#roger taylor x you

[anonymityisfunwriter]

"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a

[capsicle107]

and i wake with your memory over me that's a real fucking legacy to leave (x)

part ii of the steggy x red x maroon x daylight arc

[letssee2468]

Yall let me be real with you…

YALL THESE PORN BOTS ARE GETTING OUT OF HAND!!!😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

I’ve had enough! I already scrolled 5 consecutive post of these porn bots

Some one pls help me filter them out cuz im annoyed

[whisperingashgarden]

Timeless

Honestly, I have had this idea stuck in my head for a while; I might turn it into a tiny series, but I'm not sure. Let me know, lol. Yes, this is loosely based off of my daydreaming when I hear Timeless by my homegirl Taylor Swift.

Eventual Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 957

Summary: An unexpected encounter with a handsome blue-eyed stranger and his best friend on your daily bus ride home.

--

The loud screeching of the bus pulled your attention off the worn-inked pages. The book was released nearly six years ago, and you finally got the chance to read it. As the bus came to an abrupt stop, you stood up from the chipped blue bench and placed a worn ribbon into the pages as a bookmark before tucking the book to your side.

You quickly made your way up the rickety steps. The humid air inside the bus nearly made you recoil. Your eyes scanned the row of seats, but you only saw a few open spots. You reached an empty seat and settled onto the worn leather. Your hands clasped tightly around the small paperback.

When your eyes found their way to looking out the dusty window, the clambering of a few guys drew your attention, and you could hear their voices as they yelled after the bus for it to wait. The bus driver rolled his eyes before opening the doors again for the men. Out of breath, they quickly climbed up the steps, scanning the bus.

The first guy, a scrawny blonde, promptly found a seat across the aisle from you. Looking around, you quickly realized the only seat left was next to you. You looked back up at the second guy entering the bus, immediately taken aback by his striking blue eyes. He noticed the empty spot next to you and met your eyes. He smiled down at you, and you nearly lost your breath. How was it possible someone could be so mesmerizing?

“Is it okay if I sit here?” His voice rumbled softly through the humid air, and you were stuck momentarily. You blinked up at him before coming back to your senses. You nod your head, probably a bit too fast, but you don’t have time to think about that. You scoot over, speaking softly towards the handsome stranger.

“Of course…” A small smile pulls at your lips, and he nods down at you before taking up the remaining space in the bus seat. Your shoulders are nearly touching, and you know he can sense your body's stiffness as you try not to invade his space. Your thumb caresses the smooth cover of your book nervously, and you try to focus on the passing scenery. The brunet shifts slightly, and a hint of cologne wafts under your nose: the warm amber and a hint of vanilla settling deep in your gut. Before you can distract yourself from the attractive man sitting close to you on the worn leather bench, you hear his voice rumble deep into your ear.

“The Hobbit?” You could hear the tiny smirk in the simple words. Your head turns to meet his cerulean eyes with a questioning gaze. His lip turns up more before he nods towards the book in your hands. Your eyes dart down at the fantasy book clasped between your fingers before meeting his gaze again. A genuine smile falls onto your face as a breathless laugh falls from your lips.

“Yeah, have you read it?” The man nods, his eyes crinkling in the corner as he smiles at you. He lifts his right arm to settle it across the back of the seat, and his cologne nearly makes you lightheaded as it becomes potent with his subtle movement. He speaks up again, his voice low and gentle.

“When it came out in 1937, Doll.” You feel your cheeks warm at the pet name, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. His face was close enough for your eyes to capture the tiny details of his face, like the few minor beauty marks or the little flecks of silver in his blue eyes. Your smile widened, and you hummed in acknowledgment. Your thumb flicked through the pages of the worn book in your hands.

“I got it as a gift…I’m just now getting around to reading it…” Your voice is soft and gentle like the wind as you explain your reason for holding on to it. The stranger hums thoughtfully, his eyes flitting over your face. You are almost lost in the blue of his eyes when you hear a man cough from across the aisle. The man laughs lowly, the deep timber rumbling through your body as he diverts his attention to his friend situated across the aisle from the two of you. The small blond reaches out his hand for you to shake, speaking his name strongly.

“I’m Steve Rogers. It’s nice to meet you.” You smile at Steve, your hand finding his and shaking it. You respond to him with your name before sitting back against the leather bus seat. The other man speaks up, his eyes twinkling in the sun as the rays drift through the dusty bus window.

“James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.” Your attention is drawn back to Bucky with the deep timber of his words. Your lips pull wider as you nod, and before you can speak up again, the familiar screeching of the bus pulls you out of the conversation. You look out the dusty window, realizing this is your stop.

“This is me.” You speak softly, grasping your copy of The Hobbit and your bag before standing. Bucky moves out of your way, and you wave back to the two men. “It was nice to meet you.” Without another word, the two men watch you walk off the bus. Your feet hit the dry pavement, and you look back at the bus as it speeds off. You look down at the soft paperback in your hands, smiling softly as you remember the handsome blue-eyed man and his friend. James Barnes, you knew his name would be etched into your mind for a while now.

[mintyys-blog]

FANGIRL— pietro maximoff x dark! reader

SERIES LIST

summary: Y/N has always been invisible—ignored, overlooked, just another nobody drifting through life. But the Avengers? They were her obsession. And Pietro Maximoff? He was her everything. She knew every detail about him—his battles, his interviews, the way he smirked when he ran. She spent hours collecting photos, watching slowed-down footage, imagining the day he would finally see her.

Then, one night, fate intervenes.

Pietro saves her from an attacker, a casual act of heroism for him—but for her, it’s everything. He teases her, flirts without thinking, and then vanishes back into his world. But he’s made a fatal mistake.

Now, Y/N is obsessed.

This isn’t just admiration anymore. This is destiny. Pietro chose her—he just doesn’t realize it yet. And if he won’t come to her… then she’ll go to him.

Whatever it takes.

WARNINGS: stalking, obsession, violence, SMUT, manipulation, bullying, dark themes, sexual assault, sexual themes, baby trapping, cheating, murder, commitment issues, delusional thoughts, DUBCON

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

PART EIGHT

PART NINE

PART TEN

PART ELEVEN

PART TWELVE

PART THIRTEEN

PART FOURTEEN

PART FIFTEEN

PART SIXTEEN

PART SEVENTEEN

— finished

if you want to see more pietro content: CLICK HERE

[thegreatwicked]

FicRecs

Enjoy some of my favorite stories I've come across on Tumblr! Seriously, I LOVE these stories and I reread them A LOT!

Please note: Virtually ALL OF THESE STORIES ARE SMUT. That means 18+ content, and you are responsible for managing your internet consumption. Minors DNI.

FicRecs

DC Comics

Dance for Daddy by @matth1w LAWD. I love me some Roman Sionis fics and this one DELIVERS. Sexy, kinky, smutty I give it a solid Chefs Kiss.

Joy Ride and Let Me Make You Feel Good, The Intern by @littleredwing89 More delicious Roman Sionis one shots Joy ride is about teasing Roman as he drives and Let Me Make You Feel Good is about a sweet smutty cure for a hangover. And the Intern, a fuck buddies to lovers story, god yum. Reader inserts. Drool. Go forth read and enjoy.

Bait the Beast by @more-cardigan-than-womanLord help me, I found a new little gem. You cause a bit of a ruckus with Coblepot and Roman thinks you need a lesson.

Yours by @tarrenterror25set in the AO! Verse Roman is having some trouble during the holidays overcoming everything the Joker did to him, good thing he has you. Because he does. You're his now. Melt. Sorry about the mess.

Star Wars

Water and Rock by @split-spectrum I honestly cannot say enough good things about this story It follows Obi-wan/Fem Reader in the classic Master/Padawan troupe and it. is. SPICY. Up to twelve chapters which I have read MULTIPLE TIMES and it hits so hard. Go read this story it is sexy as HELL and gives you the feels. She's so damn good at writing Obi-Wan it hurts, but like in a kinky good way.

The Gift by @ladyinwriting18 I have already spoke at length about the fabulousness that is Lady in Writing and her amazing content. This one is a favorite! Its a Maul/Reader Insert and it is smutty sxy and kinky. Seriously if Maul is your fictional crush (Hi me too!), go read this.

The Three Princes Part One: The Oldest Profession by @thenightmarketofdathomir This writer is freaking legendary. I do not know the collection of words in my own language to describe the eloquence and sophistication this writer possesses. Just go. Go read this and you let me know if you're ever the same again. This gem stars our boy Feral and is a you/reader insert. Oh damn, this story makes me want things...

Birthday Wish, Romancing the Pages, The Write Seduction, To Create Life, by @jedianjakenobi Y'all, this author holds a special place in my writer's heart. She's a published author on Amazon and she's truly amazing. Her works are all Obi-Wan-centered and reader inserts. Birthday Wish is a birthday crush from your sexy neighbor, Romancing the Pages is a fake relationship/summer romance with a reclusive shy librarian (Ben) and a best-selling author, The Write Seduction is a professor Kenobi/writing student story and it is SPICY. And my favorite To Create Life is a Jedi Council green lights a baby-making program and who else is the reader paired with? Their good friend Padawan Kenobi. My darlings, my friends, if you like Obi-Wan smut then you are doing yourselves a disservice by NOT reading these.

Empty Me Out by @221bshrlocked reader insert/DOM Obi-Wan I'm tellin y'all this story NEARLY killed me. I've lost track of how many times I've readit. You're an entertainer and Master Kenobi needs information from you, so you give him what he wants and then he gives you what you want. Where it Wasn't massage therapy reader insert/Obi-Wan, do I need to say more? Pretty sure I melted into the floor with this one.

His Loving Satine by @waterlily707 I love reader insterT and OCs but these two Obi-Wan and Satine are a joy to read. Temporary paralyzed Obi-Wan at the "mercy" of a slightly dom Satine. Juicy, gorgeous, little bit of fluff. Love it.

Room 24 by @murdockussy Little angsty Obi-Wan/reader insert enemies to lovers in an undercover assignment-type situation. Spicy, dom Obi-Wan give. Me. More.

Tea with Lemon, Tea with Honey by @wickedscribbles an established relationship as a reader insert and Obi-Wan. If you want honey then you get to take care of a sick Obi-Wan and kind out you have a new kink, if you want Lemon then Obi-Wan takes advantage of said kink and whisks you away to another planet for some R&R under the guise of "work." Enjoy!

Actors/Characters

Ben Hardy

Hold Me Close, Don't Let Me Go by @stray-kaz God. This one shot is just sxy as hell, it's a Billy/Four fro, 6 Underground/Female Reader. Our boy comes home to one hell of an 'I missed you, I need you right now' welcome. GO read it. Right now.

Such an Experience by @rogermyreligionOk. Guys... FUCK, this is a hot little oneshot Roger Taylor of Queen/Female reader and OMG. Just go read it. I've officially stopped counting how many times I've read this. Smutty/Sexy. I'm dead.

Long Distance by @acciotwinzwinz. Y'ALL. Sit your asses down and read this Roger Taylor/Reader insert/You. It's fluffy, its sexy, its cute and the smut is -chefs kiss- Yes, I read this one a lot too.

For now, these are some of my favorites that I frequently reread because I love them. I'll probably be adding more, it's more than likely I've forgotten some...

[idliketobeatree]

No more jokes. If S3 doesn't give me canon ineffable wives I'm gonna tell your kids they were fem!Aziraphale and Crowley

(God knows.)

[imeternallylove]

Don't grow up, it's a trap - Brian May; Prologue

Pairing: Brian May x Reader

Warning: none

Word: approx 1.3k

main mastetlist  | request & ask | prompts

Chapters index

prologue | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part night | part ten | epilogue

If he knew he had grown up this way.

Perhaps it was preferable to be a youngster who knew nothing except eating, playing, and napping.

People beings grow up in many civilizations. Some are born under a lucky star and are unaware that there is a demon named afflictive and wounded existing in this universe. However, certain persons who were raised. No, it should be called 'lived on their own' 一will have a higher level of immunity than others.

That does not imply their goodness. But it was an essential weapon for survival when facing tough times; it was intended just for anybody like him who lived below the poverty line. It kept on threatening his life, shattering every piece of his bone and cruelly smashing them to the ground. Despite being awake, it seemed like a terror nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.

'Brian May' is an uncommon boy. However, it isn't actually noteworthy. It sounds tricky, doesn't it? But that was his life after his parents' disappearance due to debt, while the whole town was during the world war.

The boy recalled the hectic circumstances at home throughout that extended period of time, and how they remained to be that way, over and over. He nearly lost sight of the definition of happiness and the proper way to smile or laugh.

Delicious food was once the thing on each evening dinner table, but that is starting to change. There were just grilled potatoes obtainable lately, and the soup was given as a side dish to enhance the flavour of the tasteless potatoes that had to be consumed all in one bowl, for the whole family.

He heard his parents arguing constantly, and headphones ended up being his best buddy by default. However, that is not nearly as unpleasant as hearing the creditors' relentless pounding on the door, who appear prepared to burst in at any moment if they are serious about it.

Only in the closet could sixteen-year-old Brian give a hug to his younger sister. With her head pressed against his chest, he protected her even though he was conscious that he wouldn't be able to stop the door from breaking in. After their parents made the decision to disappear without a trace since they had creditors pursuing them. From that moment on, Brian's biggest duty towards his younger sister has been to be strong for her, even when it meant leaving only tears on her cheeks.

Yes, he understands that his parents weren't abandoning him or his younger sister. Nevertheless, it seems that things happened this way because they had to leave this environment. Because his parents are unaware of how creditors would make demands for money if they were there. Which was probably worse than the hammering at the house door, which scared the hell out of him and his sister and made them afraid to leave.

A sixteen-year-old boy whose sole pursuits in life are music and education. To continue living his realities, he had to give go of his fantasies. Give up on the band, put the handmade guitar in the cupboard, and start working a part-time job after school.

For a young boy who had never experienced hardship before, he was unsure about what to do with the remaining money and where it would take him and his sister. However, it was lucky that the uncle next door, who was a neighbour, constantly prepared meals for him. And thus, day by day, he and his sister lived. 'Betty May' is still quite young. Brian does not want his younger sister to have to worry about this. But he had no idea what to do. Because additional money is insufficient, he will soon have to pay tuition. He is unlikely to be able to provide for himself and his younger sister financially. However, requesting a loan from a neighbour, like Uncle David, would be excessive.

Brian sensed he was in trouble. However, seeking assistance from others should be done in moderation.

Humans have a tendency to do dumb things when they feel hopeless. Yes, Brian feels this is the case. When he sat looking at the square screen with his hands on the keyboard in a computer lesson, his friend from the computer science department was overjoyed to show him it was a prototype. He looked like he suffered from a lack of sleep while learning how to use with.

The sixteen-year-old boy stared at it for a moment before writing the tragic tales of his own life on a blank page, and thanks to his highest grade at Imperial College, he had the kind privilege of receiving a tiny article published in the newspapers for the entire city of London, which has at least three million readers per day.

Brian couldn't recall what he had written, and he didn't want to. It might be filled with disappointment in life, what he was excellent at, or the whole agony that has been suppressed in his heart. Asking for help in vain and not knowing whether anyone will respond with a boy who has no idea who they are and no interest in life.

But it wasn't too horrible. When God told him to believe in, 'the miracles' one more time.

Not long afterward, the professor contacted him to schedule an appointment. He said that someone had seen his letter in the newspapers and offered to help with schooling and monthly expenditures, even if it was a small amount. So he asked Brian if he still needed lend a hand in helping, because here was his opportunity.

The boy was dumbfounded by what he had heard. He was thinking about hitting himself in the face once to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Is it truly feasible for somebody to reach out and support kids who do not know who they are? Brian sat calmly for quite some time, and his professor was silent, indicating that Brian, his student, wanted to concentrate.

Brian was still half believing and half unbelieving. It wasn't until he received a cheque with credit to cash at the bank, along with a huge shopping bag with a pair of black and light brown suit-and-tie sets and black leather shoes. He noticed a pair of freshly released flower pattern shift dresses for ladies in other bags, as well as maroon Mary-Jane heels, with a short message and charming calligraphy expressing delight in him and Betty, which the tall boy could guess was from whom.

The boy finally discovered the world wasn't all devils around him. Who were these people? How did the benefactors who saved his and his sister's lives appear? The boy was confident that they were angels. The boy vividly recalls the emotion of the first moment; even the corners of his eyes turned blazing red and his younger sister had to hold and soothe him.

Brian returned to see his professor the next day, this time wearing a new pair of gleaming black leather shoes. After staying up all night wondering, 'Why are the benefactors so kind?', he was keen to find out who the wonderful person was who rescued him and his sister from the demon hordes. Why did they decide to help? Because even if the entire world is full of lack of thoroughness, and depth of character and he is much too young to confront it, that person seems not to be concerned whether the message he has written is a falsehood or real.

As his professor consultant was done with some papers, he smiled softly as he informed his student. "Her name is Y/N..."

Brian fails to control himself; he gasps suddenly with his mouth open and barely knows how to breathe, just because he eventually discovered their name, noㅡ her name.

"Miss Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

oh hi

[illfoandillfie]

alt adkoe au: y/n answers a question correctly in class and roger accidentally replies w “good girl”

ohhhh my godddd okay this is an incredible idea. i read it as i was walking into work this morning and it made me very giggly khfksfkskfs

like it's just a normal class, roger's trying to keep everyone's attention by throwing out questions at them.

he's not even directing them at specific people, just asking the room at large and waiting to see if anyone answers, keeping a list in the back of his mind of who actually engages with the lesson.

and you're a good student, you like the class and you like having the chance to try to answer things.

maybe it's a little bit because you're sleeping with your professor. but only a little bit.

He had threatened to stop the lessons if your actual work started slipping, so you're determined not to let that happen, and also you just want to make sure he knows you're not just there because he's hot.

but also you're a bit of a nerd and just genuinely enjoy learning about science stuff and has fun answering questions even if you get corrected sometimes.

so you don't even think twice answering this question, you just do it, like 95% sure you knows the answer

and he's really proud of you for knowing the answer! it was a tough one! and usually he'd give whoever answered a 'well done Ms blah' or a 'that's correct Mr blah' but it's the end of the day, his mind is wandering a little bit and for a moment he forgets where he is.

the problem, he tells mikey later when he's explaining the incident, is he's too good a dom. he's always made an effort to praise you during the tutoring lessons. because you was new to bdsm and because you misunderstood aspects of submission to start, he's made sure to give you a lot of positive reinforcement whenever you demonstrated an understanding of something or whenever you showed enthusiasm for something or whenever you tried something out of your comfort zone.

so he doesn't even hesitate before saying "good girl ms y/l/n" when you gives a correct and thorough answer.

he barely even noticed he'd done it at first, turning to the board to write something relevant up there.

he's halfway through a word when he hears the first snicker. it makes him pause because it's a masters science class. it's full of more mature students who've already earned a degree, students who aren't as inclined to goof off as some of his other classes are. I mean, he knows how to have fun with his class. He cracks jokes, he tries to keep things entertaining and engaging, but he's not used to hearing people laugh behind their hands as if they're teenagers passing notes.

he glances behind him at the noise and he notices two things.

Firstly, theres a whole lot of smirking happening, a few giggles, a few people looking at each other.

Secondly, you're staring at him, resolutely ignoring everyone, but you seem embarrassed.

And that's when his brain catches up and he realises what he'd actually said and how inappropriate it was. and he's just really thankful he'd had enough brain left to not use your first name.

For a moment he doesn't know what to do? Should he address it? Apologise to you in front of the class, turn it into a joke about how he's obviously ready for the weekend?

the notion that such an excuse would probably just lead people to speculating about what kind of sexual shenanigans he gets up to on weekends stops him though

and ultimately he decides to pretend it didn't happen. He can apologise to you in private later, and if he just continues on with the lesson it'll force everyone to pay attention and stop giggling.

So he continues writing on the board and then explains why your answer was a good one and then asks a follow up question, this time directing it at a student he thinks is looking at you and whispering to his mate.

You were relieved he just moved on with the lesson.

Later on, when you text Daisy about it, you say the problem is that roger has conditioned you to be turned on by praise. You've always liked earning praise of course, especially from teachers. But all the times roger called you a good girl during your tutoring has made it a whole other thing.

And because of that, as soon as he'd called you a good girl in front of everyone, you got wet.

(Daisy replied with a lot of laughing emojis and not much useful advice)

So, it wasn't even so much being called a good girl in front of your classmates that embarrassed you. it wasn't great and the snickering didn't help you feel less embarrassed but if it had been any other teacher who'd called you a good girl you could have laughed it off much easier (with maybe a little embarrassment for them).

no the reason you were embarrassed was that you were turned on and all you could think about was roger bending you over his desk.

and you shouldnt be thinking about that in public.

and you definitely shouldn't be thinking about roleplaying a teacher/student scene with him.

and you definitely shouldn't be this wet sitting in a fucking uni lecture.

so you were very glad roger hadn't said anything about it.

roger spent the rest of the lesson deciding how best to apologise to you. he decided that calling you to see him after class would only make things worse and since there really was something happening between you, he couldn't risk anyone thinking there was in case it all got brought out into the open.

he did briefly consider whether he should take Tina out somewhere students would definitely spot him just so he'd have an alibi of sorts, and maybe any speculation or gossip about the incident would be more focused on his kinkiness than on your involvement.

But, he settled on mentioning it and apologising during the next tutoring lesson, and otherwise pretending it wasn't a thing. If he heard some rumours or got approached by any staff members then he'd figure out a way to deal with it.

you decided to go by his office before you left that evening. You didn't want any lingering embarrassment hanging over you during your next lesson.

So when you knocked on his door, Roger is very surprised. This was not his plan.

but he rolled with it, inviting you in and shutting the door (hoping no one would think anything of it if they saw)

and he apologised before you could start talking, saying he never meant to put you in such an uncomfortable position and he woud be much more mindful in future and he hopes you're okay and that no one said anything to you.

and you're like oh no thats fine, i get it was just a slip up, and yes we do need to be careful but no one said anything to you and while you did hear people speculating about what else he might call someone a good girl for, no one had suggested there really might be something happening. one girl did call you lucky though and implied that if you'd accidentally called her a good girl she'd be wanking to it for the next month.

roger is relieved and everything about the situation suddenly becomes a bit more amusing and less worrying.

but then you say there is something you want to bring up but maybe his office isnt the best place

and he's like well if you don't tell me i'm going to spend the time until our next session very nervous and concerned about you.

so you're like, its nothing serious i just.....it was kind of hot, sir.

he gulps a little and has to take a breath before he says, "was it now?"

you nod and drop your voice to more of a whisper as you say, "im kinda wet actually"

he groans to himself, "as much as i would love to verify that myself, i don't think this is the place, so i'll take your word for it. what about it inspired such a reaction?"

you shrug, "i don't know exactly. i like when you praise me i guess. and maybe it got me thinking....i mean, if might be too weird but you said teacher student stuff was good for roleplaying.

Roger is speechless at that and has to sit down again before he falls.

you just watch him a bit nervously, waiting for him to say something but encouraged by his reaction

eventually he's like "i did say that"

and you can see hes thinking so you keep quiet, just waiting

eventually he sighs and says, "we really can't do anything here. there are people around who could come in at any moment, not to mention security cameras. so as interesting as your suggestion is, its too risky. And also, a little bit weird. i mean, as hot as the roleplay is, i really am your professor and that makes it just a little uncomfortable, don't you think?"

you nodded, more embarrassed to have been turned down than you were in class.

he's like, i mean i'm up for it, just not right this second.

which does make you feel a little bit better, a little less rejected.

he says so how about this. instead of going home tonight, you pay your teacher a visit because you're so worried about passing the class and you want to see if theres some extra credit work available.

his voice is low and his tone is all suggestion and you instantly perk up and agree to it.

and roger smiles and says, my last class for the day is in half an hour, i will leave as soon as it's done. Of course, if this suddenly stops being hot, we don't have to do this roleplay. It might just have been in the moment that it was arousing or we might find actually playing it out is more awkward than hot.

you stand up and say, thank you sir, i'll see you later.

he says, wait a second ms y/l/n, some homework until then - I want you to think about just how much of a good girl you can be. Have some ideas ready.

your mind was already racing with possibilities so you nodded and then left, trying not to look too excited.

[stesichoreanpalinode]

Rogerina: relatable wine mom on a girl’s night out

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[anonymityisfunwriter]

Introducing....The Love Club

Some of my most loved fics!

Two Sides of The Same Coin · Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

Every Part of You · Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

I Can See You · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: You and Bucky don't see eye to eye, everyone knows that. They don't know that you and Bucky once knew each other under very different names. And they most certainly don't know that when he looks at you, he can still every stolen moment, his jacket on the floor, notes saying meet him at midnight, you up against the wall with him. No, they don't see that at all.

The Uptown Girl and The Brooklyn Boy · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

Let Me Help You · Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

"Slut!" Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

My Personal Favorites

And here are some of my personal favorites because everyone is welcome in the love club!

On the Run · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Timeless · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: It's the kind of love you find once in a lifetime, the kind of love you don't put down, and somehow, you know you would've found each other in every life.

If You Lie Down With Me · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: You know what kind of man he is. A liar. The sort of man that promises everything under the sun. The sort of man that promises dreamy nights and delivers lonely mornings. You only wish his lies weren't so sweet.

Midnight Rain · Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader · Summary - You broke his heart because he was nice. He was Sunshine, and you were more like Midnight Rain.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

[shatteredheartofdarkness]

Soon You'll Get Better [Steve Rogers x F!Reader]

Part 1 of My Lover Celebration in honour of the queen, Taylor Swift

Summary :- “You'll get better, you have to”

Warnings :- I don't think i understood the right meaning of this song lol, nurse!reader, Steve is 6'4, kinda angst, insecure!reader, pov's keep switching, it's not good but i tried ig, sudden confessions.

Dividers by :- @firefly-graphics

“The buttons of my coat were tangled in my hair

In doctor's-office-lighting, I didn't tell you I was scared

That was the first time we were there

Holy orange bottles, each night I pray to you

Desperate people find faith, so now I pray to Jesus too���

Captain America was rushed in the hospital wing of the Avengers Compound after a rough mission as Y/n, Dr. Banner's assistant, rushed to him. She analysed him and looked after him till he got better. She'll never admit it but she had a little crush on the handsome 6'4 super soldier.

“I know delusion when I see it in the mirror

You like the nicer nurses, you make the best of a bad deal

I just pretend it isn't real

I'll paint the kitchen neon, I'll brighten up the sky

I know I'll never get it, there's not a day that I won't try”

She knew that he would never love someone like her. Why would anyone? He did try to sweet talk her in his rough voice and it did work, but she'll never admit it. She'll never admit her feelings to him. She knew that he liked those other hot nurses that flirted with him whenever she was gone. Her feelings for him were the secrets she'll never tell anyone. Or so she thought.

“And I hate to make this all about me

But who am I supposed to talk to?

What am I supposed to do

If there's no you?”

“So you like him, he's your patient, he obviously likes you back but you're still crying about him?”, Wanda said as she softly rubbed your back. You nodded, still sniffling. Admit your feelings to him, love. She said that just like everyone else. But she would never do that.

“This won't go back to normal, if it ever was

It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because

'Cause I have to”

“Sweetheart, I'm all better now. I was hoping if I could start going back on missions”, Steve asked you as he looked at you hopefully. You nodded. “Of course, Steve”, you said. You had your back turned to him as you wrote about something. He grabbed your arm and turned you around so that you were chest-to-chest. “Love, you wanna know something?”, he said in a low voice. “Y-yeah?”, you asked him, your voice barely audible to your ears. “I love you”, he whispered in your ear before tucking a strand of your hair behind it. Your whole face was red. “Y-you do?”, you stuttered. He nodded before pouring all his emotions into your first kiss.

"Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better

Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better

Ooh-ah, you'll get better soon

'Cause you have to”

[sadeyedgoodbyes]

I simply love Roger Taylor🥰

The interviewer is having way too much fun with this question :)

(x)

[yusuke-of-valla]

WE LIVE IN A HELL WORLD

Snippets from the article by Karissa Bell:

SAG-AFTRA, the union representing thousands of performers, has struck a deal with an AI voice acting platform aimed at making it easier for actors to license their voice for use in video games. ...

the agreements cover the creation of so-called “digital voice replicas” and how they can be used by game studios and other companies. The deal has provisions for minimum rates, safe storage and transparency requirements, as well as “limitations on the amount of time that a performance replica can be employed without further payment and consent.”

Notably, the agreement does not cover whether actors’ replicas can be used to train large language models (LLMs), though Replica Studios CEO Shreyas Nivas said the company was interested in pursuing such an arrangement. “We have been talking to so many of the large AAA studios about this use case,” Nivas said. He added that LLMs are “out-of-scope of this agreement” but “they will hopefully [be] things that we will continue to work on and partner on.”

...Even so, some well-known voice actors were immediately skeptical of the news, as the BBC reports. In a press release, SAG-AFTRA said the agreement had been approved by "affected members of the union’s voiceover performer community." But on X, voice actors said they had not been given advance notice. "How has this agreement passed without notice or vote," wrote Veronica Taylor, who voiced Ash in Pokémon. "Encouraging/allowing AI replacement is a slippery slope downward." Roger Clark, who voiced Arthur Morgan in Red Dead Redemption 2, also suggested he was not notified about the deal. "If I can pay for permission to have an AI rendering of an ‘A-list’ voice actor’s performance for a fraction of their rate I have next to no incentive to employ 90% of the lesser known ‘working’ actors that make up the majority of the industry," Clark wrote.

SAG-AFTRA’s deal with Replica only covers a sliver of the game industry. Separately, the union is also negotiating with several of the major game studios after authorizing a strike last fall. “I certainly hope that the video game companies will take this as an inspiration to help us move forward in that negotiation,” Crabtree said.

And here are some various reactions I've found about things people in/adjacent to this can do

And in OTHER AI games news, Valve is updating it's TOS to allow AI generated content on steam so long as devs promise they have the rights to use it, which you can read more about on Aftermath in this article by Luke Plunkett

[mintyys-blog]

FANGIRL 14— pietro maximoff x dark! reader

SERIES LIST

Y/N walked through the large compound’s entrance, the familiar hum of activity surrounding her. The place felt like home now—she was no stranger to the Avengers’ headquarters. She had been helping Tony and Peter on projects for months, the work always busy but never too overwhelming. The clink of metal and the occasional bursts of laughter echoed through the halls as she made her way toward the labs.

It was a typical morning, or so it seemed. Y/N pushed through the doors of the lab, her eyes catching Tony’s as he looked up from a blueprint. “Hey, Y/N, good to see you! Peter’s just finishing up the upgrades on the suit. Should be ready for testing soon.”

She offered a small smile, brushing her hair back as she moved further into the room. “Great. I’ll just be here to help if you need anything.” Her gaze flickered toward Peter, who was hunched over a workbench, his concentration intense. He glanced up as well, giving her a wave before returning to his work.

Everything felt… normal. Her heart hadn’t been racing like this for a while, her mind surprisingly calm. She wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary, just another day of familiar faces and regular tasks. Maybe it was the warmth of the room, or the weight of what happened with Pietro that made her feel like she was walking in a haze.

But all of that changed the moment she entered the corridor to leave the lab.

A blur of movement—a cold rush of air.

Before she could process what was happening, she was slammed into the wall with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. Her body hit the concrete, knocking her off balance, and she barely had time to react. Pain shot through her back, and a hand was suddenly around her throat, lifting her from the ground. She gasped, her feet no longer touching the floor, as her eyes struggled to focus on the face in front of her.

It was Pietro.

His face twisted with fury—his eyes were filled with anger, disbelief, and something darker, more painful. He was stronger than she remembered, his grip unyielding as he held her against the wall.

“What did you do to her?” His voice was low, threatening, and filled with so much hate. She tried to speak, tried to protest, but the pressure around her throat made it impossible.

She managed to choke out a breathless, “What? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know!” Pietro snapped, his grip tightening as her vision began to swim. “She’s dead, Y/N. I know you have something to do with it.”

Her heart raced in her chest, panic beginning to claw at her. What? What was he talking about? Who was dead? She could barely get a word out as his grip cut off her air supply. His words reverberated in her head, and she struggled to focus.

“I— I didn’t do anything!” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. Her hands clawed at his fingers, her body desperate for release, but his strength was overwhelming.

“Don’t lie to me,” Pietro growled, shaking her slightly. “How did you do it? How did you kill her?”

Y/N’s mind was spinning. She had no idea what he was talking about. Was he talking about the woman he’d been seeing? Had something happened to her? She tried to speak, but her vision was darkening at the edges, her body weakening under the strain of his grip.

“I didn’t… I swear, I didn’t—” she managed to choke out, but it barely sounded like words.

Pietro’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, his face full of rage and pain. “How did you do it?” he repeated, his voice shaking with emotion. “How did you—”

Before she could say anything else, the words just slipping from her mind, the breath leaving her body completely, she barely managed to croak out the truth. The only thing she could think to say.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, and even as the words left her lips, she knew they would change everything.

The world seemed to freeze. For a split second, Pietro’s eyes widened, his grip loosening just enough for her to gasp in a breath. But as quickly as it came, it was gone—he pulled away from her, stepping back as if struck by a revelation that he wasn’t ready for.

“No… No, no, no,” Pietro muttered, his face turning pale with disbelief. His hands trembled as he backed away, his gaze flickering toward the door, then back to Y/N, like he couldn’t quite process what she had said.

Just as Y/N tried to regain her balance, trying to catch her breath and make sense of what was happening, the sound of footsteps approaching made her heart lurch. Pietro’s eyes darted to the hallway, and in a flash, he was gone—vanishing as quickly as he had appeared, leaving her alone in the corridor, gasping for air.

Peter turned the corner, his face full of concern when he saw Y/N on the floor, clutching her throat. “Y/N! What happened? Are you okay?” He rushed to her side, his hands gentle as he helped her up, his eyes scanning the bruises that were already beginning to form around her neck.

Y/N could barely form words, her throat still sore, her body shaking from the adrenaline. She leaned against Peter for support, trying to steady her breathing as her mind raced with the implications of what had just happened.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “He… he came at me. I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

Peter’s face tightened in confusion and concern, but he didn’t push her further. He just helped her to her feet, looking around the empty corridor, his eyes lingering on the space where Pietro had just been.

“What did he say?” Peter asked softly. “What was he talking about?”

Y/N’s eyes blurred with tears, the weight of everything pressing down on her. She didn’t have an answer. She didn’t know what Pietro was talking about, why he had attacked her, or why he’d suddenly gone from furious to horrified.

But one thing was certain: things between her and Pietro were about to get a lot more complicated.

 Y/N leaned against Peter, her hands still trembling as she allowed herself a few moments to breathe. She glanced down at the ground, trying to steady her thoughts, but Pietro’s words, his violent actions—they weighed heavily on her. She knew exactly why he attacked her. He thought she was responsible for the woman’s death. It was clear in his eyes, the fury, the betrayal.

But she wasn’t going to let him know that. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was the one who orchestrated it all. No, right now, she had to play the role of the victim, the broken, pregnant woman who had just been assaulted by her enraged ex. She could feel the tears stinging at her eyes, ready to spill—tears of innocence, of pity. The kind that would make anyone feel sorry for her.

Peter, still hovering at her side, was frantically checking her neck, looking for any signs of lasting damage. “I should get you to the med bay,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “You need to see a doctor.”

Y/N shook her head quickly, clutching Peter’s arm for stability. “No, Peter, I’m fine,” she said, her voice trembling as she put on her best pitiful face. “I just… I don’t understand what happened. I didn’t… I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

Peter looked at her, his expression softening, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his gaze. He was torn, unsure of what to believe. He had seen Pietro’s anger before, knew how destructive it could be, but seeing Y/N like this—trembling, bruised, terrified—was hard to reconcile with the picture he had in his head of the woman who had been helping him with his work.

“I don’t get it,” Peter said quietly, as if speaking more to himself than her. “Why would Pietro… Why would he do that?”

Y/N sniffled, pressing her hand against her neck as if the bruise there were the only thing that mattered right now. “He’s just… he’s always been unpredictable, you know? I don’t even know what I did to set him off this time. Maybe he’s just upset about everything… the breakup, the… the baby. I don’t know, Peter. I just don’t understand.”

Her voice cracked just the right amount, a mix of vulnerability and confusion. She could feel the weight of the story slipping from her lips—her perfect lie, her perfect excuse. It was the same story she had been telling herself, that she was the helpless woman being mistreated, that she had no control over anything anymore.

Peter frowned, looking at her carefully, searching for any cracks in her story. But she held his gaze, her eyes wide and innocent, the tears she had been holding back finally starting to spill. She blinked rapidly, letting them roll down her cheeks in the most believable way possible.

“I never wanted things to be like this,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want any of this. But… he’s just… he’s been so angry. He’s so upset with me, and I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t mean for any of it to go this far, Peter.”

Peter looked conflicted, his face pained as he pulled her into a gentle hug, letting her rest her head against his chest. “Y/N, I… I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not alone, okay? We’re here for you.”

Y/N clung to him, hiding the satisfaction behind her eyes. She was playing her part perfectly. The pity, the fear, the confusion—everything was falling into place. She would let everyone believe that she was the victim, that she had no part in what happened to Pietro’s girlfriend.

It was a masterstroke of manipulation, and it was working. She knew Pietro would never believe her now. He would never come near her, not with the way she had played the victim so well. She could already see the distance forming between them, and she didn’t care. The game was already won.

“Thank you, Peter,” Y/N whispered, her voice soft and sincere, though it held a note of satisfaction she could barely suppress. “Thank you for believing me.”

Peter pulled away slightly, looking down at her, his expression still torn. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Y/N nodded, a small, broken smile on her lips as she looked up at him. “Yeah… we’ll figure it out.”

And as she said those words, she couldn’t help but feel a dark sense of triumph. She was one step closer to having everything back in her control. No one would suspect her. No one would question her anymore. She had manipulated the narrative, twisted the truth, and made herself the tragic figure, the one who had lost everything. And Pietro? He would never see it coming.

Peter followed Y/N out of the compound, his concern still written all over his face. He couldn’t shake the image of her bruised neck, the way she gasped for air when Pietro’s grip had tightened. It didn’t sit right with him. He had to make sure she was okay.

“Hey,” Peter said gently, catching up to her as she walked toward her car. “You sure you’re alright?”

Y/N gave him a soft, reassuring smile, her hand lightly brushing her neck as if to downplay the pain. “I’m fine, Peter. It’s just a little bruising. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Peter frowned, still not convinced. “You’re not going back inside? I can tell Tony you’re sick or something, so you don’t have to—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Y/N interrupted, her smile widening. “I think I just need some time to rest. I’ll be okay.” She paused and turned to face him, her expression softening, as if she appreciated his concern. “But… thanks for walking me out. I really do appreciate it.”

Peter nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than he intended, before he shook his head slightly. “Alright. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Y/N gave him a slight nod, her hand already on the car door. “I will. You’re a good friend, Peter. Really.”

With that, she got in her car, the door clicking shut behind her. Peter stood there for a moment, watching her drive away, still feeling uneasy. He had no idea what was going on between Y/N and Pietro, but something about the way she acted—it wasn’t right. He tried to shake off the feeling and headed back into the compound, but he couldn’t escape the nagging doubt in his gut.

As Y/N drove, her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, the smirk never leaving her face. The adrenaline was still rushing through her, the satisfaction of having manipulated Peter so easily settling in her chest. He was playing right into her hands, just like everyone else had. He believed her, he sympathized with her, and now, she had the perfect excuse to cover up everything.

She knew exactly where she was going. The hospital was the last place anyone would expect her to go after being assaulted, but that’s exactly why it would work. She had to make sure there was a record of her so-called injuries, something that could later be used to solidify her victim narrative. And, of course, she wanted to confirm that her actions hadn’t hurt the baby.

Pulling into the parking lot, she took a deep breath, her fingers brushing across her stomach. It wasn’t as if she cared about the baby, not really. She had made the decision to keep it only because it served her purpose. But she needed the proof, the documents, the paperwork that said everything was fine—because nothing would stop her from making sure this worked out in her favor.

She entered the hospital with her head held high, walking quickly to the front desk. The nurse behind the counter barely glanced at her before asking what had happened. Y/N blinked, her eyes wide with shock as she pulled the most convincing act she had ever done. “I— I was attacked by my ex. I— he choked me. I… I need to make sure everything’s okay. I’m pregnant, and I’m really scared.”

The nurse quickly ushered her to a private room, asking a few questions along the way, the urgency in her voice obvious. Y/N tried to keep her composure, her pulse quickening with excitement. This was going perfectly.

Once in the exam room, Y/N sat patiently on the table, a fake look of concern on her face. The doctor entered soon after, a woman with sharp eyes who immediately began to assess her. “We’ll take a look at your injuries and make sure everything’s alright with the pregnancy,” she said, getting straight to work.

Y/N felt a pang of guilt that was quickly buried under the satisfaction of her manipulation. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t care about the pregnancy, she didn’t care about what this meant for anyone. She just wanted to win.

As the doctor checked her neck and took the necessary tests, Y/N let the thoughts swirl in her mind. Everything would be fine. She would be fine. Nothing would happen to her. She just needed to make sure her story was airtight. She would be untouchable.

When the doctor finished, she gave Y/N a reassuring smile. “The baby seems perfectly healthy. Your neck will heal in time. We’ll give you some cream for the bruising, and just make sure to take it easy for a while.”

Y/N nodded, feigning relief. “Thank you. I— I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The doctor left after that, promising to have the paperwork ready for her. Y/N’s mind raced as she thought of what she’d need to do next. Once she had the documentation in her hands, it would be impossible for anyone to question her version of events. The bruises, the pregnancy, the “attack”—it would all paint her as the victim.

She just had to keep playing the part, keep up the act. And as long as she did that, she’d be untouchable.

Y/N left the hospital shortly after, feeling more powerful than ever. She didn’t even need to look at the ultrasound pictures anymore; everything was falling into place. She would continue her act, and no one would ever know the truth.

As she drove home, she couldn’t wipe the smug grin off her face. She had everyone exactly where she wanted them, and now, nothing could stop her. Not Pietro. Not anyone.

As Pietro dug deeper into Y/N’s past, the more he uncovered, the more disturbed he became. Her story, the one she’d painted for him so carefully, began to unravel. It wasn’t just the pregnancy, or the manipulation of him, that disturbed him—it was the things she’d done before. She wasn’t the innocent, misunderstood woman he had once believed her to be. She was far more dangerous than that.

The first thing he stumbled across was a series of old social media posts and articles from years ago. They were faint, almost forgotten stories, but they spoke of her ex-boyfriend’s tragic death. At first, he thought it was a coincidence, an unfortunate accident. But as he read more, it became clear that it wasn’t as simple as that.

Y/N had been pregnant back then, just like now, and just like she had done with him, she had trapped him into staying with her. Her ex-boyfriend, a guy she’d been with since high school, had panicked when he found out she was pregnant. He didn’t want to be a father. He didn’t want to be tied to her. The timeline of events was chilling. After an argument over the pregnancy, just a few days later, the boy had driven off a bridge in a high-speed crash, leaving Y/N behind, devastated but now a mother-to-be.

Pietro’s stomach churned as he pieced together the patterns. Y/N had used the same tactic on him, and now the same tragedy seemed to be repeating itself. She had manipulated him into this situation, just like she had with her high school sweetheart.

But it didn’t stop there. The deeper Pietro dug into her past, the darker it became. Her childhood was far from innocent. She had grown up in and out of orphanages, constantly being moved from one place to the next. The reason for the transfers was never clear to those around her, but in the records, there was one common thread—violence. Y/N had a long history of violent outbursts. She was listed in over ten incident reports, all detailing how she had attacked other children, often unprovoked.

The descriptions of her behavior were alarming. The words used were things like “volatile,” “uncontrollable,” and “dangerous.” It was clear to Pietro that Y/N’s early years had shaped her into someone deeply broken, someone with deep emotional wounds that she had never learned to manage.

In the midst of all this chaos, Y/N had tried to run away with her high school boyfriend, escaping the foster care system in hopes of a better life. But their plans had been cut short by the tragic crash. With his death, Y/N was left alone once again, her history of violence and manipulation only growing more pronounced as she found new ways to control and coerce others.

Pietro was in shock as he pieced together the real story behind Y/N’s past. He felt betrayed, not just by her lies and manipulation, but by the overwhelming sense that she was using him in a twisted game that she had perfected long ago. This wasn’t the first time she had used a child, a pregnancy, to get what she wanted. He wasn’t the first man to be ensnared by her tactics.

It was clear now that Y/N wasn’t just another ex-girlfriend trying to ruin his life. She was a woman with a history, a history full of secrets, lies, and manipulation. But even more troubling was that he realized he didn’t know the full extent of her power. She had managed to manipulate so many people, including him, into thinking she was someone she wasn’t. And now, she had the audacity to play the victim again.

But how could he confront her about all of this? How could he confront someone who had already manipulated him once, who knew exactly how to twist the truth to make herself look like the victim?

Pietro’s mind raced with these thoughts until he finally realized he needed help. Natasha. She was the one person he knew he could trust with this, someone who could help him navigate this mess. He couldn’t do it alone. He had to find out the full truth about Y/N, and to do that, he needed Natasha’s help.

He approached her cautiously, his face tense as he explained the situation. “I need your help,” he said, his voice shaking with frustration. “Y/N… she’s not who we thought she was. She’s been manipulating everyone, including me. I think she might have been behind my girlfriend’s death, and I think she’s been doing this to others too.”

At first, Natasha was reluctant. She didn’t want to get involved in Y/N’s drama, especially not with everything Pietro had been through. But the more Pietro explained, the more she began to see the darker side of Y/N—the side that no one had seen before. The jealousy, the manipulation, the toxic behavior that ran deep.

Finally, after hearing it all, Natasha agreed to help. She promised Pietro she would investigate Y/N’s background and find out what kind of person she really was. She would do it quietly, behind the scenes, without anyone knowing.

Pietro, for the first time in weeks, felt a small sense of relief. With Natasha on his side, he could finally uncover the truth, and maybe, just maybe, he could put an end to the nightmare that Y/N had created. But as the investigation continued, it became clear that Y/N’s past wasn’t just dark—it was downright dangerous. And she was more than capable of hurting anyone who stood in her way.

The more they learned, the more Pietro realized that Y/N wasn’t just someone he had loved. She was someone who had been using him all along, and now she had to be stopped before she destroyed even more lives.

As Natasha dug deeper into Y/N’s past, the layers of her carefully crafted persona started to peel away, revealing something darker beneath the surface. At first, Natasha had been focused on Y/N’s violent tendencies and manipulative behavior, but now, she found something far more unsettling—Y/N’s obsession with the Avengers, and particularly with Pietro Maximoff.

Natasha dug through old social media profiles, looking for clues that could explain Y/N’s sudden attachment to Pietro, but what she found made her stomach churn. Y/N had been a fan of Pietro long before they had even met. She’d followed him on every social media platform, her pages filled with pictures, quotes, and posts about him. She had written countless fanfics, some of which had been disturbingly detailed, imagining herself as his lover, his protector. It wasn’t just a casual admiration—Y/N had been obsessed with Pietro for years.

But it wasn’t just Pietro. As Natasha dug further, she discovered something even more chilling. Y/N had a pattern of toxic relationships—relationships that ended in tragedy, and often with people close to her ending up dead. The most glaring example was Lucy, her best friend from her teenage years. Natasha stumbled upon old news articles and police reports that spoke of Lucy’s death, a suicide that had shocked everyone around her. But as Natasha pieced together the timeline, it became clear that Lucy had died shortly after an explosive argument with Y/N.

Lucy had been close to Y/N—perhaps too close. According to reports, the two had grown distant after a falling out, and some of their mutual friends mentioned that Y/N had been increasingly possessive of Lucy, demanding her full attention and even isolating her from other people. Lucy’s suicide, though tragic, seemed to fit the same pattern that Natasha had started to see in Y/N’s other relationships—obsession, control, and eventually, death.

Next, Natasha discovered the tragic story of Y/N’s high school sweetheart, the one she had tried to escape with. The reports were filled with details about his death—a high-speed car crash that had taken place after a heated argument with Y/N. She had been pregnant, just like she was now, and he had refused to be a father. He didn’t want to be tied to her. Just days later, he had driven off a bridge in what had been ruled as an accident, but Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if there had been more to it. Could Y/N have somehow manipulated him into that moment of panic?

But the most recent death was the one that hit Natasha the hardest. Y/N’s involvement in the death of Pietro’s girlfriend had raised so many red flags that Natasha couldn’t ignore the possibility anymore. The more she dug, the more she realized that Y/N’s presence in these people’s lives was a constant, and the pattern was undeniable.

It wasn’t just coincidences. The deaths were linked by one common denominator: Y/N. Every person who had ever been close to her, who had fallen victim to her manipulations, had either died or disappeared under suspicious circumstances.

Natasha sat back in her chair, staring at the pile of files and papers she had gathered. The pattern was clear, and the implications were terrifying. Y/N wasn’t just a victim of circumstances or a woman who had been hurt by love—she was a predator, manipulating people around her, driving them to their breaking points, and then leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. The deaths weren’t accidents. They were the result of Y/N’s toxic need for control, her manipulation, and her obsession with getting what she wanted, no matter the cost.

The realization hit Natasha like a ton of bricks. Y/N wasn’t just dangerous to Pietro—she was dangerous to anyone who got too close. And now, with Pietros girlfriend’s death and Y/N carrying his child, Natasha feared what Y/N’s next move would be.

Determined to stop her before it was too late, Natasha knew she had to confront Y/N. But how? Y/N had already proven she was capable of getting under people’s skin, playing the victim, and twisting the narrative to make herself look innocent. She would never admit to what she had done, not willingly. But Natasha couldn’t let her continue to destroy people’s lives.

She needed to warn Pietro, and the others who were still caught in Y/N’s web. But the more Natasha thought about it, the more she realized that Y/N’s obsession with Pietro went beyond just wanting to be with him. It was deeper, darker. Y/N needed to control everything around her, and Pietro had become the latest pawn in her twisted game.

With a heavy heart and a sharp sense of urgency, Natasha knew what she had to do. She had to expose Y/N for what she truly was—before it was too late. She wasn’t going to let this woman destroy any more lives. Not on her watch.

Y/N’s neck had healed from the bruising, the dark marks from Pietro’s grip fading into nothing more than faint scars. The physical evidence of the attack had vanished, but the emotional toll it left on her was harder to erase. She tried not to dwell on it, though. After all, she had been through worse. The fact that Pietro had found her, confronted her, and nearly choked the life out of her only proved that he still cared. He hadn’t let her slip into oblivion just yet.

She tried to tell herself that the bruising was a distant memory. It had served its purpose, hadn’t it? It had gotten her the sympathy she needed. The sympathy that Peter and others had offered after she was rushed to the hospital. But as she moved through her day, she couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in her stomach. Something was shifting. A part of her—though she refused to acknowledge it—felt the familiar tightening in her chest that came when things started to unravel.

She had spent so many years carefully manipulating, lying, and twisting the narrative of her life that it was almost second nature. But now, the weight of the past and the present seemed to be closing in on her. Pietro was more dangerous than she had given him credit for. The fact that he had attacked her meant that he was aware of what she was capable of—and it terrified her. It was easier when he was a pawn, a puppet she could control with sweet words and empty promises. But now, he was no longer willing to play by her rules. The balance of power had shifted, and that terrified her.

For now, she still held one card in her hand—the pregnancy. She had used it to her advantage before, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a countdown to the end of her control, and she wasn’t ready for that. The baby inside of her, though a reminder of what she had done to keep Pietro attached to her, was also a symbol of her survival. A tool. An anchor that she could hold on to when everything around her felt like it was slipping away.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from Natasha. Y/N hesitated, a shiver running down her spine. Natasha had been snooping around—she could feel it. There was no way Natasha had been unaware of her involvement in the past, the pattern of tragedy that followed her. Y/N couldn’t let this conversation happen. Not yet.

She opened the message.

I need to talk to you. I know what you’ve been hiding. And I know what you’ve done.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She had expected this moment, but it still sent a chill down her spine. The walls were closing in. She couldn’t let Natasha expose her, couldn’t allow Pietro or anyone else to figure out her game. She had too much to lose now.

She quickly typed a response, trying to control the situation before it spiraled out of control.

There’s nothing to talk about. You’re wrong. I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re mistaken. I have nothing to hide.

Her fingers trembled as she hit send. But Natasha didn’t respond right away. Y/N stared at her phone, biting her lip in frustration. It felt like a trap, a game she had no control over anymore.

The next few days felt like an eternity. Y/N went through the motions—working, meeting with doctors, pretending everything was fine. She tried to avoid Peter and the others, knowing that they would start to ask questions, but every time she ran into someone who looked at her with too much curiosity, it felt like a spotlight was on her.

And then, one day, just as she was heading out of her apartment, she saw Natasha again. She was standing in the hallway outside Y/N’s door, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Natasha,” Y/N greeted, her voice forced. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I need you to listen to me,” Natasha said, her voice calm but carrying a weight that made Y/N’s stomach drop. “I know about your past, Y/N. All of it.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She stepped back instinctively, her pulse pounding in her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed to say, though it came out strained.

Natasha didn’t move, her eyes locked on Y/N. “The deaths. The lies. The manipulation. I know what you’ve done to Pietro, to his girlfriend, to everyone who’s gotten too close to you.”

Y/N felt her heart race, panic creeping up her throat. “No, no—” she stammered, but Natasha held up a hand.

“Stop,” Natasha said firmly. “I’m not here to accuse you without proof. But you need to know that I won’t let you keep doing this. You’re not going to get away with it.”

Y/N took a step back, her hands shaking. She couldn’t let Natasha do this. She had worked too hard, too long, to get to this point. She couldn’t lose everything now.

“Please, Natasha,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “You don’t understand. I’ve been through things you can’t even imagine.”

But Natasha didn’t falter. “I understand more than you think. But you need to stop. I’m warning you, Y/N. Don’t push me any further.”

With that, Natasha turned and walked away, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart pounding, her mind racing.

Y/N paced back and forth in her dimly lit apartment, her thoughts racing. The walls felt like they were closing in, the pressure mounting with each passing second. She could feel the weight of everything she had done and everything she was about to do. The walls were closing in. Natasha was too close. She knew too much.

She knew what she needed to do, she needed to kill the black widow. But how? Natasha was smarter, stronger than her and trained to be an excellent assassin.

Every time Y/N thought she had everything under control, something else cropped up. Natasha’s relentless investigation, her suspicions, her connection to Pietro—it was all unraveling. Y/N had managed to bury her past for so long, and now it seemed like everything was coming back to haunt her.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the countertop as her mind raced. She had tried everything—lying, manipulation, distraction. But none of it was enough. Natasha wasn’t just a threat to her relationship with Pietro; she was a threat to everything. To her future. To the life she had so carefully constructed.

There had to be a way. There had to be something.

She grabbed her phone, dialing the familiar number of a contact she had used before, but her hands shook as she heard it ring, only to be met with a voicemail. “Dammit,” she hissed, slamming the phone down onto the counter. She couldn’t afford to wait.

Her eyes darted to the windowsill. There, sitting in a small pot, was a delicate purple flower. It had always been there, a remnant of a previous time when she had considered growing plants, when things were simpler. It had been a gift from someone who had no idea about the depths of her darkness. But now, it felt like fate had led her to it.

Aconite.

The flower, its deep purple petals and delicate form, almost seemed too beautiful to be so deadly. It was known for its poison—one of the most lethal, undetectable toxins. The thought of it sent a chill down her spine, but it was perfect.

Y/N took a step forward, her gaze fixated on the plant. She remembered reading about aconite years ago. The poison was subtle, acting quickly and causing symptoms that would seem natural—nausea, dizziness, a heart attack. It was perfect for what she needed. She didn’t want a scene; she didn’t want to be caught. She just needed to make sure Natasha was no longer a problem.

She reached for the flower, her fingers trembling slightly as she caressed the petals.

“I could do this,” she whispered to herself, as if trying to convince herself that it was the right decision. “I have to do this.”

Y/N took the flower and began to carefully separate the leaves from the stem. She knew that this was the only way. She had no choice. She couldn’t let Natasha expose her. Not now. Not when she was so close to everything she wanted.

Her mind raced as she calculated the dosage, how much would be lethal without raising suspicion. A few drops into the right drink, and it would be over. Natasha would be gone, and no one would ever suspect Y/N.

The thought filled her with a sense of calm, almost satisfaction. She wasn’t panicking anymore. She had an answer.

She smiled as she prepared the aconite, knowing she was finally in control again.

She didn’t just need to get rid of Natasha. She needed to make sure that nothing would stand in her way again. And with the aconite, she had everything she needed.

As she moved towards the door, ready to take action, she felt a small flicker of fear. But she ignored it. She would do whatever it took. She had to.

For now, the flower was the solution.

Y/N knew this was the only way to keep herself safe. To remove the threat that Natasha posed, to erase any possibility of someone bringing her past into the light. Natasha was a liability, and she had to be dealt with before the truth unraveled everything Y/N had carefully constructed.

She watched Natasha’s routine carefully, each move she made, each step she took. Y/N took note of the days, the times, the places. She knew exactly when Natasha would go for her morning runs, when she’d stop by the cafe, and when she’d slip into her usual spot, ordering the same drink every time without fail.

It was a predictable pattern, and Y/N used it to her advantage.

She waited, patiently, for the perfect moment to act. The barista, young and easily swayed by money, had hesitated at first. But after seeing the money Y/N offered, he had agreed to slip a lethal dose of aconite into Natasha’s coffee. It wasn’t enough to be immediately noticeable but just enough to kill her within hours—an undetectable heart attack. It was perfect. It would look like a tragic accident, and Natasha’s death would pass unnoticed by anyone who mattered.

Y/N smiled as she remembered the look on the barista’s face when she handed him the money, the fear in his eyes, but also the greed that made him comply. It was all so easy, so simple. She was used to manipulation, after all.

The day came, and Y/N watched from a distance as Natasha entered the cafe. She was always so routine. So predictable. It made her death all the more inevitable. Y/N took a deep breath and watched the barista prepare Natasha’s usual, a steaming cup of coffee. He slipped the aconite in expertly, just enough to kill. He handed it over to Natasha with the same routine smile, and Y/N knew the deed was done.

She left quickly after that, making her way back to her apartment with a sense of satisfaction. The pieces of her plan were falling into place. Natasha was no longer a threat, and no one would suspect her. Not Pietro. Not anyone.

Later that evening, the news would spread—Black Widow was dead. A tragic heart attack claimed her life, the world left to mourn the loss of one of the Avengers. But Y/N wouldn’t mourn. She would simply move on, as she always did, leaving nothing but empty spaces where the past had once been.

She waited for the news, watching the world around her as her phone buzzed with updates. The truth would stay buried. She could feel the weight lifting, the dark past of her life beginning to fade. Nothing could stop her now.

As she watched the headlines, she let herself smile. She had done it. She had won.

But even as the victory settled in her chest, a small seed of doubt began to sprout. Would this be enough to stop everything from unraveling? Would anyone ever truly leave her alone? She knew deep down that no matter how many people she silenced, no matter how many secrets she buried, there would always be someone watching. Someone who would eventually uncover her past.

But for now, she had won.

The funeral was a somber affair, the kind of event that echoed with grief and disbelief. The world couldn’t fathom that Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, was truly gone. Her name, a symbol of strength, resilience, and sacrifice, now hung heavy in the air like a curse. Friends, family, and allies gathered in hushed groups, exchanging quiet condolences, their eyes red from crying, their faces etched with confusion. How could this have happened? A sudden heart attack, so unexpected, so cruel. No one saw it coming.

Y/N stood at the back, blending into the shadows, watching from a distance. The crowd was thick with mourners—Clint Barton, her former partner, stood near the front, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears. Tony Stark, his usual bravado replaced by a rare solemnity, was trying to hold it together, though his face betrayed the heaviness of loss. Steve Rogers, as stoic as ever, his jaw clenched tight, was pacing in small circles, lost in his own grief. Pietro Maximoff lingered in the back, his face dark, his fists clenched, as if the very act of breathing was painful.

They didn’t know the truth. None of them knew. Natasha had been killed by someone they would never suspect. A woman who was so good at hiding her darkness that even now, standing among them in the shadows, Y/N felt untouchable. No one could see through the lies she’d woven. No one could see the truth of who she was, who she had become.

She watched Pietro, noting the way his eyes flicked around, his every movement tight with a restrained rage. He wasn’t at peace, not by a long shot. His guilt and anger were palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Y/N could feel it, could sense the tension in the air. His heart was broken, and she couldn’t help but feel a sick satisfaction in knowing that part of the reason was because of her. He had never been able to trust her, and now, he would never be able to trust anyone again.

Peter Parker stood with his head bowed, trying to hide his emotions behind his glasses. His face was tight with pain, his usual light-hearted demeanor replaced by the weight of Natasha’s death. He had loved her like a sister, and now she was gone.

Y/N’s mind wandered to the plan she had set in motion. A plan that had worked, so perfectly, so quietly. Natasha Romanoff was dead. And no one knew how or why. No one would ever know the true story. Y/N had erased all traces of herself from the picture. She had made sure to leave no fingerprints, no evidence. All that was left was the funeral, and with it, the grief.

As the ceremony continued, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of coldness wash over her. This was how it had to be. This was how it was always meant to end. She had won. And yet, something gnawed at her, something unsettling deep inside.

The funeral would be over soon. And then, the world would move on. It would mourn, it would move forward, and Y/N would slip back into the shadows where she belonged.

But even as she told herself this, a seed of doubt took root. There was something about the way the world mourned Natasha Romanoff that unsettled her. The way she was remembered—not as a cold assassin, not as a tool of the Red Room, but as someone who had sacrificed everything for the greater good. The way everyone who spoke about her described her with reverence.

It was unsettling.

Y/N realized, just then, that she was not as untouchable as she had thought. The whispers were growing louder, not just among the Avengers, but within herself. How long could she keep this facade up? How many more would have to fall before she was truly safe?

For now, though, the world would mourn Natasha Romanoff, and Y/N could hide in plain sight, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

The investigation into Natasha’s sudden and mysterious death was thorough, but for a while, it seemed like the case was going to remain a cold, unsolvable one. The medical reports pointed to a heart attack, something uncharacteristic but plausible. Tony Stark, however, wasn’t the kind of man to settle for the easy explanation.

He had worked with Natasha for years, trusted her implicitly. And there was something about the whole situation that didn’t sit right with him. No, this wasn’t an ordinary death. He started digging into the details, the smaller, overlooked pieces of evidence that could have been missed. And sure enough, something caught his attention.

It was a small detail, something that would have been dismissed by most. The coffee cup. Natasha’s usual morning brew. But Tony, with his sharp instincts, had known that she always ordered it from the same café, and he had visited that café countless times with her. He had a hunch—this was the key.

Tony took the coffee cup and had it tested in one of his labs. What he found was chilling. Traces of aconite. Poison.

His mind spun. Aconite was a powerful toxin, known for its ability to mimic a heart attack. It was easy to mask in a coffee, easy to cover up as a natural death. This wasn’t a heart attack. Natasha Romanoff had been murdered.

Now, they just needed to find out who had done it. Tony wasn’t stupid—this wasn’t just random. Someone had a reason to kill Natasha. Someone who had motive.

Nick Fury was immediately brought in, knowing that if anyone could crack this case, it was him. He pulled all his resources, trying to find any connections, any patterns that could link someone to the crime. But the more they dug, the more elusive the answers became. The trail seemed to go cold—until, one day, a small clue surfaced.

Pietro Maximoff.

Fury had been suspicious of him for a while. It was well known that Pietro and Natasha had clashed, especially when it came to Y/N. The tension between them had always been palpable. Fury began to piece things together, wondering if perhaps Pietro might have known more than he let on.

That was when Pietro finally opened up. In a moment of frustration and guilt, he confessed to Tony and Steve, his voice shaking with the weight of his emotions.

“I asked her,” he admitted. “I asked Natasha to look into Y/N. She… I didn’t know what was happening, but something wasn’t right. I knew she had changed, and I had to know what she was hiding. I asked Natasha to dig into her past. I never thought it would come to this.”

It was a moment of shocking clarity for Tony, Steve, and Fury. Suddenly, everything clicked. The suspicion, the oddities in Y/N’s behavior—it all made sense now. Y/N had known Natasha was investigating her, and when she found out… well, the consequences were deadly.

Pietro’s confession wasn’t enough to tie Y/N directly to the murder, but it was a crucial lead. It was the first real indication that someone had motive—and that motive was Y/N.

Fury didn’t waste time. He instructed Tony and Steve to get to work, following the breadcrumbs, making the connections between Y/N’s past and the present. They dug into her history, discovering a trail of manipulative behavior and toxic relationships that painted a clear picture. The more they uncovered, the more they realized that Y/N wasn’t the innocent woman she appeared to be. She had carefully crafted a persona, a façade of vulnerability and victimhood. And all along, she had been hiding something much darker.

But there was still no solid proof linking her to Natasha’s death—at least, not yet.

The walls were closing in. They were getting closer, and Y/N knew it. She had managed to slip through the cracks for so long, but the truth was beginning to unravel. Would she be able to cover her tracks before they uncovered everything? Or would the sins of her past catch up with her at last?

The investigation continued to tighten around Y/N, though she did her best to keep her calm, maintaining the persona of the helpless, pregnant woman who was simply trying to start over. But her mind raced. She knew they were closing in, and each day that passed felt like a countdown to the inevitable.

Tony, Steve, and Fury had been working tirelessly, trying to dig into Y/N’s past and find any solid evidence to link her to Natasha’s death. They uncovered everything—her childhood in orphanages, her troubled past with abusive relationships, the manipulative tactics she’d used on Pietro, and the strange string of deaths connected to her. They even pieced together how her ex-boyfriend had died in a car crash after she became pregnant with his child, an event that had eerily mirrored what had happened with Pietro. But no one could seem to find the smoking gun—the direct link between Y/N and Natasha’s murder.

As the investigation dragged on, Y/N’s paranoia grew. She knew it wouldn’t be long before they found something undeniable. They’d already started talking to people who knew her, reaching out to old friends, former colleagues, anyone who might have information. But she had done everything she could to cover her tracks. She’d erased any trace of her involvement with the mysterious man who had killed Natasha. The burner phone was long gone, and the café barista who had slipped the aconite into Natasha’s coffee was too terrified of her to ever speak up. For now, she was safe.

Still, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her. Every time she went out in public, she felt as though she were being watched. Her phone was constantly buzzing with messages—mostly from Peter, who had grown increasingly concerned about her well-being, as well as from others who had heard about Natasha’s death. The text messages were always laced with sympathy and shock, but beneath it all, Y/N could tell that there was a sense of doubt, a sense that people were starting to suspect there was more to her than she was letting on.

Pietro hadn’t spoken to her since the attack at the compound. She was still angry with him for getting in the way of her plans, but a part of her worried that he might figure things out. He had been closer to Natasha than anyone else, and it was only a matter of time before he started putting the pieces together. She had to act quickly, before he realized just how deep her manipulation ran.

Then, one night, it happened.

Y/N was at home, lying in bed, trying to calm herself as she absentmindedly stroked her growing belly. She heard a knock at the door—a soft, insistent tap that echoed in the quiet of her apartment.

She froze.

The only people who knew where she lived were her friends—and Pietro. Her heart pounded in her chest as she got out of bed and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she was met with a familiar face—Pietro.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice steady but her mind racing.

“I need to talk to you,” Pietro said, his voice tight with emotion. He didn’t look like himself—there was something in his eyes, a mix of hurt and anger that made her stomach turn.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but then stepped aside, allowing him to enter. He walked in, eyes scanning the empty apartment as if looking for something—or someone.

“I know what you did,” he said, his voice low and threatening.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay calm. She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Pietro snapped, turning to face her. “Natasha’s dead. You poisoned her. I know it was you.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. He was getting closer. She needed to find a way out of this—quick.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said, but even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow. “I didn’t kill her.”

Pietro clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tight with frustration. “I don’t believe you. I know you’re capable of this, Y/N. You’ve been playing everyone, manipulating them… me… for so long. And now Natasha is gone.”

Her smile faltered, but she quickly regained her composure. “Pietro, you don’t understand. I just want a calm peaceful life, to move on.”

“Move on?” He laughed bitterly. “You’ve been lying to me the whole time, haven’t you? Is the baby even mine?” Her heart broke at his words, “of course it’s yours! I haven’t been with anyone else.”

She felt the walls closing in. She had to end this now before he exposed her. But there was one thing she needed to know before she made her next move.

“Why did you come here, Pietro?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with an edge of danger. “What do you want from me now?”

“I came to end this,” he said, his eyes hardening. “You’ve done enough damage. I’m going to make sure everyone knows the truth.”

Her blood ran cold. He had no idea what she was capable of. No idea how far she would go to keep her secrets buried.

“You won’t get away with this,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Pietro took a step back, clearly torn, as if he didn’t want to hurt her—yet at the same time, he knew that whatever was left of their relationship was broken beyond repair.

“I have to stop you,” he said, his voice wavering between anger and sadness.

Y/N’s mind raced. She had to act fast. She couldn’t let him leave.

Before Pietro could take another step, Y/N lunged forward, grabbing the nearest object she could find—a heavy glass vase. In one swift motion, she swung it at his head. Pietro barely had time to react before the vase shattered against his skull, sending him crashing to the ground.

His body went limp, and for a moment, Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest. She had done it. She had stopped him.

But as she looked down at him—his unconscious body lying on the floor—she realized something: she had just crossed a line she couldn’t come back from.

And now, there was no turning back.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she stared down at Pietro’s unconscious form. He was a risk she couldn’t afford. If he woke up, if he was able to talk, everything she had worked so hard for would unravel. There was no turning back now. She needed to keep him quiet—out of sight—and she needed to do it fast.

Her hands shook, but she forced herself to focus. She quickly grabbed a cloth and tied it around his wrists, making sure it was tight enough to keep him immobilized but not so tight that it would hurt him. Her thoughts raced as she thought of her next steps. She couldn’t leave him here, not in her apartment where the Avengers would find him in minutes. No. She needed to move him, get him out of the city before they realized what had happened.

She dragged him, barely conscious, into her car, and once he was inside, she slammed the door shut. The engine roared to life, and she drove off, her hands gripping the wheel tightly, her mind already calculating the safest route. She drove in silence, only the hum of the tires on the road breaking the quiet of the night. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and her thoughts became clearer.

As she drove, she glanced at her phone. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the notifications—footage from the cameras inside her apartment. The Avengers had just broken in. Her eyes flicked to the footage, watching as they searched her place with meticulous care. They looked under the bed, opened the closet, and inspected every nook and cranny—but they found nothing.

“Damn it,” she whispered to herself. They had no idea that she was already miles away, on her way to wherever she planned to keep Pietro.

She couldn’t let them know where she was headed. She was already playing a dangerous game, and this was her only chance to keep control. If she played it right, Pietro would never speak again—if he did, it would be too late for anyone to stop her.

She watched the screen as they continued to search her apartment, frustration growing on their faces when they realized she was gone. Tony was the first to speak, his voice filled with disbelief.

“She’s gone… but where did she go?” He muttered.

Steve stood next to him, scanning the room. “We’ll find her. We need to go after her now.”

Natasha’s death had shaken them all to the core, and now, Pietro’s disappearance was another sign of the danger they were facing. They were all in danger—because of Y/N.

Y/N smirked as she looked at her phone one last time before slipping it into her bag. The Avengers were desperate, but they were looking in the wrong place. She had already left town, already far enough away from the chaos to be safe for now.

But as the car sped down the dark highway, a cold sense of finality settled in her chest. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. The Avengers wouldn’t give up. They wouldn’t stop until they found Pietro—and her.

But Y/N had never been one to play by the rules. She wasn’t going to let anyone take away what was hers—not this time. She’d already lost too much, and now it was her turn to make sure everyone else lost something too.

As the lights of the city faded in her rearview mirror, she felt the weight of her decision settle over her. Pietro would be her prisoner. She’d break him. Just like she’d broken others before him.

And with him under her control, she’d finally be in charge of her own fate.

There would be no more running. No more hiding.

It was time for Y/N to take everything she wanted. And nothing, not even the Avengers, would stand in her way.

[agreeewrites]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | S.R.

feat. Steve Rogers x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You and Steve broke up, but life as an assassin for SHIELD goes on, no matter how grueling. little did you know, Steve was suffering too, and reality is far from how it appears.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, breakups, protective!Steve, assassin work, mentions of blood and death, Steve is a bit of a munch (but he still tops you), happy ending

AN: inspired by "I Can Do It With A Broken Heart" by Taylor Swift from her album The Tortured Poets Department.

divider by @saradika-graphics

Steve left you on a random Tuesday afternoon. No fanfare, no warning, no discussion. He barely even looked at you when he shattered your heart.

In the two years you'd known him, and the six months you loved him, you'd never seen him so callous. He'd looked at motorcycles with more affection than he looked at you in that moment.

You didn't understand, couldn't understand, but it didn't matter. Your relationship was over, and your life felt like a held breath ever since.

He said he'd love you all his life, but for a man that's been alive for a century, six months was barely a blip. You were barely a blip.

But you couldn't dwell, couldn't break down like you wanted to, because you were one of the top assassin's at SHIELD, and missions didn't care about your feelings.

So you were sent out into the field, day after day, week after week, with a smile on your face and your shoulders thrown back, never ever missing your mark. And still, SHIELD demanded more of you.

Fortunately, you could do it with a broken heart.

“Agent L/N, report to Fury’s office for assignment,” the earpiece in your ear crackled to life, jarring you from the workout you were pretending to do.

“Another one? Seriously?” Nat said, looking up from the squat rack, sweat glistening along her hairline.

You shrugged. “The fun never stops,” you said with a half-hearted smile, and she rolled her eyes, returning to her reps.

As quick as you could, you pulled an oversized hoodie over your sports bra and retied your ponytail, which has fallen into sweaty disarray during your workout.

Normally, you'd change into your suit, but when Fury called, he didn't like to be kept waiting.

You take the elevator direct to his office, and when the doors roll open, you're greeted by Nick Fury, Sergeant Barnes, and, of course, the back of Steves head.

His hair has grown a little longer since you were together, and your fingers itched to run through it, to scratch his scalp in the way that makes his dark lashes flutter, to tug on his roots in the way that makes him groan low in his throat…

You shook yourself and slapped on a smile. “Good morning, Nick,” you chirped, sauntering into the room.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, offering as close to a smile as he could manage. “Have a seat.”

You perched on the edge of Bucky’s table, and he gave you a stiff nod in greeting . Steve didn't look up from the open file in front of him, but you could tell by the angle of his shoulders that he wasn't happy.

Nausea twisted in your stomach, your heart splintering a bit further, but you kept your expression pleasant.

“Would it kill you two to be a little more cheerful?” Fury quipped, and Bucky snorted. “Could all use a little more sunshine around here.” Fury winked at you, and you winked back.

Steve’s fingers tightened on the file, but you chalked it up to its contents.

“Little Miss Stabs-a-lot seems to be managing just fine for all of us,” Bucky said, his voice dry even though his eyes were smiling.

That's you, managing just fine.

Fury chuckled and passed you a similar file to Steves. “Your target is Lugoff Isaacson, HYDRA weapons director.”

You flipped through the file, finding a laundry-list of diabolical misdeeds, as well as a number of altercations with the two men beside you.

“Dinosaur’s couldn't hack it?” You teased, but only Nick laughed.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Isaacson lives like a hermit, and the only people allowed in his company are fellow HYDRA agents—” Nick paused, bracing his hands on the desk. “And pretty women.”

You heard Steve's teeth grind together, and Bucky glanced over at him, but you kept your eyes on your boss. “When do I leave?” You asked, already rising.

“Nick, she can't go in there with Isaacson alone,” Steve snapped, pushing the file away from him. His voice was rough and low, menacing, and it sent a chill up your spine.

“She certainly can,” Nick rebuffed. “Unless you want to go with her?”

Steve glared at Nick, so sharp it was practically lethal, but didn't say another word.

You felt like he stomped your heart beneath his boot, and were seized by the urge to fall at his feet and beg for a reason why he would do this to you. But instead, you flipped through the file, finding your orders in the back. “Flights at 2:30. I need to pack and get a blowout. I'll update when I land.” You tucked the file under your arm, blew Nick a kiss, and flitted back to the elevator, not sparing Steve a second glance.

He certainly wouldn't look back at you.

“How many is that this month?” You heard Bucky ask as the doors started to roll closed.

“15,” Fury answered, pride clear in his voice. “She's our most productive assassin to date.”

Steve's POV

“Don't give me that look, Rogers,” Fury droned, avoiding Steve's eye.

“She's not some goddamn chess piece you can just play however you want,” he bit, barely contained anger simmering underneath the surface. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his mouth shut during that meeting, to not grab you around the middle and run for the fucking hills.

The thought of Isaacson, that slimy rat laying a hand on you—it made Steve's mind bleed red with rage. He knew you could handle him, knew you'd make quick, clean work of the kill, but the things you'd have to endure to get that perfect opportunity…

He couldn't bear it.

“Thats exactly what she is,” Fury said, snatching the file from in front of Steve. “It's what you all are.”

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, and Steve rose from his chair, bracing his hands on the table to lean into Fury’s smug face.

“I'm done playing your fucking games. And if you think I won't take her and leave, then you don't know me very well,” he growled.

Bucky got to his feet, metallic arm flexing as tensions mounted.

“Oh, I know you, Cap. I know you'll do whatever you need to do, move wherever the fuck I want you to move, so she stays on the damn board. Right?”

Steve grit his teeth. “And when we leave, whose going to come after us? Him?” He gestured to Bucky. “Nat? Thor? Quill? Whose it gonna be?”

Fury narrowed his eye.

“Because here's the thing you've never understood. Without us, there is no fucking SHIELD. You broke us up so she'd be free to your dirty work right? Without my interference?”

Fury scoffed and went to back away, but Bucky was standing directly behind him, blocking any escape route.

“She likes it—”

“It's killing her.” Steve cut him off. “When's the last time she had a day off? A vacation? A job that wasn't too hard for another agent, but too low profile to send us? Hm? Call her fucking sunshine while your burying her alive.”

“Steve,” Bucky warned, and the table cracked beneath Steve's hands.

“It ends now. Either SHIELD takes care of her, or I do.” Steve pushed off the desk and stormed out of the room, taking the stairs to get to the control room faster.

Nat was already there. “She just got to her apartment. Steve, she's—”

“I want eyes on her 24/7, and a team waiting to deploy within twenty miles of Isaacson bunker,” he ordered.

A chorus of ‘yessir’s’ answered him, and he sunk down in the vacant swivel chair, steepling his fingers as he watched the entrance to your apartment building, a SHIELD van idling just outside.

“Cap, listen.” Nat leaned against the control panel beside him. “This has to end, before she fucks up.”

“I know—”

“No, you don't. At this level of burnout, one misstep and that's it.”

“I know!” He barked, and the surveillance workers all jumped. “I'm fixing this. I just need a little more time.”

“She might not have time.” Nat pushed off the panel. “It might not be this mission, but it could be the next one, or the next. Stop being a fucking coward and fix it before it's too late.” She stormed off, leaving Steve staring at the monitors, his heart in his throat.

He was going to fix this. He had to fix this, before he lost you for good.

You hurried out of your apartment, dressed in slacks and blouse, wrapped up in a leather trenchcoat. The driver jumped out to greet you and took your bag, and you slipped into the backseat.

He flipped the camera to the car feed, a wonky fisheye from the dashboard, and saw you check your mascara in the mirror, faint smudges of black under your eyes, your nose kissed pink.

You'd been crying.

“I'm gonna fix it, baby,” he muttered to himself, wishing you could hear him somehow. “I promise.”

Reader's POV

You took out Isaacson without any issues, just smiled and tried to ignore the way he groped your thighs, ogled your tits. He made it too easy to slit his throat.

And as soon as you returned, there was another assignment, and another, and another, until you didn't even bother going home anymore. Which was well enough for you. You didn't care to sleep in the bed Steve held you in, or the couch you'd watched his favorite black and white movies on. Didn't care to eat in the kitchen where you taught him to make your mother's signature recipe, or shower in the stall he'd washed your hair in when you were sick. It was better to stay away from all the little reminders that you didn't imagine the whole thing.

You pretended to love being busy, treated every mission like a birthday gift, and pushed forward. Until, you were assigned to work at the Winter Gala.

SHIELD hosted the annual event as an excuse for the team to rub elbows with politicians, diplomats, and executives. You'd be masquerading as a guest, of course, but in reality you were on intel duty, eavesdropping on conversations and flirting trade secrets out of the most powerful people in the world.

One of the few perks of still being anonymous to the world.

You were dreading it. A night filled with romantic music, dancing, and drinks, watching Steve schmooze with women twice as wealthy and twice as powerful as you? You'd rather choke on your own dagger. But you were determined to look fabulous, a young woman in her glittering prime, and maybe you'd feel something besides emptiness.

Tony had a gorgeous ball gown sent to your apartment that probably cost more than your annual salary, and you spent three hours on your hair and makeup for the occasion, mainly because you kept crying it off. But at the last minute you steeled yourself and carpooled with Nat to Stark Tower.

She wolf whistled as you climbed into the car, looking downright stunning herself. “I know I'm not supposed to comment, but that fossil is going to lose his fucking mind.” She chuckled, tearing off down the street.

“Lose his mind?” You snorted inelegantly. “I can barely get a ‘hello’ out of him.”

Nat looked at you sidelong, the expression sharpened by her eyeliner. “And why do you think that is, babe?”

You didn't dare comment, didn't dare think about it. You'd never get through the night if you clung to a razor thin thread of hope.

The party was in full swing when you arrived, and you came in separately from Nat to forgo any suspicion. With a glass of champagne in hand, you circled the party, trying to tune out your own thoughts so you could absorb all the conversations going on around you.

But the noise completely stopped when your eyes met Steve's across the room.

He was dressed in an immaculately tailored Navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and brown leather loafers. His hair was styled back from his face, his beard freshly trimmed, and he was staring at you like hunter through a scope.

“Y/n, sweetheart, come with me for a moment,” Tony appeared to your left, startling you out of your reverie. “There's someone I want you to meet.” He winked, and you flashed a toothy smile, even though you felt like screaming.

“Lead the way, Mr. Stark,” you cooed, for the benefit of anyone in earshot.

Tony led you away, but you could feel Steve's eyes burning a hole in your back, tracking you through the crowd.

“Alex, this is Lydia, the daughter of a colleague of mine. You both attended Stanford!” Tony lied through his teeth to a handsome, dark haired gentleman, and you picked it up without delay.

“Oh, of course! It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!” You gushed, sliding onto the stool beside the stranger. “Tell me, what was your favorite time of year on campus?” You brushed your fingers along his forearm, noting the model of the Rolex on his wrist, the designer of his suit.

“Fall, of course. Can't beat those colors,” Alex grinned, and you fawned like it was the most ground breaking thing you'd ever heard.

Tony left you to it, and twenty minutes later you were tucked into a booth with Alex, his arm slung over your shoulders, and his phone face up and unlocked right in front of you. Oblivious to the way you scanned every message that came through.

Alex leaned closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear, and you had to swallow a shiver of revulsion. His hand came up to cup your cheek as you wracked you mind for a way out of this—

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Trevais, but I need to steal Lydia for a moment.” Nat appeared suddenly beside the table, looking smug, and Alex scowled.

“Right now? Really?” He argued.

“I'm afraid so.” Nat batted her lashes and Alex immediately caved.

“Fine, I'll see you later then?” He winked, alluding to the room key he slipped into your bag a few minutes prior.

“Perhaps.” You winked back, playing coy, and he grinned like a fool. “What's going on?” You hissed as Nat led you out of the party and down an dark, empty hall. "I was in the middle of something—"

“You'll see,” she whispered back, stopping at a door and doing a quick sweep before pulling it open and ushering you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

“Nat, what—”

The lights came on in the room, dim and golden to reveal the luxurious study you were standing in, all black leather and granite, shelves of books and expensive furniture.

But you barely registered any of that, because Steve Rogers was waiting for you by the window. Moonlight kissed his face, highlighting the flawless angles on his bone structure, and your mouth ran dry, your heart falling through the floor.

“Uh, is there a problem, Captain Rogers?” You asked, propping up the professional barrier despite the urge to launch yourself at him, the need to kiss him, or strangle him, pushing against the underside of your skin.

When he looked at up you, the air was sucked from the room. His eyes were stormy, fogged with sorrow, water collecting on his lower lashes.

“You really have turned espionage into an art form,” he chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. “Like you're having the time of your life.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“But that's not true, is it? You're as miserable as I am.”

You shook your head. “I—I’m fine.”

He huffed a laugh, pushing off the window sill. “You put on a good act, honey. But I can tell when you're performing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, indignation flaring in your gut. “What do you want, Steve? You haven't spoken to me in months.”

He grimaced, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. “Y/n, I—”

“You disappeared for two weeks after dumping me out of the blue. You refuse to take missions within a hundred miles of me. You won't even train at the same time." You were yelling, unable to stop once you started. You'd kept it all bottled up for so long, there was no forcing it back now. "You've barely looked at me, Steve! It's like we never happened, like I made it all up in my head!”

“Because it was killing me!” He shouted back, and you flinched, tears pricking behind your eyes. You could count on one hand the amount of times Steve Rogers raised his voice, and it was never at you.

“You left me!” You yelled, your voice cracking at the edges.

“Because I had no choice! They gave me no choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “W-what?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. “Fury, SHIELD, they threatened to send you overseas if I didn't. To some desolate base in Russia.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This couldn't be real. “Steve, that doesn't make sense—”

“You really think I would leave you like that? That I would just throw away what we had? I was trying—” his voice caught in his throat. “I thought I was protecting you. But they lied to me.”

You were shaking your head, backing away. You couldn’t take any more empty words, any more bullshit—

Steve rushed toward you, catching your face in his large hands before you could turn away. “Baby, listen to me,” he said, softening. “They wanted me out of the way so you would be more likely to do whatever they wanted. When we were together, we were working less, we were happier, we cared about something that wasn't SHIELD, and they couldn't stand it.”

“But Fury—”

“Is a manipulative fuck that took advantage of your broken heart.” You gasped at his language, usually reserved for sex or intense fighting. Steve lowered himself to his knees, his hands gripping the curve of your waist and shaking you. “I need you to believe me, honey. I'm begging you. I would never have done this if I knew the truth. I'm so sorry for hurting you, and I wish I could take it back. But I can't, all I can do is tell you the truth.”

“You didn't want to leave me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course not.” He rested his forehead on your belly, drawing a shaky breath before looking up at you again, pleading with big, blue, watery eyes. “I-I love you. And I agreed because I was terrified to lose you completely but then I—I did anyways because I'm a fucking coward.”

You wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb, the last of your trepidation falling away. “I love you too, Stevie,” you said, and he surged upwards, slamming his mouth to yours in a ruinous, bone-melting kiss.

He parted your lips with his tongue, possessing your mouth in a display of dominance you rarely saw from him. He licked along your teeth, groaning low in his throat as you dug your nails into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He tasted like black coffee and something sweet, like he'd hit the dessert table instead of the bar, and it made your heart flip.

God, you'd missed him.

Your lungs screamed for air, an affliction super soldiers didn't contend with, and you were forced to break the kiss to breathe.

“Cameras?” You panted, craning your head back as Steve planted wet, open-mouth kisses down your jugular.

“This is Fury's personal study. No cameras,” Steve mumbled against the peak of your shoulder, his hands all over you.

You scoffed. “Of course, because he can have priv—”

“Forget about him.” Steve captured your lips again, and you nipped at his lower lip for cutting you off. He backed you against the desk, breaking the kiss to toss you up onto it.

“Forgotten,” you replied, breathless as you looked into his eyes.

“I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet, have I?” He asked, leaning back a bit to take you in, your chest heaving against the deep plunge of your dress, lips kiss-stung and eyes bright.

You shook your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder with a smirk.

“I love this color on you,” he murmured, rubbing the hem of your dress between his thumb and index finger. And your makeup—”

“Steve.” You grabbed him by the lapel and tugged him closer, bringing his face down towards yours. A flare of arousal twinged between your legs, you loved when he let you manhandle him. “I know you're trying to be a gentleman and not fuck me without some proper flirting, but it's been months. I need you.”

Steve smiled, leaning forward to lay you back on the desk. “You don't need me, honey,” he hummed, kissing down your sternum while his hands moved your dress up your legs. He looked up at you when he settled between your thighs. “You've proven that you're a force all on your own. And that's okay, you don't have to need me, as long as you want me.”

You nibbled your lower lip, processing his words. He was right, you'd proven that you could live through heartbreak, that you didn't need him to carry on. And as much as it hurt, and as much as you missed him, there was something liberating in that knowledge.

“So, do you want me?” He asked, grazing his thumb over the gusset of your panties, maddeningly light.

“Yes, I want you,” you answered, threading your fingers through his blond hair and urging him forward.

He chuckled, smiling up at you, then pulled your panties to the side with his middle finger and flattened his tongue against your slit, licking a firm stripe up your pussy. Your head fell back onto the desk when he sucked your clit between his teeth, wasting no time in his pursuit of your pleasure.

Steve, for all his propriety and politeness, loved nothing more than feasting on your pussy. He was sloppy with it, rough and self-indulgent, as if making up for the decades he went without it. He often stayed until you were overstimulated and orgasmed-out, weakly trying to push his head from between your legs while he lapped up the mess you made for him.

“Missed you so damn much,” he mumbled against your pussy, eyes fluttering closed as he drove his tongue into your entrance.

“Missed you,” you whined, your hips bucking up into his mouth as he devoured you, lashing every one of your sweet spots with expert precision.

His hands tightened on your hips while he massaged your clit with his tongue, and even that fraction of his real strength was enough to leave a dull ache. The reminder of his true strength made your head spin, your mind empty. You may not need him, but there was something thrilling about being able let go while you were with him. Trusting that he would keep you safe and you could just be.

He licked one last stripe up your pussy before pulling back, kissing his way up your body. “Baby, I need you,” he mumbled, nosing into your neck. You could feel just how badly from the ridge beneath his trousers, his hips rocking slightly into yours. “Please, can I fuck you?” He asked, unlatching his belt with a flick of his wrist, and a shiver rolled up your spine at the desperation in his voice.

“You want to fuck me?” You repeated, toying with him. You reached between your bodies and pulled out his cock, thick and long and flushed, and pumped it once, twice, smearing precum down his shaft.

He moaned, hot and breathy against your skin. “I know I hurt you, and I still have to make up for that, but I just—fuck, I need to feel you. Please, please let me make you come on my cock.”

“Just start slow,” you cooed, petting his cheek when he lifted his head in excitement. “Been awhile since I took you.” You glided his cockhead through your folds, his breath hitching when you notched it at your drooling entrance.

Gently, he eased his hips forward, sliding in one inch, then another. "Shit, honey. Have a little mercy," he panted, his muscles bulging against the fabric of his shirt, tendons in his neck flexing.

You groaned, releasing his cock to grab hold of his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt at the stretch, bright and burning.

“Gotta relax, baby. Let me in.” He gently guided you thigh up and around his waist, squeezing the fat of your haunch in reassurance. He moved a little deeper, and you both gasped when your walls clenched around him. “So goddamn tight,” he rasped, drawing his hips back a bit, assuaging some of the discomfort before easing back inside, coaxing your muscles to loosen for him.

“Fuck, Steve,” you panted when he pushed a little deeper, your eyes rolling back in your head when he grazed your g-spot.

“Almost there, doll. You can do it,” he encouraged, reaching up to hold your face. He caught your gaze, smiling a little when your eyes struggled to stay focused, lashes fluttering. “Starting to feel good?”

You nodded, pleasure spilling through you as your body accepted him inch by inch, until finally, you felt his pelvis press against yours.

“There we go,” he purred, leaning down to kiss your forehead, your cheek, giving you a few more seconds to adjust. “Good girl, takin’ all that cock.”

He ground into you, stifling a fractured moan against your shoulder when your pussy made an obscene squelching sound, dripping wet for him. You were on another planet, tingling head to toe as waves of pleasure crested. Every beat of your heart had you clenching around him, full to splitting, and you wanted more.

“Please, baby, need more,” you whined, trying to rock your hips against his, but he was too heavy for you to do much.

He braced his hands on either side of your head, sweeping his eyes down your body as you squirmed beneath him. He chuckled, the sound low and almost malicious. “Need more?"

He drew his hips back and delivered a punishing thrust, two, three, five, until you were all but screaming, unable to do anything but lay there and take everything he gave you.

"How's that for more?" He asked, his cock brutalizing your cervix and stretching you beyond your limits, molding your pussy to the shape of his cock. Ruining you with a fervor that made your head spin.

Your peak was rapidly approaching, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust until you were half-mad with desperation, clawing at his forearms by your head and leaving pink, raised lines across his flesh.

“Gonna come for me, baby? God, I missed this little pussy—feels so good,” he grated, bringing one of his hands down to circle to your clit, firm and deliberate. Exactly what he knew you needed. “That's my good girl. C'mon, I’m right there with you—” Another thrust and he sent you both flying over the edge, sparks exploding behind your eyes as the orgasm ravaged your body, flaying you open.

You grabbed onto his arm, desperate for something to ground you as you soared, his hips still thrusting erratically as he pumped you full of his release.

Crack!

The desk suddenly tilted beneath you and Steve whisked you up into his arms, still buried inside you. You clung to him in shock as the desk collapsed to floor, sending all of Fury's belongings scattered across the carpet.

"Are you alright?" He asked, searching your face.

You nodded, easing your grip on him.

Steve adjusted you, lifting and lowering you onto his cock, and you gasped, still sensitive from the lingering orgasm, and mildly shocked by his lack of reaction to what you'd just done.

“Steve, we—”

“We did,” he hummed, kissing along your neck as he caught his breath, lazily working you over his length to wallow in the last dregs of pleasure. “And if he has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

“I think he's going to have a problem,” you snickered, and Steve smiled.

“And I'll deal with it.” He eased himself out of you and set you on your feet, straightening your panties and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You felt like you were floating in a dream, in disbelief that you had your Steve back, that he never really was gone in the first place.

“How are you going to deal with it?” You asked after righting your dress and he had tucked himself back into his trousers.

Steve pulled you back into his arms, like even that moment of separation was more than he could bear. “Depends on how much of a problem he has,” he replied, smirking. “I told you, forget about him. I'll handle it for us.”

Us. Your knees went a little weak at the word. “Yes, Captain,” you replied rising on your toes to kiss his cheek.

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