waltermis

[waltermis]

Tony: In the past year you have managed to piss off the NYPD, ATF, CIA, FBI- Peter: NBA. Tony: …? Peter: Snuck into a Knicks game.

[waltermis]

Pepper: How did Peter come out to you?

May: Well, there were always signs, but when he really did, he did it by giving me a bunch of blue cupcakes and a greeting card that said "It's a boy!"

Pepper: That's cute

May: It was NOT cute. I thought he was pregnant.

[waltermis]

snoopy of the day

[waltermis]

John why did you do that and then the creepy ai texts him fucccckkkkk

[waltermis]

Pirouette

Summary : Steve and Sam set Natasha up with a professional ballerina, but they already know each other. 

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x ballerina!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : mentions of Nat’s past, sex is referenced, cursing, set sometime between AoU and CACW

Word count : 4.1k

Note : Hi all! This is supposed to be posted last week but my schedule’s currently all over the place, so I won't have a posting schedule this month but will still try to post regularly! I do have Joaquin Torres x reader in my drafts and a possible endurance racer!Bucky x rival driver!reader (24 of Hours of Le Mans au) coming out this month! Series will still be regularly updated! Anyways, enjoy!

Moving to this city had been a calculated decision. The ballet company you’d signed with was one of the most prestigious on the continent, and luckily, you’d found an apartment just a short walk from the studio. This city was different from Paris, from Moscow, from anywhere else your career had taken you, but different wasn’t necessarily bad. 

Your new neighbour introduced himself within minutes of spotting you hauling boxes up the stairs. 

Of course, you recognised him instantly.  

Sam Wilson. A very public hero.  

He knocked on your open door just as you were unpacking your duffel bag, his eyes immediately catching on the worn pointe shoes slung over the side.  

“A ballerina, huh?” he said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “That explains the posture.”  

You laughed, setting the bag down. “That obvious?”  

“I know discipline when I see it,” Sam grinned. “So, what brings you here?”  

“The company just brought me in for the new season.”  

“Well, welcome to the building. Let me know if you need anything,” he offered, voice smooth as silk. Then, with a flash of that signature charm, he added, “Or if you just want a tour—dinner included, of course.”  

You smiled. “That’s sweet, but no, thank you.”  

Sam blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You could tell it took him a second to process the rejection.  

“I’m flattered,” you said, realising this was the Sam Wilson—Avenger, national hero—and that turning him down probably wasn’t something that happened often. “I bet any straight woman would be helpless against your charm.”  

His mouth parted slightly in understanding before he grinned. “Ah. Gotcha.” He nodded. “Well, let me tell you, we’re gonna be good friends. Maybe we could go out tonight and help each other get girls?”  

You laughed. “Sounds fun.”  

And just like that, Sam became not just your friendly neighbour, but also your friend. 

At some point, he mentioned you in passing to Steve.

"She just moved in last month?" Steve asked over beers, taking a casual sip.

"Yeah, right down the hall from me," Sam said, leaning back against the bar. "She’s a ballerina, very disciplined.."

Steve nodded, intrigued. Sam was already the next part of his story. "We’ve been out for drinks a couple times— real good wingmen for each other. I mean, I think I’m good, but she’s got a whole system. We’re an elite team at the bar."

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?"

"Oh, yeah." Sam shook his head, chuckling. "One time, we spent half the night arguing over who got to flirt with this girl, only to realise she was the bouncer’s girlfriend. Thought we were gonna get kicked out for a second."

Steve chuckled. "Who backed down first?"

"Technically, her. But only because she said she liked my odds better in a bar fight." Sam took a sip of his beer, then pointed a finger at Steve. "Which I take as a huge compliment."

Steve laughed, shaking his head. He thought for a moment, then something seemed to click. "Natasha would like her."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"Yeah. Nat did ballet when she was younger. Still does sometimes."

That caught Sam’s attention. "No way."

Steve nodded. "Trained in Russia, back when she was a kid. She doesn’t talk about it much, but she’s still got it."

Sam shrugged. "Guess I gotta introduce them, then."

“Or,” Steve considered, “We could set them up on a blind date…”

—

Natasha Romanoff does not go on blind dates.  

She didn’t even do dates in general, let alone ones orchestrated by well-meaning but clueless super soldiers who think she needs to “get out more.”

But Steve had been relentless— It was damn near impossible to brush him off entirely. You’ll like this one, he had promised. She’s Sam’s friend, he explained. Just one dinner. And, well—she had been looking for an excuse to wear the new black dress hanging in her closet, so she thought, why the hell not?

So, there she was, stepping into an upscale Brooklyn restaurant, already bracing herself for a dull evening filled with polite conversation and forced small talk with someone who would inevitably bore her.

And then she saw… you.

A ghost from her past.

For a moment, she just stood frozen, her eyes unreadable, but she didn’t hesitate for long. She approached and slid into the seat across from you, crossing one leg over the other.

"Hi again," she said with a raised eyebrow. 

You didn’t look nearly as caught off guard. If anything, there was amusement in your eyes as you studied her posture— she still hadn’t fully relaxed.

"When Sam Wilson said he was setting me up on a blind date with someone who knew a thing or two about ballet," you said, lips curling into a wicked smile, "I thought it might be you."

Natasha let out a brief nervous laugh. "That so?"

You hummed and nodded, taking a sip from your glass before placing it carefully down on the table, eyes never leaving her. "I figured it was either you or some government plant making sure I wasn’t secretly a spy. But then again..." You trailed off as your foot slid forward beneath the table, your heel gently brushing beneath the fabric of her dress. "That would still be you, wouldn’t it?" you murmured, your voice low, teasing.

For a good five seconds, Natasha didn’t move. She just stared at you, as if measuring you and weighing her response. She shifted her leg slightly, the barest hint of tension in her body, before leaning back just a little— inviting the touch of your heels on her calves. Her breath caught for a second as your foot stayed there, pressing just a little further.

It was strange— this was not how you imagined this meeting going when Sam insisted on setting you up on a blind date.

She sighed almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. "I never thought you’d be the blind-date type," she said, her voice husky.

You raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping your lips. "Funny," you replied, your foot inching a little higher, this time the toe of your heel grazing her knee. "I could say the same for you."

You had met her years ago in Paris, before she was a public hero, long before the Battle of New York. Back then, she was a SHIELD spy sent to investigate a corruption case in a prestigious theatre. She had played the role of Natalie— a ballerina in your company, the woman who had torn your heart apart without even meaning to. The woman who disappeared without a trace, leaving you with nothing but a broken promise and more questions that you had room for in your mind. 

You had moved on. Or at least, you thought you had.

When the Battle of New York happened and you saw her on the screen as Black Widow, you finally understood why she left— she had never been a professional ballerina in the first place.

But now, with the faint pressure of your heel against her skin, all of it had come rushing back. The way she had looked at you in that studio in Paris, the way her breath had hitched when you touched her, the way your body had melted into hers, the way you talked and talked for hours on end after rehearsal. 

And now that she was here, it felt like she was a breath away from walking out of your life again.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned forward just a little, her lips parting as if considering saying something—anything—until her breath caught again. A flush of red spread across her cheeks, and your foot, still pressing against her, slid a little higher— to her thighs.

"Nervous?" You asked.

"Not when I already know what you taste like."

And then, you brushed your heels under the curve of her calf one last time before slowly pulling it back.

The movement left both of you feeling... unsettled.

You cleared your throat, forcing a breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“So,” you said, leaning back just slightly, trying to sound casual. “Tell me, Natalie... do you still dance?”

Her lips slightly frowned at the name, but she held her composure. “Not really,” she said smoothly. “But sometimes I miss it.”

Her forehead softened, and for a moment, you wondered if she was thinking about you. About those nights in Paris, about all the filthy things you let her do to you in the studio full of mirrors.

“I always thought you had a pretty good pirouette,” you murmured, a sad smile playing at your lips. “Maybe I could help you improve it. I’ve gotten better with my technique over the years.”

“Oh?” She chuckled, “You’re offering dance lessons now?”

You leaned forward. “If you’re up for it.”

“I’m always up for learning new things,” she welcomed you, her tone a quiet challenge.

And there it was again—that suffocating tension. You hated the way she said it, like she knew exactly what was running through your mind, and maybe—just maybe—she was daring you to act on it.

Your fingers tapped against your glass. Natasha just watched you, the way she always had, like she was waiting to see what you would do next. Like she was testing you.

You leaned in. Just a little.

“Don’t think I forgot about you,” you said, “Or what happened in that studio.”

Her breath hitched. 

“You think about that often?” she asked, testing the waters. 

“Sometimes.” It was the truth. Perhaps dare of your own.

“Me too,” she admitted, almost shyly— well, as shy as Natasha could get. 

Maybe this was a game. Maybe you were both feeling out the old heat, seeing if it still burned the same way.

Soon, the waiter approached, and you ordered without a second thought. As he walked away, you leaned in slightly.

The conversation began, almost reseted. You approached her, with an open mind this time. It started with light small talk, but soon enough, you both caught up on lost years. Old memories started to come up, touches lingered between shared laughs and reflective pauses. 

When the check arrived and you paid, You hesitated for a moment, before asking, “Want to get out of here?”

Nat looked surprised… but also content. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Outside, the air was cool, but she was warm beside you. Her shoulders brushed against yours as she moved closer. It wasn’t an accident. It never was with her.

By the time you reached your place, you turned to her at the door, feeling your resolve fraying at the edges inside you.

“I don’t know how you keep doing this to me,” you murmured with a voice quiet enough only she could hear.

Natasha’s lips formed a knowing smile—the one that had haunted you for years. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the world outside. She stood there, close but not touching, her getflickering over you, as if deciding how far she was willing to let this go. But you both knew it had already gone too far.

You didn’t wait.

The tension had been building for years, and now, it finally snapped. Your hand found her waist, pulling her closer, and for a second, she just let herself fall into you. 

“Been a long time, huh?” you asked.

She laughed. “You have no idea.”

Neither you nor Nat barely had time to settle before your mouth was on hers. The kiss was urgent, the kind that stole air from your lungs. She tasted like something red wine and trouble— something you should have let go of years ago— but never did.

Her hands were tugging at your shirt, pulling you in, nails scraping lightly over your skins. The years apart hadn’t dulled this. If anything, it had amplified it.

Your fingers found the zipper of her dress, and when it fell away, she was standing there in nothing but lace and skin. And fuck—she was everything you remembered. Everything and more.

She worked at the zipper of your own dress, and then it was gone, discarded along with whatever suffocating distance had been between you.

The next kiss was hungrier, her hands sliding over your breasts, pushing you back until you stumbled back toward the couch. She followed, her lips hot against your jaw, your throat, lower—

You moaned, as your hands found the curve of her waist, fingers digging in. “You sure?” you muttered against her skin.

Natasha just leaned in, her voice a whisper against your ear. “You’re the one who asked me to dance.”

Then she kissed you again, and the rest of the night blurred into the feeling of finally, finally having her in your arms again.

—

Morning light filtered through the curtains, the heat of the sun over your bare skin, but it wasn’t what woke you. It was the woman shifted beside you.

Natasha was already awake.

She laid beside you, propped on one elbow, fiery red hair spilling over her shoulder. Her green eyes studied you, but her irises were softer than you were used to. Alone, she felt different. She was no longerot the Avenger, not the ghost who slipped away without a trace. She looked more like the woman who had once whispered poetry in foreign languages against your collarbone, the woman who had slid into your arms after a long day at the studio. 

You couldn’t help but stare for a moment, struggling to reconcile this version of her with the one you had known—the one who left without warning, without even a goodbye.

You sighed, staring at the ceiling before murmuring, “You’re leaving again?” Your voice was still groggy with sleep, but the words landed heavily. You thought you might be okay with her leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time. But Natasha was never easy to read.

“Would you rather I stay?”

"Natasha, you’re an Avenger." You laughed cynically, and it didn’t reach your eyes. "I can’t imagine this—what we’re doing—being anything more than what it was before."

She tilted her head, considering your words. “You wanted me to stay before.”

That stung more than it should have. It was true. 

Once, you had wanted that more than anything. But time had turned longing into resentment, and now… you didn’t know what you even felt anymore. 

“I didn’t know you were a spy,” you said instead, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Natasha only shrugged. “But you’re more than happy to sleep with me again?”

“I thought…” You ran a hand through your hair. You could feel frustration creeping in. “I thought I just wanted closure,” you admitted, quieter this time.

She leaned a bit closer. “What if we try?”

A breath hitched in your throat. “Try?”

Try? With her? After everything?

She shrugged casually, almost too casually. “Why not?”

You could think of and wanted to tell her a hundred reasons why not, but none of them made it past your lips. Instead, you rubbed at your temple. “Come to one of my shows first.”

“That’s your condition?”

“That’s a start.”

She stared at you for a second, then nodded. “I’ll be there.”

You studied her face for any sign of hesitation, expecting the same old pattern—empty promises, some semblance to the spy she was— but this time, something felt different.

“Sure you will,” you shook your head, half a laugh, half a challenge.

Her eyes held yours, stubborn as always. “I will.”

You wondered if you should make the mistake of believing her again.

—

Later, Natasha stepped out of your apartment, pulling her leather jacket tighter around her shoulders. As luck would have it, she ran straight into Sam Wilson.

He took one look at her—at the slight smudge of lipstick at the corner of her mouth, the tousled waves of red hair—and grinned like it was his birthday.

“Well, well, well,” he started

Natasha sighed, already regretting every thing she’d done that had led her to this moment— well, maybe except for you. “Not a word, Wilson.”

Sam held up his hands, though the mischief in his eyes gave him away. “Who, me? I didn’t say anything.” He stopped for a second before continuing, smug as ever: “Just… guessing it went well?”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head just enough to remind him who he was teasing. Sam, wisely, took a half-step back.

Natasha shook her head and pulled out her phone, her thumb scrolling through the ballet company’s rehearsal schedule.

You wanted to give conditions?

Fine.

But Natasha Romanoff had never been one to back down from a challenge. 

—

The week after, Natasha sat in the velvet seat of the hall, her green eyes locked onto the stage. She had seen you dance before—up close, when she was dancing too. But this?

This was different.

The moment you stepped into the light, the theater ceased to exist, at least it did for Nat.

There was only you. 

The lights draped over your skin like a second skin, outlining the lines of your body, the precision of every movement. 

You were grace. 

You were untouchable.

And Natasha was utterly ruined.

"You’re staring,” Steve snapped her out of her thoughts. 

She ignored him. She regretted bringing him at all, really. But when she’d told him everything, he had insisted on coming with her for emotional support.

"If you’re serious about this, Romanoff, bring flowers,” he said yesterday, “No one says no to flowers."

So she had brought a carefully selected bouquet, now sitting awkwardly in her lap. 

She probably should have brought Sam or Clint instead. But Sam would have teased you both mercilessly, and Clint— Clint would have just been Clint, and she didn’t think she could handle that tonight. Steve, at least, was nice.

She might have been wrong about that, too.

The final note triggered applause. It sounded like waves crashing through the theater.

Natasha was the first on her feet, flowers pressed against her chest, cheerkng for you. 

Now, she had to face you.

—

Backstage was chaos—a flurry of dancers slipping out of their costumes, instructors giving feedback, and stagehands rearranging the props post-performance. 

But Natasha only saw you.

You were still breathless from the performance, your skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat. Strands of hair had come loose from your bun, framing your face in untamed wisps. You looked otherworldly, untouchable— until your eyes landed on her. for the way your gaze softened the moment it landed on her.

Oh. 

She could tell you were surprised by the way your lips parted.

"You actually came,” you said. 

She smiled, the bouquet in her hands feeling heavier than it should. “Told you I would.”

You glanced down at the flowers— deep red and bright pink roses, full and vibrant in the dim backstage lighting. When you looked back up, you looked amused.

"And you brought roses?” You teased, “Natasha Romanoff, are you courting me?"

Natasha let out a small, breathy laugh, glancing away for just a second before meeting your eyes again. 

"I didn’t do it right last time, did I?" She was quieter now, more vulnerable than you had ever seen her before. 

You stared her for a moment, fingers tracing the petals absently. Then, with the softest smile, you stepped closer. "No," you murmured. "But you’re getting there."

The space between you felt small. Too small.

Natasha had faced impossible odds. She had stood in the shadows of gods, stared down aliens that would send most running for their lives—and never once had she faltered.

But here, she felt close to. 

You tilted your head, looking at her like you were peeling back layers she hadn’t meant to show, like you already knew what lay beneath.

Then you lifted the bouquet to your face, inhaling the scent of the roses.

When you lowered them, your smile only gotten gentler.

"Come with me." You didn’t wait for her answer.  You simply turned, weaving effortlessly through the crowded backstage, and Natasha had no choice but to follow.

She ignored Steve’s stare from across the room. She ignored the scattered congratulations, the noise of post-performance chatte. None of it mattered.

Her entire world had narrowed down to the space between your shoulder as you led her toward your dressing room.

The door clicked shut behind you.

It was quieter here. More intimate. She saw costumes hung neatly along one wall, makeup brushes and scattered notes lay on the vanity, a half-empty water bottle sat beside a discarded pair of pointe shoes.

You set the roses down with careful hands, then turned to face her, arms crossing over your chest.

Natasha swallowed.?"You were incredible.”

You shrugged. "I know."

She huffed a small laugh, shifting in her feet. "Your pirouettes are getting even better—"

"Cut the shit, Nat." The teasing edge was gone. Your voice was smaller than it should have been, but it didn’t miss its mark.

Natasha froze.

You took a slow step forward, tilting your chin to meet her gaze head-on.

"You want me back?" you asked. "Then let’s talk about it."

Natasha let out a deep breath she didn’t realise she was even holding. She had walked into this moment prepared for a fight. She had expected distance, maybe even anger.

But this threw her off.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She had trained her body to be still, to hide tension, but standing here—under your scrutiny—she felt exposed in a way she wasn’t sure she was even trained how to handle.

"I never wanted to leave." The words slipped out before before doubt could creep in and steal them away.

Your brow lifted, waiting. "But your job..."

"My job," she echoed, almost regretfully. She shook her head. "I'm sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have—"

"I don’t care about your job, Nat." You uncrossed your arms. "I care that you want to stay. I care that you’re here. That you’re making the effort—" Your eyes flicked down to the roses still sitting between you. It was undeniable proof of her presence, of the time she had carved out of a life you once thought had no room for you. "And you are now."

She swallowed hard. "I am."

"Will that change?"

She didn’t hesitate this time. "No."

"Prove it."

For the first time since she walked into the theater, Natasha hesitated.

Prove it.

You weren’t asking for promises. You weren’t asking for empty words.

You were asking for proof.

She could do a lot of things. She could lie. She could manipulate most people. She could break a man’s ribs with her bare hands and disappear before he even hit the ground.

But she want trained for this. 

Finally, she took a deep breath. “Tell me how.” The words came out desperate.

You put the roses down and stepped forward, closing the space between you until she could smell the faint traces of sweat and perfume still clinging to your skin. 

"Stay," you murmured.

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a request.

It was an invitation.

And this time, Natasha wasn’t going to walk away.

The moment your lips met hers, Natasha forgot how to breathe.

There was no second-guessing—just the heat of your mouth against hers, the scent of roses and sweat filling the air. She didn’t think. Didn’t analyse like she used to. She just moved, her hands finding your waist, your back, the delicate fabric of your tutu brushing against her fingers.

You were still breathless from the performance, but you kissed her like you had all the time in the world. Like you had been waiting for this just as long as she had.

And then—

"Ahem."

Natasha nearly broke your nose when she turned around.

Steve stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too amused. "Just checking in." He held up his phone. "Clint and Sam are taking bets on whether you'd actually go through with this, so I figured I'd get confirmation."

Your lips were still kiss-bruised when you turned to him. "Captain Rogers," you said, not the least bit flustered. "Sam’s talked a lot about you. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Steve blinked. "Likewise."

Natasha groaned, pointing at her friend. "Steve. Get out."

He didn’t budge. "You sure? Because Clint bet ten bucks you’d chicken out, and I’d really like to send him a smug text."

Natasha leveled him with a glare sharp enough to cut vibranium. "Steve—"

He held up his hands, backing toward the door. "Alright, alright, I’m leaving. Don’t do anything I wouldn't do."

He barely made it two steps before Natasha called after him, "If you don’t leave right now, I swear to God, I will break something you—"

The door clicked shut.

Then, you huffed out a laugh. "So… your friends are betting on us?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, dropping her forehead against your shoulder. "They’re never going to let this go."

You grinned, fingers still tangled in her hair. "Good thing I don’t scare easy."

Natasha lifted her head again.

Then, with the smallest smirk—

"Prove it."

—End.

[waltermis]

lmfao imagine zoeys going down and just before she does the first lick shes like CAWCAWW

Rumi: what the- oh fuck ok whatever

Mira: ZOEY I told you to STOP DOING THAT

Reader: *absolutely smitten*

[waltermis]

Yelena: Help me with this crossword puzzle. I need a six letter word for disappointment.

Ava: Walker.

Yelena: ... It fits.

[waltermis]

Natasha: Maybe it's not always about trying to fix something that's broken. Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better.

Yelena: And that's why you have a younger sister.

[waltermis]

Peter: Bucky can you help me with my history homework? Everyone else is too busy and Mr.Stark isn’t here.

Bucky: Sure

Peter: So I have to give a report on the JFK assassination and I was wondering if you could help me find websites on it—

Bucky: oh yea… I remember that, so basically I was… (gives detailed information about how he did it*)

Peter: …

Bucky: why are you looking at me like that? Oh right.

[waltermis]

One rookie gets fired the other gets stuck in the back of the shop

[waltermis]

me when i like a song: 🔂🔂🔂🔂🔂🔂🔂🔂🔂🔂🔂

[waltermis]

✦ ˚ : · EVERYTHING FEELS GREAT WITH A BEER · : ˚✦

pairing ☆ jason todd & fem!reader (platonic)

word count ☆ 1.1K

summary ☆ you and jason catch up together

warnings ☆ no warnings cause it's spoiler. innacurate shit but idgaf

a/n ☆ like i said before, i don't write romantic stuff with jason todd, but angsty sibling stuff? DAMN RIGHT I AM

main masterlist | letterboxd

Every night, after midnight, he's always there. Sharp, using the spare key you gave him for emergencies and being loud with his worn out boots.

You're already half-asleep on the couch, some b-serie horror movie playing in the background, when the sound of your little brother arriving makes you stir. There's no fear, no rush of panic, just a quiet, lazy sense of recognition as you lift your head and glance toward the hallway.

“Don’t you have your own apartment to haunt?” you mutter without looking.

Jason, grinning, smug, dressed like he didn’t bother changing out of whatever vigilante mess he’d thrown on last is already kicking off his boots, like he owns the place. He always does this. Shows up at 2 a.m. smelling like blood and gunpowder and city rain, and you always let him.

“You’ve got better snacks,” he replies, tossing his leather jacket over the back of a chair like he didn’t just drag half of Crime Alley in with him.

You snort and push yourself up. “You eat one bag of chips, and suddenly you think you're welcome to the whole pantry.”

He shrugs, already making his way to your kitchen, humming some low tune that feels nostalgic. Familiar. Something about him tonight seems... softer. His shoulders less tense. His smile looser.

You crack open a beer for him and toss it across the room. He catches it one-handed, as always.

“Still got it,” you say.

“Never lost it.”

He eyes your small living room, not judging, but analyzing trying to find signals of your well-being. There are clothes around the couch, empty beers and empty take out packagings in the table. He sees some light bulbs broken, remembering to change them for you after you fall asleep.

The banter is easy. It always is with Jason. You sit cross-legged on the couch while he leans against the counter, drinking and listening while you talk about everything and nothing. Your part-time job, whatever shit Bruce have told you this week, the assholes you’ve punched recently, the stupid date that ghosted you.

He groans. “You gotta stop dating civilians. They can’t handle the night shift.”

You laugh so hard you nearly spill your drink. “Says the guy who dated an Arkham escapee. Twice.”

“That was character growth,” he says, deadpan. “I grew. Away. From her. Eventually.”

“Like a fungus,” you tease, lifting your beer slightly.

He grins, wide and bright, the kind of grin you hadn’t seen in a long time. He looks happy tonight. Or at least lighter. He always did around you. No masks. No Red Hood. Just Jason. Just your idiot, insomniac sibling who never knocks and always leaves crumbs on your counters.

At some point, you’re both on the floor, back against the couch, an open bottle of something expensive Bruce gifted you after your 21st birthday between you. You talk about the old days, before everything broke. Before blood and bat symbols got in the way. You remember stupid pranks, horrible takeout, the time you both got blackout drunk and convinced Bruce to sing karaoke with you.

Jason’s head falls back with laughter at the memory. “God, I miss this,” he says.

You blink. “You say that like you left.”

He doesn’t answer.

Silence stretches between you. Not uncomfortable. Just full. Dense.

You study him. The curve of his jaw, the scar near his temple. The way he hasn’t aged a day. You realize, distantly, that he still wears that same battered hoodie every time he visits you, the one he got blood on the night everything went to hell. You swore he had other clothes in his wardrobe but you can't really remember any other outfit of your brother.

Your stomach tightens. A hollow opens somewhere in your chest.

“I haven’t seen you in—” you start, then stop. You can’t finish the sentence. It hangs there like ash.

Jason smiles again, but it’s gentler now. Sadder. Like he knows something you don’t. His eyes flicker with an unusual light.

“You’re doing good,” he says softly. “You’re okay. I like that.”

Your hand trembles as your gaze flicks around the room, slow, searching. Your drink is finished. The second beer—his beer—is unopened. The boots by the door are gone. The jacket on the chair. The fridge light isn’t on. The bottle between you is sealed. The lights are dimmer now, like the whole room has taken a step back.

And then—

“Hey,” he says gently. His voice is soft. Right beside you. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, though it’s barely a whisper.

“That thing where you remember.”

It slices through you. Not a warning, just a kindness. Just Jason trying to make it easier.

You swallow thickly and look at him. Not with confusion now. Just… with everything else. With the love that never left. The ache that lives where a bond used to be tethered to a living body.

“I don’t want this to be over,” you say, barely holding it in.

“It’s not,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

And for a few more seconds, he’s still there. Sitting beside you on the floor. The only person who ever truly knew how to find you in the quiet. The only one who never needed a reason.

You lean your head against the couch, eyes closed, holding on just a little longer.

When you open them again, you’re alone.

The room is still. Empty. But warm. At least you tell yourself it is.

Somewhere beneath the silence, you swear you can still hear him laughing. Your little brother.

[waltermis]

omg even tim seeing the potential celina has like I need them to work together please I need this duo

[waltermis]

Does anyone know where that Goddness!Nat x reader fic went? The one for kinktober I think and r is like a normal human and she and Nat have a relationship and everything... I can't find it anywhere... I don't think it was finished but it ended in angst... if someone can find it pls!

[waltermis]

Y/N: *is wearing silk pants* How does this look?

Natasha: Like it slips on and off really easily.

Y/N:

Natasha: No, I didn't mean it like that-

Wanda: We know what you meant.

[waltermis]

Not a Fighter

Natasha Romanoff x Reader You want your girlfriend Natasha to teach you to fight Trigger Warnings: Mild violence mention

“You want me to what?” Natasha asks you with a raised eye-brow.

“Teach me how to fight!” You insist. Your girlfriend is still looking at you like you’re insane so you sigh “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why do you wanna learn how to fight?”

“’cos of last week.”

Natasha groans “You’re still thinking about that? I handled it and you’re still worrying-”

“Yeah but what if you hadn’t been there?”

Last week you and Natasha had been out for some drinks. You’d indulged in quite a few, you were celebrating your recent work promotion and it had been such a nice night out that you’d decided to walk home instead of waiting for a cab. You’d taken a shortcut down an alley when two guys had jumped you both – they clearly had no idea they were jumping the ferocious Black Widow and had both taken a hell of a beating. And you… Well you had stood there and watched.

“But I was there. And if I hadn’t been then you wouldn’t have been walking home idiot, you would’ve got a cab-”

“Okay but it was a nice night, what if I’d wanted to walk home?” You ask defiantly.

“I would’ve kicked your ass myself the moment you got home.” Natasha replies with a stern look “You don’t need to fight, you just need to be careful.”

“Okay but this is New York, there are muggers everywhere-”

“And if you bump into one just give them your stuff and then run.” Natasha smiles “You’re good at running, that time there was the spider in the bath-”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” You sigh “Come on, can’t you teach me some basics? What if someone tries to kidnap me?”

“Why on earth would someone try to kidnap you?”

“Because I’m dating the famous Black Widow! They might kidnap me, hold me for ransom-”

“I’d come and find you idiot.”

“What if you couldn’t though? What if you didn’t realise I was gone until they’d cut off my ear and sent it to you in a box-”

“You don’t have to paint such a violent image.”

“We live in a violent city.”

“You’re so annoying.” Natasha sighs, leaning back in her seat.

You nuzzle close to her side, leaning your head on her shoulder “Come on Nat, pretty please? Just a couple of basic moves?”

“Why do I have to teach you? There are classes-”

You groan “Oh come on, you’re the most skilled fighter in New York and you’d really send me to a class?”

Natasha groans as well, standing up from the couch “Fine! Fine, come on. I’ll teach you a couple of things. I’m not teaching you to fight though, I’m teaching you to defend yourself, big difference-”

“Okay.” You beam, getting up and following after her through the Avengers compound towards the training room.

“And I’m getting you one of those alarms, you’re not a fighter Y/N.”

You frown a little at that but follow after her anyway into the training room. Natasha stands in the middle of the mat and turns to you “If you get hurt during this then we’re stopping, if I hear one little ‘ow’ then it’s over.”

You put your fists up “Okay, cool, teach me.”

“First of all, put your damn fists down Rocky.” Natasha studies you for a moment “Okay… I’m gonna take this slow. Let’s pretend I’m a mugger and I’ve just jumped out at you and I have a knife.” She puts her arm up, pretending to yield a knife “What do you do?”

You think for a moment and grab her wrist “I grab him and go WAM-”

She groans and pulls her wrist out of your grasp with ease “Jeez- No, idiot, at your level, if the guy has a knife or worse a gun then you hand over your stuff.”

“I thought you were teaching me defence-”

“Knowing when you’re beat is a good defence and if someone has a weapon-”

“I can fight a little you know, they just caught me by surprise!” You huff “I just wanted to… Increase my skills a little. That’s all.”

Natasha runs a hand through her hair “I really don’t wanna teach you this.”

“Come on! Come on, we’re here, I’ve already learnt not to attack if you have a knife or a gun, I got it, I got it. Come on, what if he didn’t? What can I do?”

Natasha sighs “Okay, let’s say someone aims a punch at you. They’re gonna go for your face, aren’t they? So you’re gonna block it like this.” She shows you the moves and you do your best to copy her. She aims a slow punch at your face which you block “Okay, good. But if someone’s looking to hurt you they’re probably going to quickly go in for another punch. Now ‘cos your face is blocked where do you think they’ll aim next?”

“My stomach?”

Natasha smiles “Good. And they’re probably gonna do it quickly so you wanna move quick like-” On instinct she aims a punch for your stomach, used to sparring with the avengers who know how to fight. You don’t block and you grunt as she connects with your stomach. Her face falls “Oh God- I’m so sorry-”

You shake your head quickly and croak “No, no, it’s fine-”

“It’s NOT fine idiot, I’m not doing this anymore, I didn’t want to hurt you-”

“Hey, hey!” You clutch your stomach with one arm and take her hand with your free hand “I’m fine, seriously, don’t worry, let’s keep going-”

“NO! Let it go, this is so dumb-”

“But-”

“Why are you so bothered about last week anyway?”

“What, when we got mugged Natasha? The incident where two men tried to MUG us? Why am I bothered?”

Natasha rolls her eyes “Yes, why are you bothered? I dealt with it. End of story. Why are you still so worried about it?”

“Because I just STOOD THERE Nat!” You burst “If something had gone wrong, if you’d gotten hurt- God, I was fucking useless!”

Natasha sighs and asks quietly “Seriously? That’s what this is about?”

“How are you not bothered? It doesn’t bother you that I’m a goddamn wimp who couldn’t-” “What, fight off a mugger? Most people can’t, most people would’ve reacted the same-”

“I ran away from that stupid spider in our bathroom, I barely watched that scary film we put on the other day, I didn’t go on the rollercoaster with you guys-”

“So?”

“SO!? So, I’m a goddamn wimp and you should be embarrassed by me!”

Natasha sighs and wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you close and kissing your cheek “I’m not embarrassed. Idiot.”

Your eyes prickle with tears “You should be, I-”

“You are sweet and kind and funny and- I like that you’re a bit of a wimp.” She laughs “It’s really cute. Who cares if you don’t like rollercoasters or scary movies or… Spiders.” You look down, embarrassed “And I like that you’re not a fighter, I’m sorry, it wasn’t meant to be an insult. I like that you’re calm and patient and that you wouldn’t dream of hurting anything. How even though you were terrified of the spider you still stood in the bathroom doorway begging me to take it outside rather than kill it.”

You sniffle “It’s not the spiders fault it’s so frickin’ ugly and creepy.”

Natasha laughs again, lifting her hand to wipe a tear from your cheek “Look, maybe I’m being unreasonable, if you wanna learn to defend yourself then, I guess that’s fine, I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Maybe it was a dumb idea. I don't know.” You wrap your arms around her waist too, pressing your face to her shoulder “I just… You promise you’re not embarrassed by me?”

She holds you tighter and shakes her head “No way. I love you, idiot, you could never embarrass me.” She presses a kiss to the top of your head “I’m sorry I hurt you. Are you okay?”

You nod into her shoulder and mumble “I’m fine. I really do wanna learn to defend myself though. Can we please keep going?”

Natasha sighs “Fine. But if I find out you’re more hurt than you’re letting on… We’re gonna have a problem.”

You snort and pull away from her, wiping the last tears from your face “Yeah, yeah, got it.”

Natasha grins and goes back to patiently teaching you. She’s still a bit worried – she doesn’t want you getting yourself hurt trying to prove a point. But deep down she knows she’d rather teach you herself than leave it to some stranger. You watch Natasha with fond, soft eyes as she teaches you. You never tire of seeing her train and fight. You know you’ll never catch up to her skills but not standing completely uselessly when a mugger jumps out… Well, that would be a good start.

[waltermis]

young justice fanart in 2025????