you.

With hunger, your rushed kiss turns into a heated make-out session that leaves Wanda feeling more and more aroused as she watches your body fall into Natasha's. Wanda can't help but dart her green eyes down to see how you and Natasha have grown larger.

The feeling of desire darkens Wanda's eyes as a quiet moan escapes her lips—something Natsha's jewelry-covered ears pick up and makes her slow the taste of your tongue.

Natasha opens her eyes and slowly pushes you by your shoulders just a tad as she looks from Wanda back to you. Natasha can't help but smile at the look Wanda wears. "Now, now, we can't forget about a special someone," Natasha says to you, making you shake your head. "No, we can't." Your words come out almost breathless as you lift off Natasha, grab Wanda by her hand, and pull her close. "Come here, baby."

Wanda obeys and moves to the postion you were just in, pleasing you and Natasha.

"Oh, hi there, beautiful," Natasha says as Wanda looks down at the redhead. "Hi." Wanda shyly smiles and giggles before Natasha runs her hand through Wanda's hair and places her hand on the back of Wanda's skull. "Come here." Natasha softly whispers as she gently lowers Wanda onto her and kisses the witch's pink lips.

You watch from behind as the two move with slow passion. Dear lord, and just when you think the night couldn't get better, your eyes and hand start to trail down Wanda's backside past her scars and moles.

Down to her underwear, you find a growing wet spot and smile.

Wanda gasps into Natasha's lips as you start to pull down the red cotton panties. Natasha notices and moves her hand from Wanda's side and across her hips.

Wanda does her best to close her legs as Natasha touches her, but Natasha pushes them open and looks up to the brunette with a smile. "It's okay. Let us take care of you." Natasha lifts her left hand up to cup Wanda's face as her right-hand skims the top of Wanda's clit. "And then you can take care of me," Natasha smirks before her tongue enters Wanda's mouth.

The younger woman accepts it and moans into Natasha's mouth as she feels you shift on the bed, and Natasha's fingers circle her wet clit.

Your hands coming in contact with her bare ass moments later.

And then Wanda feels your naked thighs brush up against the backs of hers. "Oh, baby." You moan, making Wanda and Natasha stop to turn and look at you.

"Fuck look at that," Natasha says as you hold your penis lining it up to Wanda's entrance. Wanda closes her eyes and turns her head back to collapse her body onto Natasha.

Natasha smiles as she watches and feels Wanda's breath against her chest as you slowly push forward. Wanda whimpers and moans against Natasha's skin before the redhead lifts her face and kisses her.

"It feels so good." Wanda quietly says between the two of them. Natasha nods. "I know, baby." She replies by bringing her right hand back up to Wanda. Her middle and ring fingers glistened from Wanda's wetness. Natasha looks from her hand to Wanda's face and brings it to the brunette's lips.

Without being told, Wanda opens her mouth and closes it around the two fingers before she sucks and tastes herself.

"My, my Wanda, you are a good girl." Wanda moans around Natasha's fingers and shuts her eyes as you push deeper into her. The feeling of pleasure radiates off her body and onto Natasha, who smirks and loves the sight before her.

With a smile, Natasha slowly pulls her finger out of Wanda's mouth. Wanda's lips fall against the callous skin before flipping back up once Natasha leaves her.

Wanda opens her eyes again as Natasha runs her hand up Wanda's face to her head. "You're taking her so well, aren't you?" Natasha asks, making you smile. Wanda nods without any words escaping her mouth. "Do you think you can handle more?" Natasha asks Wanda, who nods again. "Yes."

Regardless of the answer, Natasha was going to push on Wanda's head. But the brunette started moving down willingly as her lips left a trail of hot kisses down Natasha's front exposed body until she reached the band of her black boxers.

Wanda was getting more and more lost in the lust of the situation as she touched Natasha, and you fucked her doggy style, making her start to act on desire.

Not that Natasha minded the watching and feeling Wanda's hot breath and tongue work up and down the outline of her cock against the fabric. The friction and the need for it to be released made Natasha squirm just a bit, but it was not enough to make Wanda drunk with power.

Because even she wanted to taste it and feel it slide down her throat.

So she gave in and let her hot hands pull down Natasha's boxers, exposing the redhead's cock to the cool air of the room. "O-oh my gosh, Natasha." Wanda practically moaned as you thrust into her. She looked up to her friend, who wore a smirk. "Go ahead." Natasha encouraged to which Wanda nodded and wasted no time licking her lips and taking the tip into her mouth as Wanda's hand wrapped itself around the base.

As Natasha fell back, your girlfriend's head began to bob up and down.

You didn't think anything else would be hotter.

And yet, when Natasha's hand pushed down onto Wanda's head, making her gag as Natasha smirked, you found true bliss.

You found it again as Natasha moaned and moaned due to the vibrations coming from Wanda's screams of pleasure on Natasha's cock as you gripped the brunette's hips and pounded into her.

And then again and again as you, Wanda, and Natasha explored each other and made each other feel loved, cared for, dirty, and like a bunch of sluts all night.

You cumming in Wanda never made Natasha feel so good.

But after that night, it wasn't just you and Wanda.

It was the three of you together.

It's a good thing Tasha had that king bed and that Baner, who you didn't know, swung both ways, was off-world.

What an idiot.

dividers by @/benkeibear

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geminiwritten · 5 months ago

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desperate measures ; bucky barnes

fandom: marvel

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: based on this song but a little more angsty than i had originally planned (the avengers are struggling to infiltrate an underground crime ring and decide that bucky should go undercover to seduce one of the kingpins' daughters, and you aren't happy about it)

notes: bucky is back, baby!!! but i fear i may have forgotten how to write him? i don't know, i had big plans and then feel like i really struggled toward the end, but i persevered! let me know what you think, please!!!

word count: 6329

The Avengers have protected the entire world against aliens, robots, and superhumans. They’ve defended continents and countries, defeating threats that should have been impossible to beat. So, you would think that taking down one of New York City’s biggest underground crime ring would be a piece of cake, right? Wrong.

It’s been four months since representatives of the Attorney General's office and the FBI’s Deputy Director came knocking, asking Earth’s Mightiest Heroes for help on a matter that would normally be handled by detectives. Steve and Tony were hesitant at first, but Natasha and Clint convinced them that with their espionage backgrounds, this would be an easy assignment for the team. Also, wrong.

Four months of reconnaissance, undercover work, and meeting after meeting with agents from the Bureau but still nothing. There are suspects, crimes, and witnesses, but the operation is so tightly run that no one on the outside has any information on how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“We need to get inside,” Clint says, resting his palms on the glass tabletop and shifting all of his weight forward. He is standing at the head of the table in front of the interactive display flashing through numerous headshots of mean-looking thugs.

“We know that much,” Steve sighs, sitting beside where Clint is standing. “What we don’t know is how.”

Everyone looks defeated and bored, because you’ve been having the same meeting every week for the last fifteen weeks with almost no new intel to discuss. After the first month, you started tuning out, instead using the two hours to daydream about the brunette super solider sitting across from you.

You’re not sure when you fell in love with Bucky Barnes, all you do know is that you are in love with him, but he doesn’t need to know that. Not that you’re at all subtle with the way your eyes trace his features, cheeks turning pink when he meets your gaze with a little smirk.

If you’re being completely honest, you’ve both been dancing around your feelings for each other for months. You’re constantly with each other, talking and giggling, working out together and finishing mission reports together; practically inseparable, but always being careful. You’re too scared to cross that line, because neither of you want to put that kind of pressure on the team or leave yourselves vulnerable to heartbreak.

Physical pain, you can do, but you’ve let yourself fall so hard and fast for this man, you can’t imagine surviving the impact when you hit the bottom, so you’ll just keep falling.

“I have an idea,” Nat says, standing abruptly and walking quickly around the table toward Clint. She uses her fingertips to enlarge one of the holographic images, the Petrov family portrait. “Sasha Petrov,” she points at the eldest daughter, “she’s a weak link, we can exploit that.”

You scan the stoic faces of the Russian family now on display. The Petrovs are allegedly one of the two ruling families of the crime syndicate, led by their patriarch, Alexander Petrov; a man the FBI would do anything to pin down.

“Holy shit,” Tony smacks both hands against the table, “Romanoff, you’re a genius.”

“Wait,” Steve frowns, “what am I missing?”

“Sources report that twenty-four-year-old Sasha Petrov is outgrowing her family's conservative lifestyle,” Nat reads from the tablet in her hands, “she has been photographed at various nightclubs and house parties, clearly unbothered about keeping a low profile.”

“So?” Steve asks, “What credibility does some tabloid article have?”

“Our sources are reporting the same behaviour,” Tony says. “She’s out almost every night, she’s been seen staying at friends’ houses, and missing events.”

“The Petrovs are one of New York City’s wealthiest families,” Nat explains, “for their eldest daughter to skip society events is a huge statement.”

“She’s rebelling,” Tony states.

Steve nods slowly, “So, she’s a liability, but how to we exploit that?”

Tony’s lips curl into a mischievous smile, “What is the number one act of rebellion that a daughter can do to piss off her father?”

“Date a guy he hates,” you reply before anyone else does.

“Exactly,” Tony turns toward you, “bonus points if you can tell me why daddy hates your new boyfriend.”

“He’s older, has long hair, only wears black, probably has a tattoo, and he rides a motorcycle,” you respond, sitting back in your chair with a proud smirk.

“Exactly!” Tony repeats louder.

It’s almost as if a lightbulb flashes above Steve’s head, but he doesn’t look nearly as pleased as Natasha and Tony. “Bucky,” Steve says, “Bucky is your idea?”

Nat nods, “Barnes is our weapon.”

Clint’s eyes grow wide, “Wait, you want to use Barnes to seduce the mobster heiress?”

Your heart sinks right down into your stomach, your gaze moving back over to the Petrov family portrait. The eldest daughter is tall and gorgeous, with long blonde hair, flawless fair skin, and honey-coloured eyes. Her lips are full and puckered, and all you can think about is those lips on Bucky.

“No,” you speak before you can think, quickly looking toward Steve for backup.

He nods once in agreeance, “Y/N’s right, I’m not sure Bucky can-”

“I can do it,” Bucky interrupts. He doesn’t look shocked or at all blinded-sided the way you know you do. He seems calm, leaning back in his seat with his left ankle resting on his right knee and his hands fidgeting with a pen in his lap.

Bile rises in your throat. He wants to do it? You know you haven’t exactly been forthcoming about your feelings for him, but you had yourself reasonably convinced that he felt the same way.

Sam chuckles, breaking the tension in the room, “You’re going to turn Barnes into a heartthrob?”

Bucky cracks a smile, “Just a bit of minor surgery.”

“Actually,” Nat says, “I think you’re already perfectly ready for this assignment.”

Tony holds up a finger, “Do you have a tattoo, and if not, are you willing to get one?”

“No one is getting any tattoos,” Steve interjects, “but if we are doing this – if we’re sending Bucky in solo – we need to plan it carefully.”

Your eyes dart back to the gorgeous blonde in the family portrait behind Nat, and you feel sick. You completely tune out of the conversation happening around you and sink back in your chair to focus on keeping your lunch down. Your mind races to come up with some brilliant excuse that could stop Bucky from doing this, but the only thing you can think to say is I love you, please don’t.

After barely a minute of listening to them discuss how to get the mobster’s daughter to fall in love with Bucky, you decide you can’t do it. You push your chair back and quickly leave the room, slipping out the door before anyone can protest your departure.

Once in the hallway, you slow your steps and let a couple of tears run down your cheeks. You feel stupid, of course, but you can’t help it. You know you shouldn’t be this emotional, Bucky will only be doing his job, but he’s supposed to be yours. You don’t want anyone else seeing him the way you see him or touching him the way you want to. If the plan works, this woman might genuinely fall for Bucky, and the idea of that makes you want to kick and scream.

“Y/N,” Tony’s voice echoes down the hall, startling you.

You keep your back to him as you hurriedly wipe your cheeks. His footsteps grow louder as he approaches, not saying anything until he’s right behind you. “You alright?” he asks.

You nod, turning to face him with your eyes cast downward, “Yeah, sorry, just-”

“Don’t bother,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “I’m not stupid, and neither is Barnes. I know you’re worried about whatever is going on between you two, but this is work, and it’s the closest we’ve gotten in four months. It might not be ideal to send one man in alone, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You finally look up at him and sniffle, “I know, I just don’t like it.”

He sighs and pulls you against his chest, hugging you tightly for a moment. “If you don’t like it,” he says before stepping back, “then stop crying and do something about it once this is all over.”

Your brow creases and you look up at him curiously, “Do what?”

He shrugs, “You’ll figure it out.”

You watch him walk back down the hallway and return to the meeting room, but you can’t find the will to force yourself to follow. Instead, you turn around and continue on your way back to your room.

Two hours pass before you hear signs of life filtering through the compound once again. You’ve since changed into your comfiest pair of sweatpants and curled up on one of the lounges by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the common area, book in hand.

Sam and Steve are the first to appear, still deep in discussion as they head into the kitchen and begin raiding the fridge. Clint, Nat, and Wanda are next, also seemingly unfinished with their conversation as they take up residence on the lounges in front of the television. Only Nat notices you curled up near the window, offering you a smile that says ‘we’ll talk later’.

You manage to tune out most of their voices and focus on your book, reading quickly to try and get to the part where the main characters finally get together. You’ve been stuck on romance novels lately, craving that which you lack in real life.

“Hey,” Bucky startles you, suddenly appearing beside you.

You smack your hand against your chest, “Jesus.”

“Nope,” he chuckles, “just me.”

You roll your eyes and curl your legs up further to make room on the lounge. He takes the offer and flops down, half of his right leg covering your toes, but you don’t mind. In fact, you like the physical contact, however small.

“What are you reading now?” he asks, snatching the book from your grasp before you can object.

Your cheeks begin burn immediately, heart racing as you watch his eyes scan the pages that you’d just been reading. The smile on his lips slowly fades as his eyebrows rise, blue eyes darting from side to side until he finishes two entire pages.

“So, this is why you’ve always got your nose in a book, hm?” he asks, his own cheeks now a pale shade of pink.

You take the book back and jam your bookmark between the pages where the lead male is jerking off to fantasies of what he wants to do to the lead female. “It’s not all porn,” you defend yourself weakly, deciding not to add that this is one of your more PG-rated novels.

“I’m not judging,” he says, “we’ve all got needs.”

You want to agree wholeheartedly and tell him that you need him, and more importantly, you need him to not agree to this stupid mission with the supermodel Russian heiress, but you can’t. Instead, you simply nod and tuck your book between your thighs.

He clears his throat, “Anyway, I just wanted to check that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you say, “just sick of those meetings.”

He frowns, “Are you sure?”

You open your mouth to lie again but hesitate, noticing the way his eyes dart toward your lips every few seconds. There’s nothing wrong with voicing your concerns about the assignment, right?

“I’m just not sure,” you finally say, “for a first effort, this feels kind of last ditch.”

“First effort?” he repeats with a chuckle. “This is far from our first effort, Doll.”

“I know,” you sigh, struggling to find the right words, “I guess it just feels a little drastic, sending you in alone. Couldn’t the FBI handle this?”

He rests his flesh hand on your knee, “I appreciate the concern, but I think I might be able handle this better than an FBI agent, and I speak Russian.”

The warmth of his touch and the fact that you can smell his coconut-scented shampoo is turning your brain to mush, and you struggle to remember your argument. All you want to do is throw your arms around his neck and beg him not to go.

He leans forward, “What are you really worried about?”

“You,” you reply, “I-I’m worried that you’re going in alone.”

He sighs and leans back, “You don’t need to worry about me, Doll, nothing is going to stop me from coming back to you.” He stands up from the lounge as he says, “I promise.”

You’re too shocked to speak, or even move, until he’s in the kitchen with Steve. You can feel your pulse in your ears, fast and loud as your heart pounds against your ribcage. Was he trying to get you to say something? Does he want you to cross that line?

You spend the rest of the afternoon finishing your book and then starting another. After a quick dinner with Natasha, you decide to have a bath and try to tame your thoughts, but it’s useless. All you can think about is Bucky, in fact, you ‘think about him’ twice while in the bath and end up getting out even more flustered than when you got in.

You lay on your bed in your towel for almost an hour, wondering whether you should go and confess your feelings to Bucky or just wait and let him do this assignment with a clear head. Nat told you at dinner that he will be going undercover for the first time tomorrow night, and that Clint and Tony are working overnight to prepare his fake identity in time.

Eventually, you decide that it’s too late and you shouldn’t bother him, so you put yourself to bed. You stare at the ceiling spiralling through thoughts for twenty minutes before picking your new book up again and by 3AM, you’ve finished it.

The night rolls into dawn, and you’re pretty sure you haven’t had more than thirty minutes of uninterrupted sleep. At 5AM, you decide that it isn’t too early to be making noise, so you change into your gym clothes and make your way downstairs. You work out for two hours before you see anyone else, and by then, you’re exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, standing in front of where you’re sitting on the blue foam floor mats.

You’re supposed to be stretching, but you’re fairly sure you were falling asleep right before she came in. “Yeah,” you mumble, “didn’t sleep much.”

“I can tell.” She sits beside you, “Are you really that worried?”

You sigh, “I don’t know.”

She places her towel and water bottle on the floor beside yours before sitting down opposite you, legs crossed. “You don’t know if you’re worried, or you don’t know what you’re worried about?”

“The second one,” you mutter.

She nods slowly, allowing a moment of silence before asking, “You don’t really think he’s going to fall in love with this woman, do you?”

You sigh and rub your tired eyes, “No, I don’t think so. I know he’s not stupid.”

“And you know he’s in love with you,” she states.

“Is he?”

She rolls her eyes as she uncrosses her legs, stretching them out either side and leaning forward slightly. “Don’t be dumb, you know he is.”

“Then why hasn’t he done anything about it?”

“It’s Bucky,” she says, as if the answer is obvious.

“So?”

“So, you need to make the move, because he’s being as forward as he knows how, but he hasn’t done this kind of thing in over seventy years.”

You frown at her, not because you’re confused, but because you’re annoyed that she’s right. Maybe you haven’t both been ‘dancing around’ your feelings, maybe Bucky has actually been trying to make a move but you’re the one keeping it friendly.

“But please wait until after we’ve put Petrov and his buddies behind bars,” she adds, “because we need Barnes to be focused.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, “How do we even know that this woman is going to fall for him?”

“Based on her previous relationships and assuming Barnes does everything I tell him to do, we shouldn’t have a problem,” Nat replies as she pushes up from the ground. She offers you a hand, “Now, please go get some sleep so you’re not crying your eyes out when we send him into the lion’s den tonight.”

You take Nat’s hand and collect your things before sluggishly making your way back to your room. After a quick shower, you fall into bed and out of consciousness in less than a minute, dreaming of nothing but that darn brunette super soldier.

Funnily enough, the name of the exclusive nightclub Bucky will be meeting Sasha Petrov in is called the Lion’s Den. It’s just south of Manhattan, somehow hidden from the busy streets and can only be found if you know exactly where to look for the entrance.

The whole team is working tonight. Wanda and Sam will be going into the club with Bucky so he doesn’t look like a complete loner, and as emergency backup in case anything should go wrong. Clint is the eye in the sky and Nat is patrolling the streets, looking out for anything suspicious since crime seems to follow the Petrov family around. That leaves you, Steve, and Tony set up in a nearby office building with all the surveillance technology to watch from afar.

“I just need to send word to the Deputy Director before you go in,” Tony says over the comms.

He has his tech set up at one of the desks closest to the window on the fourth floor of the office building. The FBI had assisted with securing this vantage point, shutting down the whole building for ‘overnight maintenance’ just in case any sad nine-to-fivers decided to sleep in their offices.

“We’ll take a little detour,” Sam says, his voice right in your ear even though you know he’s over a block away.

You’d all separated about two miles away from the club, taking different routes and transports to get to your respective posts. Bucky, Sam, and Wanda had decided to walk, giving the rest of you enough time to set up and be in position for whatever might happen when Bucky enters the club. He has very strict instructions from Natasha on how to approach Sasha. Apparently, they’d be practicing all day while you had been sleeping.

“How long until you’re at the door?” Nat’s voice comes through your comms.

“Eight minutes,” Wanda replies.

“Bucky, you good?” Nat asks.

“I’m good,” he says, the sound of his voice making your chest ache.

You can’t stop wringing your hands as you look out the huge window to the street below. There aren’t many people walking by, but the few that you do spot all seem to be heading in the same direction; the Lion’s Den.

The sound of your pounding heart thrums in your ears, drowning out the conversation between Bucky and Natasha as they recap everything that she’s told him to do. You're not sure you’ve ever felt this nervous in your life, but you’re not entirely sure what for. Nothing bad has happened yet, and Bucky is fully capable of defending himself if something does go wrong.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice breaks through the white noise that your anxious brain was creating, “are you okay?”

You turn to face him, “Yeah, sorry, I-”

“You’re really pale,” he says, pressing his hand to your forehead, “have you eaten today?”

“Not really.”

Steve glances back at Tony, who is worrying at his bottom lip as holds his phone to his ear, no doubt waiting for the Deputy Director to answer.

“I told you to stay behind,” Nat states.

You frown, even though she’s almost half a mile away right now, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N?” Bucky says.

Your heart leaps in your chest, “Yeah?”

“It’s going to be okay,” he pauses, and you try to calm your breathing, “I’m going to be okay.”

Tony snorts and pretends to gag before turning back to his computers and sitting in one of the empty desk chairs, obviously no longer worried.

“I just-” you hesitate, “I can’t let this-” you huff and pull your comm out of your ear, “I can’t let this go.”

You take off running through the open plan office area until you reach the door to the stairwell, shoving it open and leaping down the stairs as many at a time as you can manage. Once you reach the bottom landing, you pull your phone out of your back pocket and hang up on the incoming call from Steve before opening the tracking app that Tony installed on everyone’s phones. It isn’t always active, only during missions.

Bucky’s location pings a quarter mile down the street. You exit the building and turn in his direction before taking off in a sprint, your lungs burning with every breath. It only takes a minute until you can see the three of them up ahead, on the opposite side of the street, and it only takes about ten seconds for them to notice you. They all stop, probably trying to figure out if you’re a threat or not, but after another few seconds, Bucky recognises you.

Your energy wanes and your pace slows to a jog. You look behind you to check the traffic before crossing the road, but when you turn to check the traffic up ahead, Bucky is already right in front of you.

You practically crash into him, but his hands catch your waist and hold you still, “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” you pant, struggling to catch your breath, “I can’t let this go.”

He isn’t angry, but you can’t quite place the expression despite how close you are to him, your body pressed against his. “Can’t let what go?”

You take a deep breath to try and appease your burning lungs, “I got you right where I want you, and-” you take another breath, “I’ve been pushing for this for so long.”

His brow furrows, “What are you talking about? Are you okay?”

Your chest finally stops aching, and you look up at him through your lashes, “Kiss me, just once, for luck.”

His frown disappears, and you worry for a moment that you shouldn’t have crossed that line, but then his hands move to cup your jaw and he closes the distance between your lips. Your hands find purchase on the nearest part of him, fisting the hem of his shirt as one of his hands slides down your neck, his thumb tracing your throat. You part your lips and he sighs, pressing his body impossibly closer to yours.

He tastes like spearmint and cold air, and his lips are so soft that you have to wonder if you’re dreaming, but then he startles and pulls back. Panic washes through you as you watch his face, his eyes no longer on you but cast across the street at Sam and Wanda.

“I’m sorry, Doll,” he says, before placing another quick kiss on your lips, “I have to go.”

Without the warmth of his body, the night air is biting. You instinctively wrap your arms around yourself and turn back the way you came, your mind racing. Did you just fuck everything up? Surely not. Bucky is still going in, and it’s not like one little kiss is going to completely derail this mission. Right?

It takes you a lot longer to get back to the office building than it did for you to leave, but thankfully, Bucky is already inside the club and Steve and Tony are too focused to berate you.

You sit in one of the spare desk chairs and watch over Tony’s shoulder, refusing to put your comm back in. You don’t want to hear what’s happening, you want to remain in blissful ignorance instead of listening to the man you’re in love with chat up some mobster’s supermodel daughter. Bucky can be incredibly charming when he needs to be, and according to Steve, he was a major ladies’ man back in the day.

After an hour or so, you slide your chair over to a spare desk and lay your head down. You feel useless and a little stupid, but mostly, just tired. You know the team are annoyed at you and just waiting until tomorrow to reprimand you, but technically, it’s their fault that you did that. They pushed you toward desperate measures.

The next thing you know, someone is gently shaking your shoulder and interrupting your dreams of Bucky. The images of him standing over you while you wait on your knees for him to finish in your mouth quickly fades, and you open your bleary eyes to see Steve.

“Hey,” he whispers, “time to go.”

You sit up slowly, “What happened?”

Something about his expression is off, and you wonder why he’s being so gentle as he wraps an arm around to help you stand. It’s almost as if you’re a child and he’s trying not to wake you for the fear that you might not go back to sleep.

“Steve,” you say, pulling away from him and standing on your own, “what happened?”

He takes a deep breath and steps back, “Bucky did really well, that’s all. Nothing happened.”

“Yet,” Tony adds.

You frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t baby her, Steve,” Tony says before turning his attention to you, “Barnes took Sasha home.”

They both watch you carefully, waiting for the explosion, but you know you’ve already given them enough to deal with today, so you muster every ounce of your self-control to stay calm.

You swallow thickly, “Okay. Let’s go.”

You pick up one of the cases by Tony’s feet and continue walking toward the stairwell. As soon as you begin descending the stairs, tears start to fall down your cheeks. You try to focus on your feet through your blurry vision, making sure you don’t trip until you reach the bottom landing.

Natasha pulls up with the car and Clint jumps out to help load the trunk. You climb into the back, buckle your seatbelt, and press your head against the cold window. The car rocks as the others climb in, and normally you would love to make fun of Steve and Tony squished in the back with you, but not tonight.

The drive home is long and awkward. Wanda calls in and Nat answers via the Bluetooth, immediately informing her that you’re in the car so that she doesn’t go into too much detail. However, she does let you all know that it went better than expected and Barnes will report back in the morning. He’s taken Sasha to the apartment that Tony set up as a part of the fake identity.

If you’re being honest, you hadn’t even thought about this part. You knew he would flirt and touch her, and they would probably kiss, but you completely forgot about sex. How? You have no idea, especially considering that every time you close your eyes, you’re picturing him naked.

You feel sick and you know you won’t sleep tonight, but most of all, you feel like an idiot. You almost jeopardised the entire mission just because of your feelings. You want to apologise to the team and tell them you’ll never do it again, but you can’t stop crying and you can’t make that promise right now.

When you finally get home, you start dragging your feet toward your room, but Natasha stops you. “Hey,” she tugs on your hand, “want to watch a movie?”

You frown, “It’s really late.”

She shrugs, “I’m not tired.”

After a quick shower, you change into your pyjamas and meet Nat in the living area. She is already curled up on the couch under a fluffy blanket, flicking through Netflix, so you join her silently and rest your head on her shoulder. She doesn’t ask what you want to watch, she just picks a random comedy from the late 90s and snuggles up beside you.

Your whole body is tired, but your mind won’t stop racing. You can’t stop picturing him with her, wondering what they’re doing right now, and regretting what you did right before he walked into that club. Obviously, it hadn’t meant as much to him as it did to you, because you know you couldn’t possibly have gone off to sleep with someone else after that, but you have to keep telling yourself that it’s a good thing. He’s doing what he needs to do to finish the mission, it doesn’t matter how sick it makes you feel. He’s doing his job.

An hour passes but your nausea doesn’t ease, nor do you feel at all like you might fall asleep. Nat is still awake too, and you know it’s not because she isn’t tired but because she’s worried about you. When the first movie finishes, she stretches her legs out and declares that she’s going to make a coffee, so you too unfold your legs and shuffle into the kitchen with her.

“Is Tony going to be mad?” you ask, your voice thick from crying.

Nat sighs, “I don’t know. I think it depends on what Bucky reports in the morning.”

Your stomach swirls angrily, threatening to eject whatever is left of the small amount of food that you ate almost eight hours ago.

Nat finishes making her coffee and holds it in both hands, watching you with worried eyes as fresh tears streak down your cheeks. She opens her mouth to speak again but the sound of heavy footsteps interrupts her. Both of your heads turn quickly toward the door, and for a second, you think you might be hallucinating.

“Bucky?” Nat says, confirming she can see him too. You’re not that crazy.

He doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t even flinch. His eyes are locked on you, his breaths coming and going quickly as if he ran all the way from the city. The only thing you can feel is your heartbeat, radiating through your whole body like a drum beat, pounding in your ears.

“Okay,” Nat says slowly, “I’m going to go, but- uh,” she looks toward you, “forget what I said before, Tony might be mad.” She puts her half-drunk coffee in the sink and moves quickly out the door.

Silence blankets the room, save for Bucky’s laboured breathing. He still looks gorgeous, despite his dishevelled clothing and flushed skin. His hair is out, though you distinctly remember it being tied back before the club, and there’s a smudge of pink lipstick on his shirt collar.

“What happened?” you ask, though you’re not sure you really want to know.

He doesn’t respond, he simply takes four long strides to reach you and cups your jaw before pressing his lips against yours. You don’t react at first, partly from shock and partly because he doesn’t taste the same, but when his hand slides down your throat the way it had before, you kiss him back.

He takes half a step closer, pressing your bodies together as his tongue slides past your lips. You sigh and lean into him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his pants to pull him closer. He shivers at your touch, instinctively arching his hips toward you and tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.

When he pulls back for a breath, he murmurs against your mouth, “Couldn’t do it.”

You push up onto your toes to kiss him again, to which he enthusiastically obliges. His hands wrap gently around the base of your neck and his fingers tangle in the hair at your nape, tugging softly as your tongue laps at his.

This time, you break away for air, “What do you mean?”

He sighs and relaxes completely, his body no longer pressed against yours but still close. His hands find yours and gently pull them out of his pants, though it seems to take a lot of self-control for him to do so.

“I thought I could do it,” he says, “because it’s work, and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

You drop your gaze to the collar of his shirt, the smudge of pink lipstick.

“She was-” he struggles to find the right words, “well, she was really into it, but I couldn’t even kiss her.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, trying not to appear satisfied about the fact that you practically ruined the whole assignment.

“She didn’t seem to care, though,” he adds, “and it wasn’t hard to get her to come home with me.” You drop your gaze again and try to pull your hands out of his grasp, but his grip tightens and he tugs you closer again. “I could barely look at her, let alone touch her.”

He crooks a finger beneath your chin and tilts your head back up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “So, to answer your question,” he says, leaning toward you, “nothing happened.”

He closes the distance and kisses you again. Your mind goes blank, clean of any thoughts or worry, completely consumed by the way his lips feel against yours and the way his hands are moving down your body.

Your heart throbs, threatening to burst as you whisper against his lips, “I love you.”

You can feel his mouth curl into a grin, feeling more teeth than lips against your kisses. His hands brace themselves against your back, one splayed between your shoulder blades and the other on your lower back, holding your body against his.

“I am yours,” he mutters, “my body, my heart, all of it... yours.”

You can’t help but giggle, happiness creeping through your body for the first time in twenty-four hours. You feel high, as if Bucky is a drug and if you ever have to be away from him again, the withdrawals might kill you.

He gives you another quick kiss before taking a step back and shedding his jacket. He dumps it on the counter and looks back at you, “There are a lot of things I want to do with you right now, but I am way too tired to do them properly right now.”

Your stomach does a little anticipatory somersault, but you too are finally feeling the ache of exhaustion and need for sleep. You take one of his hands in yours and drag him toward the lounge where you and Nat had been laying. You pick the blanket up, sit down, pull him down beside you, and throw the blanket over both of you. He quickly kicks his boots off and shuffles around until he is lying beneath you. With your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you fall asleep in mere seconds.

The sound of whispered chatter wakes you up, and you blink blearily against the bright morning sun as you try to sit up. Bucky is still asleep, but over the back of the couch you can see your other teammates gossiping in the kitchen.

Natasha notices you first, “Good morning, Sunshine.”

You carefully push yourself up and rub your eyes, mumbling, “Morning.”

"Did you two fuck on my lounge?” Tony asks bluntly, pausing in the middle of the kitchen with the coffee pot in one hand and a mug in the other.

You frown, “No.”

“Good,” he says, beginning to pour the coffee into his mug, “so, all you did was ruin our one shot at real insider intel.”

A pebble of guilt sinks to the bottom of your stomach, weighing it down despite the butterflies still dancing around about the fact that Bucky is finally yours.

“Calm down, Stark,” Bucky grumbles, his voice thick with sleep and his eyes barely open. He sits up slowly and looks up at you, a little smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

“Oh, excellent,” Tony walks halfway toward the living room, “you’re both awake so I can yell at you both for-”

“I took her phone,” Bucky interrupts, gesturing at his jacket on the kitchen counter, “it’s in the pocket. You better be quick though, because she’ll probably realise pretty soon.”

Tony’s eyes grow wide, “What? How did you-”

“She was really drunk,” Bucky shrugs, “I convinced one of the bartenders at the club to come home with us and then I snuck away when the two of them were preoccupied.”

“Oh, my God,” Nat says, a wide grin plastered across her face, “Barnes, you’re a genius.”

“That’s why you were flirting with the bartender,” Sam chuckles, “man, I thought he was more into you than her.”

Tony hurries back to the kitchen bench and plonks his mug down with a slosh before rifling through Bucky’s jacket. He finds the phone quickly and beckons Steve with him as he disappears out the doors. Wanda and Sam begin regaling Nat with stories about last night and Bucky turns his attention back to you.

“Good morning,” he says, offering you his hand and yawning widely.

You can’t help but yawn too, taking his hand and allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head in the crook, enjoying the smell of his cologne mixed with sleep and warmth. He kisses your head, and you move to kiss his neck before spotting the pink lipstick stain and pulling back.

“How about a shower?” you ask. “Then we can burn this shirt.”

He frowns, and you stretch the material out just enough for him to peer down and see the mark. “Oh,” he chuckles, “alright, but it’s only fair if we both take our clothes off.”

You press your lips against his, mumbling, “Deal.”

END.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #one shot #imagine #bucky barnes one shot #the avengers #captain america #bucky x reader #fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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yourbustedkneecaps · 22 days ago

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At some point Peter gets her direct number and is absolutely baffled bc they don’t really know each other.

“Call me if you need anything,” is all Nat says with this oddly piercing yet deeply emotional glint in her eyes, then leaves.

Peter accidentally sends her a cat meme that was meant to go to Ned at 3AM and she sends a <3 and a meme back.

Tony, upon letting Nat back into his life threatened/promised that should she so much as think about Peter wrong, he would ‘turn her corpse inside out’.

Agreed readily and they never spoke about it again, especially since Nat respects it and wholeheartedly had said the same exact thing more than once herself. The only people still living that have heard her utter those words are Nick and Clint, and she wasn’t talking to them at the time.

#natasha romanoff is not a robot she’s just hella in control #she’s a gooey sweetheart all around she just has to feel safe enough to act like it around people she trusts #peter learns this *very quickly* and is still super intimidated by her (she’s like Aunt May slightly to the left and ridiculously badass)#and tries to be nice to her even tho more often than not he feels like he’s about to shit himself in her presence #he gets better with time lol

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idkwhatever580 · 1 year ago

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I’ll cut your f****** balls off!

Masterlist

Pairings: Natasha romanoff x reader

Prompt: y/n gets mad when Bruce “accidentally” ends up with his face in Natasha’s boobs 🤨

Warnings: cursing, Bruce slander, jealousy, boobies, fight scene, y/n is more than a bit angry, soft/sensitive y/n at the end

A/N: I legit wish I was him. But I was a little too nice to him in Are you mad? So I decided to throw out some hate. Not proofread 😬

——————————————

Y/n’s pov

I am watching Natasha pour herself a drink from the couch I’m sitting at with a smile on my face. When I see Bruce creep up to the bar to talk to Natasha.

I squint my eyes at his awkward stance and decide that there’s no harm in listening in on their conversation. So I perk up on my super hearing and zone into their words.

“How’d a nice girl like you end up working at a dump like this?”

“Fella done me wrong”

I furrow my eyebrows at Natasha’s words. I know she doesn’t really know how to handle situations like this other than flirting since she was trained to do that, but it still makes me feel uneasy since we’ve been dating for a while now. I also didn’t think I did anything wrong.

“Got a lousy taste in men kid”

“They’re not so bad”

I hope she’s just joking, but what did I do to wrong her if she’s not? Also why is she not correcting him on my pronouns if she’s talking about me?

“Well they have a temper, deep down they’re all fluff. The fact is they’re not like anybody I’ve ever known.”

A look of confusion falls upon my face when I hear this. I can’t tell if she’s talking about me or Bruce. I want to assume it’s me but the way they’re ogling each other makes me doubt myself. I keep looking at the ground.

They talk a bit more and I keep listening.

“They sound amazing”

“They’re also a huge dork.”

I haven’t actually given them many looks during their conversation in fear that they’ll see me. But I look over at this point and I tilt my head. Then she adds.

“Chicks dig that”

And I’m angry.

Is she really talking about him? Maybe she’s trying to be nice and still doesn’t know how to. Maybe she doesn’t realize she’s flirting hardcore.

I snap out of my thoughts and they are still talking

“Did he- were they- what did they do that was so… wrong to you?”

“Not a damn thing… but never say never”

I huff at her words and I watch as she walks over to me and sits down. She looks at me and I fix my face before she can tell I’m mad.

I’m gonna brush it aside and see if she tells me anything.

“What were you and Bruce talking about?”

I say with the most composed voice I can. She smiles and says

“I was talking about you. I don’t think he knows about us”

She smiles and I smile back and say

“Really? We’ve been dating for what? Six months now? And most everybody has found out.”

She shrugs her shoulders and says

“I think he was thinking of Cho when I was talking. I was like “chicks dig dorks” and he is a dork and I’m sure Cho likes him.”

I take a steady breath and nod my head. I grab Natasha’s drink and take a sip of it

“Hey! that’s mine!”

I give it back and say

“Sorry. I wanted to try it.”

It’s getting to the end of the party everyone is gone except the rest of the avengers and a stray drunk man that probably had some of Thor’s asgardian liquor.

The boys are trying to lift Thor’s hammer and Natasha has moved to my side. I look down at my dress and smooth out some of the wrinkles.

When suddenly this beat up robot comes out and starts talking all this crap. Everyone is on edge and suddenly he says he’s on a mission

“Peace in our time”

And then a bunch of Tony’s robots come flying out. Everyone scatters and I run behind the bar to grab the gun from it when Natasha jumps over and lands on her back

“Nat”

I try to go to her but then Bruce ends up on the bar.

Dumbass

Natasha pulls him off of the bar and he lands right on top of her.

His face is in her boobs and the impact makes Nat let out a loud choked groan. I narrow my eyes at him as he apologizes and she says

“Don’t turn green”

He says

“I won’t” and I grab one of the guns and she grabs the other.

She starts shooting and I wait and she looks at me and I nod my head towards the stairs and she tells Bruce to come with her.

I stay at the bar and wait for an opening to hit the robot.

I shoot it a couple times but this fucking gun doesn’t have as many rounds as Nat’s. So I wait a second and yell at cap to throw my his shield.

He throws it and I grab it doing a spin maneuver and throw it right at the robot slicing it clean in half.

This Ultron dude keeps yapping on and on about peace and whatever until Thor throws his hammer.

I don’t care right now. I am seething with how Bruce thinks he can do that to my girl.

Everyone tries to collect themselves making sure nobody is hurt but I march over to Bruce and Natasha and I start yelling

“You fucking cunt!”

Natasha gets in between us before I can hit him and she says

“Woah woah woah hold on babe what’s going on”

But I ignore her

“You think you can have her?! She’s mine you bitch!”

Everyone is worried about how I’m being kinda crazy so they circle around us and make sure I can’t get to Bruce. And he says

“Did you not just see what happened?! And you’re worried about me liking her?”

I huff and say

“I don’t give a fuck what just happened! You know what just happened?! You shoved your face in my girls tits! That’s what happened!”

He is actually scared of me and Tony is behind him saying

“Don’t turn green please”

For once he keeps his composure and says

“I didn’t mean to! She was pulling me down from getting shot!”

I get angrier and say

“So you’re gonna say it’s an accident? Don’t act like I didn’t hear your conversation earlier! I heard how you want her! If you ever touch her again I’ll cut your fucking balls off! You hear me?!”

Natasha ends up picking me up and carrying me to our room. She tells Tony

“I gotta get her away from him. When she’s calm we’ll come back to help. Just worry about ultron and Bruce.”

He nods his head as they all disperse. Natasha carries me to our room and then plops me down on the ground and says

“What the fuck y/n?! What the hell was that?!”

I look at the ground while my breathing is a bit erratic. I don’t say anything as I avoid eye contact with her.

She realizes I’m shutting down and to combat that she brings me over to the bed and makes me sit down. I look at my hands that are now in my lap and she sits down on my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.

As she plays with my hair she says

“Baby, can you please tell me what’s going on? Why are you so worked up over Bruce?”

I huff and say

“I heard what you said! You were totally talking about him and then he went and shoved his face in your boobs. That’s only my thing to do.”

She sighs and keeps asking knowing there’s more to it.

“Baby, what else?”

I stay silent for a bit and she squeezes my shoulder in reassurance and I crack. I immediately start crying and saying

“Please don’t leave me I love you. I don’t want you to leave me. Please don’t go! I love you!”

She pulls me in and rubs my back. Then she maneuvers us so that I am now straddling her lap.

Usually I act all tough when we’re around others but I am a baby around Natasha. She just brings the soft side out in me.

She rubs my back and shushes my crying and says

“Oh baby, I’m not leaving you. I love you too.”

My sons turn into more silent tears and she pulls me away from her neck. I whine a bit but she clicks her tongue and I quiet up. She makes me look into her eyes and says

“Listen to me okay?”

I nod my head and sniffle

“I am not leaving you for Bruce. I am not leaving you for anyone. I love you so so much and I don’t ever want to leave you okay?”

I nod my head and she continues

“Now that I’ve said that, I want to say that I was not talking about Bruce when I was talking to him. He had come up to me and said how he feels like he can’t talk to girls. He likes Cho, and he asked if he could practice being smooth or whatever with me. So I said yes not knowing you were being hurt by that. If I knew you’d be hurt I would have never done it.”

She pauses and I nod my head so she continues

“So yes I was flirting with him but it was fake and he was just trying to be cool for Cho okay?”

I look down and nod my head then she lifts my head back up by my chin and says

“I’m so sorry. I can see how that got mistranslated from across the room. Will you please forgive me?”

I nod my head and say

“I was never mad at you.”

She smiles and kisses my pout into a smile and when she pulls away I whine a bit in protest. I try to get another kiss but she says

“None of that detka. We have a big matter to handle then we can make out at much as you want okay?”

I nod my head and get up to go downstairs but she grabs my wrist and says

“Let’s get changed”

So she changes into a tank top and shorts and I change into a baggy shirt and shorts. Then Natasha says

“When we go downstairs, you’re gonna apologize to Bruce and then we’re gonna figure this ultron stuff out okay?”

I roll my eyes and nod my head but Natasha doesn’t like when I roll my eyes so she smacks my butt a bit and says

“Don’t roll your eyes at me”

I look down and say

“Sorry. I’ll apologize to Bruce”

She smiles and gives me a peck on the cheek.

We head downstairs and I go into the lab.

“Hey, um Bruce?”

He looks up and immediately is scared and he backs away, so u throw my hands up in surrender and say

“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I let jealousy overtake me and I got a little scared that Natasha and you liked each other. I didn’t know you like Cho. So I just wanted to apologize and say I’m not gonna cut your balls off”

He chuckles and says

“Uh it’s okay. Thanks for not murdering me”

He scratches the back of his head and I nod and go to leave but I pause and say

“You and Cho would go good together. I also think she likes you back so you should go for her after all this is over.”

He smiles and thanks me and I leave.

I walk into the hallway and Natasha is waiting for me there. I go to her and hug her but instead of a normal hug I shove my face in her boobs.

She laughs at my possessiveness and says

“You good there?”

I nod my head and say

“Mine”

But it is muffled since, of course, my face is literally in her boobs. And she chuckles and pats my head softly before rubbing it and says

“Yes. All yours.”

Once I am satisfied we go into our office and start working to figure out the ultron shit.

I look over at Natasha and say

“I’ll still cut his balls of if he touches you wrong again, or anyone’s for that matter”

She laughs and pats my head before saying

“I’m sure you will baby. I’m sure you will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I didn’t want to make Bruce the real bad guy. Oh no 😥 I’m going soft. A few years ago I would have never been nice about him. I hope you liked it!

#avengers #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #fanfiction

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urween · 5 months ago

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Skittish | Bucky Barnes x ftm!reader | english version

summary: After a long battle and especially hard research, the Avengers finally found the Winter Soldier. To keep everyone safe, they keep him locked in their HQ. In semi-freedom but especially in a trance, Bucky Barnes attracts the attention of the young boy in charge of taking care of him during his stay here.

notes: I prefer to specify it, the temporality is not exactly respected. Let's say that all this takes place just after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

⚠︎ warnings: mentions of heavy trauma related to the war and the Hydra projects, a form of depressed!Bucky, violence, weapons, incomprehension of transidentity without transphobia, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

English isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes <3

- 2nd person description

- 5 371 words

french version here

You were the little protégé of the group, he had quickly noticed. Even if Natasha didn't have superpowers or a robotic suit either, she was part of the team. She and Clint were kind of the superhumans of the group, with superhuman abilities but nothing that surpassed Thor's lightning or Hulk's muscles. Then, there was you, a fairly normal little human with no particular specificities. High intelligence, extreme kindness and an adorable smile. But no mastery of martial arts. You knew the basics of fighting, Nat had taught you the main thing. You had ended up understanding Bruce's extravagant chemical formulas, and you understood the most important things Tony said in his intense nerd phases. But once again, you were nothing special, and that made Bucky wonder. Why was a basic human here? What were you doing in the middle of the Avengers? Even though he had missed a few decisive years from a social point of view, he didn't understand.

As he stared from his cell, he saw scenes he didn't know how to interpret. You assisting Tony Stark and Jarvis, you laughing with Bruce Banner, you helping Natasha Romanoff train, you carrying Steve Rogers' shield to him, you sorting Clint Barton's arrows, you redoing Thor's braids.

What were you doing there?

You had cheerfully introduced yourself to him. With a friendly smile on your lips, you had stated your name, first name and pronouns – he hadn't really understood this last point –. You had surely been informed of his situation. Don't be offended, he'll need a little time, someone must have whispered to you. He hadn't answered you, and you hadn't seemed offended. You had then left, and he had remained perplexed. If you already knew everything about him, why come and introduce yourself? You must have read his files, you must have all read his files. Steve had to slip away to get some air, Natasha inspected everything in detail, Bruce muttered "it’s awful". You had to read his files. See his life laid out on a large table, foreign hands going over the medical reports. You had to read with anguish the endless list of victims he had killed during his missions, observe the modifications that had been made to him, the treatments inflicted, the pains endured. You had seen all that. Then, why come see him?

"Let's just say I don't really like you hanging around this guy," Tony's voice had been saying for several minutes, "Jarvis copy this plan for me and make a 3D reconstruction with train stations, airports and all the stuff."

The holograms moved before your eyes, but you hadn't paid attention to them. Back then, the first time you saw this virtual world being modeled in Tony's office, you were like a kid. Stars in your eyes, you asked a thousand questions per second, making the creator of this program smile. But now you knew yourself how most of the "Jarvis" system worked, and you weren't so impressed anymore, or at least you weren't with every move Stark made.

"I don't see what's bothering you," you replied, innocently swinging your legs in the air.

Tony turned around with his ever-so-dramatic gestures, making a vague movement with his hand he tried to make you understand things without having to speak. Unfortunately for him telekinesis was not part of your abilities.

"Okay," he admitted to himself, defeated, "to start with his sophisticated robotic arm that could crush you before you could scream," he mimed disinterestedly, “did you look at him? Unstable and completely high."

A non-hidden smile drew a curve across your lips.

"We're still talking about Bucky Barnes?” you had fun, “because I rather have the impression that you're looking at yourself in a mirror"

You glanced at Jarvis, who was finishing your friend's request. Then, your attention went back to the billionaire who was visibly desperate to have this discussion with you – you were getting used to it, a demonstration of love coming from Tony –.

"I prefer to cut you off right now," your voice continued, "I forbid you to give me the traditional excuses like he's dangerous or armed or he's a murderer”. You got down from the table where you were sitting and gestured around the room, “look around Tony, only weapons or future weapons,” you got closer to him and pointed at his forehead, “you have the greatest weapon that humanity has ever known in this skull. Natasha and Clint are professional killers, Steve is a traumatized soldier who makes a denial, Thor is an alien with supernatural powers and Bruce is a scientist haunted by a destructive alter-ego”. You pause to admire the still indecipherable facial expression of the man in front of you, “you are all murderers and dangers to Mankind, the only difference between you and Barnes is that you chose to devote your talents to a cause, and he had no choice".

Tony remained motionless for a few long seconds, a whirlwind surely vibrating his neurons. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and quickly bowed his head in defeat.

"You're right," he declared, "I’ve no more arguments and yours are solid”, he turned and went back to Jarvis, “well done kid"

A year ago you would have been perplexed by this reaction, but time had taught you that you had to take Tony Stark with a grain of salt and observe him as you would with a foreign mushroom. All you could remember from this interaction was that you were tired, that you had won against the great megalomaniac Iron Man and above all that you had to talk to Barnes again.

No one had really agreed with Steve on the idea of bringing a Hydra mercenary back to Avengers HQ. It's the equivalent of serving him our secrets on a silver platter, Clint had rightly said. You had been surprised to see Nat defend Barnes, alongside you and Steve – of course –. There was Bruce who couldn't deliver a distinct judgment, then Tony and Clint who were against. Thor having left, you didn't know where in space, the votes had therefore been closed with a majority of for.

You had helped Captain set up a room that was at least habitable in a protective cell, a bit like the one that had sheltered Loki. While the tall blond carried the fold-out bed, you had taken care of a bag of clothes – approximately Barnes' size – and another with water and sweets, this idea had come from you. You found it unfair to call this man a simple murderer, he had been manipulated and controlled. As you put the cereal bars on a small iron table, you tried not to think about the chaos that must be going on in the Winter Soldier's head at the same time. He must have been just as traumatized as his victims, maybe even more so. And finding himself in such a particular environment overnight must have been disturbing. So a chocolate bar and a soda couldn't hurt him.

Thank you, Steve had murmured, for understanding. You had given him a touching smile, holding back the urge to ask him how he felt. He had just found his best friend, who was supposed to have disappeared for several decades, and on top of that, this friend had suffered inhumane treatment for most of his life now. It was obvious that he didn't feel well, that he was helpless in the face of this situation. Bruce had advised you to give him time, and that if he needed it, he would end up talking to one of you. You had listened to his advice, and focused more on Barnes instead.

You had introduced yourself first, starting with a simple acquaintance. You had then made sure to take care of his needs, slipping in a new bottle of fresh water when the previous one was empty, opening his prison only when night fell so that he could go shower without running into a contemptuous Tony or a depressed Steve.

On this subject, rules had been established to guarantee everyone's safety. If Bucky left his cell it was always in the company of one of you – you were the only ones with the passes –, if he asked for something – which he never did – the object had to pass through several control portals before being given to him, and finally no matter where he went, toilets or showers, someone had to watch over him within the limits of privacy. Bruce had offered to take turns, but judging by the faces of the others you had volunteered to ensure most of his outings. Natasha was supposed to replace you when you weren't available, then Tony if neither of you were present. This way you had avoided conflicts but also and above all Steve wouldn't have to go there.

You didn't know him, Bucky, having only seen the videos in his file, and yet every time you went to visit him your stomach knotted. There was no question of fear, since his robotic arm had been censored to the maximum thanks to a Stark gadget, leaving him only the freedom to use it as a normal limb, without super-strength or integrated weapons. He remains a super soldier, Bruce had warned, his physical faculties are superior to Nat's and he has a serum similar to Steve's in his veins. But you weren't afraid. Unfortunately a goat would have made you shiver more than Barnes when you went to see him. He was always on pause. Never spoke, barely moving his gaze from the ground. You had been reassured to see that he ate the bare minimum, and he had even tasted a chocolate bar one day. But aside from these details, it was as if you were seeing the same robot in the same position, day after day. Your stomach knotted for these reasons, because when you brought him clean sheets he had nothing of the man you had seen on video. The rage that haunted his eyes had disappeared, there was only a nameless emptiness left, and you had never seen anything so sad. You didn't feel like you had a hundred-year-old Hydra soldier in front of you, but a broken orphan.

You spent a lot of time rereading his file, his reports, his exams. You tried to understand him through these papers. Steve was lost, he no longer saw Buck in those eyes, and you were trying to understand what he had become, Buck. According to his personal file, he had been found at the age of twenty-six before undergoing Hydra’s experiments. A photo of him, in 1943, was stuck to the paper. A shy smile on his lips, his infantry hat slightly tilted on his head and his uniform without a crease sitting proudly on his chest. A tear had seriously rolled down your cheek, ending its path in a Russian handwriting: Зимний Солдат, in other words Winter Soldier. Bruce had carried out a complete tradition of all the documents, later corrected by Natasha. Maybe rereading these texts was not good for you, but you needed it. You were the only one here who was interested in Barnes. Steve felt so guilty that he was in a kind of denial, Nat was only coldly studying the soldier’s file and let’s not even talk about the others. Bucky needed time, understanding and gentleness to at least not make his after-effects worse. You most certainly had to make mistakes, not being a psychologist by profession, but you were already doing better than your comrades and than Hydra.

"Nice evening, huh?" Your voice echoed in a leaden silence.

The sun had set for over three hours, most of the Avengers were in their rooms or gone outside, which meant that it was the perfect time for Barnes to take a shower. You had gathered your strength and went to the soldier's cell. When you had passed by, about two hours ago, he had not wanted to eat his meal so you had taken it back and heated it up again for later. With the hot dish in one hand, you carefully closed the armored glass door behind you. As you expected, Barnes had hardly moved since your last visit. Still sitting cross-legged in his bed, he seemed vaguely to notice your presence.

"I know you didn't want to eat earlier," you began, putting the meal down next to him, "but I thought that maybe your appetite had returned in the meantime."

Sometimes you were entitled to a small, hoarse "hum" from the back of his throat as a response, but you wondered if it was intentional since his gestures didn't match this slight sign of life. Unfortunately, tonight wasn't part of that "sometimes." No noise, barely a breath. But you didn't get discouraged.

The first few times you came to talk to him, his complete lack of reaction had made you wonder about his possible understanding of your language. Yet you had read that he read and spoke at least two languages, including yours. You might not understand what I'm telling you, you had mumbled while picking up his used clothes. Your biggest interaction with him had been when he had looked you straight in the eye and said in a pleasantly deep voice: I understand.

“Other than that you can-”

You were surprised to see him stand up on his own, studiously heading towards the exit door while waiting for you to open it. You were usually the one who went first to the exit, waiting two or three seconds for him to get up and join you. But this was a nice surprise, maybe it meant that his condition was improving.

Your electromagnetic pass stuck to the dashboard, a small beep sounded before you pushed the heavy door and let Barnes go first. These security questions were mandatory for you to approach the Winter Soldier. Always making him walk in front of you, making your pass inaccessible – hidden in your sleeve most of the time as Bruce had advised you –, a bladed weapon concealed against your ankle in case of trouble, and you weren't supposed to talk to him about yourself or the team. Clint had wanted to add an additional rule: not to speak to him unless necessary, to prevent any risk of manipulation. Did you look at him carefully? Had you imposed yourself in the discussion, he didn't utter any opposition during the whole process to bring him back here, and then remember his mission reports, he wasn't a spy but a mass murderer, he was programmed to speak as little as possible to his victims. Tony had agreed with you on the subject, recalling the case of Loki – once again – who was very different from Barnes.

Stupid rules, you thought as you watched the silhouette of the man in front of you advance in the long corridor. If the others saw him for more than five minutes, they would realize that he was nothing more than a victim in this cell. They all found you a little naive and they appreciated you for that, a ray of hope in the midst of chaos. Yet you were by far the one with the best perception of the others. Each villain had arguments, good or bad, you listened to them all. You reasoned with the team, making them come out of their superhero bubble to show them the possibility of a little levity.

You did not doubt the abilities of Barnes, you wanted to find yourself face to face with him even less than with Nat – and that was already a lot –. You sometimes looked again at the surveillance videos taken the day Natasha and Steve fought him for the first time. He was hypnotizing, in the way all his movements seemed to come together with such fluidity and speed, the way his body thought for him and acted accordingly. You were dizzy from a roll in comparison, so seeing it all was astounding. Of course, there were horrible explanations behind these gifts, just like most people who could reproduce all this, but you still couldn't help but analyze these videos. And then, there in that hallway, you looked at Barnes' back, his arm gleaming, the red star enthroned there, and you wondered what was going on in his mind. What he could do was inhuman, and seeing it in image reinforced that feeling.Then you had to realize that he was a human being, who had once been like you. His way of functioning had to have been completely disrupted, distorted and destroyed. We had to reduce to crumbs what had been to build what was now, that was how it worked. To adapt to a new environment we were always advised to forget everything we thought we knew, all the movies said it. In the same way that flat-earthers were convinced that the Earth was flat, Barnes no longer saw the world the way you did.

As the rules said, you discreetly put your pass in a pants pocket as you reached the bathroom. Simple locks served as security, and it was more than enough. No one except you had ever mentioned the possibility that Bucky was trying to end his life. If he did, the bathroom was the best place, which is why a simple lock would do the trick so that you or someone else could break down the door if necessary. But you avoided thinking too much about this exit, because through the few interactions you had had with him and the thoughts you had about him, you had become truly attached to him.

You opened the shower curtain, under Barnes' intrigued gaze. Each Avengers had a bathroom with the bare minimum in their room, but there were also three larger bathrooms on the second floor. These were the rooms to clean yourself in an emergency when you came back covered in blood, or Bruce went there in the event of a green alert for example. They were more accessible than the bedrooms, which explained this function. But what made Bucky curious was not that. You always gave him room number two, with a basic shower, a sink and a toilet. But there you were in number one, with a bathtub. He quickly detailed the room, slightly larger and apart from the bathtub there was nothing that differentiated it from number 2. As always, you had previously removed all objects that could be used as weapons. The pile of two clean towels overhung by harsh soap and shampoo – to avoid the risk of swallowing or too aggressive eye attacks – and the washcloth, were still carefully placed on the edge of the sink. So why a bathtub?

As if you were reading his mind, you turned around in a fluid movement. You took the time to appreciate Barnes' expressive gaze – it was so rare – before answering his questions.

"I assumed it must have been years since you had a real bath, you tried to avoid the Hydra subject, so I thought it could be a good idea?”

A good number of emotions passed through the blue of his eyes, only accentuating your apprehension about his reaction. No one had been even friendly to him for a long time, which meant that he was going to take a while before properly reacting. But as you had imagined, his gaze scanned the bathtub behind you at breakneck speed in search of a trap. I'm not like them, you thought with a pang of heart.

"I know what you must be telling yourself, but there is no trap Bucky,” his name resonated more than you would have imagined, “it's going to be long but believe me I'm not trying to kill you or hurt you"

A heavy doubt seemed to weigh, and you could only understand. This kind of sentence, he must have heard far too many before ending up electrocuted or worse. To help his process, you moved away and let him fully observe the place. His eyes locked on the shower head longer than expected, and once again, you felt nauseous as you imagined the traumas that must be replaying in his head. In that moment, you thought back to the first time you had led him into a bathroom. He had refused to get into the shower, his jaw clenched to the point that his teeth must have hurt, he had stared at you with a cocktail of indecipherable emotions in his eyes. You had ended up remembering the treatment reserved for Jews in the showers during the Second World War, and you had immediately apologized. Sorry, I should have thought of that, you had said guiltily, if you want you can just wash yourself with the washcloth and the faucet water, no need for the shower head today if you don't trust it. And the situation seemed to be happening again tonight, he was afraid that you would want to get rid of him during his shower, or bath in this case. Unfortunately, techniques have evolved since 39-45, especially since he was in the HQ of the greatest engineer in the United States, which meant that you could have found many methods to kill him while he was washing.

But you had to find a way to reassure him, because you had no intention of executing him quietly, and you wanted to be sincerely nice.

"Maybe if it reassures you I can-,” you hesitated before telling yourself that it was for a good cause, “I can stay with you? There's a curtain anyway"

Faced with his expression that swayed from surprise to doubt, you felt obliged to justify.

"If there's gas or an explosion, I'll die with you, which wouldn't be very appreciated by the team”, you paused slightly to gauge his reaction, “and if there's anything else threatening you can kill me yourself since I'll be right next to you”. You then brandish the door’s key between your two fingers, “on top of that I lock us in and leave the key on the edge of the bathtub, so I don't run away and lock you behind me"

You had the strong impression that in another time, Barnes would have smiled, maybe even laughed. Then, to your surprise, you saw a semblance of amusement in his eyes. An almost invisible veil that lasted only a second, just long enough for a distant version of him to take over the Winter Soldier. You couldn't help your smile, waiting despite everything for a more concrete reaction before reacting in return.

Bucky tried to get a dominant emotion out of the hubbub that was playing in his mind. You were definitely different, and he was beginning to understand why you had your place in the middle of a band of superhumans. And even if someone who spoke like you had the perfect profile to manipulate people at a high level, he risked taking his chance.

"Can I have twenty seconds alone to undress"

The shiver that electrocuted your entire body surely did not go unnoticed. His voice, his tone, gave a more directive than questioning turn to his question, and you only nodded slightly. In turn, you became as silent as him, too disturbed by the outburst of reactions on his part in such a short time. You left the bathroom, pushed the door behind you without closing it, because despite your shock, your unconscious valued your safety.

While you waited for some signal authorizing you to enter the room, you wandered on new thoughts. Barnes had not spoken to anyone from what you had been told. The cameras had recorded that during the fight to neutralize him he had spoken, a few Hydra men were with him so you had assumed that he was giving them orders in Russian. Natasha had been too busy trying not to die to pay attention to what he had said, but in hindsight, you wanted to know what had come out of his mouth that day. Tony liked to say that Russian was one of the least welcoming languages in the world, but strangely hearing it from Bucky made you want to. Maybe it was his growling voice, maybe because Russian had been his “native” language for years. Besides Russian, he spoke other languages according to reports, but then again he hadn’t shown off his skills to anyone but you. Besides, I’m pretty much the only one he’s seen since he arrived, you thought. But he had still had the opportunity when Bruce had come with you to visit him to check a wiring on the dashboard. He could have done it from his cell too, since it was completely transparent and he could see the hallway where many people passed, he could have talked. But he hadn’t, and without knowing why you had the feeling that he only wanted to talk to you.

The sound of water almost made you jump. You muttered a curse – hoping Bucky hadn’t heard – before slowly turning towards the door.

“Can I?” You rather ask to avoid a drama.

By the time he answered, you let your mind wander again. What if he was just naked in the middle of the room? Hydra had conditioned him to lose all sense of ownership, to make even his body no longer belong to him, which he meant was that nudity was no longer taboo and that on the contrary – given to the horrors these people had done – they could very well have forced him to stay naked to humiliate him further.

"Yes," his voice echoed vaguely.

Preparing yourself for the worst, you took a deep breath and kept your eyes high to avoid any eye contact in the wrong place. But as you opened the door you were relieved to see the curtain halfway drawn and Bucky already in the water. A feeling, which at the time you compared to a parent proud of their child, warmed your heart. It may not have been much in the eyes of the world, but you imagined the man's feelings when he plunged a body that had become almost unknown into warm water prepared for him, and him alone. Comfort, surprise, relief. A lot must have been going on in the Winter Soldier's head.

You closed the door behind you, locking the exit as planned. But as you moved closer to place the key next to him, a second wave of heat passed through your body as you realized something. He had only drawn the curtain halfway, thus hiding the lower part of his body but leaving you all the pleasure of seeing from his torso. Once again, in other measures you would not have found the situation moving, but rather comical. Except that this is the Winter Soldier, and all his communication was done without voice. He had left his arms and face visible so that you too could see that he wasn't a threat. In the same way that you had found a solution to his anxiety, he was taking a step towards you, showing you that you had no reason to fear him at the moment.

"Thank you," you murmured.

As if you were afraid of breaking the moment, you settled down without a sound. There was no chair here, but the floor suited you. You crossed your legs while resting your back against the small extension of the wall attached to the bathtub. This way, you stayed close enough to him while respecting a necessary distance to avoid seeing the rest of his naked body.

You forgot to check the time, no longer counting the minutes of observation that the man in front of you gave you before asking questions.

Bucky stayed in the water for a whole hour before it started to cool down. You spent all your time detailing his relaxed face, his eyes closed as if he was going to fall asleep from one second to the next. Then when he opened his eyelids again, he looked at you in turn for a few seconds, before asking you if he could get out of the bath. In his sentence, reality hit you again.

You had a mad desire to tell him that he was free, that he no longer had to take orders. You wanted to show him the world, to make him taste vanilla ice cream, to make him smell incense in churches, the greasy of triple burgers. You had the need to see him buy with his own money, help him get up from his first falls. When he looked at you with his big blue eyes, waiting for your permission to get out of a bath, you wanted to ask him for forgiveness, in the name of humanity. To promise him that no one would come and hit him, to promise this little boy that nothing would happen to him, that he could live a peaceful and happy life with his friends and family. But looking at the raw skin on his left shoulder, looking at the weapon that was implanted in his body, you felt your stomach turn. No one had been there to protect this child from Brooklyn, none of the people who had done this to him had even felt sorry for this man. And today he was sleeping in a cell capable of resisting the strength of the Hulk.

"You can get out of the bath," your voice broke.

He obeyed, rolling the superhuman muscles of his body to straighten up. You barely moved, being too far away in your thoughts to even think of looking away from him. A new blow was dealt to your heart as you realized that yes, he no longer had any notion of possession over his body. Two drops of water fell against your calf as he grabbed the largest towel and wiped his skin without emotion. The rough sound of the fabric made you shiver, and then you slowly stood up. He was taller than you, but neither that nor his robotic arm stopped you from grabbing his wet towel. His body failed to react when you passed the white fabric against his arm, his face was frozen in an expression of total incomprehension, faced with the softness with which the towel came into contact with his skin.

You finished your task, as if he were just a tiny puppy to wipe. Then, you took three steps back and fixed your eyes on his. You handed him some clean clothes, before taking the key back and heading towards the door.

“I really need some hot chocolate,” your voice still broken with tears declared, “and I’d love to share it with you, Bucky.”

Your slightly trembling hand wiped the moisture from your cheeks, then gradually turned back to the soldier after unlocking the exit. He had already dressed, the black jogging bottoms falling low on his hips. Bucky examined your face, and his eyebrows met in a half-confused, half-sad expression. He got close enough to you for you to feel the warmth he gave off.

“No cinnamon,” he said, “I don’t think I like it.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, telling yourself that only you could find yourself in these situations.

“No cinnamon.”

There was a first time for everything, and when you saw – later that night – whipped cream on the Winter Soldier’s lips, you thought that after all, the child could not be saved but that you could bring the man back to life.

pictures : Pinterest

dividers : @/strangergraphics, @/pommecita et @/thecutestgrotto

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zohansworld · 1 month ago

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The Star-Spangled Banner America's national anthem o

dailymotion

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sonnycampbellsmith · 28 days ago

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Pairing: Bucky x Male! Songbird Reader

Synopsis: You relive your traumatic past after the Avengers arrest a scientist from Hydra.

Tag(s): Angst , cursing, hurt/comfort

Read the sequel to this fic, here

*******

“Captain America, Black Widow and The Winter Soldier have returned.” Friday’s robotic voice reverberates throughout the living quarters in the Avengers Tower.

Not all of the Avengers were sent for the mission in retrieving a big-shot scientist that was working for Hydra. You were disappointed that you weren’t picked by Maria Hill, which meant lounging on the couch watching reruns of old tv shows while Tony and Bruce tinker away in their lab. Wanda, Sam and Rhodey went to do their own respective things outside of the tower, leaving you by your lonesome.

“Thanks Friday!” You sighed with relief. Steve, Natasha and Bucky were sent since they were the best at stealth than the rest of the team. No one’s really depending on The Hulk or Thor to be silent, though the image of the big green guy tip-toeing around a corner of a building and trying to blend in with the walls was pretty funny.

The elevator to the living room opens and steps out Natasha. “Hey there, little canary. Miss me?” The sound of her voice makes you smile, already used to her constant teasing since you were one of the youngest members on the team besides Wanda.

She walks up to where you were sitting before playfully roughing up your hair making you laugh in surprise before rolling away from her.

As you got up, you hum for a second before playfully replying. “I was definitely enjoying the peace and quiet by watching high quality television.” You lazily gestured to the tv with your hand, Natasha rolling her eyes at what was playing on the screen.

“Supernatural?” Natasha snickered. You gasped, offended, before huffing proudly at your choice of entertainment. “Oh come on, they’re two brothers going out and fighting demons! How is that not cool?”

Natasha only raised one of her eyebrows at you before you groaned and looked away before muttering to yourself. “They’re also hot.”

“Right,” she replied. “So the combination of the grumpy older one and the younger one with the nice hair doesn’t remind you of anyone on the team at all?” You blushed at her insinuation of a certain metal armed man but you only shook your head in response even though she already knew you liked Bucky. Goddamn spies and their ability to successfully read people.

As if hearing your inner monologue, she changed the subject by relaying what happened during the mission and informed you that they currently had the scientist in a holding cell in the sub-basement of the building.

“Should I be worried that we have jails in the same building where we sleep in and sometimes have parties at?” You wondered out loud as you followed Natasha to the elevator to head down to the holding cells where the rest currently were with their special guest.

“Didn’t Tony lock you in your room once?”

“Touché, Romanoff.”

Stepping into the room, you instantly felt claustrophobic with its dull blue walls enveloping you and your senses.

No windows were found,meaning no chance of any outside light or noise coming through. Though the deafening silence in the room created a slight ringing in your ears.

You also noticed a white wall oddly sticking out in the endless blue but didn’t question much of it.

Tony, Steve, Bruce and Bucky were already in the room when you arrived. Steve and Bruce were conversing by themselves before they were joined by Natasha. Bucky was silently brooding , like he usually does, in the corner.

The two of you make eye contact across the room. He gives you a small nod, which you returned with a smile before you made your way to Tony.

“Where is he?” You asked your self proclaimed big brother. After Tony found you in a room, chained up with a metal mask over your mouth to contain your powers during the Avengers’ raid on a Hydra facility in Sokovia, he took you in.

You were introduced to the Avengers, given a room to stay in and the rest was history. The most recent additions to the team were Peter Parker aka ‘Spiderman’ but he stayed with his aunt and still attended high school so you barely had time to get to know the kid. When he was at the Tower, he was mainly in the lab with Tony and Bruce.

Of course there was also Bucky who you got familiar with over time when you joined Steve during the ‘Civil War’.

Tony was pissed to say the least but everything was eventually resolved and Bucky was proven innocent.

“Patience, little brother.” Tony replied as he typed away on the tablet he was currently holding, making you roll your eyes. “I saw that.”

You pouted, folded your arms and looked away from him. “Whatever, Tony.” You missed the small triumphant smirk on his face as he walked towards the only white wall in the room and pressed a button on his tablet.

Everyone watched as the white wall digitally disappeared revealing a familiar figure sitting in what seemed to be a small jail cell, equipped with its own bed and toilet.

His face was a little obscured by the terrible lighting in the room so you had to get closer, hearing the others do the same by the sound of their footsteps falling in line with yours.

When the man lifted his head to look at everyone, your breath hitched and you froze.

Your instincts were telling you to run and hide but it was already too late as the man’s gaze finally landed on you.

His leer was unnerving and critical as you see him slowly come into realisation as to who you were. He smirked. You felt sick.

“The failed experiment survived? I’d have thought you were rotting in the cage I left you in.” His voice cuts through the room like a knife, knocking the air out of your lungs. You felt the walls get smaller, trapping you in and your vision hazier as every single painful memory plays in your mind’s eye like a horror film.

Everyone else in the room stood dumbfounded, the realisation dawning upon them before moving into action to get you out safely.

“Get him out of here.” You heard Tony say to someone who gently tugged on your arm trying to drive you towards the direction of the door but you feet stood firmly to the ground, refusing to budge as you heard the scientist laugh, mockingly, at you.

“You’re a fucking monster.” You angrily spat out, hearing your own voice shake. Everyone’s eyes were on you but you could only focus on the man in the prison cell.

“You did this to me,” pointing at your throat, “You turned me into a freak! You used me to kill!”

The man leaned forward, his eyes staring right into your soul, making you shiver. “I made you useful.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What the fuck are you talking about, you psychopath?”

Tony then steps in, obstructing your view of the other man.

“Whitehall, that’s enough out of you.” Tony warns the scientist, who was still grinning as if he was seated front and centre of a comedy show with you as the main act.

Tony then turns back to you and tries to coax you to leave. “You need to go. Hell, leave the building if it makes you feel better. Let us handle this son of a bitch and by the time you come back, he’ll be gone. I promise you.”

“Tony….” You look into his eyes, searching for any kind of lie but you knew better than to doubt him. He looks over your shoulder and nodded. Confused, you turned and realised it was Bucky tugging on your arm the whole time and you felt yourself calm down at his warm grasp around your bicep.

Bucky’s eyes meets yours, a silent understanding between the two of you. You nodded mutely as he takes your hand in his, you squeezed his hand in return, grateful for the anchor as he gently tugged you toward the exit doors.

“Oh Dear, have you lost your voice again?” Whitehall asked, his voice laced with amusement and mockery.

You quickly ripped yourself away from Bucky and let out a sonic scream directly towards Whitehall. Narrowly missing Tony, who stood directly behind you. Thankfully, Steve reacted quickly and pulled Tony back just in time as your scream connects with the electronic cell.

The lights in the room shatter and the cell’s shield begins to flicker with sparks flying everywhere making the others duck before the protective shield between Whitehall and you fully shut down.

Your scream finally makes contact with Whitehall, sending him flying back against a nearby wall. You watched as his body slowly slumped over but you couldn’t tell if he was conscious with how dark the room had become.

As you took a step forward, you felt a pair of arms hold you down making you yell in surprise and anger.

“Let me go! He needs to pay! He did this to me! Why are you protecting him?! Why?!” You kept shouting, struggling against the death grip of whoever was holding you down, your tears flowing freely now.

You watched as Bruce quickly went to check on Whitehall. You were about to scream again when you felt something sharp pierce your neck.

You yelped in pain and turned to see Natasha holding a syringe. You looked at her with hurt and confusion. “Nat?”

“It’s okay. It’s over. It’s time to rest.” She whispered calmly to you. You blinked slowly, realising how heavy your limbs suddenly felt. Your body swayed backwards and you tumbled back into Bucky’s tight grip.

Turning your head, you noticed Bucky’s fearful expression and all you wanted to do was reach out to rub the crease between his eyebrows to let him know that everything was fine.

“Bring him up to his room, please.” You faintly heard Tony say. You tried to apologise but your words were beginning to slur and the last thing you heard was a huff from your big brother before passing out.

When you finally awoke, you realised you were tucked into bed and were met with only darkness and silence. You sighed and stared up at the ceiling, trying your best to recall the earlier incident from the day.

You were way out of line, unprofessional and you could’ve hurt the people around you. You needed to apologise.

“You’re up.” Bucky’s voice cuts through your train of thought, making you jolt up from your bed to see the man sitting next to you on a chair. When did he get there?

You blinked a couple of times just to make sure you weren’t dreaming and realised Bucky was very much in your room right now. Your brain was still trying to catch up with your own body as you blurted out the most embarrassing thing you could have said to him today.

“Were you watching me sleep this whole time?”

Bucky gave you an amused smirk. “Someone had to keep an eye on you. Have some water will you, doll?” He reached out for a glass of water on your bedside table and handed it to you, which you were grateful for as you greedily chugged it down. Your throat felt dry and gravelly from your earlier outburst.

You thanked Bucky as he took the empty glass away from you before he leaned back on the chair, just watching you. You blushed and looked down at your sheets instead, embarrassed that he and the others saw you in such a state of anger.

You hear the chair scrape and then feel the side of your bed dip, Bucky now a few inches away from you.

“How’re you feeling now?” He asked, making you gulp as it dawned on you that what happened was very real and not just a nightmare.

You nervously fidgeted with your hands as you looked at Bucky, who gave you a small encouraging smile. “Did I kill him?” You asked, with a tint of fear in your voice.

Bucky frowned, he never heard your voice so small and timid before. Besides your obvious abilities, you were always joking loudly and laughing with the others. A part of him was jealous you were never as loud with him but another part of him’s glad you always sat in comfortable silence with him and never pushed him for more. For that, he was grateful.

He suddenly feels the bed shift as you quickly scrambled away from him on the bed. “Oh my god, I killed him? This isn’t happening. I can’t do this again. I can’t do this.” You cried on as you stood in the middle of your bedroom.

Bucky looked at you with confusion until he realised that he took too long to answer while he was lost in his thoughts. He immediately stood up and made his way to you, slowly reaching out.

“Hey, it’s alright. He’s fine, Bruce checked.” He gently pulls you toward him. You looked at him quizzically as you felt your body relaxed in his arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. My mind was elsewhere, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Doll. Sweetheart. Words you’ve never heard from him before but now the words flowed out in the privacy of your room while you were in his arms, swaying slowly. You felt the tight pain in your chest slowly subside as Bucky tucks your head into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Thank you.” You said to him feeling him tighten his arms around you, you squeezing him back the same.

This was different. A side of Bucky you never really thought existed since he was always so closed off from everyone around him. You didn’t blame him though with everything that happened to him and what Hydra made him do.

“We’re not monsters,” Bucky says to you in the quietness of your embrace. “We were experimented on, used as weapons against our will.”

You felt him shift as he brings his fleshed hand to your face, gently lifting it up so you could look at each other. He smiled softly at you. “We escaped and we found family.”

“Bucky…” Your voiced trailed off as your eyes started to sting with tears. You reached out for his hand that was cradling your face and grabbed it to lace your fingers together.

“Doll, I-“ Bucky’s sentence got interrupted as the both of you jump at sudden banging on your door. Tony’s voice on the other side asking if he could come in.

You squeezed his hand in apology before stepping away from him, the action felt painful to do but you knew Tony would start annoying the shit out of you before you and Bucky could even finish the conversation.

Tony’s knocking grew louder as you made your way towards the door to unlock it.

“What ever happened to patience, big brother?” You greeted Tony with a tired smile as the man pulled you in for a bear hug.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know Whitehall was the one that kept you in that cage.” You shook your head in response at Tony’s apology. “I never told you, Tony. I wanted to forget everything that they did and made me do. No, I’m the one that should apologise for my outburst and that I almost hurt you.”

Tony smiled down at you, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Never apologise for facing your demons.” That made you tear up before hugging him again. Tony returning the hug even tighter.

“Where’s Barnes?” Tony asked once you and he separated. You looked back at where you left Bucky but he was gone. No sign of him at all.

“Guess he stepped out.” You muttered quietly, slightly disappointed that you and Bucky’s moment was gone.

Tony’s hand grabbed your shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’m sure he’ll come around. That man did not leave your side once, even when the others offered to watch over you. A bit of an overkill if you ask me.”

You blushed at Tony’s teasing tone.

“Right.” Tony clapped his hands. “I’m starving. Wanna go get some cheeseburgers? My treat.”

You smirked and rolled your eyes at him. “It’s always your treat Tony, why can’t I pay for once?”

Tony laughed loudly at that, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he led you out of your room. “Because you’re my little brother and I’m here to take care of you. No matter what happens, as long as I’m alive, I’ll be here for you.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder as the both of you continued walking down the living quarters to get to the elevator.

Bucky was left lingering on your mind as Tony yapped away about a recent experiment he did with Bruce and Peter.

What was he gonna say? Why did he stay with you the whole time? Why did he hug you? Your mind was stuck in a whirlwind.

“You weren’t listening were you?” Tony accused you once the both of you stepped in the elevator.

“Umm. I’m sorry and I love you?” You smiled weakly at Tony who huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I love you too. Now let’s go get those cheeseburgers.”

**********

Author’s note:

This took me probably 2 days to complete because I’m just realising how I’m not equipped to write angst even if it’s just a one-shot

Also I wanted to explore more with other characters so I made Tony adopt MR because I can

Apologies for the lack of Bucky but now I can finally go write more fluff that’s possibly connected to this fic

But alas, I finally made it and I’m uploading it with possible mistakes because it’s currently 12:37am where I’m at.

Hopefully, this was good!

#bucky barnes x male reader #bucky x male reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x male! reader

62 notes · View notes

sunschay · 27 days ago

Text

An Unwanted Guest || Natasha Romanoff x Male Reader

You return home after two years serving in the American army, having been forced by your father to enlist. But you didn't expect to have another stepmother in such a short space of time.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Inappropriate language, swearing, sexual tension, age gap (Reader is 21, Nat is 42, she's a milf ugh), Bruce is a terrible and disrespectful husband. *

Also, this is not fully proofread yet, so it may contain some minor spelling errors.*

Word count: 10k

You wake up to the sound of banging pots and pans and a loud bell ringing in the back of the dormitory. It must be about five in the morning, but that's the time everyone here is obliged to wake up anyway, as early as possible. Sleep isn't important, but your work and your duties? Without a shadow of a doubt. You hear the recruits getting up from their bunks and putting on their uniforms, berets, boots and belts before retiring to the mess hall. You get dressed as well, brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face and almost jump with fright when you turn around and see a man standing in front of you.

“Private Banner. There's new mail for you at the post office outside the base.” Sam Wilson says, almost like a robot, the dark circles around his eyes giving away his bad sleep during the night.

“Thanks, Wilson.” You press your lips together and nod, retreating to the cafeteria.

It's an ordinary cafeteria, at least 30 to 40 square meters, with 25 tables and chairs scattered around. The canteen is a rather small kitchen that houses large pots and pans, two built-in stoves with four burners each and a huge fridge taking up almost half the space. The soldiers form a queue with trays everywhere to eat.

“Combatant Banner, how's your day going? There are three letters and correspondence from Mr. Banner waiting for you.” Your most familiar and talkative friend, Steven Rogers, greets you with the same smile as every day.

“Hey mate! Thanks for that, really. How's your day going?” You reply and give him a brief hug. “Good so far, no women around unfortunately.”

Steve is a good man, he's also an excellent and extremely competent soldier, unfortunately life (in this case, the top lieutenants) has placed him as a letter carrier indefinitely supposedly because Rogers doesn't reach the level of skill and strength as other recruits. But he's still a nice guy with his straight-edged blond hair, his friendly smile, his blue eyes and his pumped-up muscles.

“Thanks for this, Steve. I bet my old man is just asking me how things are going. He should know by now that I'm coming home tomorrow.” You snort and pick up the thick envelopes, seeing that the other letters are from your 13-year-old brother, Derek.

It was probably one of his drawings that he's always sent you since you joined the army.

“I hear you've got a new hot stepmother- I say, I hear you've got a new stepmother, comrade. You know, Derek tells me everything. I love that kid.” He gives you a nervous wink and you choke on air.

“Stepmother!? Wait, bloody hell! That's the fourth woman my old man's taken in two whole years.” You shake your head in disbelief.

“Come on, Y/n. He's single and still a bit young, a man should celebrate his freedom as he sees fit. But sometimes, with a new woman comes new problems.” Steve laughs lightly, finding your nervous expression amusing.

“The thing is, he's been having fun with several women for a long time, Steve, and he always gets into trouble with all of them because he doesn't know how to deal with break-ups. I bet she's a bitter old woman with a bunch of kids. Thanks, man, I'll have to accept another little woman wanting to boss me around anyway. See you in the cafeteria.” You roll your eyes and say goodbye to Steve with a high five.

After picking up the tray, you sit down and start opening the cards, barely touching the food in front of you. As soon as you finish opening the first letter, a long sigh leaves your lips before you start reading.

"Hey, my firstborn, how are things going over there? If I remember correctly, you're just finishing your service and will be going home soon. Derek misses you, I helped him send you his many drawings of dinosaurs and of you painted next to him in a soldier's uniform. He can't stop talking about you. I've also heard that you're as strong as a big Nutcracker doll. That's my boy. On the other hand, I imagine that Rogers has already told you everything. Son, yes, I'm in a relationship with another woman. Natasha is the most incredible and fascinating woman I've ever seen, and it's the best thing that could have happened in my life, I think you'll like her. We can't wait to see you, firstborn, come home soon."

Running your hands through your hair, you let out a heavy, tired sigh, taking a few bites of the not-so-juicy apple on the tray and looking at the mashed potatoes mixed into a soup with a strange texture. The food isn't always the best, but there's nothing to complain about, at least you have something to eat.

“I told you, new stepmother, new problems.” Rogers giggles as he enters the cafeteria and then laughs when he sees your frown.

“At least I hope this one doesn't try to burn our house down.” You say with a frustrated half-smile, eating with some effort.

“Relax, she must be a good woman.” Steve places the tray on the table, looking away for a moment.

You continue eating and frown when you see that he's practically drooling, staring in the opposite direction. Your head turns slowly and you see Second Lieutenant Stark and Agent Carter enter the cafeteria, walking together as they talk. She's pretty, with short brown hair, light eyes, a light button on her lips and a military uniform, wearing high boots. Agent Carter is actually the first General of the United States Women's Army, so basically, she's a well-known woman around here and sometimes makes a visit to the men's military base to do "research", evaluations and things like that.

“I'm going to have to get a bigger bucket if you keep drooling over her like this.” You smile, feeling Steve throw a stuffed potato at you.

“Ew, I wasn't even looking like that. Mind your own business.” He scolds you, fiddling awkwardly with his food.

“Oh, the one who spoke is no longer here.” You laugh and finish eating, getting up when the lieutenant calls you to run around the courtyard.

This time, you wake up before the bell rings and the noisy pots start banging to wake up the rest of the soldiers. Today is "vacation" day, if you can call it that. You're coming home after two years away. Finally. You'll be able to sleep when you want, when you want, drink, do all the rebellious shit you share with Steve. As you enter the bathroom, you pick up a razor and fit a new blade into the razor, washing your face with warm water and spreading shaving foam over your face as you shave. After removing the loose hairs from your face, you wash it thoroughly and face the new pencil moustache covering your skin, all the rest of your skin shaved and clean.

“It's not so bad.” You whisper, running your fingers over the moustache.

As soon as you've finished the rest of your hygiene, you pick up your farewell uniform, putting on your camouflage collarless shirt, pants and boots. You run your fingers through your black hair and comb it gently until it's neatly aligned, then you put your beret on your head. When you return, the dormitories are already empty and the commanders take the rest of the conscript soldiers outside to catch the bus home. You wouldn't take a bus home if Bruce came to pick you up, but with a brainless father like him, it wasn't good to risk being late. You stand in the queue and immediately feel someone tugging your ears back slightly, turning to see Steve right behind you.

“Hey, buddy, you look like you've just stepped off a modeling cover. If I were a woman, I'd be wet just looking at that moustache.” Rogers jokes and you roll your eyes, joining in.

“Yeah, and you look like a nomad with that much beard, the girls will love that.” You put your hands behind your back and he sighs. “I wish.”

“Private Y/n Chase Banner, 21 years old, British, sergeant correspondent. You may board.” The man hands back your papers.

“Sometimes I forget you're British. It's a bit ironic, you don't even like a cup of tea.” Steve says, straining his accent and making you laugh. “Why tea when we have whisky and beer in America?”

Steve laughs and takes the documents out of his pocket, handing them to the driver. Quickly all the soldiers board and you press your head against the hard seat, looking out of the window as the base slowly moves away and the bus accelerates. You hear Steve chattering non-stop next to you about Agent Carter, saying how divine and beautiful she was, and saying how much he wished he had a chance with her. The trip from Kentucky to Washington DC would take at least 8 hours and something more, it was still early in the morning and you'd be arriving in the afternoon or even evening, so you just answered Steve with nods and brief 'um, yeahs' as you drifted off to sleep.

“Hey, buddy, this isn't bedtime! Wake up!” Steve shook you, making you jump in your seat slightly.

Your fingers rubbed your eyes and you shook your head, gradually adjusting your vision. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, delivering a warm and muggy evening, the clouds gradually disappearing as the larger group of soldiers began to get off the bus at the Washington terminal. Steve laughed as he commented on your sleepy face and you grabbed your backpack, following him off the bus. It was clear that Bruce hadn't made any effort to come and see you in Kentucky, so it annoyed and irritated you at the same time, but there was no point in wasting time with your grumpy old dad.

“You're coming to dinner with me. That's not a request.” She joked with him as they started walking together.

Your house wasn't three blocks away, it wasn't that far, so it would be nice to walk.

“If it's to meet your hot stepmother, I'm always up for it.” He said and you punched him in the bicep.

“How do you know she's hot and not some old lady with a herniated disc who's obsessed with plants?” You opened a packet of mints, handing him another.

“Derek told me she's not old. And I know Mr. Banner doesn't date old ladies. Come on, Y/n, it's only been three times.” He replies, making you let out a laugh.

“Three times describes my father's character very well, Steve. Well, let's face it, there are a lot of hot old ladies out there.” You blink, feeling his critical gaze on your back.

“You're a fucking pervert. I didn't know you liked old ladies, man.” He laughs, pushing you slightly.

“I didn't say I liked old women! I'm just saying that there are some older women, in their forties and fifties, who are hot, depending on the individual. There was a friend of my father's, I think her name was Wanda, something like that, and she was in her late thirties or early forties. She looked like she was in her twenties, I swear to you, she was crazy as hell! Of course, not all women get to that age looking good, it's a question of grooming and vanity, you know.” You explained, kicking a few stones along the way.

“To me, that's like saying: 'I'm definitely into fucking an older woman's brains out', there's no limit to that, bro, you're an adult and single.” He winks and you laugh out loud. “Wait, why do I feel like something happened between you and this Wanda?”

“She gave me head in the bathroom at her nephew's birthday party. If that answers your question.” You smile mischievously and Steve shakes you like he's made a great discovery. “I knew it, you tricksome pervert! If she really is that hot, then I understand you.”

“You say that as if Carter wasn't a little older than you." Your eyes narrow and he shrugs.

“That's another matter, Banner.” He smiles smugly.

As soon as the two of you arrive, you stop to look around the house. It looks the same, but at the same time it looks like a different house. As if you didn't belong here. The house is still surrounded by orchids and tulips that you planted years ago in memory of your mother, something you did every year to remember well what she liked to do when she was alive. The house had worn-out paintwork, ajar windows and a tall lawn, which made you wonder if Bruce was so useless as not to mow a simple garden lawn. You walked up to the front door and knocked lightly against it, hearing some loud voices talking from inside.

“Just a minute!” A female voice shouted from inside and you slowly turned to face Steve, who had a small smile on his lips. “Time to meet Mom, Banner.”

You rolled your eyes deeply and tried to ignore him, scratching your moustache nervously as footsteps approached the door.

When the door opened, the first thing that came into your mind was that Steve was probably right. She wasn't old at all. Or she was Bruce's own age and she was fucking well preserved, which you thought, fuck, that's got to be it. The vision lit up before you, with a redhead opening the door of your own house with sweet wavy red hair down to her shoulders, big curious green eyes analyzing you as if she already knew who you were before you even said a word, her face as delicate as pieces of porcelain, her nose turned up and the most beautiful lips you could find. She was much shorter than you and than Steve, which meant that you had to look up to meet your eyes and that you had to move your head down to see her.

A black dress falls over her body with delicacy and a deafening elegance. There are a few buttons from the opening, which shows a little of her pale neck, to the middle of her waist, which has a belt around it. It's a simple garment. But it doesn't exude any kind of vulgarity, although this woman... she exudes lust through her eyes. She has slight expression marks under her eyes, almost imperceptible, but which give away the fact that she is much older than you. And she hasn't even said a word to you. A pearly necklace is around that elegant slender neck and you hold your breath, locking your jaw before you speak.

“May I ask who you are?” Your whisper is precise and firm, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that her cheeks are flushing.

“Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. You must be Y/n. I'm your father's wife.” She answers you just as firmly, although her nervousness shows through a little and Steve's eyes widen behind you.

You would never have thought that your father would get married so quickly, even if it was his way of getting into bed with any woman for one night and then telling you that he was in a relationship with her. But he had married her! That was too much.

“It's me, yes.” That's the only answer that came out of his mouth and Natasha seemed to swallow with some bewilderment.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Romanoff. I'm Y/n's friend, Steve Rogers. I hope you don't mind my presence, it may have been a little unexpected.” Steve greets her with a light handshake.

“It would never be a bother to receive you, please, the house is more yours than mine.” She smiles and turns to you.

Without a word, you lean in as Steve pulls away from her hand. Her nails are painted a bright red, which contrasts with her red hair. Your hand brushes against hers, which makes Natasha almost gasp and electricity runs through her body when your hand gently squeezes hers. Without further words or affirmations, this is much more than Natasha would have expected to feel. You raise your head and she quickly moves to the side, making room for you and Steve to enter.

You won't admit it, but you're fascinated by Natasha's beauty. You also know now that you were wrong to think that she was older than Bruce, he only went out a few times with some noble ladies full of money with arrogance stamped on their faces.

“Y/n!” A weak, childish voice shouts at you, and you laugh as you feel little arms go around your legs. “Hey, big boy.”

You greet Derek, feeling him cling to your neck and hug you tightly, as if he hasn't seen you for decades. Well, he hadn't seen you in almost three years, so it made perfect sense.

“Doesn't anyone miss me?” Steve mocked. “Stevie!”

You laugh and let them talk, quickly answering a few of Derek's questions before seeing Bruce off down the stairs. He's got his black hair tangled and all out of order, his glasses are crooked on his face and he's wearing a white coat, with a scruffy beard. He looks a mess, with dark circles under his eyes and a breath of something like campari. You look him up and down with judgment and press your hand on the strap of your backpack.

“Hey, big boy.” He approaches you and gives you a firm hug.

“Hey, old man. I thought you'd see me at the Fort.” You say, frowning with annoyance masked as irritation.

“Well, you're already a big man, Y/n. Not to mention I was looking after your brother, he needs to brush his teeth and do his homework.” He says, turning away and fixing his glasses.

“Of course, you're always worried about my brother stinking of pure alcohol.” You say firmly, your jaw locking with some force.

“Is that any way to talk to me, kid?” He looks at you, slowly approaching as Natasha comes back into the room.

“Oh, I believe you're both hungry. I'm making an apple pie before dinner, love, can you help me?” She grasps Bruce's shoulders, who turns away from you. “Of course, darling.”

Your eyes roll back and Natasha gives you a look as if she's analyzing you. It's a fact that, although much older, Bruce is shorter than you, and his bone structure is even smaller, as if you were the older one here. You cross your arms earnestly, feeling the tension start in your broad shoulders and work its way down your burly biceps. Yes, you really have become an even bigger man than your father and Natasha seems to be looking at this before turning her face away and entering the kitchen.

“Hey, man. Relax, let's just enjoy the night.” Steve grabs your arm, visibly tense, and pulls you over to the sofa.

You sit down with him, try to relax but it's almost unavoidable. Bruce Banner has always been the kind of guy who is a compulsive alcoholic. He goes to support groups every weekend to try to get some support from other people who suffer from the same problem, but he keeps drinking as if he depended on it. He wasn't exactly a friendly father to you, it's as if he was always there but absent. He didn't teach you how to shave, so you learned on your own – with support from Steve who has a great dad – he didn't teach you how to pick up girls or how to flirt or how to drive, let alone how to listen when you had any doubts. He's like a ghost who breathes, eats and sleeps. But he's never really there for his children.

That's probably why your mother divorced him in your teens before that accident. Bruce is a difficult person to deal with, something you clearly took from him, but you're completely different. You're a good man, you're there for Derek, you're good with children, you're civilized, patient – when you want to be – and you're everything your father would like you to be.

“Look, I drew a picture of my school friends, Uncle Stevie and Y/n/n!” He says, handing you a drawing.

In it, Derek is drawn wearing the same blue sweatpants and plaid shirt at the actual moment. His hair is messy and slightly disheveled, his round glasses are crooked and you straighten them on his pale face, seeing that there is a blond boy next to him and a girl in a pink dress with long red hair.

“Who's that, little guy?” You ask as you stroke his hair.

“That's my friend, Emily!” He says between jumps and Steve looks at you with a smile. “Friend, huh?”

“Do you fancy her, mate? It's okay to talk to us, it's boy talk here, we won't judge you.” You ask and then smile, listening to Steve chatter something. “Fancy? Is that any way to say you're into a girl? You Brits are funny.”

“Give it a rest, Steve, it's noble English. You can talk to me, mate." You stroke Derek's hair and he laughs nervously.

“I think so... Dad says that when you like a girl a lot, you start admiring her, praising all her tastes, her hair, her expressions and everything about her, I see Emily like that. But I'm afraid she likes another boy.” He closes his expression into a sad little beak and you lift him onto your lap.

“Listen, you're a young boy. You're handsome, you've got nice hair like the bloke here.” You look at Steve who starts bragging and you interrupt him. “Maybe Emily is your first love, but you're still very young, you've got a lot to live up to. You've got to finish school, get a good job, make new friends, find a hobby, something you enjoy doing. Life isn't just about girls or love, it's about you and how you want to live it. And if Emily ever lets you down with another bloke, send her home to the grumpy toad.”

“What's the Grumpy Toad's house?” Steve blinks in confusion and you lean in to whisper. “A polite way of telling someone to fuck off. He can't swear because he's still a polite little boy.”

“You're unpredictable.” Steve laughs, disbelieving what he's heard.

The conversation between the two of you continues between laughter and irresponsible advice from Steve, who makes you laugh every second at the absurdities he tells you about past relationships, and from Derek, who starts showing you a folder full of his drawings. Lovely doodles. Natasha enters the room after a while, pressed between the doorway and shyly clears her throat.

“Hi guys, I don't mean to interrupt, but dinner's ready.” She says and you stand up, ruffling Derek's hair. “Go brush your teeth, kid. Girls don't like guys with breath.”

Derek mumbles something but climbs the stairs to the bathroom, determined to follow any of your advice, because you're the oldest and he sees tremendous wisdom in you. When you enter the kitchen, you sit down and Steve sits right next to you at the square table, and Bruce is there, scribbling something down. Always working, never with time for his children. Or too drunk to care.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He says, and barely blinks as Natasha places a plate of food in front of him.

“No problem, my love.” She says and her gaze settles on Natasha, who moves gracefully.

Is it wrong to be completely attracted to an older, more experienced woman who is unfortunately your new stepmother? Most likely, but you can't help it. Everything about Natasha is too sexy. Her light-lipped smile, her curves, which even covered by that very covered dress, manage to be somewhat naked. Her legs, the way her knees bend to grab something from the tallest cupboards in the kitchen. You can imagine the way her knees can bend in front of you... and fuck. Stop it, you tell yourself.

“How was your time serving, Y/n?” She asks you, and seems to be talking, or trying to.

“Same as always.” Your answer comes, it's short, but not rude, just disinterested.

The best thing is to look like you're disinterested in her. Not out of rudeness or rebelliousness. But because you feel the adrenaline in your veins that tells you it's dangerous to be so enamored of your stepmother, knowing that this is also something immoral and incorrect. You don't want to lose control.

“Men giving orders. Proud men doing what they want to do. Discipline masquerading as arrogance.” You prolong your answer, and you don't expect Natasha to understand, after all she is a woman and has never been in need of serving her country.

Natasha, on the other hand, is struggling to stay focused on getting more plates and cutlery to distribute to you and Steve during dinner. She's fascinated. Shocked. Silently drawn to you. The difference between you and Bruce is glaring. While he seems sloppy and uncivilized, you speak so calmly and politely that you don't even sound like his son. You're both very similar in appearance, hair, face, expressions, eyes a little, but the difference in size from your father to you is absurd. You're like a wall of muscle compared to him, who clearly makes sense as a fatally alcoholic and careless man.

She rubs her thighs discreetly as she places a plate in front of you and fork and knife on either side of the embroidered plate, hoping you haven't noticed her indecent act, but you're even watching the way her throat moves when she breathes. She feels impure, filthy. She shouldn't look at her husband's son as prey, as if she had never seen such a beautiful and majestic man, a man who, as soon as he entered the house for the first time, left her breathless.

No, you were younger. Perhaps more naive, too young. And you were her husband's son. Her stepson.

“If I may ask, does that make you uncomfortable? Taking orders?” She asks, placing her plate and cutlery in front of Steve.

You lick your lips slowly. Natasha stares at you. She likes that. An act so simple and ordinary that it made her almost drool all over that table. She was a depraved and incorrect woman at that moment. Natasha loses herself in you at that moment. The intense green gaze flees from your calm lips to your drawn jaw, sculpted beyond her comprehension. Your eyes are wild yet calm, they exude...a hard life. A life full of challenges. They're dominant and Natasha doesn't like the way they intimidate her without you even realizing it. But that's you, a mystery to her, silent and solid. A black ocean with no comprehensible answers.

“I only do what I'm asked. It's my job.” Her whisper comes, quiet, yet icy.

“A man who works without complaining becomes a good worker. I think that's what I taught you.” Bruce speaks for the first time, taking a bite of his food.

In front of you, the smell of food fills your stomach and you barely notice Natasha serving you as you are busy facing even the worst fears of her soul. Your hands move nimbly and you cut off a piece of meat, putting it in your mouth and chewing slowly. It takes her a few seconds to realize it's a stew and the salty broth with potatoes, carrots and peas melts in her mouth perfectly.

“First of all, you cook perfectly well, that's great, Natasha.” You say as she sits down to eat and you see her pale cheeks develop a slight blush. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

No one had talked about her food in a long time, not even your father.

“Secondly,” You take a few more mouthfuls, managing to eat half the stew in minutes, and then look at Banner with a certain disgust. “Is that why you sent me to the army? To teach me your own kind of passivity?”

“You seem to like offending me sometimes, kid.” He laughs dryly, helping Derek to sit down and assemble his plate. “What's wrong with being passive?”

“Nothing, nothing wrong with it. Except that whenever someone confronts you, all you know how to do is roll over and show your belly like a puppy.” You cluck your tongue, listening to Bruce grumble.

“I think we'd better calm down a bit here-” Steve begins, still starting to eat when you cut him off. “No, I won't calm down.”

“I sent you to the army to control your rebelliousness and lack of control!” Bruce replies, starting to get upset.

“My rebelliousness? Don't fuck with me, Bruce.” You spat, completely disbelieving that you had heard such a thing.

“You've always acted in a problematic way, breaking laws, coming home late without giving explanations, disrespecting your own father! What did you want me to do? Shake your hair and tell you how to act, as if you were actually going to listen to me?” He shouted back, pointing a finger at you.

“You never cared about me yourself. You send me to the army to control me by saying I'm a rebel and all that shit and now you treat me like some fucking bum you don't even know. You sit on your ass here all the time, you only go out to work or to drink like you always have, you think you're an example of something?” Your hand hits the table and Steve gets up next to you, trying to stop anything worse from happening.

“You shut up when I talk to you, kid!” He growls and Natasha grabs him by the shoulders. “Bruce, please, let's put this aside. Derek's here, sweetheart.”

“Enough, please, let's calm down, man.” Steve puts his hand on your arm, suddenly getting serious.

Your chest is rising and falling through the camouflage uniform, hitting your ribcage with some violence. Natasha is frightened, even though she tries not to show it, it's quite transparent. She's heard Bruce's stories about you, that you had the same explosive temper as him even though you were different, that as a teenager you got into fights frantically and that you were suspended from school for 'vandalizing' the bathroom walls and things like that. Most of that was true, but the only friend you had was Steve, you were both often chased by the good-looking guys and bullies for being "skinny and weird" and ended up being extremely excluded and beaten up at the time. As if the confusion came to you both on purpose.

In any case, Natasha didn't know you and became involved with Bruce shortly after you officially joined the army, where you were promoted to the rank of Private E-2 a year later. Although Bruce was her husband, he generally behaved unpleasantly some of the time, especially when he got drunk in front of Natasha, which also discouraged Derek and made him sad, wishing he had more time with his father. She wanted to get to know you better, she felt that you had a good heart and she didn't really want to believe all the absurd stories that Bruce told her as if he wanted to make you a bad son for his wife.

“I wish I didn't have to look at your face.” Your answer came, harsh, indifferent.

Bruce didn't move, however, as if it hadn't hit him. He really didn't care about you at all. You felt an extreme pang of guilt when you saw Derek at the end of the table, hunched over with his hands on his head. He hated arguing and shouting, and it often happened between you and Bruce, but you avoided fighting in front of the boy as much as possible to prevent that kind of thing from happening to him there.

“All right, darling, come here.” She called to him, hugging him and trying to calm him down.

The rest of dinner was a terrible, deathly silence that pressed down on her throat, absolutely wanting to break Bruce in half. But you wouldn't, you already felt bad enough for scaring your little brother. When you'd finished eating, feeling Steve stare at you in fear of another fight breaking out, you got up and put your cutlery and plate in the sink, emptying a glass full of orange juice that you'd barely touched minutes before.

“Oh, Y/n, you don't have to do that, I could really do it-” Natasha intervenes, but you respond subtly. “It's okay, I don't mind.”

She stops in place, her lips parted in shock. It was rare for a real man to be there to do something as simple and minimal as washing dishes without her having to ask. Because for that very reason, Bruce wouldn't do it on the grounds that 'he worked too much' and Natasha had to take care of the cleaning and everything else in the house on her own. But it weighed on her, she felt alone there, even if it seemed silly. Bruce Banner described himself as an old-fashioned man, but something about him pointed more towards a misogyny hidden under the carpet. You really were different from the man she married.

“Oh, all right.” She sighs, the corner of her lips curving slowly.

Putting a little detergent on the yellow sponge, you subtly scrub the plate and then the cutlery and glass. You turn on the tap and wash everything silently, watching a few bubbles of foam disappear down the drain and everything become clean, then you take a dry cloth and dry everything, placing it inside the cupboard in the proper places for each object. You knew how to do everything apart from washing dishes. Washing your father's rusty car, cleaning the whole house, absolutely everything that would be considered 'women's chores' that your mother taught you before she died. And he silently despised you for it, but it didn't matter, because there had been a helpful and very useless man in this house and now that man was back.

“Are you staying for dessert?” Natasha asks as she watches you dry your hands and Steve also wash his dirty plates and cutlery quickly.

“No, Steve and I are going to stay in my room for a while. We can eat later if there's anything left, thank you very much.” You shove your hands in your pockets, watching her nod a little tensely and pick up all the remaining dirty dishes when Steve gives her a nod.

The two of you climb the stairs and soon reach your room. It's not a small room, but it's spacious enough to hold everything you like. Philosophy books, art books, porn magazines that you used to swap with Steve when you were teenagers, – yes, this is kept secret – some toolboxes in case you needed them when something broke in the house, a collection of old CDs by the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and a thousand other bands and singers from the 70s and 80s. The room is still tidy, with a single bed lined with thin blue sheets and a gray pillow. There's also a desk and a medium-sized cupboard in the corner next to an old window.

The smell of your room and nostalgia is cozy, almost intoxicating.

“Hey, man, do you really keep them all? No kidding!” Steve laughs, picking up the magazines with the half-naked women on the covers.

Although you didn't have an addiction to this kind of thing, you and Steve were once two curious teenagers with hormones running wild in the middle of puberty. You'd get excited and buy these magazines on the sly, but even so, you weren't the type who needed to see a naked woman's body to get completely turned on. No, you were better than that, and you knew that real bodies worked better, were beautiful and much more objective.

“Of course, I left the army and ended up forgetting all this garbage.” You laugh, opening the drawers and leafing through some superhero comics, watching Steve laugh as he sees a cover with a blonde woman on one of the covers wearing pink lingerie. “No, no! Fuck, man that was the worst, I remember you gave it to me with the pages sticking together, you fucking pervert!”

“Sorry, man, I couldn't help myself! I still remember the look on your face when you got it full of life.” He says and you rolls your eyes.

“Jesus, that was disgusting. I'm going to throw it all away anyway, unless you want to keep it as a souvenir.” You laugh quietly and he makes a vomiting noise.

“No, thanks.” Steve shakes his head, walks over and picks up some comics to read too.

You put on a band CD while you lose yourself in conversation with Steve, remembering everything. You both laugh out loud when you remember the time Steve put a live frog on the head of a girl who was terrified of frogs, because she just thought it was funny to make fun of your worn-out shoes and said you couldn't afford new ones. He's never been so furious, no one could mess with you, only each other and all in jest, of course.

It was a great pastime for you to play pranks on bad students and grumpy teachers, or to skip important classes to drink cheap beer while listening to a small radio given to you by Steve's father. Those were incredible times, which only got old in the best way when Steve and you decided to enlist for the first time at the age of 18, getting kicked out because of arguments you had with some of the lieutenants. Anyway, you both found a way to get into the American army through the Kentucky fort, and obviously, together.

So Steve and you knew each other practically from your mother's womb. Joseph and Bruce met during high school before they got involved with their respective wives. They both served in the army, but only Mr. Rogers decided to make it a career, although he didn't succeed and decided to go into medicine. They were extremely close throughout your and Steve's adolescence, until one day they drifted apart over a mysterious fight in which you never really found out the motivation.

Even so, you and Steve could fight for centuries and still remain good friends.

“Hey, there's someone at the door.” Steve yawned, signaling the light knocks on your bedroom door.

With a light sigh, you put your comic aside, turning down the volume of a small, still-functional radio that was playing Black Sabbath in the background. When you opened the door, you saw her again.

Natasha. Your 'lovely' stepmother. She was standing right in front of the door, with two pieces of pie on a large plate and a tense, apparently shy look on her face. You still didn't understand why she looked at you as if she was going to dismount at any moment. She was wearing a beige apron over her dress and her hair was now slightly wavy at the ends, her face flushed.

“I know you may not be that hungry anymore, but I can't help trying. The pie is still warm, it's apple with caramel on top and blackberries and you know, I'm sorry about Bruce. Your father didn't have a good day, Y/n.” She sighs, looking away for a moment.

“Did I hear the word pie!?” Steve jumps out of bed already excited.

“I appreciate that. I'm sorry about the argument. I think he always tries to take it out on me, but that's okay. How's Derek?” You blink slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of Natasha staring you down to the core.

“Fine, I guess. I fed him dinner and some pie, got him to brush his teeth and now he's sleeping like a newborn after reading your stories about bigfoot.” She laughs softly, making you smile.

“He'll end up having nightmares about it. Thank you, Mrs. Romanoff.” You say, your voice already husky and slightly sleepy.

“Natasha, call me Natasha. There's no need for formalities here.” She replies, licking her lips slowly.

“Natasha.” You whisper back, hearing Natasha's breathing increase as you spell her name perfectly on the tip of her tongue.

“Have a good night. If you need anything you can call me and I'll be in the next room.” She says, almost stuttering, and nods as she walks away. “Good night, Natasha.”

“God, I thought you were going to eat each other and leave the pie behind!” Steve grumbles, picking up a piece with one of the forks and takes a bite, closing his eyes. “Wonderful!”

“Bloody hell, Steve, she's my father's wife!” you laugh incredulously, taking a piece of the sweet pie. “It's really good, it's fucking delicious.”

“But I know that. She's still got the hots for you, don't you see?” He shrugged, starting to devour the pie in seconds. “And even if she wasn't your father's, it must be worth losing yourself...you know, in that woman.”

“You're absolutely shameless. And I would never do that, no matter how much my father deserves it.” You roll your eyes, taking another piece of pie and Steve smiles. “I'm paying to see how badly this goes.”

Your wristwatch reads at least 6:10 in the morning. You don't know why you woke up so early on a Monday when you were on vacation from work, so to speak. Perhaps waking up at 5 a.m. every day at the Fort to paint walls and curbs, patrol, and other exhausting military services has made you accustomed to waking up at those times as if you were an uncontrolled robot. So you took a shower, brushed your teeth and ate an apple before going to Steve's house to pick up some cans of paint.

Your house was in a deplorable state, with the paint on all the walls outside peeling off, the garden with its extremely high lawn dirty with leaves thrown over it since last fall, dead plants and flowers everywhere and the appearance of the house itself sad and gray. You had to do something about it, since Bruce hasn't done it in two whole years.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, the clock now reads 7:19 in the morning. You finish running the roller full of paint up to the top of the back wall of the house, not even needing a ladder because you're so fit. In an hour you've managed to paint the whole house and now you're going to rip down the wooden fences and put up new, clean ones.

“Y/n! What are you doing? It's so early and it's roasting hot out there!” You hear a familiar feline voice and drop the paint roller on top of the empty can.

You step away from the can and container and wipe the excessive sweat from your chest, your skin was probably all sunburnt, exposed to the bare torso and shapely legs on display. Natasha is at the door, dressed in a red sweater. Holy shit. You turn your face away, feeling deeply warmed, and run your paint-smeared hands over your face, clad only in baggy shorts and barefoot.

“I'm painting the house, Natasha.” You answer simply and matter-of-factly, watching out of the corner of your eye as she puts a thin blouse over it, certainly embarrassed.

“At 7 in the morning! You must be dying of heat! Have you applied sunscreen?” She asks, approaching quickly.

You missed the maternal concern and affection, but considering the current situation, it was totally inappropriate.

“We didn't use sun cream during our time in the army. Especially during patrols on the patio with direct contact with the sun, or anywhere else where it was necessary. They simply didn't hand out sunscreen to us.” You say and shrug, discarding the empty tin and the rest of the used items.

“That's horrible, you could get serious burns!” She replies and puts her hand to her head, making you laugh. "I'll be back in a minute."

Natasha leaves and you wash your hands in a sink at the back of the house, removing as much of the gooey paint as you can and wetting your head and chest to try and cool off. As soon as you've finished, you go down to the basement and get a box full of new fences that haven't even been used before. First you get the rest of the tools and put everything in the garden, then you get a lawnmower, which luckily isn't rusty.

You push the lawnmower as soon as the blades shoot out, starting to cut the grass quickly. Your hands are steady and nimbly, you're finishing off the first row of grass. Pressing the button on the side of the mower, you snort and sigh deeply, resting your hands on your waist.

“I'm going to melt like this, my Lord.” You say to yourself with a laugh.

Going round to the back, you find a sack and a shovel and start gathering up all that grass and throwing it into the sack. It could be useful or reusable at some point.

“Hey you! All right, take a break from that and come and eat properly.” Natasha appears as soon as you've collected all the grass in the sack and walks over to you gently.

She's now wearing a black tank top, which emphasises her perfectly marked collarbone and her pale neck, which is as delicate as any detail can be. On her legs are a pair of denim shorts, neither short nor baggy, but you can still see how her shapely thighs look so perfectly...thick in them. And she looks so natural, nothing forced, just there, for you, carrying a plate with a cut sandwich, a glass of juice and a bottle of water. I mean, your father was lucky but he was an idiot, why on earth would he deserve someone like that?

“Natasha, really, you didn't have to do that. I don't want you to bother with me.” You say, feeling your face very red, from the sun - and from a certain effect it has on you - and sweaty.

“I'm not bothered at all. I'm not going to let you die of dehydration in this heat, it must be 30 degrees or more!” She exclaims and you carefully pick up the plate, cautiously dropping the other equipment. “Wait, open your arms a little, don't let go of the plate please.”

You frown and open your arms, pushing the plate as far away from your torso and body as you can. Natasha approaches you, taking a plastic bottle from the pocket of her shorts and opens the lid, pouring some kind of cream onto her fingers. You stare at the words written in blue and white, trying to decipher the smudges, and your jaw drops in disbelief. It was sun cream.

“Natasha, look, it's okay, I've got used to the sun-” you say, but it's too late.

The woman is smearing sunscreen on your face, and you're so red that even under the sunscreen, you can see how flushed and hot you look. Oh, shit.

“The sun doesn't get used to any of us, though. Once when I was half your age, I went to a beach in Miami, Florida, with my parents and some friends. I slathered sunscreen all over my body except my buttocks and um... I definitely couldn't sit up straight for a week after that, the burns weren't kind to me and it wasn't the sun's fault.” She laughs lightly, gently rubbing the sun cream into her cheeks and forehead.

The heat in your cheeks spreads even more violently and you gently bite your lower lip, something that Natasha notices and strangely makes her legs wobble. I wonder what else makes her unable to sit down for a whole week. Fucking stop it, you cut off your thoughts before they spread, but they're dirty all the same.

“That must have been hard.” You answer, and your voice slowly begins to die.

What is she doing now, my Lord?

Natasha finishes spreading the sunscreen on your face and neck, her fingers still smeared with protector trailing down the start of your chest. Your skin is burning, but that's not what fascinates her, it's the hard, burly, extremely rock-hard flesh of your pectorals, covered in a very thin, sparse line of hair. She gasps as discreetly as she can, trying her best not to grab his every muscle and touch and squeeze. In fact, she knows now that you look like more than a wall, it's as if you were made completely of muscle and only a little 'skin' covering everything.

Romanoff's hand slides to the end of your chest on the right side, and she doesn't even know what she's doing, for her, she's just spreading the rest of the sunscreen on her fingers. But you feel it, you feel her grip, her electrifying, mundane, specific touch, as if she wanted to scratch every part of your skin as well as touch it, as if she wanted to do everything you could imagine there.

“I'm sorry.” She says, swallowing dry and trying to swallow her own shame as well.

But she still feels your warmth. She feels your minty fresh breath, pleasant and peaceful, she feels how affected you were by a single touch of her delicate, soft hand. You want more and maybe she knows it, but that's wrong, it's inappropriate.

“You can leave the sunscreen somewhere, I'll put more on after I've cut everything here.” You say and she nods quickly, hugging her own body.

“This is going to be a lot of work.” She says and you nod, taking a bite and moaning slightly.

The sandwich is a spicy mix of tomato, toasted wholemeal bread, smoked turkey breast, mayonnaise, a little mustard, bean sprouts, cheese and a spicy dressing. As well as being kind, intelligent, seductive, completely attractive, the woman cooks like hell, what more could Bruce want? Absolutely nothing.

“Fuck, this is fucking divine, the work will be worth it. Thank you so much.” You thank her without knowing what else to say, the scouse accent making Natasha wince.

She had time to notice your accent and your voice as soon as she arrived with Steve at the residence yesterday. She, however, had no idea that you were British or anything. Not least because all Bruce ever really said about you were the most unpleasant compliments in the form of criticisms. He proved to be a good father to other people, but it was different with you. You could see why.

“No need to thank me, really. I hope you didn't forget your sunscreen.” She says, raising an eyebrow as she tries to look serious and you laugh. “Sure, no problem.”

Your bites are precise and hungry, and you can tell that a single apple an hour ago would never have satisfied you. You finish eating, drink all the pineapple juice and hand it all to Natasha, taking the sunscreen again and spreading it on your fingers, your hands flying across your sweaty pecs, ribs and abs. Natasha walks away towards the house, her gaze lingering on you several times.

She's a married woman. Married to your father. That's not right, it's far from it.

But just taking a look is okay, right?

You hurry, organize everything and start up the machine again, cutting another row of grass. Then another, another, until you've finished with all that tall grass that could end up with some animal hiding there. You put all the grass in two sacks and put them in the corner of the garden, then you start to remove and tear down the old, dirty and soft wooden fences, which are practically falling apart.

After marking out the right height for the fences with lines and stakes, you make a quick calculation and grab a spade, digging the holes where the picket panels will be. It takes about some hours, between quick breaks, your feet are dirty with dirt and now your body is really bathed in sweat, but after lining up the pickets, checking that they're all in the same vertical position, digging non-stop and cleaning dirt off your grass, everything looks perfect. You even do a quick and precise finish, and smile when you see that your work has turned out perfectly.

“Great. I just need to replant the plants soon.” You whisper, feeling tired.

After putting away all the equipment, cleaning up all the grass and briefly painting the fences, you walk away and enter the house, dripping with sweat from head to toe. You wipe your feet on the carpet, imagining that Natasha is the kind of woman who will freak out if you get dirt all over the house and yell at you for hours. Now, however, she's sitting in the living room, with Derek by her side as she appears to help him with his homework.

“Looks like I'm late.” You smile, adjusting the black cap on your head and her gaze quickly falls on you.

She has to control herself, she has to. She's in front of a child.

But it's inevitable.

Bruce would probably show off if he looked like that too, but he's got the typical 40-something dad-beer-belly physique. You, on the other hand... you're majestic, even though you're completely sweaty and give off the classic manly odor of a man who does everything for his family, your muscles being highlighted by sticky sweat, probably swollen from working outside the house. She is silently awestruck, the heat rushes through the blood in her cheeks and her thighs rub together painfully.

“Y/n! Nat said you were painting the whole house.” Derek jumps up, running to hug your legs and you wave.

“I just went to give this house a new look, it was looking sloppy and abandoned. I painted it, put up new fences and now it looks decent, all that's missing is a few details on the inside. And you, big boy, go back to Aunt Nat and do your homework.” You kiss his forehead and the boy runs back to the woman.

“Aren't you hungry? It's practically lunchtime.” Natasha starts talking, looking tense.

“Maybe I'm a bit too hungry, but I need to take a shower and get rid of that skunk smell. Where's Bruce?” You cross your arms, looking around the house for your old father.

“He's gone out to sort out 'work matters', he said he'll be back in the afternoon. You can take your shower, when I've finished here I'll make you something to eat.” She says, smiling gently and you sigh.

You're definitely not used to this motherly treatment. You've always looked after yourself, but Derek first, and Bruce second. You always prioritized family, but that didn't mean you were at ease with Natasha doing it all for you. After all, you've never had anyone really care like that. Natasha seemed to want to take care of you like a newborn baby and that seemed strange, but you didn't want to give her so much trouble. You could look after yourself, so why worry so much?

You didn't want to be so close to her either. You were afraid of what might happen when you were alone, because that sexual tension was evident, it was dry and eager. She looked at you the way you looked at her, with silent desires that even without emitting sound, understanding, could be understood just by looking at you, by searching for you.

The warm water falls over your body, relaxing every tense muscle from your back to your exhausted chest. You lean your forehead against the wall and relax for a moment, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of relaxation and calm.

“Fuck.” You whisper softly, feeling a wave of warmth hit your body.

No. No dirty thoughts about an older woman. The problem wasn't that she was older, it was that she was your stepmother.

The foam-filled sponge glides over your stiff, tense body, your eyes closing as you imagine... Natasha on her knees, or lowered to the floor, or bent over with her face buried in the pillow as she smiles at you. A grunt leaves your lips and the blood rushes violently to your semi-hard member.

“Jesus, no.” You say, washing yourself and running some shampoo through your slightly overgrown hair, wiping away all that sweat.

After taking a few more minutes in the shower to get rid of a possible erection, you wash your face and leave the bathroom, drying yourself with the first towel you find there. You're still hot, but you have to control yourself. You want to take her right now, admit it. Your head shakes and you climb the stairs to your room with the towel around your waist, hoping you've been unnoticed, and enter the room, drying yourself quickly.

Passing through the open door, you put on sports shorts and boxer shorts underneath, quickly finishing drying your hair while putting on a tight compression T-shirt. Just wearing it makes you realize how much you've really grown physically.

“Hey, it's time to take Derek to school.” Natasha says as you walk down the stairs with running shoes in your hands.

“Sure, I can do that without any problems, my dad didn't use the car to go out today. Are you coming?” You ask, trying to understand the blush on her cheeks.

“I'd love to. I'm just going to finish tidying him up.” She smiles tensely, and you see your brother waving frantically as Natasha changes his clothes.

Derek then turns around, his hair combed back like his mother used to do with hers, the backpack a little bigger than him slung over his back and wearing a simple blue shirt and shorts, the sneakers identical to yours. Well, Natasha really was a good stepmother. You just couldn't see her the way you were seeing her, because that was incorrect and dirty, but it was almost inevitable.

“Ready?” You lick your lips and the two of you nod quickly. “Good, let's go.”

The road is quiet, peaceful. Natasha tells you where Derek goes to school because he was transferred not long ago and you drive along calmly, listening to them chatting about random, common things. Your hands turn the steering wheel skillfully, and through the rearview mirror you feel Natasha's gaze on you, although you can't say why.

The car stops and you park it in a wide parking lot, turning off the engine and taking off your seat belt. Stepping around the car, you help Derek out of his seatbelt and open the door for Natasha, who looks ecstatic about something but climbs down next to your brother, stroking his hair.

“Professor Carter!” Derek says, and runs out to a female figure standing a few meters away near a silver golf.

Natasha closes the door, giving you a grateful look, and the two of you approach the scene gingerly. Derek is hugging an older woman, she wears a long dress just below her knees in a wine color and her hair is straight blonde and well aligned, her brown eyes surprisingly calm, welcoming the boy and leaning down to hug him back. She... She's familiar to you.

“Hey, pretty boy, how are you? Natasha, good morning. Oh.” She greets the redhead and then looks at you, a surprised look filling her face.

More than a few years ago, you and Sharon Carter had a little fling together. You grew up together and had a lot in common. Steve introduced you to her at a party when you were 16 and she was 19. She's not that much older than you, and that didn't seem to be a problem, until Sharon said she'd fallen in love with you. And indeed, Sharon has fallen in love with you.

But you were the classic bad boy who liked to drive without a license, who spent the early hours of the morning away from home because your father constantly found any reason to fight with you, to complain about you as if it hadn't been his choice to have a son. You weren't the typical nice guy Sharon needed, like Steve for example, and you didn't know if you were in love with her, but you two had sex often, and that made her even more attached to you.

When you disappeared with the simple warning that you were going to serve in the army and didn't know if you'd be back any time soon, Sharon was disappointed. She wanted to spend time with you more than anything, but you had gone to serve your country and she had a career ahead of her, which she chose to become a teacher even though she wanted to be a psychologist. She liked you, she really did, but sometimes you acted like a bomb about to explode, just like Bruce did.

“Surprised to see me? Yeah, I knew you were going to become a teacher, Sharon. You always knew how to get along with children.” You say and squeeze Sharon's hand with a gentle but firm touch, which she blushes at before replying.

“I thought you were going to spend even more time in the army, Y/n. It seems to have done you a lot of good.” She says, biting her lip discreetly and smiling.

Natasha crosses her arms, an impassive expression on her face. She can already completely tell that the two of you know each other, that's for sure, but for some reason, the way Sharon looks at you and acts towards you makes Romanoff feel a big pang of discomfort in his stomach.

“Teacher, I have to show you my new drawings!” Derek says excitedly, hugging the woman tighter by the legs.

“Of course, darling, I'll look at them all, okay?” She says, running her hand over his bangs. “I thought Bruce was coming today.”

“You know how he is, always 'sorting out work stuff. Thanks for taking such good care of him, Sharon.” A minimalist smile curves your lips without showing your teeth and Sharon nods.

“No need to thank me, apart from being my job, it's a pleasure to look after this little one. We should have a coffee together one day, perhaps.” She says and makes you sigh, grabbing the car keys and giving Derek a kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah, maybe one day. Good morning, have fun, we'll be going for now, see you soon.” You nod and she agrees, expecting more from you, but turns and walks into the school with the boy.

As soon as you get into the car, put the key in the ignition and adjust the windows, Natasha gets in. Her face is slightly twisted with frustration, perhaps? That, and a hint of discontent. It looks like someone has stepped on her toes, but why?

“So, you and the teacher...” She says calmly, although her eyes seem distant and indifferent to you.

“What?” You turn the wheel, steering the car out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

“There seems to be something between you.” She replies and you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head.

“There's nothing between us.” You say and look at her out of the corner of your eye, Natasha's face turned completely towards you.

“She made it sound like there was, you know.” She shrugged, seeming not to want to bother you with the subject.

“Steve and I have known her since we were teenagers. Teenage parties, drinking, drugs, you know. Sharon was a fling of mine. If I can call it that.” Your voice answers quietly and you look at Natasha discreetly.

"Well, she doesn't seem to have forgotten you. You know how it is, when a woman loves, she's willing to do anything to make up for lost time, but it doesn't just depend on her." She says relaxed, still trying not to let her jealous face overflow.

“Sharon isn't in love with me. At least I don't think so. Even if she was, I'm not what she's looking for.” You say and on the one hand, Natasha reassures herself.

“And what is she looking for?” Romanoff looks at you from the passenger seat.

Her lips are pressed together, her breathing seems slightly unregulated. She's frustrated, yes. She's jealous, yes. She hated the way Sharon looked at you as if you were a toy she could ride on top of. Absolutely. Yes. But why should your stepmother be jealous of you? That was wrong, immoral, maybe a bit problematic, she'd only just met you anyway. It made your skin hot, but the hairs on the back of your neck were rising and your fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road before your eyes.

“What most women are looking for, I believe. A protective, self-assured, confident man. She wants a man who is one hundred percent there for her at all times. I didn't learn to be like that.” You brake at a red light and buckle up, your head resting against the seat.

“Don't you think she's the right woman?” Romanoff swallows, trying her best not to sound intrusive.

If anyone else were asking you these questions, it would be a different story. But her, she brought you comfort. She was...good. She was a good woman, as Steve assumed.

“I'm not in love with her, Natasha, even if she was right, what good would it do?” You look at her, and she nods quietly.

You've never found someone who makes your heart soar as if you were in one of those cheesy movie clichés, who makes time stand still around you, who makes you feel like the luckiest man in the world. No, you've never experienced any of that. You've only had nighttime adventures with older girls or even girls your own age, adventures with kissing, sex without commitment and conversations thrown away to be remembered. You never knew what love was.

And the only person who could teach you that was right there beside you, annoyed for some reason at the possibility of you falling in love with someone other than her.

“All right.” That was the only answer Natasha gave you, watching the car pull into the driveway of your house.

When you got in – and there was still a certain murderous silence in the air – you just took off your shoes, sat down on the sofa and picked up the remote control, looking for a live American soccer program, trying to distract yourself. Natasha went into the kitchen to do something, and the door creaked open a few minutes after you arrived, revealing Bruce's early arrival. He looked at you, but overcome by pride, said nothing and passed through to the kitchen.

“Hi, darling. How was work?” Natasha's distant voice said to him, who caught her kissing him, answering disconnectedly. “It was business as usual. I've never waited so long to get home and have my wife all to myself.”

You rolled your eyes, lay back on the sofa and turned up the volume slightly, watching two American league teams fight for a title. For some unusual reason, the sound of wet kissing bothered you deeply. You shook your head and tried to focus on the match, then you heard footsteps approaching the room and Natasha's warm hand touched your shoulder, making you turn almost instantly.

“Hey, do you want something to eat?” She asked, her lips slightly swollen and her face flushed.

You'd love to see her like that, but you'd love it even more to have that effect on her.

“No, thanks, Natasha. I'm going to take a nap, you can relax.” You replied and she nodded, smiling slowly before heading up the stairs, Bruce right behind her.

Your head pressed into the pillow and you let out a short curse, feeling uncomfortable and disgusted by the situation. It was your father's house too, but you were still there. Anyway, you forced yourself to sleep and it worked, your eyes became heavy and you completely relaxed your muscles against the not-so-spacious sofa, knowing that you would wake up with a sore neck as soon as you woke up.

“Fuck.” You cursed, rubbing your tired eyes.

The house was the same, but the afternoon was beginning to fade, making it clear that it would soon be dark. You grabbed the black clock on the table, seeing that it read 5:48 in the afternoon. There was still an hour or so before Derek would be released from school, so you were relieved to see that you weren't late to pick him up.

“What?” You sat groggily on the sofa, listening to a lot of noise coming from upstairs.

There were sounds coming from upstairs, and at first you thought there was something wrong there, since you were still groggy from sleep and tired. But gradually you noticed. The creaking of Bruce's bed, the loud sounds of skin hitting skin, of the headboard hitting the wall. They were having sex.

“Fuck, holy shit.” You say, completely lost in disgust and cover your head with your hands. “This can't be serious.”

But you could still hear it. It completely disturbed you. But it was also wrong, being jealous of your stepmother when she's married to your father. It's not as if Natasha hadn't been upset with Sharon about you too.

But she was married, you weren't. Still, that seemed contrary to morality.

“Fuck.” You cursed to yourself, getting out of there and going to the kitchen.

There was a case of beer in the fridge. You hated looking like your father, because whenever something bothered you or upset you, you always drank too, but not like him, he was worse. You grabbed two bottles and opened the caps with your teeth, spitting them into the trash can. Five minutes passed, and you emptied half the bottle of beer, lying on the sofa when Natasha came downstairs.

Your head turns subtly in the direction of the stairs and there she is, walking down the steps like an art exhibition that could never be bought. A misunderstood muse. Yet not something that could be conquered, but touched, felt. A woman, with a deceptive young girl's face, with an older woman's mature soul with gifts you could never guess. Married to your arsehole of a father. He didn't deserve her, that much was clear, but what could you do, if not mourn in the corners of the house, silently wishing this woman was yours?

Her skin was pale, although tanned by her own sweat. Her impeccable red hair was now dishevelled and out of order, falling in light waves to her shoulders. Her body, which could reveal to you many dangerous curves and paths to the most silent sin, was covered in a long black dressing gown, and you could see that she was wearing a baggy T-shirt that wasn't hers on her body. Her lips were swollen, dry. You could see a glimpse of her shapely legs, and wow, what legs. Although you knew exactly what she and your father were doing up there, she didn't look pleased. Her eyes looked confused, troubled, even sweaty, she was unhappy. And how could she not be unhappy with Bruce Banner?

But you couldn't look away. She was so well preserved, my goodness.

“I'm sorry, Y/n, I thought you were still asleep. I didn't want to appear like this, I must look like an unnatural stepmother.” She laughs, and it's so natural that you want to hear that sound more often.

“Yeah, well, I just had a nap anyway. It seems my father didn't take care of his work properly. I heard it, without meaning to, but I heard it.” You say, and as soon as you realise what you've said, you swallow bitterly.

Natasha looks at you deeply, she doesn't feel offended. But embarrassed? To the extreme. Bruce doesn't even look after the house, imagine if he could handle wife when they're in bed? He was an arrogant arsehole – and sometimes you were a bit arrogant yourself – but he was terrible at a lot of things. That made him a complete failure.

“Y/n. I wish you wouldn't comment on my sex life with your father.” She says, and she's not blunt, but firm and offhand, even.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to.” You reply calmly but you want to say much more to her.

Yeah, if I had you, you'd really moan, Natasha. In fact, you wouldn't even be walking unless your legs were completely weak and you wouldn't even be thinking. That would be having a real man.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you grab it, seeing messages from Steve inviting you out for a drink at a newly opened bar. It didn't sound too bad. And you weren't going to stand there listening to your incredibly hot stepmother having sex with your slacker father who didn't even know how to treat a woman. You answer Steve quickly and grab a camouflage jacket, put it on over your shirt and change your shorts for trousers and shoes before heading back down to the living room.

“I'm going for a walk with Steve, we're going to a pub with an old high school crowd. When I get back, I'll probably bring Derek from school. So don't worry, I'll take care of everything.” You say and walk across the room, but Natasha holds your arm.

“Hey, don't drink too much. You're driving and you're bringing your brother, Y/n.” She says, her green eyes clouded with worry.

“I won't. You can relax.” You whisper firmly, and the smell of her sweat hits you.

It's something like vanilla, but at the same time mixed with a specific sweet, fruity flavour. Delicious. She's delicious. Even when sweaty, her scent remains impeccable, and you've noticed it ever since you first saw her. You see a slight bite mark on her neck and you want to touch it, but something bothers your stomach, because you know it's not you who's caused it. And you can't. Natasha sighs, she knows you're so close that just by looking at you she could stop breathing, because you're like a masterpiece hidden deep inside her genius mind.

“I get it. You take care.” You say, forcing yourself to get away from her before you do something thoughtless.

Natasha regrets your departure. She wants you to stay, but it's your choice and you want to be with your old friends, it's your right, so she just watches you walk out the door. Your words are still jumbled and struggling in her mind. Bruce really wouldn't know how to satisfy her. But what about you? How deep could you go for her?

The place is cosy like being in an old cottage in the middle of a field away from everything, but it's a pub nonetheless. A pub, with the appearance of a pub, of course. With lots of chairs and tables spread out in an orderly fashion, with decorative signs with drink brands, with people laughing and exchanging small talk with each other, with a woman carrying more mugs of frothy beer than you can count. The smell is pleasant, a mixture of burning wood and live alcohol seeping through the walls, as well as jazz and blues playing in the background. Now that should be a lifestyle. You stick your hands in your pockets and catch up with Steve, who is chatting distractedly to Private Wilson, none other than Maria Hill and James Barnes, a school friend who has disappeared from your sight to go live with his parents in Germany.

Maria was a great friend of yours and Steve's, and he even told you that she liked you a lot, but you only saw her as a sister, something that annoyed her, but she would never push it.

“Hey, look who's here! When Steve said you looked like a wall, I couldn't believe it, I had to come and see for myself.” Barnes laughs and hugs you, patting you on the back. “And you look great, mate, if you were blonde you'd be considered a German citizen straight away.”

“You're impossible.” Maria laughs and hugs you too, as tightly as if she hadn't seen you for years, which was true.

The five of you get lost in conversations between the past and the present. Maria, who was a classmate at the school where you and Rogers studied, had completed her studies and was studying law for some time, something she was very proud of. Barnes, who was now living in Germany but took time out to see old friends, had opened a workshop in Stuttgart, one of the country's most influential industrial cities. Wilson was certainly in the army, as you already knew, but according to him, he planned to finish another year of service and open a carpentry shop to honour his late father's memory. Even Steve was planning to leave the army, he said he'd like to become a 'police chief', which didn't sound too bad. You, on the other hand, weren't even sure what to do.

All you knew was that you wanted your own car, to move out of your grumpy father's house and find a place of your own, even if it wasn't in the city centre.

But you would still happily visit Derek as often as you could.

“Hey, baby! Why don't you come round and give us a bit of attention? Let's have some fun!” A bald guy with yellow teeth exclaimed from the table a few metres away from yours on the left.

This guy was with two other men at his table, one of them had spiky hair and wore dark glasses, the other had gel-slicked hair and blue glasses. They were all wearing jackets and dark clothes, with helmets on the floor under the table where they were standing. They all looked fucking weird, though, and were already staring at Maria in a completely uncomfortable and sexual way that was putting you off. She paid no attention for the first few minutes, of course, trying not to care, but they were becoming increasingly unbearable to put up with.

“Hey, mate, stay cool. She's with us.” Steve said, noticing your shoulders tense with nervousness.

He didn't want to risk it, he knew you had a certain problem with anger but Steve was a man of order and hated arguments unless he felt it was 'necessary'. You, on the other side, had already downed three shots of straight whisky and were ready to blow the ugly faces off those ogre bikers.

“And who said I asked you anything, hero hair?” The frizzy-haired guy asked and stood up, passing behind Sam and subtly squeezing Maria's shoulders, who was startled. “Could you please take your hands off me?”

"You don't like it, do you?" He laughed and approached her.

You practically jumped out of your chair, using both hands to push the man's chest, who staggered backwards with your violent force and almost fell to the floor. He growled a dry laugh and approached you again, punching you in the air as you nimbly sidestepped him. Your group laughed and whistled in your direction, making him even angrier, and you drove your fist straight into his nose, hearing something break and fresh blood splatter on your skin.

“She said to let go of her.” You grunted, hardly caring about the pain.

“What the fuck, man!” One of them shouted and you felt the thud of something glass against your face. “Y/n!”

You punched the same man and kicked him in the stomach, hearing a loud grunt of pain, blood staining the refinished wooden floor. The second man approached and you head-butted him hard, feeling his blood splatter on your forehead and nose. The bald man pushed you, making you stumble with a bleeding part of your face, noticing that he had smashed a fucking glass bottle over your head. Fortunately, there was a single deep cut on your eyebrow going halfway down your pale cheek. He nearly blinded you. Steve pushed him hard and kicked him in the stomach, and you elbowed the third man who approached you in the face.

“That's enough! Out of my pub, NOW!” A middle-aged man with a full moustache said and Steve and the others pulled you out.

“Bloody hell, mate, you nearly fucked your face up for that! That was insanely crazy!” Barnes shouted, trying to analyse your bruise.

“It's okay, it's just a bit of blood.” You sighed heavily.

“What were you thinking! Jesus, Banner, you could have hurt yourself badly or something worse!” Maria grabbed your shoulders, visibly worried.

“Exactly! We need to take care of this.” Steve pointed to your bruised face.

“I wasn't going to let that disgusting worm harass you, Hill.” You whispered furiously, your fists shaking.

“And I didn't want you to get hurt because of me, Banner! God, you're so impulsive.” She shook her head.

“All right, Hill, I'll take care of it from here. Don't worry.” Rogers touched her shoulder and Maria nodded nimbly.

“Wilson, Barnes and I were thinking of going to a party a few blocks from here, are you coming? It's a friend's birthday.” She asked, brushing a lock of her fringe out of her face.

“I can't right now, I have to pick Derek up from school. I hope you have a good time, though.” You say and pull her into a tight hug, which she returns.

“And I'll be keeping an eye on this tough guy. Good night, take care, gentlemen and...lady.” Steve says goodbye to them and you look at him out of the corner of your eye. “Don't give me that look, you know I won't let you drive alone in this state.”

And Steve does. He drives to school as soon as you've said goodbye to the rest of the group, looking at you every five minutes as if you might jump out of the car if you had a mental breakdown. You were still bleeding, no matter how hard you tried to stop the bleeding, the cut had left a wide scar on your eyebrow sliding in a crooked loop to the beginning of your right cheek. It stung like hell, even, and there might have been a few shards stuck in there, but you'd convinced yourself to put up with as much pain as possible and Steve not to drag you to the nearest hospital.

“Stevie! Y/n!” Derek ran towards you both, hugging you and jumping into your arms.

“Hey, little brother.” You ruffled his hair, hearing voices all over the car park, parents gathering with their children and kids everywhere.

“What happened to your face?” The boy held your chin, his black eyes wide.

“Well, what can we say, mate? Your big brother took on a bad guy to protect a friend of ours and ended up with a war wound.” Steve smiled, crossing his arms as he looked directly at you.

“Hey, that's an honourable act. Let's just say it's what separates the men from the boys.” You shrugged, opening the passenger door for your brother and sitting him down, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

“In other words, he's a tough guy.” Steve laughed briefly, getting into the car and you patted Derek on the shoulder. “And we say...”

“We should always protect and look after women, sir.” The boy said before you could even think and you nodded positively, sitting down next to him and pulling on your seatbelt as Steve started to drive. “That's my boy.”

The journey home is a bit hectic. Derek tells you and Steve that the girl he's supposedly tremendously in love with, Emilly, has taken a liking to a guy who certainly loves to pick on him. She also seems to be ignoring him. You and Steve try your best to comfort the boy, who is quiet for a few minutes only until you mention that Natasha must be preparing something for him to eat when he arrives. The boy jumps out of the car as soon as you park it and helps him with his seatbelt, and you joke about it with Steve as you approach the house after locking the car.

“You're here, baby! How was class?” You hear Natasha's voice from inside and sigh.

The first thing that unfortunately crosses your mind is that she literally fucked your father while you were awake listening to everything.

But it's okay, because apparently Bruce didn't get the job done, but he should be calmer now.

“It was great, Nat! Emily kicked my arse, but it's okay because Stevie told me I'm a big guy who deserves better things and now I'm starving. Look at that, Y/n's got a new war scar!” He exclaims, pointing at you as you enter the room.

Natasha is now wearing neutral-coloured baggy trousers, a striped T-shirt and slippers that you've never seen before, but which make her even more adorable considering the situation. Her red hair is tied up in a messy bun and a few strands fall across her face, making her look completely and fucking ten times hotter than before. But no, you shouldn't see your stepmother like that, mate.

“What? My God, Y/n! What's happened?” Natasha moves away from the cooker where she was standing and switches off the fire, running over to you.

“Natasha, it's no big deal, just-” You try to explain yourself, but Romanoff is quicker.

“Oh, God. What's wrong? I told you not to drink, especially as you had to bring Derek back home! Say something, how did this happen?” She exclaims, practically on the verge of collapse.

You almost laugh at the situation, because you find the way she cares for you subtle and kind, but your smile falters when Natasha is so close that her breath brushes your face. Her fingers are on your jaw, some run over your ears, and you smell her, feel how close she is now, and her touch is simply the icing on the cake. It lights you up.

“It was just a silly bar fight, Natasha, it's fine. Steve and I were with some friends, Maria, our friend, was being bothered by some weirdos and I had to take action.” You explain, swallowing.

“And by that he means: he took on three men practically on his own and got his head bashed in. That's why he's bleeding.” Steve commented, not looking threatened by your fatal stare.

“Jesus Christ. You've got to be out of your mind, you should be in hospital right now! Hang on, I'll take care of it.” Natasha said, moving away to rummage through the cupboard drawers.

Just then, Bruce appeared, coming down the stairs. He had his glasses in his eyes, his hair crumpled and dishevelled, a crooked posture and a grumpy, grey look in his eyes. He didn't look very friendly for someone who'd had sex this afternoon. Well, it's not as if he's the type who knows how to leave a woman satisfied. It seemed to make sense.

“Leave the boy alone, Natasha, he can look after himself, he's practically a grown man.” He said and she replied. “No, he's bleeding, he won't know how to look after himself.”

“You're stubborn, just go and serve the dishes and stop voicing your opinion-” Bruce said rudely, but she cut him off.

“Shut up, Bruce. Sit down. I'll take care of Y/n's wound first.” She practically grunted, bringing with her a first aid kit.

Bruce looked static, probably furious that his wife had hit him for the first time, but he went to sit down at the table and remained silent.

“Natasha-” You sighed, feeling her sit you down in the living room armchair and shake her head.

“No Natasha, Y/n. You're hurt, the least I can do is clean it up and hope it gets a bit better, but if you were in hospital, you'd probably need a few stitches.” She shakes her head, opening the small suitcase. “And that's going to hurt a bit.”

You close your eyes and shake your head subtly, trying to ignore the way her breath was practically in your face and judging that her full breasts were so prominent inside her striped shirt, she was probably without a bra. Fuck, don't look over there, kid. Natasha takes a piece of gauze, her hands already clean and sanitised, and presses it gently on the cut, trying her best to stop the bleeding without hurting you.

“You know, I was a nurse when I was about your age. For a few years. I served in the army in Manhattan. I was good at what I did, but I didn't think it was for me.” She whispered softly, her eyes fixed on every part of your face.

“Can't stand the smell of blood?” You asked rhetorically.

“Not just the smell. I don't like seeing the consequences caused on the body of a man who is trying to defend his country. I didn't have the stomach for it.” She swallowed dryly and you nodded softly.

“What do you do now?” The question escapes her mouth faster than she realises and Natasha pulls out the bloodstained cotton wool, fiddling absent-mindedly with the case.

“I make cakes, sweets in general, it's been a long time since I married your father. I was unemployed anyway, so as I'm almost obsessed with baking, I put one thing together and that's what happened.” She replied, bending down to wipe the dried blood from her brow.

“Do you make them and have your own shop or?..” You stared at her.

“No, well, I cook them and prepare everything myself. Young Thor, from next door, delivers them on his bicycle, and I pay him accordingly. He's a great kid.” She says simply.

Your jaw clenches, the fingers of your hand squeezing the seat cushion indiscreetly. Annoyed? Certainly. But why? She's your stepmother, she's married and well-off, even though she has your idiot father for a spouse. Apart from that, you shouldn't be jealous of her.

“Got it.” Your eyes flash dangerously and Natasha suddenly blushes, looking away.

“I'll put a saline solution over the cut to make sure it's cleaner. Then I'll cover it with gauze, but please make sure you go and see the doctor, Y/n, I don't want you to get an infection or anything.” She asks and you nod.

Romanoff leans over and with a new piece of damp cotton wool, she dabs it over his still open cut with the utmost caution, cleaning the area as best she can. A grunt comes out of your mouth as the wound burns all over, the blood running cold through your veins. Natasha notices and pulls her hand away slightly, feeling your gaze on her.

“It's all right. Take a deep breath.” She says and you do as she says, your chest rising and falling.

She moves closer again, and feels your hand on her wrist, which makes her breathing increase slightly, intimidated by you. But you follow her every move, and she cleans the wound as much as she can, pulling away when she's finished. With a clean towel, she carefully dries around the wound and takes a piece of gauze, making a few improvised cuts because of the angle of your wound. She quickly covers the area and sticks the cotton fabric there, making sure it sticks well but also doesn't cover or obscure your vision.

“Thank you. That wasn't necessary.” You say, your heavy accent making Natasha's legs tremble discreetly.

“It was necessary. And please don't get into any more fights if you want to kill me and your father with worry.” She says, and her hand accidentally brushes against your broad shoulder.

“I'm sure he doesn't mind, but I really appreciate it, Natasha.” A crooked smile curves her lips.

“I care about you.” She says simply.

Natasha's gaze on you is surreal. Everything about this woman is surreal, her eyes, her voice, her completely gentle and naturally full demeanour. Fuck, she should be unwanted here, but you're starting to completely ignore the very rules you've built behind the wall you're hiding behind, because deep down, you want this woman in every way possible. It doesn't matter if she's your stepmother, or a forbidden woman.

“Aren't you coming round for dinner?” Natasha smiled softly, a bite on the lower lip being enough to end your evening.

#natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel #steve rogers #agegap #scarlett johansson #natasha romanoff x you

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hard-core-super-star · 4 months ago

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just gotta have it [wandanat]

pairing: wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff

summary: after their one night stand, wanda and natasha navigate what comes next in different ways. wanda isn’t a fan.

warnings: jealous!wanda [yes, she deserves her own warning]; allusions to sex; morning after; nat runs, wanda chases her; idk if this counts as miscommunication?; making out; a LOT of exposition

wordcount: 3.6k

a/n: hi, as promised here is part/chapter two of OWN MY MIND 😁 it’s not smut buuuuuut more smut is on the way, don’t worry. this part sets up the smut though so it’s a very fun read regardless. writing for wandanat is a lot more fun than I ever thought it would be so I really hope you guys enjoy. let me know if you want more, if you want wandanat x reader, anything you want, my askbox is open for thoughts. anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

[part one | part three]

* * * * * * *

There wasn't much that surprised Natasha these days. After growing up in the Red Room, the countless assassination missions that came after, the sudden change that joining SHIELD brought into her life, the realization that alien and robot invasions were to be her new normal. After all of that, there wasn't much left for her to be surprised by.

But waking up in Wanda's bed, with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if she would disappear otherwise. That surprised her more than anything she'd seen in the past few months.

Part of her surprise came from the mere fact that she'd ever allowed herself to get swept away by the younger woman. Sure, she was almost as stubborn as the Widow, but she had far more experience, far more resilience to manipulation. It should've been difficult to get her like this, borderline impossible.

And yet the young witch had broken through all her barriers as if they weren't even real. As if they were as fickle as the power that thrummed through the witch's veins.

As upset as Natasha wanted to be about it…she was warm and comfortable and Wanda looked absolutely ethereal thanks to the soft beams of sunlight making their way through the blinds.

"Why are you awake?" Wanda grumbles, effectively cutting off her rambling thoughts before they spiral into something much darker. "It's much too early."

She stares down at the younger woman, her lips curling up into a small smile despite herself. "Because you're holding me too tight, I can't breathe, detka."

The petname rolls off her tongue with ease. It shouldn't be surprising considering the things they did together the night before, but there's a difference between sex and…whatever this is. She's not sure that she can explain what exactly they're doing. The way they're somehow straddling the border between a one-night stand and a blossoming relationship.

As much as she hesitates to admit it, Natasha is really hoping they can settle into the second option.

"You didn't complain about that last night," the witch responds, tilting her head back so she can meet her gaze. "I thought you liked it rough, 'Tasha."

Natasha huffs, the sound as warm as the flush racing across her cheeks. "You're so annoying."

"Yet you're the one in my bed."

Wanda doesn't even attempt to hide the smirk that breaks out across her face and all the older woman can do is groan. Her annoyance is merely a mask, though. A loosely-fitting one that can't exactly hide the way her heart skips multiple beats.

Maybe she can hide from the witch, but she can't hide from herself. Or deny how long it's been since she's felt so carefree and…alive.

"How do I know you didn't use your magic on me, huh?" She questions.

It's meant to be a tease, a stupid joke between two people who know each other, who understand the way the witch's powers work.

However, Natasha instantly notices the way the younger woman's face changes. The way her smirk drops and her shoulders shrink into herself, almost as if she's trying to disappear. Maybe it should make her question her intentions yet all it does is reveal to her how delicate the witch still is. How vulnerable she is despite the walls she's built around herself.

She didn't think Wanda would still feel guilty of what she did when they met. Clearly, she was wrong.

Instead of waiting for the younger woman's reply, Natasha moves first. Her hand comes up to cup her cheek before she slowly tilts her head up so their eyes can meet once more. "I was joking, malyshka," she murmurs. "I know you wouldn't use your powers like that."

For a few moments, all the witch can do is stare at the older woman. Her eyes slowly scan her face, taking in every detail, each twitch of her lips, every twinkle in her green eyes. It's almost like she's searching her. Looking for an answer neither of them can put into words.

"It was a shitty joke," she mumbles, suddenly embarrassed over her reaction.

Natasha doesn't let her dwell on that for long, though. She hates the way she tries to shift away from her, the air of uncertainty that suddenly wraps around them. The witch shouldn't have to feel guilty anymore, she's free from HYDRA, free to make her own decisions and do whatever she wants.

" I never said I was funny," she points out with a soft chuckle.

Ironically, her words make Wanda crack a smile. The tension in her shoulders decreases somewhat as she leans into Natasha's hand, her free arm wrapping around her waist to pull her in. "I guess there's something you are bad at. Who would have thought being funny would be your weakness."

The older woman allows herself to be pulled close, pretending like she can't feel Wanda's hands creeping down her spine. "Cracking jokes wasn't exactly part of my training, Wands."

"Me neither."

They let the words hang in the air for a second, their past experiences reflecting the most vulnerable parts of each other. The parts they stopped sharing at some point since they were so sure no one would understand them. That nothing good could come out of sharing the truth.

And now, here they were.

Tangled up together, bare in every sense of the word.

Natasha's not sure how much time goes by with them like that. She is pretty sure, however, that she could spend the rest of the day buried in the witch without a care in the world.

Their job, however, makes her care about the world just as much as she cares about Wanda. If she was more humorous, she might make a joke about it.

She's not, though, so when their time together is interrupted by F.R.I.D.A.Y., she forces herself to get up instead of getting lost in the taste of the younger woman again.

Wanda, however, isn't too happy about that development. "You're going to let Stark steal you from me?"

Natasha laughs as she walks around the room, collecting her forgotten undergarments and stealing a sweatsuit from the witch's closet. "I'm going to go do my job, princess."

"Same difference," the younger woman huffs, sitting up and allowing the blankets to slide down her body. "Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?"

Even though the Widow knows exactly what sight is waiting for her, she turns around anyway. She allows her eyes to take in the sight before her, her gaze lingering on the other woman's exposed chest. "Not today. But that doesn't mean I don't want to see you later."

The words are soft, the true meaning hidden beneath a layer of teasing humor not unlike the one she employed the night before. Maybe it's a coping mechanism. A way of putting herself out there without risking their friendship. Or maybe, she just enjoys keeping the witch on her toes.

"Hmmm, don't make promises you can't keep, 'Tasha. I don't handle disappointment well."

"I figured that much."

They share a look, one that holds both affection and hesitation at the same time. Like they're both on the very same edge, torn between letting everything out of their system and holding on to some semblance of self-control. For some sort of cue to allow their feelings to grow stronger.

Ultimately, Natasha chooses to break the spell first. To simply send a smile Wanda's way before walking out of her room, not even acknowledging the stolen clothes that now fit her body.

Life has other plans for her, though, and she runs into Steve before she can even make it to the elevator. She's going to make Stark pay for putting all the new recruits on the same floor as Captain Goody Two Shoes.

"Morning Nat," he greets her, his hair far too perfect for him to have just woken up. "I didn't realize you switched rooms."

She barely manages to catch herself before she rolls her eyes. Of course, she's been out of Wanda's room for less than a minute and she's already getting questioned.

"I didn't," she says.

Her curt reply should be more than enough information for him to stop his questions before they get into the details of what exactly she's been up to. Unfortunately, Steve isn't always the best at seeing what's in front of him.

"Then why are you-" His words are cut off as he finally turns to look at her. Really look at her. With her disheveled hair and dark sweatsuit that fits her figure differently than most of her clothes. "Oh."

Natasha almost wants to punch him. If not for how awkward he's acting, for the fact that he couldn't have simply ignored all the details and let her get on with her day. It was already bad enough that she was on her way to see Tony without any coffee in her system.

"Yeah…" She trails off, urging the elevator to hurry up and come get her out of her misery.

Her luck isn't that good, though. The elevator doesn't come and the blonde doubles down.

"I didn't know…I thought you and Bruce-"

The mention of Banner's name makes her cut in instantly, a weird sort of defensiveness creeping into her tone. "No, that was…that wasn't…it was nothing. Less than a fling."

Steve simply stares at her, even as she ignores him by staring straight ahead at the metal doors that never open. "And you and Wanda are…?"

There's something about his gaze that makes her straighten up.

Deep down, she knows he's not trying to be an asshole. He's trying to be a good friend, as well as a responsible team leader. It's a weird balance but he's slowly figuring it out.

That being said, he'd probably be better at balancing both parts of himself if he didn't start blushing any time a slightly mature theme was brought up.

"It was just a drunken thing, it doesn't have to mean anything," she responds, hating the words as they slide off her tongue.

"But do you want it to mean something?"

The answer should be easy. And in all honesty, it is easy. But there's something about the way he looks at her that makes her want to lie. That makes her feel like retreating and forgetting about this stupid crush nonsense.

It's not like she's cut out for it anyway.

"That doesn't matter," Natasha says. "We're here to do our job, right?"

If Steve picks up on her lie, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he digs the knife in deeper, unbeknownst to him. "Right. That's actually something I wanted to let you know about. We're implementing a new rule regarding…intimacy between teammates. Is that an issue for you?"

Instead of facing the problem head-on, Natasha simply clenches her jaw, instantly walking forward once the elevator arrives. "Do what you want, Steve, I don't mind."

While the Widow is able to keep her emotions in check, to suppress what she truly wants until things change and she's able to have them, Wanda is the complete opposite.

Truth be told the Sokovian used to pride herself on her patience. She used to brag about how good she was at waiting for the right moment to strike. At watching closely until an opportunity revealed itself.

It had been one of those skills that had helped her survive her time with HYDRA. One that fueled her her first encounters with the Avengers, and the subsequent missions she went on to prove herself.

Patience had been one of her virtues… at least until Natasha came into her life.

Now, she wasn't sure she had much patience at all.

Worse than that, she had also developed a bit of a short fuse. That wasn't really the Widow's fault, though.

The real reason she was so irritable now had more to do with her so-called "team members" than anything else. Although, truth be told, Natasha had something to do with it too.

Wanda wasn't particularly sentimental, she knew what a one-night stand was. What it meant when it was between two close friends who maybe wouldn't be able to be more than that because of their circumstances. But just because she knew what they were, didn't mean she wasn't hurt.

As foolish as it might have been, she genuinely believed there was something more between her and the Widow. Something that went beyond flirtatious comments and a few orgasms. Something that would give her the chance to make her hers.

Of course, she'd had that thought the morning after their hookup. When Natasha was standing in her room, wearing her clothes, and promising to come see her that night. It shouldn't have surprised her when the older woman didn't show up, when she ignored every single one of her calls and refused to come out of her room to talk to her, but it did. It surprised her and it hurt her.

And now, everything had changed.

She wasn't even sure what it was that made the older woman pull away so suddenly. All she knew is that one day, Natasha had been the only constant she had in her life and the next, she was gone before the sun had even set.

Stupidly, she had assumed things between them wouldn't change. At least, not for the worse. She didn't think she was going to lose the early morning training sessions or the thoughtful cups of tea in the middle of the night. She simply thought they way they would interact while other people were around would be different. Not bad, not worse, just…different.

But things were definitely worse.

And she was losing her damn mind trying to act like they weren't.

"You know, no one dislikes you, Wanda."

Vision's voice breaks her out of her thoughts and she barely manages to stop herself from groaning out loud at the sight of him. It's not like she doesn't like his company, he's much more enjoyable to talk to than Stark, but he can't replace Natasha. No matter how hard he tries.

"Thank you?" She responds, not tearing her gaze from the communal kitchen. Her eyes follow Natasha as she moves across the space, her beauty radiant even at a distance.

Wanda had been cooking dinner for the team for the past few nights. It hadn't happened on purpose but Sam had stumbled in while she was cooking and after being allowed a few bites of the soup she was making, he decided she should be in charge of the kitchen from now on. Anything was better than Steve's mashed potatoes or Tony's penchant for dry-ass steak, he said.

So, that had become the routine. Another routine the Widow decided to interrupt.

It hadn't been her fault, though. Apparently, Steve really liked the idea of turning dinner into a bonding opportunity. That sounded like the last thing Wanda wanted to be a part of but somehow, everyone had agreed to the idea.

Of course, that had been when everyone had unanimously decided she would be making dinner. But of course, the Captain had to stick his nose in other people's business and had told her to take a break tonight, that he and Natasha could handle it.

Wanda thought she'd be able to handle it but being forced to watch those two move across the kitchen, talking and giggling like two teenagers stuck in their own world, was worse than anything she'd gone up against during their last mission.

Vision's attempts at helping her feel better were only adding salt to her multiple wounds.

"I mean it," the android tries again. "We all appreciate how hard you work. How well you control your powers-"

"I don't control my powers," she snaps, needing to voice her frustrations somehow. "I am my powers."

The words don't seem to stop him from trying to get her attention. "Right. My point is the same, Captain Rogers thinks you're an incredible addition to the team and no one disagrees."

This time, she can't stop herself from rolling her eyes. She's sure she's heard more about Steve in these past few days than anything else. It probably shouldn't annoy her as much as it does, but she can't help it. Right now, he seems to be the only thing standing between her and Natasha.

"Thank you, Vision," she says. "But it's not his opinion I care about."

For the first time since his creation, the android looks uncertain. "Well…Miss Romanoff has been singing your praises too or so I've heard."

She wants to pry for more information but before she can, the sight in front of her makes her see red. It's stupid. She knows it's stupid. But all her rational thoughts leave her when she sees Steve's hand land on Natasha's waist before he easily picks her up and sets her down on the counter.

Even from her spot on the couch, she can hear the way they're laughing. The affectionate tone in the Widow's voice as she complains about not being able to help. The warm look in Steve's eyes as he watches her fidget atop the countertop.

There's only thought in her head as she watches the exchange: that should be her.

Wanda tries her best to be patient. To swallow her pride, her need for an answer, her betrayal. To push it all down and not cause a scene that might cost her the barely there friendship she has with her teammates.

But she can't stand it.

So, she acts without thinking.

In a flash, she rises from her seat and crosses the room until she reaches the older woman. She doesn't try to save face or act nonchalant, she simply grasps Natasha's wrist and and drags her toward her. All she offers Steve is a semi-apologetic smile and a mumbled excuse about "girl problems" that shuts him up before he can question her.

Wanda's not quite sure where she's going, she just knows she needs to be away from everyone else. Needs to figure out what's going on with the older woman before she goes crazy.

The second they're away from prying eyes, she pushes the Widow against the wall, effectively trapping her before she tries to run away. "We need to talk."

"This is one way of starting a conversation," Natasha mutters, trying to sound more annoyed than she really is.

"I wouldn't have to do this if you weren't ignoring me," Wanda points out. "What the hell is going on?"

The accusatory tone in the witch's voice makes the older woman react before she can give herself a chance to think her words over. "You're asking me that? You're the one acting like a jealous teenager."

Wanda's gaze turns into a glare, her nails digging into Natasha's waist. "Oh, that's rich coming from Miss Giggles."

The Widow scoffs as she crosses her arms over her chest. "You're fucking kidding me. You're actually jealous?"

The younger woman clenches her jaw but forces herself to react somewhat rationally. Even when all she wants is to crash their lips together and drown out the insecurities plaguing her thoughts.

"I'm annoyed, Natasha," she responds. "You've been giving me the silent treatment for weeks. What happened to training? To wanting me?"

It's the last question that gets a reaction out of Natasha. It's subtle, but Wanda's trained herself to notice every little shift in her expression. Which means she notices they way her eyes drop down, the way she licks her own lips in that split second of vulnerability.

"Things change, Maximoff. Get used to it."

"Bullshit," Wanda scoffs. "Don't lie to me, you still want me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

It’s reckless.

It’s stupid.

It’s probably the worst thing she could do.

But Wanda sees it.

She sees the way Natasha tries to pull away despite the way her body responds to her and she knows what it means. Her defenses are trying to come back up. She’s trying to create distance between them again.

So, as illogical as it is, Wanda closes the distance.

She surges forward and crashes her lips into the older woman’s, allowing her grip to loosen so she can pull her closer.

The Widow tenses for a second, seemingly caught off-guard, but then…she melts. She kisses the witch back with a ferocity that rivals her own and they lose themselves in the taste of each other.

Even as her heart pounds in her chest and her lungs burn from the lack of air, Wanda forces herself to pour everything she has into the kiss.

To beg her to stay without using words.

For a moment, it works.

They pull away, breathless yet desperate, their foreheads resting against each other. They’re practically panting into the other’s mouths, nothing but a few inches of space separating them.

And then it ends.

Natasha manages to slither out of her grasp and walk away.

It should infuriate Wanda. Make her cry with a mix of anger, frustration, and sadness.

But it doesn’t.

All the witch can do is smirk to herself.

After all, she was right.

Natasha wants her bad.

And if the Widow can’t admit that, Wanda knows exactly what to do to help her.

* * * * * * *

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#wandanat fic #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wandanat #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #black widow #scarlet witch #avengers fanfiction #mcu imagine #marvel fic #wlw fic #writing

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