#natasha reader insert

[theshamelesssimp]

Me when I get to the part of a fanfic that has me giggling and kicking my feet

[writesick-lover]

Hiiii,,

Could you write something for bob? Anything. I really enjoyed ‘cry baby’ if that helps.

All the best

A/n: Hiii! I was waiting for the moment when I finally get the kick to write to Bob and this was it! I actually got a bunch of ideas, but in the end I settled for this! Hope it was worth the wait - I do plan to share other tropes for Bob as well... maybe in a Cry baby universe? ;) But for now, ENJOY!

That’s my wife

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

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It was crowded in Hard Deck, as it was every Friday night. Bob usually didn't mind, always staying close to his group by the pool, but today was different. All of a sudden, he felt annoyed by the pushing bodies, making it hard for him to see the entrance of the bar. Because today was not an ordinary night at the pub. Something special was happening for Robert Floyd, thanks to special someone about to make an appearance.

And just as he thought about her, he manifested her presence into the bar.

Bob would recognize his wife anywhere. Even in a totally packed Hard Deck, where he probably wouldn't be able to find his own mother. She made her way through those sweaty bodies, her  'excuse me's and 'thank you's flowing through his ears like a melody.

Bob started to look for a place to put his beer to for the time, ready to meet the girl of his dreams at the bar just like they agreed to. When he finally found a small space under the window, he heard a loud whistle. His head snapped.

"And who is this pretty lady," Hangman's voice made the whole company turn as he gazed towards the bar. "Ha, Hangman," Rooster joined him at the staring contest, nudging his ribs. "You can bet, she wouldn't go for a guy like you," he grinned, seeing Jack's shocked face. "A guy like me?" He repeated. "Then what are you? A trashcan?" He retorted, wiping the smile from Rooster's lips in a second.

Bob gulped. He followed the direction in which the two were looking.

His body froze on the spot, trying to figure out what to do. They were eyeing her. She was beautiful, as always. It was these moments, when Bob couldn't comprehend his own luck. His right hand traveled to his left, subconsciously playing with the ring on his finger. Well, shit.

"You're just worried she wouldn't go for a trashcan like you," Hangman provoked and everyone could only watch with a small smile how quickly Bradshaw took the bait. "We'll see about that," and with that, he was on his way to the center of the room, Jake Seresin right at his heels.

Bob was too stunned to do anything. Something in him started to burn, eating him from the inside, pinching every corner of his heart. But he just kept on twisting the golden ring, not noticing the questioning look Phoenix gave him. Her face twisted in surprise at first, connecting the dots pretty quick despite the silence from her best friend. But then she was right beside Bob, nudging his shoulder a little.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "She's got the same ring on her finger," Bob only managed to nod. Natasha's face brightened. "Congrats," she gave him a smile and Bob shared the enthusiasm with a small lift of the corners of his mouth. "Yeah," he said, finally picking up the courage to take a step forward. "I told her about you, although I wish this wasn't the way they meet for the first time," Natasha caught his arm in his motion.

"Hold on," she said, nodding towards the three at the bar. "I wanna see this,"

"Hey there," Rooster went all out. His huge frame surely made an entrance for him, but an additional smile and a confident greet couldn't hurt. And beside that, chicks are digging his deep voice.

Before you even got to turn around, another man was standing beside him, his smile brighter as ever. You eyed them both, with Hangman pushing Rooster to the side and stepping forward. "Is he annoying you? I can take care of him for you," Hangman cooed, not noticing your slight lean backwards, away from the two peacocks in front of you. It took you a while to recognize them, but after a few seconds, it was unmistakable who these two were. You knew them from a photo of the whole group Bob was showing you after he got back from his mission. You weren't sure if you were supposed to laugh or cry. Who would have thought you would meet like this?

☆ ☆ ☆

"That's Hangman" Bob pointed at a handsome pilot with a smile that shined with bright white teeth. "Avoid him at all cost," he looked at you, his eyes completely serious, which only made you burst into a fit of laughter. "I'm serious," he said, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "I can see that," you breathed, your hands travelling to his back and rubbing it reassuringly. "But noted," your kiss tickled Bob's cheek, spreading a tint of pink across his face.

"And this is?" you pointed to a tall man with a stache, his big arm hugging your husband around the shoulders. "Oh, that's Rooster," Bob's eyes softened. "And this is Nat, right?" you exclaimed, pointing at the woman hugged by Rooster from the other side. "Yeah, that's her," you two shared a smile as you watched Bob slide his fingers across the photo. "I can't wait to meet them," you said softly into the warm morning and Bob couldn't help but smile sweetly. "They mean a lot to me," he whispered back, gulping. "I know," you turned his face towards you before pecking his lips, both of you falling into a calm silence of comfort with each other.

☆ ☆ ☆

You slightley stretched upwards, trying to look past the men's broad shoulders that bumped to each other, trying to push the other out of the way. Your husband was nowhere to be seen and although you were quite enthusiastic to meet his crew, enthusiasim was pretty far from what you were feeling now. You watched the two glaring at each other and you bit back a smile. If only they knew.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Rooster pushed forward, making Hangman stumble back. "Get in line, chicken," Hangman grabbed his shoulder, forcing himself next to you instead of Rooster. "Boys, I hate to say this-" you began, your fingers falling on the ring on your left hand.

"Come on, sweetheart, let me get you something," before you could finish, you were blinded by Jake's perfect set of teeth, the photo from Bob apparently doing it injustice. "Guys-" you tried to speak up, but to no avail. "Penny, one more on me," Jake called to the woman behind the bar, who only nodded, preoccuppied with other customers. You sighed.

"Don't listen to him," Rooster touched your right hand gently, making you look at him. Ah, missed. The two completely ignored the shiny stone on your ring finger glistening in the dimmed lights of Hard Deck. You decided to let them go in this one, forcing on a straight face as they bickered with each other.

"They are all over her. Maybe I should-" Bob watched the bar, an anxiety creeping into his voice. Phoenix looked closer, noticing the crease forming between his eyebrows and the way he narrowed his eyes. His hands, unbeknownst to him, closed into fists. He was ready to shoot.

"Bob?" she grabbed him by his shoulder, grounding him. He looked at her, his brown eyes a little lost. "I've got your back," she tightened her squeez and that was all Bob needed. It was time to get his wife.

"And why shouldn't she listen to me? She obviously likes what she sees," Jake retorted, nudging you with a flirty smile. "Cause you're a casanova, Bagman," Rooster fought back. "You wouldn't smell love even if it was right under your nose," you had to pause at those words, yanking your hand from Rooster. This was going too far. Bradley looked at you in surprise, to which Hangman bursted out laughing. "You too, so it seems," he got out through heavy breaths, leaning on the bar for support. "Nice one sweetheart,"

"Speaking of love, gentlemen," a woman's voice came from behind the two competing mountains of men. They both turned to the lieutenant who grined at them. If she didn't have ears, she would be smiling all around. "Nat," you sighed in relief, recognising her immediately. "In the flesh," she grinned at you. "It's so nice finally meeting you," she said, Jake and Bradley exchanging confused looks. "Bob told me so much about you," you ignored the two, clinging to a conversation with Natasha like a tick. "Bob?!" the loud yell of both aviators brought you back to the reality. "Are you Bob's sister or some-"

"Yeah, no, I didn't have you for the types to go after married women," Nat giggled, cutting off Hangman as the two completely paled. They slowly turned towards you, their eyes falling on your left hand resting on the counter. A silence fell on the Hard Deck.

"Whose-" Rooster was the first to recover. "Mine," a bright smile blossomed on your face as you saw Bob walk from behind Natasha. "Sorry, looks like I got here first," he grinned as well before stepping in front of you. "Penny?" he called out, but he didn't have to say anything else.

That night, Hard Deck was filled with the dreading sound of a bell and if Rooster and Hangman could become more pale than they already were, they probably did. "Guys," Bob turned sround, his hand automatically traveling to your lower back. "This," he looked at you, his eyes twingkling in the warm light.

"Oh no," Hangman groaned, rubbing a hand through his face.

"Oh shit" Rooster let out.

"This is my wife,"

Your face brightened hearing the words as cheers errupted from around you - everyone ecstatic they will get a free round. And there was a lot of them. "Nice one, Bobby," Coyote and the rest joined the group, not even trying to hide their smiles. They mirrored Bob's contagious smile, the warm atmosphere spreading to everyone around. Well, to almost everyone.

"How do you want to pay?" Penny stopped by amidst pouring shots, smirking at Hangman and Rooster, both still in shock, grilled in their own embarrassment. "We-" the two looked at each other pleadingly for help from the other. "Shit," both said at the same time. "Well, lads," Payback and Fanboy patted their shoulders. "It was nice to know you," they pushed them lightly towards the door leading to the empty beach.

"I'm gonna kill you, Bagman," Rooster glared at his friend, Jake only laughing slightly. "Can you believe it? Our little Bobby found himself a wife! And I went after her!" he laughed at himself. "Yeah, cause you're a fucking idiot!" Roosters last words disappeared into the night, drowned in the laughter and chatter of the people around.

"Well, that was something," you giggled, looking back at the two men, now having it out with each other, their feet sinking in the cold sand. "You're okay? I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," Bob started to apologize but you knew how to shut him up.

"I'm okay. Better even, now that you're here," you pulled back. "And here I was, thinking that they wouldn't like me," you joked, making Bob snort as others joined you.

"Congrats, man," Fanboy hugged Bob around the shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. "You seem like a lot of fun," Coyote laughed, pointing at you. "I sure am. If only they listened," everyone followed your motion to the entrance, "they could have had some fun too,"

Everyone laughed as you looked at your ring one more time. "But honestly, Bob, where did you find her? She's hot! Do you have siblings?" Payback had to chime in, other boys only agreeing with his statement and awaiting your answer. You only shook your head, earning a few groans from the group. "No wonder she got those two out of their minds," Natasha smirked.

"Yeah," Robert's eyes fell to the floor, suddenly feeling overwhelmed from the compliments. A sheepish smile spread on his face.

That's my wife

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Who should be next from the Dagger squad?

If you liked this story, you might like -> Cry-baby

[orithyia-eriphyle]

summer breeze - b. barnes x reader

Summary: The one where Bucky is still adjusting to his newfound freedom, and you are his light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: Swearing, non-sexual nudity, injuries, and blood.

Reader has sun/solar-based abilities.

6.1k words

Bucky Barnes was a man of few words. He said only what was necessary and hardly spoke unless spoken to. Steve seemed to be the only person who could ever get Bucky to talk freely. Sam was a close second, although he teased Bucky more than once until the soldier was grumbling expletives under his breath with a clenched fist. 

However, Bucky was a creature of habit.

He woke at dawn every day to go on a run with Sam and Steve, not before drinking a hot cup of black coffee. After his jog, he would train in the gym for two hours and then leave for a shower. He would then make himself a simple lunch and catch up on work. Lastly, Bucky ended his night by reading a book of his choice to help ease his mind. 

When Bucky began to deviate from said routine about two months ago, it did not go unnoticed. 

It started not too long after Bucky had moved into the tower. Bucky had been placed on the same floor as you, his bedroom right across the hall from yours. 

You would wake as he was coming back from the gym, usually catching him on the way back to his ensuite bathroom for a shower. You would greet him with the same sugary sweet smile and voice that almost tempted the super soldier to crack from his usual brooding and smile back.

But he never did. At least, not until recently. 

You knew that Bucky had nightmares. You could hear him at night. The screams of pain, terror, guilt. You name it. 

Every time his nightmares woke you up, the only thing you wanted to do was help. However, Steve and Tony advised against it. They reminded you that Bucky was still unstable, and it was best to let him ride out his nightmares alone, no matter how terrible they may sound. 

You hated it. 

Some nights, you would stay up staring at the dark ceiling in your room, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at the sound of his yells. It would never last longer than a few minutes. But those few minutes were enough for you to feel your heart break for him. 

After roughly a month of only seeing Bucky in passing, he surprised you. 

You and Natasha had been on a week-long mission across seas and were scheduled to return home that night. You had practically stumbled off the Quinjet, your bones and muscles aching with exhaustion. You walked past the medbay despite Natasha’s protest to at least get checked on. Instead, opt for a hot shower and your warm bed.

What you didn’t expect was to find Bucky sitting at your shared kitchen counter, a hot plate of spaghetti set on the bar across from him. 

As soon as the elevator doors dinged open, his gaze shot to you. You tried to ignore the way it roamed over your body, as if assessing for any injury, as you approached the kitchen.  

Seeing Bucky in the kitchen wasn’t an unusual sight for you. However, it was well past midnight, meaning it was well past Bucky’s unspoken bedtime. 

“What’s this?” You ask quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence that enveloped the two of you.

Bucky glanced at the food, then back to you. His face never changing. “It’s for you.” He spoke, his voice coming out gruff as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Which it probably hadn’t. 

You quirked a brow at him but took a seat in front of the plate. This was an unusual display from him, and the last thing you wanted to do was embarrass or scare him off. 

You swirled the noodles around your fork and took a bite, savoring the taste as it melted against your tongue. 

“You don’t eat after missions.”

Your eyes shot to Bucky at the sound of his voice. However, he was looking at the counter and not at you.

“It doesn’t really cross my mind.” You reply, returning to your meal. 

“You need to eat.” He responded firmly. The clipped way in which he spoke made you not want to argue. 

“I might be more inclined to eat after a mission if I came home to home-cooked meals every time.” You attempted to joke with him. He didn’t even smirk.

He pointed at your plate, “Eat.” He said before stalking off back towards his room.

Your gaze followed his broad shoulders. “Thank you!” You remembered to shout down the hall, not missing the way his footsteps halted for hardly a millisecond. You smiled down at your food, glad to see that he cared in his own, quiet way. 

The next mission you came back from, there was a hot plate of food already waiting for you on the counter. 

You shoot awake in your bed at the sound of a scream followed by loud bangs. You knew who it was. Bucky’s nightmares were bad, but he had yet to get violent. 

You sat in your bed and stared at your bedroom door as if willing yourself to see through the walls separating the two of you.   

Every instinct in your body screamed to help him. Help him not suffer anymore. But the voices of Steve and Tony rang in your head, warning you against it. You contemplated as the violent noises didn’t let up, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Fuck it. You’re an Avenger. If he tries to kill you, then you’ll figure it out.

You slipped out of bed, the cool air hitting your bare legs. You snapped your fingers, a small glowing ball forming above your hand and lighting up the surrounding area. You pushed your bedroom door open and crept across the hall to Bucky’s room. You paused in front of his door, taking a deep breath as your heart thrummed unsteadily in your chest. 

You pushed the handle down slowly, pushing the door open and extending your makeshift light into the room to see. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but then you saw him, and the sight in front of you just about broke you. 

His usually large form was made small against the corner of his room. His knees were folded to his chest and his head tucked down. You could see his body tremble violently from where you stood in the doorway. 

“Bucky.” You called out, gentle yet firm. 

He didn’t seem to hear you, his head still tucked and his body shaking. 

You took another deep breath, scolding yourself for being stupid before stepping further into the room and towards the soldier. As you got closer, you could make out the sound of his stuttered breathing and the occasional hitch. Your frown deepened. 

“Bucky? Bucky, it’s me. (Y/n).” You spoke again, slowly kneeling in front of the man. 

Still no response. 

You breathed out a long breath through your nose before closing your eyes briefly. 

You reached a hand out to him, slow and careful. As gently as you could manage, you placed a hand on his shoulder. 

Before you could even react, your body was slammed to the floor, and an arm was pressed across your chest, holding you down. 

Bucky stared down at you with wild eyes. His forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his breathing was labored. His arm on your chest was firm, but you could feel the way that it shook against you. 

“Bucky! Hey! It’s me!” Your voice rose slightly despite you trying to stay calm. 

Bucky’s hold on you didn’t let up. All he did was continue to stare at you with that blank stare, as if he weren’t all there. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to think, looking around the room. Suddenly, it hit you. 

You evened out your breathing and reached a steady hand out to him. His eyes darted between you and your hand, but he didn’t stop you. 

You gently placed your hand against his stubble-covered cheek. You spoke to him softly. Like a mother calming down her frightened child. 

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m right here. You’re safe.” You paused as you felt the pressure on your chest let up a bit. You continued, “They can’t make you do anything here, Bucky. I’m here. (Y/n) is right here with you. I won’t let them hurt you again.” You whispered, softly running your thumb over the curve of his jaw.

You watched as the light slowly returned to his blue eyes, and his breathing began to slow again. 

“(Y-Y/n)?” Bucky croaked out, his voice rough from yelling. 

You smiled at him. “Yeah, Buck. It’s me.” Your hand never left his face.  

Buckt seemed to finally realize the situation you were in, and he retracted his arm like he had been burned. He scrambled backwards until his back hit the side of his bed. 

“Y-You need to leave. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stuttered out, his eyes not meeting your own. You smiled at him gently and scooted towards him. 

“But you didn’t, Buck. You didn’t even come close.” You stated, placing a firm hand against his vibranium arm.

“But-”

“No buts. I’m okay. You’re okay.” You interjected, not wanting him to linger on the prospect of accidentally hurting you any longer. 

There was a brief pause between you two as Bucky’s breath finally evened out fully. “Why are you in here?” He questioned gruffly. 

You tilted your head at him as if he should know the answer to that already. “I was worried and wanted to help.” You responded, never raising your voice over a whisper.

Bucky let out a self-deprecating scoff. “I can deal with the nightmares on my own.” He said, once again avoiding your gaze. 

You grabbe his jaw once again, ignoring the way he stiffened for a second and tilted his eyes up to meet yours. 

“You don’t have to deal with them on your own.” You reassured him, your gaze unwavering. Bucky swallowed as he stared at you. You realized he might be uncomfortable being so close to someone he hardly knew, so you scooted away and dropped your hand from his face.

Bucky tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt. 

Since that night, you and Bucky had gotten noticeably closer. 

He lingered around the compound more and followed you around like a lost puppy. He would do small things for you. things he wouldn’t do for anyone else. 

He would grab things for you off the top shelf that you couldn’t quite reach. He waited for you outside the gym so he could walk you back to your shared floor. He would make an extra pot of coffee in the morning for when you woke up.

The others began to notice. 

One day, Sam and Steve were visiting Bucky on your guys’ floor. You were out with Wanda and Natasha and would be returning anytime now. 

Bucky stood at the oven, the sound of food sizzling on a pan bouncing around the kitchen. 

“I didn’t take you for a chicken tender guy, Barnes,” Sam stated as he sat at the kitchen bar with Steve. Bucky didn’t even glance over his shoulder before responding. 

“(Y/n) likes them.” He said in his usual gruff tone.

Sam looked at Steve, who just shrugged. Sam continued with his teasing.

“So you’re making lunch for (Y/n), who isn’t even home yet, and won’t make any for us?” Sam said with a quirked brow. 

This time, Bucky threw a quick look at the two men over his shoulder before turning back to the stove. “(Y/n) likes my cooking.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Right on cue, the elevator doors opened, and you walked through. “Hey, boys.” You greeted casually as you beelined straight for Bucky. They didn’t miss the small quirk on his lips as he watched you approach him.

“Hey, Buck.” You greeted him separately, placing a gentle hand on the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades. You looked down at the pan of chicken. “You makin’ yourself some lunch?” You questioned quietly. Bucky shook his head lightly. 

“It’s for you…if you want it.” He said in an almost timid manner, afraid you would reject his cooking despite never having done so before. 

Your smile was blinding as you looked back up at him. “I could never say no to your cooking, Bucky. Thank you.” You said, a sincere grin stretched across your face. 

Sam and Steve watched the almost domestic interaction before excusing themselves and heading to the elevator.

“Man, did you see that?!” Sam questioned with an incredulous wave of his arms as soon as the doors of the elevator shut. 

“I haven’t seen him act that comfortable around anybody but me,” Steve replied, brows furrowed. “I figured they would warm up to each other eventually due to the proximity, but I never expected it to happen this quick,” Steve stated. His mind was running a mile a minute to figure out what you possibly could’ve done to make Bucky act so… peaceful. 

Sam shook his head as the doors opened to another floor, and they stepped out. “As curious as I am, I’ll take this as a win. It’s good he’s opening up to someone.” The man said to Steve, who gave him a firm nod.

“Let’s hope it progresses from here, then.”

“You are going to pace a hole into my floors, Tinman,” Tony said sarcastically as he watched Bucky’s large frame lumber back and forth in front of the large doors of the landing pad of the tower. 

His gaze snapped up to Tony. “Her comms are shut off, and she was supposed to be back an hour ago.” He said, his voice hoarse. Tony sighed in understanding. Despite his playful demeanor, he too was worried about you. 

“That’s why we sent Rogers and Romanoff out 30 minutes ago. They’ll get her, and everyone will be okay.” Tony said in an attempt to calm the anxious super soldier. 

Suddenly, Natasha’s voice crackled to life over the intercom of the room they were in. “We found her. She’s unconscious and bleeding. The rest of the men have been taken care of, and we’re taking her back to the jet.” Natasha spoke with an emotionless tone. The tone she uses when she doesn’t want to break.

Tony was the one to reply, but it was all white noise for Bucky.

Bucky felt like the world was crumbling around him. His small, quiet world he had just barely managed to build. 

In the year that Bucky had been living with the Avengers, living with you, he had grown an undeniable fondness towards you. He knew it, and so did everyone else. You were his sun, and not just because of your abilities. You reached out to him when he felt like he was drowning. Every moment spent with you felt like breathing. 

Each night that you came into his room and calmed him down from whatever terrors that lingered in his mind meant so much to him. Each time, you invited him to watch a movie with you. Something so simple, but you didn’t have to. Sometimes, he would wake up to the credits rolling and his head in your lap. Your delicate fingers running through his long hair.

He clung to your natural warmth like it was the only thing he knew. You were the most gentle being he ever met. He was only reminded of your strength when out on the battlefield, watching you tear through the enemy forces like it was second nature.

His breathing grew heavy as every sweet memory the two of you shared crossed his mind. All he could think about was you. Your voice, your laughter, the way your hair fell against your shoulders, the glint you got in your eyes when you teased him, the way you would hum him to sleep after a particularly rough dream. 

Bucky decided then and there that he couldn’t live without you. Couldn’t live without the warmth you brought to his cold heart. 

“...nes! Barnes!” Bucky’s head shot up at the sound of Tony’s voice. The billionaire was looking down at the trembling man.

“You need to get it together, pal. They’re almost here, and we need your muscles to get her to the medbay.” Bucky’s open mouth closed as he nodded and stood. 

“Did something happen to Steve?” He questioned, knowing that Steve was plenty capable of carrying you himself.

Tony held his chin between two fingers. “Bullet wound in the abdomen. He’s awake and stable but in no condition to carry anyone.” Tony said as the quinjet came into view and began to descend onto the landing pad. Tony looked to Bucky, “She’s top priority.” Bucky nodded. He didn’t need to be told that. 

As soon as the doors opened, the two men descended upon the quinjet. Natasha stepped out with Steve’s weakening body slumped against her body, supporting his weight. She looked to Bucky, “She’s laid out on the seats. Bleeding’s been stopped.” Bucky gave a curt nod and rushed to your unconscious body that was draped over the quinjet’s seating. 

He scooped you into his arms as Tony followed behind, relaying your visible condition to the doctors via the communications device in his ear. 

Bucky’s heavy footfalls thudded throughout the hall as he ran to the medbay. He glanced down at your face every so often. “C’mon sweetheart. You gotta wake up.” He mumbled to himself as the medbay doors finally came into view. 

The attending doctors rushed out the doors to guide Bucky to the surgical table. He set you down gently and watched as the doctors swooped down on you, scissors cutting open your gear and clothes. 

Tony placed a hand on his chest, “C’mon, Barnes. We gotta leave so they can help her.” Tony showed an unusual gentleness, understanding Bucky’s feelings. 

Bucky didn’t put up a fight. He knew he’d just get in the way if he stayed. He exited the doors and walked to the room where Steve was being fixed up. 

The doors slid open, and he met the gaze of Natasha and Steve. His eyes were cold as he stared at them.

“You said it was just a recon mission. There shouldn’t have been that many people there.” Bucky spoke to Steve, his voice unwavering but gruff. 

Steve huffed, his gaze fixed on the linoleum floors. “It was an ambush. More men than she could handle on her own.” He stated. Bucky didn’t reply, his gaze flickering over to Natasha, who was worrying her lip between her teeth. 

“What happened to her?” His voice was quieter now, unsure if he wanted the answer.

Natasha responded this time, “She got overwhelmed. They had some new tech. Something that subdued her powers enough for them to get close.” Natasha’s voice faltered as she continued, “Four gunshot wounds to the torso and a lacerated spleen due to a knife.” 

Bucky swallowed down the lump in his throat. He had taken more gunshots, more knives to the torso than he could remember. But you were you. You didn’t have some fancy serum running through your veins that healed you faster like he and Steve did. 

Bucky almost didn’t want to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but he did. “Do you think she’ll be okay?” His voice was quiet and strained. 

He took note of the hesitance in both Steve and Natasha’s faces. Finally, Steve replied. “We’re unsure. She was unconscious by the time we got to her, and we don’t know how long she was like that.”

Bucky’s whole demeanor changed. His already stiff shoulders tensed considerably, his jaw locked, and his gaze became steely.

“If she dies–” Bucky choked out, not able to finish his sentence. His vibranium fist clenched so hard the metal groaned under the pressure.

He turned and stormed out of the room.

You were out of surgery soon enough and were wheeled into a recovery room. You were stable, and the doctors said you would be okay. But you were yet to wake up. 

Bucky sat next to your bed, his right hand laced with yours. He wanted to feel the unnatural warmth you always had. But now you felt just like everyone else. 

It had been two days since your surgery, and Bucky had only left your side to use the bathroom and to eat. 

Bucky’s eyes shot to the door as Steve walked in. He took in the sight of his best friend. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes were sunken due to exhaustion. 

“Buck.” He said gently, “You need to rest up and shower.” 

“I can’t. What if she wakes up?” He asked. His voice was hoarse and broken.

Steve sighed. “I’ll be right here, and you’ll be the first to know.” He reassured him. However, Bucky didn’t move. 

“C’mon, Buck. You know she won’t want to see you like that.” He said, stepping closer. “She won’t be able to focus on recovering if she’s too worried about you.” 

Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s. He was right, you couldn’t see him this way. He stood from his chair, his eyes never leaving your face as he walked to the door. 

“Promise me you’ll tell me as soon as she wakes up.” He said, not looking at Steve.

Still, Steve smiled, “I promise, Buck.”

Bucky was quick in the shower, feeling no need to linger. 

Now, he laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had no desire to sleep. He didn’t deserve to. Not when you were suffering on your own. However, the exhaustion from being up for two days straight and worrying about you finally creeps up on him. He tried to fight off the sleep, but his eyelids only grew heavier and heavier until he drifted off.

“... Sergeant Barnes.” The artificial voice rang throughout his room, causing Bucky to shoot up from his bed.

“FRIDAY?” He croaked out. His voice thick with sleep.

“Captain Rogers asked me to inform you that Miss. (L/n) is awake and is requesting to see you.” The robotic voice explained. 

Bucky didn’t need to hear anything else as he stumbled from his bed and to the door of his room. His breathing was heavy and rough as he sprinted to your recovery room. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to move faster, get to you quicker. As if you would disappear if he didn’t.

Bucky began closing in on the doors of your recovery room, not bothering to slow down, opting to barrel through the cracked door.

His quick movements came to a halt at the sight of you. You were sat up in your bed, Steve’s hand on your back to keep you stable. There was a doctor in the room with a clipboard, presumably talking to you before being interrupted by Bucky’s dramatic entrance. 

Bucky’s breathing was labored as your eyes locked on him, and despite your situation, despite all the pain, you grinned. “Bucky.” His name came out of your mouth in a quiet whisper. 

He stalked over to you and felt his hand tremble as he reached for yours. “Hey, doll.” He said quietly, attempting to match your smile with a shaky one. 

Steve nodded to the doctor, who got the message and turned to leave. Steve spoke next. “You two catch up for now.” He said, then turned to you, “Let us know if you need anything.” He spoke more gently now. 

You smiled up at him. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve nodded and left the room.

You looked back to Bucky, your fingers slowly gaining back their warmth. “Hi, Bucky.” You said, your grin not leaving your face.

Bucky let out a disbelieving laugh. “How can you be grinning right now?” He asked, his smile gentle and sweet. 

You shrugged and ran your thumb over the back of his hand, tracing the scars. “Well, I’m alive, aren’t I? I couldn’t have asked for better.” You spoke to him.

Bucky shook his head. “I would’ve preferred for you not to be sitting here, injured.” He said, his eyes glancing over your every feature. He couldn’t be happier to be talking to you right now. 

“Bucky?” Your small voice echoed between the two of you.

His eyes never left your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I want to take a shower.” You stated plainly. 

Bucky laughed increduously at your simple request. “Baby—” The pet name slipped out, but he didn’t notice. “You are in no condition to leave this bed right now.” He said.

You pouted. “Bucky, I feel so gross. I can’t live like this.”

He rolled his eyes at your whining but kept smiling. “As soon as you’re cleared, doll, I’ll get you a shower. I promise.” He said gently, as if he were placating a child.

Your smile softened. “Okay, Bucky. Thank you.”

Bucky’s head tilted slightly as he looked at you. “Anything you want, doll, it’s yours.”

It took only two more days for you to be cleared to walk around and move back into your room. You were to report back for daily checkups and were on strong antibiotics. 

Bucky stood next to your hospital bed as you shimmied your shirt over your head. He turned away to protect your modesty but stood close in case you needed his help. 

“Bucky.” 

He turned back around at the call of his name, his gaze raking over your body. It was refreshing to see you in something other than a hospital gown.

“Ready to go?” He asked, extending his vibranium hand out to you. You nodded. You took his hand and stood shakily. His flesh hand was placed gently on the small of your back as he helped you stand. “Let me know if you need me to carry you.” He said firmly, not wanting to risk you getting injured any further. 

The two of you walked out of the room. His usual quick strides were slower in shorter to keep pace with you. Slowly but surely, the two of you made it to your room. You sat on your bed to catch your breath, having not been used to walking so far, let alone at all. 

Bucky watched as your gaze lingered on your bathroom door. “Shower?” He asked you. You looked to him with a small smile and nodded. 

Before you could bother trying to stand, Bucky was walking to your bathroom. You listened to the sound of the shower as Bucky turned it on. He came back to the room and rummaged through your drawers, looking for comfortable clothes. He went back to the bathroom to place your folded clothes on the counter for you. He was quick to walk back out to your side, hoisting you up gently. 

“You don’t have to do this, Buck.” You spoke softly. 

Bucky didn’t look at you, too focused on watching your footing. “Don’t start with that. I want to.” He replied, leaving no room for argument. 

The two of you made it to the bathroom, and he slowly dropped your hand. 

“Do you need help?” He asked, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

You glanced over at your shower. It was a walk-in, so it should be manageable. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” You replied and turned to look back at Bucky.

You could still see the worry swirl in his eyes, but you knew he wouldn’t stop worrying until you were completely healed. Eventually, he nodded. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside the door.” He said.

You smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Bucky. I will.”

His gaze lingered on you before turning to leave, closing the door with a quiet click behind him. 

You turned to the shower and took a deep breath. You took off your clothes slowly, ignoring the searing pain in your torso as you lifted your arms over your head to get your shirt off. 

You had finally managed to get your clothes off and stared at yourself in the mirror. You frowned at your wounds that were stitched closed and traced a finger over them. They would scar. 

You sighed and walked slowly to the shower. You felt the temperature of the water, smiling to yourself when you realized Bucky had it set to just the right temperature. You stepped in and groaned in pleasure at the feeling of the warm water beating against your skin. Your muscles began to relax as the water cascaded gently against your body.

You decided you couldn’t keep Bucky waiting forever and decided to begin washing yourself. You leaned over for your shampoo but winced and grabbed one of the wounds on your side. It seemed it didn’t agree with the movement. You powered through and grabbed the bottle, opening the lid and squirting the soap into your hand. 

You reached up to your head, ignoring the pain that racked up and down your body, and began scrubbing.

Your teeth are gritted painfully together, the white hot pain becoming unbearable. You couldn’t hold your arms up, let alone move them, for long due to your body being littered with deep wounds. You became frustrated, dropping your arms as the soap dripped down your hair and hands. Tears sprung to your eyes, angry with your own helplessness. 

You took a deep breath and shut the water off.

Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion at the sound of the water stopping. That was way too quick, especially considering your condition. 

“Bucky?” Your small voice echoed from behind the door.

 Bucky sprang up and paused right outside the door, hand already on the handle. “Doll? You alright?” He called out, his face etched with worry. 

No response.

“Sweetheart, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to come in there.” He could hear the worry in his voice as he spoke.

Once again, no response. 

Bucky’s breathing faltered, and he pressed down on the handle, pushing the door open with ease. 

His gaze immediately locked on you. Your arms were crossed over your chest, your body trembling. Either in pain or due to the cold on your wet skin. He couldn’t tell. However, he felt his heart clench in his chest at the sight of your wet eyes and your shaky bottom lip.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He breathed out, reaching you in three quick strides as his hands raised to cup your face gently.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asked in a whisper, as if speaking in a normal voice would hurt you further. 

Your water eyes looked up at his, and you drew in a shaky breath before speaking. “I-I can’t–” You swallowed before continuing. “I need your help.” You said, “Please?” You choked out, meek and scared. 

Bucky felt his heart shatter. In the year he has known you, he has never seen you like this. So small and sad. 

Bucky brushed a tear from your cheek as it fell. “Of course, sweetheart.” His hands moved from your cheeks and to your shoulders. He nudged you back into the shower and turned the handle. The water came back to life, still warm. It trickled down your body as you stood there. 

Bucky smiled at you softly. “Are you okay with me taking my clothes off, doll?” He asked, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable than you already may be. He watched as you gave him a quick nod, the tears still not leaving your eyes. 

Bucky made quick work of his clothes before stepping into the shower right behind you. “Is it okay if I touch you?” He asked calmly. You responded with another nod of your head. 

Bucky drew in a breath before reaching for your hair and scrubbing in the rest of the shampoo. He was gentle and careful, treating you like a doll. His doll. He turned you around to rinse your hair in the water but paused when he saw the tears running down your face and your lip still trembling. His frown deepened as he took in your smaller form.

He cupped your face again. “What’s wrong, honey? Where’s it hurt?” He questioned, his gaze dropping slightly to look at your wounds before he locked his eyes back onto yours. 

You shook your head at him, and his brows furrowed in response. “You gotta talk to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what's wrong.” He chided gently, egging you on. 

You drew in a shaky breath before speaking. “I was so scared, Bucky.” You looked down at his chest, wanting to avoid his gaze. “I-I thought I was going to die.” You choked out.

Bucky’s shoulders tensed as he realized you were talking about that day. You hadn’t spoken of it since you woke up. No one pressured you, knowing you needed time. Bucky was about to respond, but you cut him off.

“And all I could think about—” You hiccuped, practically choking on your own emotion. “All I could think about was you.” You finally got out.

Bucky froze where he stood, his eyes widening slightly. 

“All I could think about was what you would do if I died. Who would comfort you when you had a nightmare—” You were speaking too fast now and tripping over your words. “And then, I sat there. Bleeding out, in pain, and my consciousness beginning to slip.” You paused. “All I thought about was how I was going to die here, cold and alone, never getting to tell you how I felt.” 

Bucky’s heart pounded hard in his chest as you rambled on. His grip on your face tightened slightly. “Doll—” He croaked, but you cut him off again. 

Your eyes locked with his. The color in them more vibrant with your tears. “I love you, Bucky Barnes. And I have to tell you now, or I’ll regret it forever.” You said resolutely, your voice more steady than it had been since he had entered the shower with you. 

Bucky could feel his own hands tremble. Could feel every beat of his pounding heart against his ribcage.

“You l-love me?” Bucky choked out, his own eyes beginning to water. 

You nodded, nuzzling your face into his open palm. Your eyes were still wet, and your lips still trembled. 

Bucky rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He took in a steadying breath as he felt your lips brush his. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered. 

You responded with an almost imperceptible nod. 

Bucky sighed before slotting his lips against yours gently. He poured every ounce of love into that kiss. Every feeling you’ve ever made his cold heart feel. One of his hands dropped to your waist, the other to the side of your neck. He pulled you against him, his lips working over yours slowly. He groaned as one of your hands made their way into his hair, pulling gently. 

You pulled away first, gasping for air as you rested your forehead against his chest. Bucky’s hand gently chucked your chin, directing your gaze towards his. His eyes were so soft, so different from the usual look they held.

“I love you too, doll.” He whispered.

You felt your face split into a smile. Your tears were long gone. All you felt in that moment was love and joy. 

You tucked your face back into his chest as your body began to heat in giddy embarrassment due to your power. You felt the rumble of Bucky’s laugh against you. 

“You can’t be embarrassed now, Sweetheart. I’ve already seen you naked.” 

You responded with a smack to his chest and glared up at him. He only continued to smile at you before leaning down and capturing your lips into another kiss. This kiss was softer, slower. 

He pulled back and mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”

divider creds: @aquazero

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Stakeout (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: When a stakeout gets too boring, tensions arise.

Words: 2136

Warnings: SMUT, language, clothed grinding, use of the phrase 'cauldron of sexual tension'.

A/N: I did a thing. You're welcome. Set pre-Ultron I guess? Undefined. Reader is an implied super soldier.

-X-

Head lolling away from your binoculars, you absently stared at Natasha’s profile as she studied the building across from you with a terrifying intensity. Even in the dim light filtering through the dirty windowpane of this half-condemned safehouse, the sharp green of her eyes looked unnaturally vivid—or maybe you were just a sucker for her eyes. That was also a possibility.

They narrowed slightly, reflecting the faint glint of a passing car’s headlights outside—her posture rigid and focused. You’d seen that look a hundred times before in the field and on missions. It usually meant somebody was about to die—but never the wrong person. She was eerily precise in that way…

And fuck, it was so hot.

Her body moved just enough to track the wandering denizens of the city. Legs drawn beneath her like a coiled spring, her shoulder brushing yours every so often when she adjusted her grip on the long-lens scope. Her scent—sharp black coffee, leather, and a hint of cinnamon gum—was starting to live in your sinuses.

Three days. No sleep. No real food. Nowhere to go. Just you and Natasha in a crumbling third-floor room across from an empty brownstone with boarded-up windows and the rumors of something sleazy stirring inside it. Gamma-laced drugs—unstable, mutative, potent. Enough to cook a neighborhood if the wrong hands got hold of it… or, y’know, at the very least turn a bunch of addicts into raging Hulk monsters.

Something the team was hoping to avoid at all costs.

You were supposed to be watching for drop-offs. But instead, you’d been focusing heavily on the woman beside you. The slope of her nose, the curve of her mouth…

She shifted again, the line of her jaw tight even as she glanced at you from the corner of her eye. Her hair was pulled up, messy and haphazardly tossed up into a messy bun, a few crimson strands clinging to her cheek in defiance of whatever attempted discipline she’d tried to wrestle them into earlier during the day.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured, her voice low, husky with boredom and something a little too hot simmering just beneath.

The sound sent a hot twist curling in your stomach before you could kill the thought. You hadn’t even noticed your breath had caught in your throat.

“See something you like, soldier?” Her lips quirked up into a slight smirk.

Footsteps echoed on the street below, loud against the wet asphalt. A pair of dealers, maybe. Possibly a contact but unlikely at this point.

Yet neither of you moved toward the window. Instead, her thigh pressed against yours, firm and steady, like she hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe she had. Because if there was one thing you could say with certainty it was that Natasha was always aware.

Always.

You felt her breath near your cheek, warmer now. Her fingers adjusted the binoculars, though the scope wasn’t trained on anything, more idle movement than actual adjustment as she stared into your eyes.

“You know you’re supposed to be focusing, right, soldier girl?” Natasha teased, her voice like a snake traveling up your spine and embedding itself in the base of your skull.

“I’m very focused,” you breathed, “just not on the dealer.”

The corner of her mouth curled, sharp and slow.

“Thought so,” she whispered, almost smug, but there was a crack in it—just enough to let something else slip through. Hours, days, weeks of unspoken want and thinly veiled flirting bubbling to the top of your cauldron of sexual tension that was only burning hotter with every passing second.

She shifted, each twitch slow and deliberate. Her fingers dragged over the fabric of your tactical pants, lazy and testing. Heat bled through the contact like her touch was wired straight into your bloodstream.

And then she straddled your lap.

Her fingers braced against your shoulders, palms flat, her weight sinking down on your thighs. It was far too intimate for something you’d only ever dreamed of in your loneliest nights, when your hand was buried between your thighs, palm pressed over your mouth so no one would hear you moaning her name like a benediction; a prayer carved into the space between your teeth.

She was still fully dressed—and so were you—but in that moment, it didn’t fucking matter.

Her gaze dropped to your mouth and she wet her bottom lip. Her hand ghosted up to your jaw, thumb brushing against your lip, dragging it down slowly as she exhaled softly. Like the moment was finally settling her bones the way it was in yours. Her thumb lingered, held there like it wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth as she trailed over the soft flesh.

“This is a bad idea,” she muttered, more to herself than you. But her hips rolled, just a fraction. Testing her own control—or yours, or both…

“We really—” she started, but the words tangled and died as her body pressed flush against yours, the drag of her pants catching on the ridge of your thigh, pressing just right on her clit through the material.

And she moaned.

Low, almost too low to catch if not for the silence of the room, as she rocked again, almost involuntarily against the muscles of your thigh.

Her hands tightened on your shoulders, nails biting through the thin fabric of your shirt as she panted, mouth a mere few inches from yours.

“Fuck it,” she muttered—

Before she rocked against you again, slower this time.

Deliberate.

Hands reaching up, you knocked her hair loose from its bun as your fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her mouth to yours hungrily, thigh tensing as she rode your leg like it was granting her the oxygen in her lungs.

Her gasp hit your lips as you claimed her, the sound more instinct than permission, like she’d been waiting for you to cross that line for far too long. Her mouth met yours with ferocity, open and needy, lips parting with surrender. Tongue hot and searching, greedy as yours tangled with hers in a kiss that was more battle than seduction.

You could feel her fingers twist in your shirt like she needed the anchor or she’d come apart at the seams. Her hips rolled again, harder now, grinding down against you with a reckless rhythm that made her whole body tremble against yours. Her breath caught on a whimper—your name half-formed, swallowed by your kiss.

You couldn’t remember when, too caught up in the heat of her, it had begun to rain, the water smearing across the windowpane, pounding down in sheets on the glass behind her like war drums. If you’d been thinking properly, you would’ve suggested going to the roof to watch the brownstone. To keep an eye out for the inevitable drug deal gone bad.

But in here, time was meaningless. It didn’t matter that you were supposed to be searching for a dealer. That you were technically compromising the mission by letting months’ worth of tension snap into something neither of you would come back from. Because here? There was only the slick heat between you, the friction of tactical-on-tactical pants and the pressure of her core dragging over the swell of your thigh in desperate, erratic stutters.

Her hands shot up, fingers threading into your hair like something had finally snapped, like a string yanked too tight. She pulled—not gentle, not sweet—dragging your head back just enough to devour your mouth deeper. The scrape of her teeth on your bottom lip was feral. Sharp and bordering on painful but gods, you didn’t care.

“You feel what you do to me?” she whispered, voice rasping as her forehead pressed to yours. Her hips never stopped moving. Every breath came with a tremble now. “Fucking God…”

Her hands roamed, curling under the hem of your shirt, nails raking your sides like she needed to carve the shape of you into her palms.

A noise escaped your throat, not quite a moan—almost a growl—as your hands dropped to her ass and gripped tight, guiding her movements like you were a woman starved and she was the first taste of food you’d had in months.

A breathless gasp tore from Natasha’s lips the second your hands found her ass, your hold hard enough to draw a choked moan as you ground her down, forcing her to ride the firm line of your thigh. Her nails dug into your shoulders—so fucking painful but it only served to light your nerves ablaze—and she let her head fall back for just a heartbeat.

Her throat, pale and glistening with sweat, was exposed in the dim light, pulsing with every staggered breath. You heard it again—that same raw sound she made when she stopped pretending this wasn’t exactly what she’d been wanting for months.

“Jesus…” she hissed, her voice cracking. Her thighs clenched around your hips, muscles quivering as she rolled harder now. Erratic and desperate and racing towards an end she almost didn’t want to find yet.

“Fuck, Tasha…” you groaned against her jaw, nipping and biting at the soft skin.

Her hands fumbled down to the hem of your shirt, shoving it up with trembling urgency, her palms pressing against the bare skin beneath as she grinded down with renewed need. Every drag of her body over yours sparked something hot and raging in her belly. The seam of her tactical pants—rough, unforgiving—rubbed just right against her clit with every thrust.

“Say it again,” she panted, mouth at your ear, voice ruined and hoarse. “Say my name again like that.” And then her lips were on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming; hips moving with wild, unfiltered need.

Somewhere on the street below, a car door slammed. Footsteps. Muffled shouts in a language you didn’t speak. But she didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t care.

You felt her body start to shudder as her breath caught hard against your throat.

“I’m—fuck, don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—” she whined. She ground down again, and again, chasing the edge with a fury that was pure need.

She was close and you could feel it.

Unraveling in your lap, falling apart with every grind of her soaked pants against yours, every ragged gasp in your ear.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby… I’ve dreamed about this for months, hearing that pretty voice break as you ride me like this,” you murmured in her ear, nipping at her earlobe.

Natasha let out a broken cry, her whole body jerking at your words like you’d reached inside her and flipped something vital. Her hips stuttered for a breath, overwhelmed, her fingernails biting into your sides. But then she surged forward, mouth crashing into yours, all teeth and tongue and desperation.

“You—fuck—you bitch,” she gasped, half-laughing, half-sobbing, lost somewhere between desperation and rapture as you kissed and licked across her somewhat exposed collarbones and neck, still guiding every motion with your hands firm on her ass. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She ground herself on your thigh with reckless abandon, the fabric soaked between her legs, every rock of her hips a shuddering confession. Her thighs trembled with the effort, sweat slicking her skin beneath her clothes. Her body pulsed with frantic need, and her face—her beautiful face—twisted in something between agony and ecstasy as you guided her through it.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good… keep going.” You barely recognized your own voice anymore, too enraptured by her.

“That’s it…” she echoed faintly, dazed, voice raspy and guttural. “Fuck, that’s it… I-I’m gonna—”

You could feel her thighs clenching tighter, hips stalling on each thrust now, losing rhythm as she got closer—so close—chasing that edge with every drag of her clit over the ridge of your leg. Her breath hitched again, teeth biting into her own lip to keep from screaming.

And then—

Her whole body arched, spasmed—hips bucking wildly against you as the orgasm ripped through her. She bit into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, as a primal, soul-shattering moan clawed its way out of her throat, muffled but unmistakable even with her teeth sunk deep into your skin.

You held the back of her head gently, helping her slow the rock of her hips as she chased every last white-hot flash of ecstasy before collapsing against you, hips jumping with every minor aftershock as she panted and whimpered against your neck.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dealer. Not SHIELD. Not the Avengers… because Natasha Romanoff had come using your leg…

And you really fucking hoped this wouldn’t be the last time.

[cece693]

MY JEALOUS GOD

pairing: loki laufeyson x gender neutral reader synopsis: You didn't anticipate falling into a relationship with Loki—who would?—yet while everybody knew he was the god of mischief, to you, he's your jealous god.

The first sign something is off is the smell of petrichor in the living-room. You’d left the windows shut, but there it is: the scent of rain on stone, the signature Loki’s magic often leaves behind when he appears or, more ominously, when he’s been brooding. You round the corner and find him lounging on your couch, boots on the cushions, one arm draped over the back like a cat who’s caught the red dot and now wonders what to do with it.

“Evening,” he purrs, voice all velvet knives. “Did you have fun at Stark’s little soirée?”

You shrug out of your jacket, the lining still warm from Stark Tower’s overheated ball-room, and drape it over the brocade armchair by the hearth. A faint metallic tang of repulsor exhaust still clings to the fabric—a souvenir of Tony’s annual “low-impact” fireworks display.

“Fun enough,” you say, massaging the crick in your neck. “Tony’s birthday parties feature far fewer homicidal drones these days—small mercies—but it would’ve been considerably more enjoyable if my favorite god hadn’t ghosted before dessert.”

Loki’s smile thins. “Your dance card appeared congested.”

The archaic phrasing is deliberate, a rapier flick from a prince raised on court formalities. You know exactly which name hides behind the euphemism: Peter Parker, cheeks redder than Stark’s armor, tugging at a too-tight bowtie while begging you for “just one dance.” When FRIDAY obligingly queued a crackling waltz from 1912, you’d accepted to save the poor kid from spontaneous combustion and to keep Natasha from collecting wagers on whether he’d faint.

“Peter’s pulse only spikes to dangerous levels when I’m near,” you remind Loki gently, toeing off your shoes. “Because he’s nineteen, Loki—”

“Twenty,” Loki interjects, tone glacial. “I checked the records.”

“—fine, twenty. He idolizes everyone with an Avengers passcode. Our waltz lasted 90 seconds and ended with him apologizing for stepping on my feet.”

“Yet long enough for you to laugh,” Loki murmurs, verdant eyes darkening. The words carry neither accusation nor injury—something colder, older, like frost creeping across glass. Outside the window lightning flickers, though the forecast promised clear skies.

You cross to him, letting your hand skim his shoulder until frost becomes warmth. “One laugh, one spin, no hearts stolen. You, darling, occupy all available real estate here.” You tap your sternum.

Loki’s lips curl in a silken crescent, but the flicker behind his lashes is anything but serene. Emerald irises catch the lamplight, bright as storm-lit seawater—an omen you’ve learned to read the way sailors read cloud fronts.

You plant your hands on your hips. “Loki,” you say, drawing out every syllable like a sharpening stone, “what did you do?”

He splays a hand across his chest in wounded theater. “Must you presume mischief every time I inhale?”

“Yes.”

A beat. His shoulders slump in an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I may have redirected young Parker’s web-shooters.”

“Redirected how?”

“Up.”

“Loki!”

He waves a dismissive hand, as though you’ve merely noted the weather. “Midgardian gravity is pathetic. The boy dangled for what?—fifty two seconds before Rogers hauled him in. Perfectly safe.”

Your glare could etch glass. “And the glitter bomb that detonated on Clint?”

A flick of irritation crawls up Loki’s brow ridge—caught, again. You press on.

“I was having a perfectly calm chat with him about Lucky adjusting to farm life,” you remind him, tone sharpened to surgical steel. “Clint was mid-sentence—something about the dog finally not chasing tractors—when this puff of emerald smoke swallowed him whole. Next thing I know, he’s radioactive-pink from head to tactical boots.”

A half-smile curls Loki’s mouth, wicked as a fox in the henhouse. “Yes. I refined the pigment with bifrost dust—gives it that delightful day-glow sheen.”

“Which is now ground permanently into SHIELD-issue Kevlar.”

“An upgrade,” Loki counters. “Barton’s wardrobe needed flair.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I leave you alone for two hours—”

“You left me alone with them.”

The soft snarl on “them” tells the truth: Loki never felt comfortable in the Avengers’ tower, tolerated largely because of you. Their wary stares scratch old wounds he pretends have healed. Tonight, seeing you laugh—actually laugh—with the people who once hunted him? Salt in the fracture.

You exhale and join him on the couch, prying his booted feet off the cushions. They thunk to the floor. “Talk.”

“Must we?” His gaze flicks to the ceiling, expression somewhere between tragic poet and sullen teenager. “You looked radiant. They ogled you like magpies. I grew irritated.”

“Jealous.”

He scoffs, but the word loosens him. “Yes. Jealous. There. I despise how it feels—like being chained again, only the shackles are inside my ribs.”

Your annoyance softens. You catch Loki’s chin, turning his face until emerald meets your gaze. “If you need reassurance, ask. Don’t rig equipment or hex people. Use your words.”

His lips quirk. “I have many words. Most of them sharp.”

“Then learn soft ones.” You brush your thumb across his lower lip. “Tell me the truth instead of setting glitter‐traps and letting innocent people hang from the ceiling.”

A silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of Manhattan traffic. Finally, Loki exhales the breath he has been hoarding for pride.

“Very well. The truth: I watched you toss your head back laughing at Clint's joke and it felt like frostbite. I wanted that sound kept for me alone. I imagined Parker’s mask cracking under illusion spiders; I pictured Stark’s suit misfiring champagne across his face. I thought of a dozen vicious things, all because you smiled.”

You let the confession settle. His jealousy is a thunderstorm—beautiful from afar, dangerous when you’re underneath. But storms can be guided.

“You’re allowed to want,” you say slowly, “and I’m allowed friends. The line is harm, Loki. Pranks that bruise bodies or egos cross it.”

He leans in, voice low. “I will try. But understand: my nature is not serenity. It is wind and wildfire. I can shape it for you, but extinguish it? Never.”

You press a kiss to his forehead—just there, where the crown would sit if he still wore one. “I don’t want it extinguished. Just channeled.”

His shoulders relax, mischief dimming to ember. “Then give me a target suitable for such channeling.”

“I have one. The dishwasher’s broken again.” You gesture toward the kitchen. “If you must hex something, hex the water jets. Make them behave.”

It earns you a surprised laugh, warm and genuine. “Very well, my love. I will wage war upon domestic inconveniences.” Loki rises, cloak swirling into existence with theatrical flare. “But first—”

He snaps his fingers. A soft pop sounds behind you. You turn to see a potted hydrangea now placed in the middle of the coffee table. Petals the deepest green—the exact shade of his eyes. A peace offering formed from silent magic instead of spite.

“Soft words,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that his breath fans your ear. “And softer deeds.”

You twine your fingers with his. “Keep practicing, Mischief-Prince. I’m a patient teacher.”

He smirks. “And I, an attentive student—provided the lessons are interactive.” You roll your eyes but tug him toward the kitchen nonetheless. Behind you, the hydrangea’s petals shimmer, shedding a faint glitter that—mercifully—stays on the plant.

[marvelseries19]

SAFE WITH YOU

Chapter Five - Castaway

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff ft female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: The process of coming back is hard, yet not impossible, especially since Natasha is right by your side through it all. And you finally get your happy ending.

A/N: Okay, with this, we say goodbye to this series. From this point on, there will be no more chapters. However, I will make one-shots to dive deeper into the healing process and show parts I didn't show or talk about, things you're curious about. As always, you're more than welcome to leave comments, feedback, requests, ask questions, etc. Enjoy. And if you see typos, no, you didn't.

Warning: +18, nightmares, maybe mentions of ptsd, etc. Some very, VERY suggestive part at the end.

Word count: 7.5k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The days in the medical wing pass in a strange, suspended rhythm. Time feels warped — too fast in some moments, agonizingly slow in others. You sleep in stretches, eat when they tell you, and endure tests and scans and soft-spoken assessments. They tell you your body is healing well. No major infections. The weight loss is significant but expected. Dehydration is corrected. You’re stable.

But you-you don’t feel that way.

The ceiling tiles blur into a single repeated shape. The bed is too soft. Too still. There are no rustling trees, no ocean wind, and no birds to mark the sunrise. Just the mechanical hum of machines, the occasional beep of monitors, and the muffled footsteps of nurses outside your door.

You find yourself waking in the middle of the night, expecting smoke, thunder, and the sound of waves. But there’s nothing. Just silence. You wonder if your body forgot how to feel safe.

Natasha comes every day.

She doesn't hover. She doesn’t overwhelm. She just is. Always there, curled in the chair near your bed, boots kicked off, hands wrapped around lukewarm coffee, flipping through a book without really reading it. Sometimes she talks. Sometimes she doesn’t. Mostly, she just watches you. Like, she still can’t quite believe you’re real. That you’re here.

There are moments when she reaches for your hand and hesitates, catching herself like she’s afraid she’ll break you.

On the sixth day, the doctors tell you it’s time.

“You’re stable,” the lead medic says gently. “We can continue monitoring from home and give you instructions. It’s entirely your call, but… We think you’re ready.”

You’re not sure what “ready” is supposed to feel like. The idea of leaving the room you’ve come to accept as a kind of purgatory doesn’t make you feel free — it makes your chest tighten.

You nod anyway.

Natasha is quiet as she helps you dress. Civilian clothes. Soft. New. The fabric feels too thick, too unfamiliar. You move slowly, your body still remembering scarcity. Still conserving energy. Still unsure it’s safe to let go.

She kneels to help with your shoes and pauses when you flinch at the contact. You recover quickly, hand on her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” she says softly.

As you stand together at the doorway, your discharge papers in a folder under your arm, Natasha glances down at your hand and laces her fingers through yours.

You hesitate. “I don’t know what’s waiting out there. I don’t know how to—”

“I know,” she says. Her grip tightens. “We’ll go slow. Whatever pace you need.”

You nod, even though your chest still aches with uncertainty.

The elevator ride down feels surreal. You’re not used to enclosed spaces with buttons and polished metal reflections. Your heart skips once, twice — Natasha notices.

“We can go back upstairs,” she offers quietly. “It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

You shake your head. “No. I just… need to get used to it again.”

When the doors open, the light is different. Sharper. Louder. There are more people. Too many. The security staff nods respectfully as you pass, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in a hallway mirror.

You don’t look like the version of yourself that disappeared. You’re thinner. Your eyes are sharper, older somehow. There’s a haunted look to your posture, even when you try to stand tall.

Natasha opens the car door for you. It feels strange — being helped. Being ushered. You slide into the seat and keep your eyes forward the whole drive, watching a world that moved on while you were gone. So many people, so much motion. Bright lights. Noise. Life.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha asks softly, not pushing.

You shake your head at first.

Then, quietly: “It doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Like… I left the world for a while, and it forgot me. And now I’m trying to remember how to belong to it again.”

She nods slowly. “I know that feeling.”

You glance at her. “Yeah?”

“I lived in shadows for a long time. It’s different. But I remember what it’s like to come back and not recognize the shape of your own life.”

That lands. You stare out the window. “And what did you do?”

She looks over at you, eyes soft. “I made new memories. With the people I loved.”

The apartment building comes into view. It’s familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You remember the smell of the hallway, the way the light slants through the windows in the afternoon. You remember the doorframe, the number on it, the chipped edge of the paint. Home. Kind of.

Your hand pauses on the doorknob. Natasha’s close behind you, silent.

You whisper, “What if I don’t know how to live in it anymore?”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then, gently says, “Then we make it new. Together.”

You open the door.

Inside, everything is neat. Intact. Untouched. Maria must’ve kept it clean. Your things are still where you left them: photos, books, and your coat hanging by the door like it had been waiting for you.

You step inside slowly, eyes scanning everything.

Natasha doesn't push. She just follows quietly, giving you room.

In the corner, you spot something unexpected — a small carved figure, worn and faded. Red. Maria must have brought him from the med facility. You walk over and hold him in your hand, brushing your thumb along the ridges of the coconut’s face.

Natasha watches you with something close to reverence.

You finally turn to her.

“I don’t know what comes next,” you admit.

She steps closer, placing a hand gently against your back. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

You nod, your eyes wet but steady.

And for the first time in a long time, you believe her.

You stay near a window for a while. The apartment is quiet, every sound soft and unfamiliar. You’re still holding Red, fingers absently brushing the worn coconut shell, when Natasha’s voice cuts gently through the stillness.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

You glance toward her, surprised by how simple and kind the question sounds. A bath. It’s been… years. And for a moment, the idea makes your chest feel tight — not because you’re afraid of it, but because it feels too gentle, too civilized, too far from where you were.

You swallow. “Yeah, but would you… stay with me?”

Her face softens. "Yeah, of course.”

She says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world — like she hasn’t missed you every second of the past three years. Like she wouldn’t drop everything to do exactly that.

Natasha walks you to the bathroom without fuss. She starts the water, adjusting it with practiced motions, quiet in the way she always is when things really matter. You sit on the closed toilet lid, watching steam curl toward the ceiling, already letting the warmth pull at the edges of something inside you.

Once the tub is full, you strip slowly, wrapping a towel around yourself as she turns away to give you space. You can’t help but smile at that, even if it’s faint — Natasha Romanoff, world-class assassin, averting her eyes with her cheeks slightly blushed, like you’re some delicate painting she’s afraid to damage.

You step into the water, easing down with a quiet hiss of breath as the heat envelops you. Your muscles scream and then slowly, slowly, begin to relax.

You lean your head back against the porcelain edge, eyes half-lidded. Natasha sits beside the tub on a folded towel, elbows on her knees, just watching you with a small smile and eyes full of unshed things.

After a minute, her voice breaks the calm.

“Can I help? With your hair?”

Your throat catches. You didn’t expect the offer, not like that — not so softly.

You nod. “Yeah. Please.”

She moves closer, sleeves pushed up, and gathers a little shampoo in her hands. Her fingers slide gently into your hair, slow and careful, massaging your scalp in delicate circles. It feels so good it nearly makes you cry — not because it hurts, but because it doesn’t. Because you didn’t know something so simple could still feel like this.

Her hands are steady, rinsing with warm water cupped between her palms, careful not to splash. She never rushes, never speaks unless it’s to quietly ask if something’s okay.

And when she wraps a towel around your hair and kisses your temple, something in you — something wound too tight for too long — finally lets go.

“You’re here,” she murmurs. “You’re really here.”

You rest your cheek on your arm along the tub’s edge. “It still feels like I’m dreaming.”

“I know,” she says. “Me too.”

You sit in the cooling water a little longer, side by side in silence that no longer feels empty. Eventually, she helps you out, wraps you in warmth, and leads you back to the bedroom with the kind of patience that doesn’t ask anything in return.

And through it all — the quiet, the closeness, the simple human contact — you begin to believe that maybe you really did come home.

And when she wraps a towel around your hair and kisses your temple, something in you — something wound too tight for too long — finally lets go.

—

Later, you’re on the couch, curled in on yourself. You hadn’t wanted to lie down in the bed just yet. Natasha didn’t question it—just handed you a throw blanket, sat beside you, and let the silence settle. She doesn’t crowd you. But she doesn’t leave either.

You stare down at the ring around your neck. The chain is cool against your collarbone.

“I thought about you every night,” you say, voice low, almost ashamed.

Natasha turns her head toward you. “So did I.”

You swallow hard. “I pictured you. Waiting. And then I started wondering if I’d made you up just to have something to hold onto.”

She shifts closer. “I thought I’d never see you again. Every day I told myself I had to keep moving because if I stopped, I’d have to admit you were gone.”

Your voice is a whisper. “And now I’m not gone. But I don’t know how to be here either.”

Natasha reaches over and takes your hand, slow and deliberate. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Then we’ll figure it out together. There’s no right way to do this.”

You lean your head against her shoulder. It feels like touching solid ground after months in open water.

“I missed you so much it hurt,” you say.

She presses her lips to your temple. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

That night, after takeout and too many emotions to name, you stand at the bedroom door again.

The bed is made. The pillows fluffed. But it feels like walking into a memory.

Natasha waits patiently, giving you the space to choose.

“I want to try,” you say quietly. “But only if you stay.”

“I was never going to leave.”

She pulls back the covers and slides in beside you, and you crawl in with careful movements, still half afraid the walls might collapse if you breathe too loud.

You both lie on your backs, eyes open in the dark.

“Do you hate that I changed?” you ask.

Natasha’s voice is soft but certain. “I don’t care how you changed. I only care that you’re still mine.”

You roll toward her. Her arm is already there, waiting for you to curl into. You rest your forehead against her collarbone, heart racing like it hasn’t calmed down in years.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know,” she says, kissing your hair. “Me too.”

But she holds you all the same.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall asleep.

The room is dark and quiet. Natasha’s breath is steady beside you, warm, familiar, and grounding. You count each inhale, each exhale, like an anchor, like maybe if you focus hard enough, the rest of you will settle too.

But it doesn’t.

The bed is too soft. The mattress, the pillows—it all feels like it’s swallowing you whole. Your muscles are tense, your jaw is locked, and your breath is shallow. It’s not the silence that unsettles you. It’s the stillness. Too comfortable. Too easy. Too alien.

You lie there for what feels like hours, heart thudding loud in your chest, staring into the darkness.

Eventually, you slip out of bed as quietly as you can. The floor is cool under your feet, grounding in a way the mattress never could be. You lower yourself slowly, cautiously, and lie flat on your back beside your side of the bed, the wooden floor pressing firm and unyielding against your spine.

It feels… real. Familiar. You exhale, finally.

And that’s where Natasha finds you five minutes later—when her hand reaches across the bed and touches only cold sheets.

Her breath catches, and then you hear the mattress shift as she scrambles up, switching on the bedside lamp. Her voice is low but tight.

“Y/N?”

You blink up at her from the floor. “I’m here.”

She sees you and stills. Her shoulders drop slightly with relief, though her expression softens with worry.

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” you say quietly. “The bed felt wrong.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, without asking, she reaches for the blanket at the foot of the bed, kneels beside you, and drapes it gently over your body. Her fingers linger a moment against your arm.

“Next time, wake me. Please.”

You look at her, eyes tired. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not a bother,” she says immediately, voice low and raw. “Not now. Not ever.”

A beat passes. Then Natasha shifts down beside you, lying flat on the floor without hesitation. The floor creaks beneath both your bodies. She glances at you sideways, head tilted on the hardwood.

“You’re really doing this?”

“You’re down here with me, aren’t you?”

A small smile plays on her lips. “Of course I am.”

Another pause.

“You know,” you murmur after a while, staring up at the ceiling, “the floor reminds me I’m real. That I’m here. The bed’s too forgiving. It’s too easy to think I might be dreaming all this. Or worse—dead.”

Natasha’s face turns toward you, open and quietly aching.

“I used to sleep on the floor too,” she says after a long beat. “First few years out of the Red Room. I couldn’t take the softness. The quiet. I felt like I didn’t deserve comfort.”

You nod, your throat tight. “I get that.”

“But you do deserve it,” she continues. “Even if it takes time to believe it.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then: “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t let myself hope.”

She reaches out slowly and links her pinky with yours. “Hope’s stubborn. Just like you.”

The silence that follows is heavier, but not suffocating. A kind of understanding passes between you without needing words.

Eventually, you roll onto your side, facing her. She mirrors you instantly, and your foreheads touch lightly. Her hand finds your waist, pulling you close beneath the blanket.

This close, it’s easier to breathe.

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” you whisper.

“I could never bring myself to,” she replies, barely audible.

And with her warmth against your chest, her breath against your cheek, and the floor beneath you steady and real—you finally drift into sleep. Not perfectly. Not painlessly. But peacefully, for the first time in a very long time.

Together.

You wake slowly, eyes still closed, warm under the blanket, the floor beneath you solid and cool. For a second you forget where you are, panic fluttering at the edge of your chest—until you feel a thumb brushing slow circles against your side, and the scent of Natasha’s shampoo grounding you more than the floor ever could.

“Morning,” she whispers.

Your eyes flutter open. She’s already awake, head propped up slightly on her arm. Her gaze is soft, red hair a little wild from sleep.

You blink at her, throat dry. “You didn’t move.”

“Didn’t want to leave you alone,” she says simply.

You shift a little, wincing faintly from the stiffness. “You’re going to have back problems, Romanoff.”

She smiles, one of those rare, real ones. “Too late.”

You lie there in silence for a bit longer, the light beginning to slip in through the curtains.

“Part of me feels stupid,” you admit eventually, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “Sleeping on the floor, avoiding a bed like it’s a trap.”

“It’s not stupid,” she says gently. “It’s survival. You’re adjusting. That takes time. However long you need—I’ll be here.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “Everything feels different. Like I’ve got to learn the world all over again.”

“Then we’ll learn it together.”

That brings a lump to your throat. She must see it, because she reaches up and brushes your cheek with the back of her hand.

“I missed you so much,” she murmurs. “Every single day.”

You nod, voice tight. “I kept thinking about you. I kept wondering if I’d ever… just see your face again. Even once.”

She leans in slowly and kisses your forehead, staying there for a beat. “Well, now you’re stuck with me.”

A small laugh escapes you, and it feels good. Rusty, but real.

You finally sit up, stretching out your sore limbs, and Natasha follows suit, brushing out her tangled hair with her fingers. You glance at the bed, then at her.

“I think I want to try the bed again tonight.”

She smiles. “I’ll be there, too. We’ll face it together.”

It’s still strange—this new normal, this second chance. But in the quiet morning light, sitting beside her on the hardwood floor with a blanket draped over your shoulders and your heart a little less guarded, it doesn’t feel so impossible.

Not with her.

Not anymore.

The next night, it happens again. You try the bed. Last a little longer. Then move to the floor.

And again, Natasha follows — no questions, no sighs, no trying to coax you back.

The third night, she doesn’t even wait. When you quietly slip down to the floor, she follows moments later with a pillow tucked under her arm.

By the fourth night, you wake up and realize you haven’t moved at all.

You’re in bed. Still in Natasha’s arms. And for the first time since the island, you don’t feel like you have to run from peace.

—

A few months later.

The apartment is lived-in now. There's a plant on the kitchen windowsill that Natasha insists is thriving, even if it leans a little sideways. The couch has a dent where you both usually sit. Red is perched up on the shelf under the TV next to some decorations and framed photos of you and Nat, now forever a part of your life. And you smile every time your eyes land on it. Always a reminder of what you endured.

You’re healing. Not in a straight line, not without setbacks, but with intention. With her.

Some mornings are harder than others. You still wake up drenched in sweat sometimes, heart racing with ghosts. On those days, Natasha doesn’t try to fix it. She just hands you tea, brushes a hand through your hair, and sits close until your breath evens out.

There are good days, too. Days where you wake before her, cook something new, and even laugh freely. Days you catch her looking at you like you’re made of something rare and whole. You still don’t quite believe it, but you try.

You’ve been seeing a therapist SHIELD recommended. You hated it at first—too many questions, too much stillness. But eventually, it became a space you didn’t dread. You’ve started talking about the island, the silence, the routine that kept you sane.

You and Natasha still dance around some things. She hasn’t pushed you for intimacy beyond what you offer. She reads your cues like second nature—holding your hand when you’re overwhelmed, giving you space when your shoulders go rigid, curling beside you in bed when you reach for her without a word.

But it hasn’t been easy.

There was a week when you barely spoke after an argument. She’d gone on a short mission without telling you until the morning of, and you’d panicked, snapped at her, shut down. When she returned, you couldn’t look at her, too afraid of how much you need her. Too afraid of what needing someone means.

It was Natasha who finally broke the silence, sitting beside you on the couch and saying quietly, “You can be mad. I’ll still come back.”

That night, you cried in her arms for the first time in weeks. You hated that it helped. You loved that she held you anyway.

You’ve started working again. Slowly. First from home, reviewing field reports, helping analyze strategies—things that reminded you of who you were. Maria checked in regularly and, once, even told you she missed getting her ass handed to her during briefings. You laughed.

You and Natasha are different now. Not in a way that’s broken, but in the way that time remakes things—gently, with wear and meaning. You cook together more. You argue over whose turn it is to do laundry. You fall asleep facing each other now, not with fear, but with something like trust.

There’s still hesitation in both of you. Moments where your voices lower, not out of secrecy but out of reverence for how fragile things once were. You talk about the future, sometimes in fragments. A trip somewhere quiet. A garden. A place where you both might feel steady.

You're learning how to live again—with her and within yourself. The island isn’t gone. The pain, the scars—physical and not—aren’t either. But the ache isn’t everything anymore.

Love, you’ve learned, isn’t just the reunion. It’s the staying. The choosing.

And every single day, she chooses you.

—

The apartment was quiet one night.

It had been months now. Months of rebuilding, of learning how to be again—how to sleep through the night, how to laugh without guilt, how to let someone reach for you without flinching.

The bad days hadn’t disappeared, but they came fewer and further between. Now, most mornings started with coffee, soft light through the windows, and Natasha wrapped around you in sleepy warmth. Now, you could walk into a room without scanning every exit. Now, the weight on your chest was no longer constant.

And tonight, the stillness didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like rest.

You sat on the couch together, a half-watched movie flickering on mute, both of you tangled under the same blanket, your legs draped over hers. Her fingers lazily traced circles against your calf, like she was touching you just to remember you were real.

You watched her—her profile illuminated by the glow of the screen, soft and calm and so achingly beautiful in that quiet way you’d come to treasure.

You hadn’t said it out loud, not yet.

But it had been on your mind lately. That ring. The one that used to mean someday. The one that had waited carefully in a thin yet resistant chain around both of your necks for years now, quiet and patient.

You shifted a little and leaned your head against her shoulder.

"Hey," you said, voice soft, hesitant but steady.

She turned her head toward you, the question already in her eyes.

You reached for her hand under the blanket, fingers slipping between hers. “Do you ever think about it? The wedding, I mean.”

Natasha blinked. For a second, she didn’t say anything. Then her thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and thoughtful. “I used to,” she said, almost a whisper. “Every day. When you were gone, I—I’d think about what it would’ve been like. What we lost.”

You leaned into her a little more. “And now?”

Her hand squeezed yours gently. “Now… I think we might be ready.”

You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Yeah?”

She nodded, shifting to face you more fully, her free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You feel it too, don’t you? That the worst is behind us. Not gone, but… no longer in control.”

You swallowed thickly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Just didn’t know if I could say it without jinxing it, I guess.”

Natasha’s expression softened, her eyes shining just a little in the low light. “Say it now.”

You looked down at your joined hands. “I want to do it. The wedding. I think… I think I’m finally ready. I feel safe again. With you. With us. I want to stand with you and mean it in front of everyone. I want that day.”

She reached out and cupped your cheek, pulling you into a kiss—gentle, lingering, a promise wrapped in silence.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely more than breath. “Then let’s do it.”

You smiled, your eyes damp, but your heart light. “We waited so long.”

“And I’d wait forever,” she said, pressing her forehead to yours. “But I’m really fucking glad I don’t have to.”

You laughed through your tears, and she kissed you again—this time with more certainty, more heat, and more joy. You curled into her chest, hand tightly holding your ring still proudly on the chain around your neck, heart thudding with a rhythm that felt steady for the first time in years.

And there, in the hush of your shared home, you both knew: it wasn’t just about a wedding. It was about choosing each other, again and again, even when the world fell apart.

And now, finally, you were ready to celebrate that choice.

Together.

It was almost funny how simple it was in the end.

No announcements. No grand gestures. Just two people holding hands on a porch swing, sipping coffee while the sun rose over the Barton farm.

Clint had seen it the second you stepped out of the car with Natasha, your fingers linked, a soft calm in your posture that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave a knowing smirk, clapped you on the shoulder, and ushered you both inside where Laura was already pulling something out of the oven.

The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread wrapped around you like a blanket. It felt safe there, like nothing bad could happen under that roof. Maybe that’s why you found the words so easily.

“So,” you said slowly, sitting at the long kitchen table with your hands wrapped around a warm mug, “we’re finally going to do it.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

Natasha leaned in a little, the corner of her mouth twitching with a smile. “The wedding.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Laura let out a quiet, happy gasp and reached for your hand.

Clint blinked. “For real this time?”

You nodded. “For real. We’re ready.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she reached over, laying her hand over yours on the table. That said enough.

Clint leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a proud grin. “Took you long enough.”

You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh. “You’re one to talk. You and Laura eloped.”

Laura grinned. “And we regret nothing. But you two? You deserve a day. A real one. Something good.”

You hesitated. “We were thinking… maybe here?”

Clint sat up straighter. “Here? Like—here, here?”

Natasha glanced out the window, eyes softening as they landed on the old barn at the edge of the property. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Laura squeezed your hand. “We’d be honored.”

Clint’s grin only widened. “We’ll string up some lights and clear out the barn. Get the kids to stop shooting arrows for five minutes. It'll be perfect.”

You smiled, something warm blooming in your chest. “Just a few people. Small. Family. Maria, Fury, and the team. Phil, if he’s back from the field. That’s it.”

Natasha leaned her head against your shoulder. “Just us. The ones who stuck through it all.”

Laura stood and kissed Clint on the temple. “Then it’s settled.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of light laughter and soft plans. Talk of fairy lights and music. Maybe Lila could make some signs. Nate would be the ring bearer if he could sit still long enough. There was talk of food, dresses, suits—or not. Just something simple. Something real.

You stepped outside after lunch, barefoot in the grass, the wind soft through your hair. Natasha followed, her hand slipping easily into yours. You stood in front of the barn, weathered wood and high beams, the kind of place where new chapters felt possible.

“This is really happening,” you said, voice quiet.

She turned to you, her eyes bright and steady. “Yeah. It is.”

You smiled, then leaned in, forehead against hers.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were holding your breath.

The days that followed passed in a gentle rhythm—slower than you'd expected, but full of meaning. No frenzy. No rush. Just two people returning to themselves and to each other.

The dress fittings happened in a softly lit boutique that Maria insisted on renting out for the afternoon. “You deserve this,” she said simply when you protested. “And besides—this’ll be fun.”

And it was.

Natasha stepped out of the dressing room first, hesitant, smoothing her hands down the fabric of the ivory gown. It was elegant and minimal, with a soft sweep of silk and lace. Not overly formal. Not flashy. But it stopped your heart in your chest.

You stared for a moment longer than you meant to. “You’re going to ruin me,” you murmured.

A rare flush crept up her neck. “You like it?”

You crossed the small space to her, brushing a hand down her arm. “I love it.”

She reached up to cup your cheek. “Wait until you try yours on.”

You laughed, but when you returned a few minutes later in your own dress—simple, flowy, perfectly you—Natasha just stared.

She didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like she was memorizing something holy.

“Say something,” you whispered.

She blinked. “You’re real.”

The next few weeks were filled with quiet preparations. You helped Clint hang fairy lights in the barn while Laura stitched small details into the table linens. Lila painted wooden signs. Even Tony, who initially joked about throwing you a Stark-sponsored blowout, settled into his role of unofficial bartender for the night with only mild grumbling.

Fury didn’t say much when you told him the date—just clapped a hand on your shoulder and said, “It’s about damn time.”

Coulson smiled like he knew this would always be the ending.

And Maria—Maria just hugged you tightly, fiercely, as if she'd carried the weight of hope for both of you all this time. The night before the wedding, you and Natasha sat side by side in bed, each holding a notebook of vows you'd been scribbling in for days.

“Want to hear mine?” she asked quietly.

You nodded, heart thudding softly.

She read aloud words about almost losing you, and you coming back- About how she never stopped carrying you with her, even when she didn't believe in anything else.

You cried before she even finished.

Then, with trembling hands and a steadier voice than you expected, you read her your own. Words about the island. About how you survived and how she had helped you live again when you thought you wouldn't.

“I’m not promising easy,” you told her. “But I am promising you everything. Whatever I’ve got, it’s yours.”

That night, you slept in each other’s arms. And for the first time since you returned, there were no dreams.The morning came soft and slow, light pouring in through the farmhouse window. Natasha left early to get ready in the Barton house, Maria dragging her off with a garment bag and a mischievous wink. You stayed with Laura, sipping tea and letting Lila braid your hair while your dress hung by the window, glowing in the sun.

You should’ve felt nervous. You kind of did. But more than that, you felt… ready.

Whole.

Alive.

The barn had been transformed. The fairy lights flickered above rows of chairs filled with people who loved you. The air smelled like wildflowers and pine. There was music playing—soft, old, familiar.

And then, there she was.

Walking toward you down the aisle, in that same ivory dress, barefoot like you, a tremble in her lips and eyes glassy with tears.

You didn’t remember moving—only that you ended up in front of each other, smiling like the world had finally exhaled.

The vows came easy. No shaking. No fear. Just truth.

Natasha reaches for your hands. She holds them like they might disappear — like she's still, even now, making sure you're real. Her thumbs trace soft circles over your knuckles. Her lips press together for a moment as she breathes in, slowly.

Then she begins.

"I didn’t grow up believing in forever," she says, her voice quiet but sure. "Or softness. Or in anything that lasted. I’ve been a weapon. A shadow. A ghost meant to not be seen." You feel her hands tighten around yours. The crowd is gone, fading into a blur. It's just her. Just this.

"But then there was you. And somehow, you saw through all of it. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t run. You loved me back into a person."Her eyes shine, green and wet with unshed tears. Her voice doesn't tremble. "I thought I lost you. And I would have carried that for the rest of my life. But here you are. Here we are."

She pauses, breathes.

"So I promise — not just to stand beside you, but to grow with you. To fight for the life we've built. To listen even when it’s hard and to speak even when it scares me."

A single tear breaks loose and rolls down her cheek.

"You are the only home I’ve ever believed in. You are the peace I never thought I’d deserve. And you’re the only person I will ever want to spend forever with. So I vow to be yours. Without armor. Without fear. With everything I am."

You take a breath.

You hadn’t expected your hands to shake. But they do. And Natasha, as always, notices. She gives them the smallest squeeze —I'm here.

And you begin.

"I used to believe that surviving was enough," you say, and your voice is soft but strong. "That making it through was the victory. But you, you reminded me that surviving isn't the same as living."

You feel Natasha’s grip tighten again, like her heart is answering yours.

"You brought me home, even when I didn't know how to walk through the door." A few sniffles ripple quietly through the small crowd.

"I promise to keep learning how to live—with you, beside you, for you. I promise to wake up every day and choose this. Choose you. Even when it’s hard. Especially then." Natasha’s lips tremble now, but her smile holds steady, and she looks at you like you’re the center of the universe.

"You are my safest place. My sharpest truth. And the first light I saw after so much darkness. I’m not promising perfection. I’m promising honesty. Growth. Love — always, unshakable, enduring. Quiet when it needs to be. Loud when it matters." You pause. "Whatever I have, whoever I become, it’s yours. Always has been. Always will be."

When the officiant says the words—"You may kiss your wife"—Natasha wastes no time.

Her hands come up to cradle your face as yours curl into the fabric of her dress. The kiss is not rushed, but full. Steady. Like breath coming back after being held for years.

And when you part, the barn is full of quiet cheers and wet eyes and smiles that feel carved from joy.

Clint lets out a loud “Finally!” that breaks the spell just enough to make everyone laugh.

You kissed her like it was the only thing you’d ever wanted to do. And it really was.

And when the music picked up, when the sun dipped and the lights above danced in the wind, when your friends clapped and toasted and swayed—

You held her close under the string lights, her forehead pressed to yours, and whispered,

“We made it.”

Natasha smiled. “We start now. I love you,” she whispers, too quietly for anyone else.

“I love you,” you whisper back and know — without doubt, without fear — that this is only the beginning.

—

The cabin sat at the edge of a lake that shimmered silver in the moonlight. It was small, nestled between tall trees and a quiet sky, wrapped in a hush that seemed to exist just for the two of you. The kind of quiet that made it feel like the world had finally stopped spinning.

It was your first night here.

No one else. No duties. No beeping medical machines. Just Natasha and you. Just soft blankets and the smell of pine and a fireplace crackling low in the hearth. The lake was still. The wind was kind.

Dinner had been quiet — not because there was nothing to say, but because the silence was full of the kind of peace you'd both fought for. Natasha had held your hand across the table, thumb brushing over your wedding ring as if to reassure herself it was really there. You’d done the same.

Now, inside the bedroom, you stood at the window, fingertips resting on the wooden frame, looking out at the dark.

Natasha watched you from across the room. You could feel her gaze, warm and gentle, resting on you like a blanket. She didn’t speak right away. She never rushed you. Not since you came back.

You turned around slowly, and when your eyes met, there was something unsaid in them, something shared. You crossed the room with bare feet and a steady heart. Stood in front of her. Let her take your hand.

“I missed this,” you whispered.

Her hand tightened around yours. “Me too.”

No rush. No sudden movement. She leaned in and kissed you, soft and unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. Her other hand rose to your cheek, anchoring you there, letting you feel it — that you were wanted. Loved. Safe.

You touched her face in return, fingertips featherlight on her jaw, and said, voice barely a breath, “I’m ready.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with emotion, and she nodded. “Okay.”

And in that word — just okay—were a thousand I love yous.

She helped you out of the soft sweater you’d pulled on earlier. Her hands were reverent and steady, asking with every inch of movement. You nodded when she looked to you for permission, and you undressed her too, slowly and carefully. It was the first time in so long that it hadn’t been out of necessity, or urgency, or desperation — but because you wanted each other. Because your bodies had been through war and survival and time apart, and you were choosing each other again.

She guided you to the bed, and the moment you lay down together, it was like something clicked into place. Natasha’s lips brushed your collarbone, your pulse, and your jaw. Her touch was gentle yet firm, a reminder of the love and passion that had always been between you. As you held each other close, the weight of the world seemed to lift off your shoulders, leaving only the warmth of her body against yours.

She slowly removed your shirt , revealing the scars and memories that marked your skin. But instead of recoiling, Natasha's eyes softened with understanding and acceptance, making you feel truly seen and loved in a way you had never experienced before. With each touch, each kiss, it was clear that this reunion was not just about physical desire but about healing and rebuilding what had been broken. The same followed for the rest of your clothes, each layer shedding away the pain and insecurities that had built up over time. As you stood there vulnerable and exposed, Natasha's embrace felt like a safe haven, a place where you could finally let go and be yourself without fear of judgment.

Her hands trace every curve, every scar, every piece of skin as if it were the first time. Soft, gentle, memorizing every new part of you. Her fingers dipped low from your collarbone, down to the small of your back, leaving a trail of warmth and comfort in their wake. With each touch, it felt as though she was erasing the past and creating a new beginning for you both. Her kisses followed your body from your neck to the valley of your breasts and down to your hips, igniting a fire within you that had long been dormant. In her embrace, you found solace and acceptance, a sense of belonging that you had never experienced before.

Natasha looks up to your face, silently asking for permission to continue exploring the depths of your desires. You meet her gaze with a nod, giving her the go-ahead. One of her hands reaches up for your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers, before she finally leans down to your center.

As she delves deeper into your pleasure, you feel a wave of ecstasy wash over you, surrendering completely to the intimacy of the moment. Natasha's touch is both gentle and confident, guiding you to heights of passion you never knew existed.

There were no words for a while. Just breath, skin, quiet affirmations. You whispered her name like a promise. She said yours like a prayer.

When it was over, and the room was full of warmth and the soft scent of pine and skin and shared love, she held you close, one hand trailing up and down your spine.

“Was it okay?” she asked quietly, her voice husky and a little breathless.

You nodded against her shoulder, then pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“It was everything.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she leaned in to kiss you again — slow and deep and grateful.

You fell asleep that way. Skin against skin. Her heartbeat beneath your ear. No more running. No more surviving. Just two hearts, still learning to heal, finally at peace.

Together.

TAGLIST: @womenarehotsstuff @seventeen-x @ctrlaltedits @ciaoooooo111 @unexpected-character @redroomgraduate @natsaffection @cheekysnake @viosblog112 @riyaexee @lilyeyama @idontliketoread2127 @ima-gi--na-tion @sunny-poe @artemisarroxvolkov @hotcocoandonuts @scarletsstarlets @splatashaswife @generalbirdsalad @fxckmiup @yelldontwhisper

[a-spes]

Hi! If you’re taking fic requests, may I request a story with fem!nerd reader whose a loner, paired with popular Wanda, Natasha, or both?

Their friends challenge them to a bet, daring them to make the reader fall for them. As time goes on, they unexpectedly develop real feelings for her. However, on the day the reader confesses to both of them, she discovers the truth, that it was all just a bet, while their friends are present. Reader distances herself, but Wanda and Natasha do everything they can to win her back. Angst and fluff please!

Of course, you don’t have to write this if you’re not comfortable, but thank you regardless! ☺️

A Penny for your Love. (W. M. x N. R. x R.) — Part one. (5.006 words.)

| Tags & Warning — Popular!Natasha Romanoff x Popular!Wanda Maximoff x Looser!Reader. University alternative universe, social anxiety, loneliness, spiralling thoughts, alcohol consumption (just a bit), insecurities (a lot, not gonna lie), cheating (not really), lies, manipulation (or at least not being honest), fluff, angst (a bit).

| A/N — my draft was very (very) long so there will be two parts (or maybe three, i will see). i hope you will enjoy this first part even if it is coming a bit late!

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

You were sure that no one would notice if you were not here.

And this statement was not the result of dark thoughts, it was a fact. A conclusion so simple that the realization had been agonizing — how did you not realize this sooner? You always knew you were not outstanding, but you never thought you were so.. disposable.

People do not know your name, and those who see you every day barely remember your face. Yet, it has been almost three years. And even though you knew you could not blame them — how could you? You had never exchanged more than a few words with them — the heaviness this fact had placed on your chest was impossible to shake off.

It was your fault.

You were the one who put yourself in this situation. You were the only one who could be blamed for it and, at the same time, the only one who could get you out of it. But the realization came too late, you kept repeating yourself, at that time, the friendships were already made, and you were sure no one would need — or want — a new one.

You were sure no one was as lonely as you were. 

But that was nothing more than an excuse, a reason not to even try, because the truth was that you didn’t feel up to the task. It should be easy, to exchange a few words with the people you saw every day, for more than two years, but it was not. 

Every time you looked at them, you felt your insides knot up. Every time you thought of exchanging a few words with them, you were petrified, not to mention the few times life had forced you to do so. You had uttered a few words whose syllables had become jumbled, your voice trembling as you were saying the words you would regret for the next few years.

It is no surprise that you did not make any friends. 

You are a mess. 

The voice in your head whispers the same thing again, and again, until you can’t do anything but believe its poisonous words. Your fists clenched until your fingernails leave crescent-shaped marks in your palm, you try to push these thoughts away but, deep down, you know. 

There is some truth in these words. 

It was no coincidence that every one of your attempts at making friends had failed, and not just at university. It has always been that way. The loneliness and the yearning to be a part of their world, two feelings that had been tearing you apart since a very young age. 

But you were used to it by now, even enjoying the loneliness sometimes — It has its advantages. These were also words you kept repeating in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself, more lies. I do not care, you were saying through gritted teeth but, as you were watching them, you could not ignore the jealousy that was creeping up.

And even though you should not, in these moments, you didn’t want anything more than being one of them. You wanted to be the one who laughs at the jokes one of her friends just told her, even if it was lame. To be the one who didn’t have time to finish her meal because she spent the lunch break chatting. The one who was courageous enough to speak up in class, ask the questions that bloom in her mind and give the answers, even when they were wrong. The one who would not have to worry about the group projects because she would already know who she was going to be with, their eyes meeting before the instructions were even given because it was just as obvious as the color of the sky that they would be a group. 

You yearned to be one of those that were brave enough to live, to exist.

But no matter how much you wanted it, you had never managed to get it. The invisible wall that separated you from them was far too thick to be broken that easily, and so you stayed there, watching them from the other side of what seemed to be a one-way mirror — You could see them, but they were unaware of your existence. 

And because wanting something was not enough to get it, you never managed to do more than touch your dreams with your fingertips. For every step you took forward, you felt like you were making three back afterwards.

You were not getting closer to your dream. 

You were moving away from it, drawing in your own mess. 

The few times you had had the impression of being a part of their world had only been illusions that never lasted long. It was nothing more than fragments of what it could be. 

And you wanted more than that.

More than snatches, what you really wanted was a permanent spot in this sweet universe that was theirs. A place where solitude would not be a constraint, but a choice, and yours. Not one that was made by others because they did not deem you worthy of their time.

But life is not a fairy tale. It is cruel, harsh, and the reality catches up with you faster than you would like when your language teacher announces a group project — In pairs.

You do not even look at your classmates, preferring to avoid their gaze by pretending you are writing something on your notebook — you are not, you are just scribbling circles. But the motion helps you to think about how you are going to formulate your request. This teacher is a bit of a boor, you thought, so there is little chance of her agreeing to you doing this project on your own but maybe, maybe with the right words you could change her mind.

The course is continuing, but you are not listening anymore, unable to think about anything other than this stupid assignment, than the conversation you will have at the end of the course. Your breathing has quickened, your hands have become clammy, but even though you keep telling yourself that everything is okay, you can’t calm down. At least not enough to be able to concentrate on the class. The teacher’s words seem far away, and they do not really reach you, as if cotton had been put in your ears.

It is a tap on the shoulder that eventually pulls you out of your thoughts, preventing you from falling further down the rabbit hole into which this whole story was dragging you in. When you turn your head, your eyes land on a pretty redhead — Natasha Romanoff. She is not in your class, being a bit older, so you do not see her much outside the language classes. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she murmured, and you must have looked surprised — perhaps even frightened — because she immediately moved her hand back in a gesture of appeasement. “I wanted to know if you would like to pair up with me?” She said, and you could not help but notice how soft her voice sounded as she was asking you to be her partner for the second time, the words not having reached your ears the first. 

“What?” You replied without thinking, but maybe you should have, it would have prevented you from saying the stupidest thing you could have. The instant the question escapes you, you bite your lip — she must think you are a complete idiot now, well done, you thought.

“For the group project,” she clarified, “would you like to work with me? If you are not already with someone else, of course,” she said, but it was only to sound polite. Despite what you may think, Natasha Romanoff knows you, and she knows that you are a lonely soul, never heard, hardly seen — You may be discreet, but not enough to escape her observant gaze.

Even though it was the third time she had asked the question, you detected no trace of impatience in her tone, no judgment in her eyes, just a certain.. expectation, but you could not tell for what reason.

“Ar-,” — you sure? You wanted to ask, but you swallow the words before you can say them, replacing them by a simple nod. “Yes,” you blurted out the word, your voice being so high-pitched that you winced with embarrassment for a moment. “I mean.. I do not have a partner yet, and I would love to work with you,” you clarified, trying to control your voice, but your excitement hadn’t gone unnoticed by the redhead, nor did the slight tremble of your hands, and she was now smirking — because you looked like you were about to explode, and maybe you were, for real. “My name is-” 

“I know,” she cut you off as she filled in the sheet that was being passed through the rows, writing your name without any hesitation, without a mistake. “Did I write it right?” She asked with feigned care. She already knew that she got it right, and she is not surprised when you nod — she could not say the same about you, though. 

You may belong to two completely different worlds in appearance, one barely existing, always in her sole company, the other always surrounded, her presence hard to ignore. And yet, from the very first lessons, Natasha had found something endearing about you, waiting for the opportunity to approach you without frightening you — and she knew she was not the only one whose gaze you caught.

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Before that evening, the two women had never spoken of you — nor had they ever spoken to you — and you were like a half-confessed secret floating between them, because despite their respective silence, they knew each other too well to not know the truth.

Wanda could see the smile on Natasha’s lips whenever she was coming out of her language classes that, as luck would have it, you had chosen too. And Natasha for sure noticed the sparke in Wanda’s eyes when they landed on you in the corridors, always lingering a little longer than they should on your silhouette.

But they had never been brave enough to put into words what they were feeling, and this desire continued to grow little by little in their hearts. Out of respect, they told themselves, to not admit that it was out of fear — that they would mess everything up.

You were from a very different world. The two women were popular, and all it took was a smile and a few pretty words to get any girl into their bed. Girls who did not care about being a one-night stand, who lived for it, but they could tell that you were not one of them. You were reserved, and solitary, and by the way your fingers trembled and your words tangled at the slightest conversation, they guessed you took things too personally to be satisfied with a one-night stand — you needed time, and attachment.

But they were not sure they would be able to give you what you needed. Their relationship was complicated, messy, it was in their image and that suited them — or almost. And then, out of fear of ruining their chances by taking the first step too soon, or doing things the wrong way, they kept their desires a secret, observing you from afar, pretending it satisfied them. 

Until that night.

From the moment they were dared by their friends to choose a target for their twisted game, your name had been on their minds — it has been evident. And so, despite the initial desire not to disturb your tranquility, they made you their prey. Their judgment had probably been impaired by the few — many — drinks they already had that night, but the cheers of their friends quickly cleared their doubts.

They could have chosen someone else — they should have — there were so many girls who envied them, who wouldn’t have minded being the object of a bet — but where was the fun in that? You were different, you were unreachable, always slipping through their fingers, never exchanging more than a few hesitant words with them, or the others. 

You always left class the instant the bell rang, never leaving your headphones, and music quickly became your only company to the point where it discouraged any of your classmates from trying to bond with you. 

If the women did not know any better, they would have assumed that you were content with your situation, but they had never missed the hint of sadness — and jealousy — that clouded your gaze whenever your eyes landed on the others — nor they had missed the desire in it when you were watching them, thinking they would not notice.

But they always did.

Something in your attitude made them want to wrap their arms around you, to protect you — and to love you — even though they barely know who you are. It is a foreign feeling they had never felt before, not even with each other, their love taking on something completely different, something rougher. 

And maybe that is why the two women did not think about the harm this little game could cause, because for a few hours, under the effects of alcohol, they had forgotten how different your world was from theirs, how much more fragile. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

It is only a few days after you first met the redhead that you eventually came across the second one, Wanda, and for a long time you thought that your meeting had been nothing more than a happy — very happy — coincidence.

At that moment, you were at the library working on some of your assignments, or more realistically regretting some of your materials choices — How could a Sokovian language class for beginners be so complicated? A few months ago, it had sounded like an interesting choice, and you had then been thrilled by the possibility of learning a new language. But you soon understood why so few people chose this class; while it sounded appealing on paper, it was nothing less than a nightmare to study.

Despite trying your best, you were piling up the difficulties, falling behind, and you were not sure you would ever be able to catch up, even if they gave you years to do so. The letters and their sounds, the words and their meanings, everything was mixed in your mind, forming an indecipherable mass of information.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice when she approached your table. At this point, it was not about studying the material or getting your exercises done anymore, it was about pushing these thoughts away, those which attempted to drag you down, to encourage you to give up — because what is even the point of putting so much energy into something you are going to fail, as everything else you do? 

It is only when she waved her hand in front of your eyes that you noticed her presence, and it took you a few long seconds before you recognized her face.

“Y- yeah?” You stuttered, scrambling to remove your headphones.

“May I sit there? All the seats are taken,” she explained softly, a disappointed pout spreading across her face as she talks. And, unable to refuse — and certainly not wanting to — you hurriedly retrieve your belongings to make room for the brunette. 

What you ignored is that her words were not completely true. While most of the tables were in fact taken, Wanda was not actually looking for a seat. She was already on her way out when she saw you, but it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up — Especially since Natasha had already taken the lead in their little game, and she hated to lose. 

But maybe you should have said no, because from the moment she sat down, you have been unable to concentrate on your work. All your thoughts were directed to the woman, especially since you could feel her gaze on you as she watched what you were doing.

If her gaze was filled with curiosity, you could not help but imagine judgment in it — What would she think of you if you wrote something really wrong and really stupid? Suddenly, your breathing was a little faster, your hands clammy, forcing you to readjust your grip on your pen several times, and your mind too foggy to be able to do more than pretending to be thinking.

Why did you say yes, already? 

Partially because you didn’t know how to say no, mainly because you were so delirious that a part of you was hoping to become friends with the woman, exactly like in fiction where the most beautiful relationships were starting with insignificant, unexpected encounters. It was stupid, and you were perfectly aware of that, already regretting your choice — You should have lied, it wouldn't have been that hard, would it? But the words came too late to your mind, and you were now stuck with that girl until one of you decided to leave.

The minutes stretched until they seemed interminable, as if the seconds had stopped ticking. None of you were doing anything, and she hadn’t even bothered to — or at least pretend to — mind her own business, never taking out her notebooks, never letting her eyes leave your worksheets for a minute. 

When she finally spoke, you looked at her with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. If you didn’t understand the meaning behind her words, you could still recognize them as Sokovian — And by the way she pointed to your sheet while talking, you guessed she had seen every one of your mistakes. 

But she had not been mean about it, and even the smirk she wore was not mischievous, just very frustrating as you would learn later. The girl — Wanda, as she will let you know in a few minutes — even kindly offered you a little help, probably out of pity, which you tried to refuse. But your lies were not very convincing. 

“That’s nice, but I am doing just fine,” you replied, your words sounding a little harsher than they did in your head. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind, her smile not faltering. 

“Are you sure?” She asked back, tilting her head slightly to the side. But she already knew the answer, you both did, and it was no surprise that you eventually admitted that you in fact needed a little help with your lessons. 

“Actually, no,” you conceded, and the chuckle that escaped her lips was so infectious that you forgot your own embarrassment for a moment, a soft laugh escaping yours too.

And if at first you felt bad about accepting her help, that feeling quickly faded as a routine set in. At least twice a week, the two of you would meet at the library so she could help with your language lessons — And damn, you really needed this help. Surprisingly, the woman never lost her patience, and even when you thought she would hate you for making her repeat the same thing dozens of times, she did not, always remaining benevolent.

You appreciated these moments more than you would admit it. Wanda’s presence was breaking your loneliness a bit, even though you were not sure if you two could be considered as friends since you’ve never met outside of the library’s walls.

“Why does it have to be so difficult?” You mumble, and these are the words that usually conclude your sessions, marking the moment when you despair overcomes your determination. Most of the time, they are accompanied by a groan as you lean dramatically on the table, knowing it would make her laugh. A sound you loved to hear because it made your heart beat like never before. A sweet, warm feeling that spreads through your whole being. 

At that point, she always whispers the same words that you can’t understand. And whenever you ask her about their meaning, she refuses to give you the answer. “It will give you a reason to study,” is the response she gives you every time. And as she talks, there is that unnerving smirk dancing at the corner of her lips. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Since you have met the women, something has shifted in your attitude. It was nothing obvious, but it was still enough for them to notice. You were a bit more confident, sometimes even initiating contact with them instead of dodging their eyes. and you let in a glimpse of yourself you'd usually kept hidden. More relaxed, less withdrawn.

And you felt it too, this change.  

The past few weeks, the fear that used to knot your insides had been replaced by a kind of enthusiasm. It was driven by the fact that you knew you would see them whenever you were at university, and even though you were not talking much with them outside of your work sessions, you were looking forward to crossing their paths. The women always had a smile or a lingering hand to spare, and these small gestures meant everything to you as they never failed to make your days much better than they were.

Honestly, if you haven’t yet seen any of them outside university, it was mainly your fault. Despite how great everything was going, there was still this lingering fear you couldn’t get rid off — It was this voice. The one that never failed to remind you how much people must hate you, how much you hated yourself. And it was always here to remind you that the women will dump you at your first mistake, because it is sure you will end up making one. You always do, ending up ruining all the good things you were given. 

Studying at the library with Wanda, or working on your group project in a coffee shop with Natasha, it was easy, familiar and you knew how to do it without messing it up. So every time they have tried to propose something different — and damn, they have tried so many times — you’ve come up with an excuse, always being too busy to do anything else than studying.

In reality, the only thing you have been busy with was drowning in your own thoughts. Despite how well things were going with them, you were still not sure if you could really be friends, let alone being more, as your delusional mind liked to hope sometimes.  

They are popular, and so are their friends. They go to parties every Thursday, where they probably drink and smoke. They do not worry about everything, and are not scared by everyone. They are pretty, funny, and confident. In other words, these people were everything you were not. They knew how to live, something you did not, and you knew they would notice that you weren’t like them the moment you would meet — And what if they judge you for that? What if they do not like you? Or worse, what if they talk about it with Wanda and Natasha, and the women eventually realize how lame you are ? 

But tonight had been different, because this time you had said yes to them — more specifically to the redhead. When she told you she was having a party at her place, you were ready to decline before she even got a chance to finish her sentence. Yet, this time, Natasha had refused to take no for an answer, and after several long minutes of trying to convince — and reassure — you, you eventually agreed. But it was only after she told you — multiple times — that it wasn’t really a party, only a small gathering with a few friends to celebrate the end of the exams.

A choice you were now regretting. 

You have never felt so out of place than the moment you walked through that door, entering a universe that was foreign to you — Natasha and you definitely didn’t have the same definition of a “small gathering.” When you didn’t immediately see the redhead, the thought of leaving crossed your mind because it suddenly felt impossible. Until then, you knew the steps you had to follow perfectly — choosing an outfit, coming there, not too late but not too early, bringing a little something — but now? 

Now, you were not sure, and this uncertainty was already gnawing at you — Should you send her a message? But what if she forgot about you, or doesn’t want to stay with you all night? Should you get yourself a drink? 

The weight on your chest grew heavier with each passing second, but the moment your eyes met hers, it was gone. You weren’t aware of it, but she saw you the moment you entered the room. You had this ability to absorb all her concentration, to the point where she wasn’t listening to the conversation she was engaged in anymore.

You hadn’t planned what happened in the following hours. It just happened, one event after another, and you just let it happen. At the same time, after a drink, or two — or maybe three — you weren't really able to think anymore. This too, you didn’t foresee. But you have been unable to refuse the glasses that some people kept handing you, a part of your actions being driven by the desire to be like them, or at least pretend to be for one night.

“I think you had more than enough for tonight, malyshka,” she intervened at some point, fetching the drink someone was handing you before you could grab it.

“Noo,” you whined in response. The redhead may was right, but the action still felt really unfair in the moment, and you couldn’t help but pout as you witnessed your drink being taken away. “Please, just one last more, I promise I am perfectly fine,” you tried to argue, but nothing you could say would change her mind, and you understood it when the only answer she gave you was a negative nod of the head. “You are not fair!” You grumbled. 

“Life never is,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips — One that was frustrating but terribly endearing at the same time. One that was atrociously close to Wanda’s, the two women having more in common than they might admit. “Come on,” she eventually added, grabbing your arm as she was talking.

“Where?” You immediately asked, refusing to follow the woman, almost fighting her grip. “I don’t wanna leave,” you whined, and this time her eyes went up to the sky — You may be adorable, but you were also being damn annoying when drunk.

“We are not leaving, I promise,” she sighed, “I have something I wanna show you,... a secret,” she added, lowering her voice. The woman knew exactly what words to use to convince you to follow. 

Throughout the walk, one of her hands rested on your lower back, probably because she didn’t want you to get lost — Or to run away. A thought that was really tempting right now. And it was a good thing that she was there to catch you when you got your feet caught. not because of the drinks, but because you were too focused on her than where you were walking. 

You could not help but stare, but observe every detail of her face. Your eyes traveled up her jawline, lingering on her lips for a moment too long before tracing the bridge of her nose to these eyes, topped by slightly frowning eyebrows, an expression she often wore when she was focused on something. 

“I wanna kiss you,” you blurted out at some point, the words coming out of your mouth before you could even realize it. By the time you do, it is already too late to take them back, and you can’t help but blush under the redhead’s gaze. Fierce, and full of something you couldn’t name — Hunger, desire. Things no one has ever felt towards you in the past.

In reality, the look of surprise on Natasha’s face was — at least partly — feigned. The women already knew about your attraction to her, you weren’t exactly as discreet as you had imagined. Yet, she hadn’t expected you to be so direct about it when you would eventually reveal your feelings for her, you who were usually so reserved, and shy. But the alcohol probably helped loosen your tongue. 

“Do you?” She asked, but she already knows the answer, and before you can even nod or mutter some excuses, you are pushed against the corridor walls. 

The music from the party was still playing loudly but you could barely hear it, the sound covered by the one of your heart pounding in your ears. You had expected the woman to react in a lot of different ways, but never this one. In the thousands of scenarios that had been created by your mind, never one had involved anything other than rejection — Instant, and disgusted. 

The possibility that she might feel the same way you do seemed unreal. You were too used to being invisible, not enough to being seen, and desired. It was something new and foreign, and it made you feel like you were about to die on the spot — But at the same time it was the best thing you had ever felt.

“Then I must give you what you want, printsessa,” she whispered, and even before she leaned in so her lips could meet yours, she was so closed that you could feel her breath brushing against your face.

God, she has waited so long for this moment, unable to take the first step because she was afraid she would mess everything up, afraid that the relationship she has built with you over the past weeks would crumble — Because kissing you means that the bait is over, and she is not sure she wants it to be. Because it has never truly been about this stupid game.

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

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[waayoutofline]

Avoiding every mistletoe (Until I know It’s true love)

Marvel Masterlist

PROMPTS: Shy Natasha Romanoff and Lab Assitant!Reader

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, awkward and clumsy Nat, Tony's lab asistant reader, christmas fun! ( posting this during actual christmas), meddeling avengers, a sprinkle of hurt/comfort.

Summary —> Ever since Natasha met you, Tony's new brilliant assistant, she has been down bad. But her sudden lack of confidence around you banishes every hope for her to make a move. Christmas is around the corner, and the team knows about your superstitious nature. There seems to be a clear answer: Mistletoes.

WC: 5473

Warnings: Descriptions of making out, but not explicit sexual content.

***

November was in full swing at the Avengers Tower, which meant sophisticated red, green, and gold decorations adorned every surface, Christmas songs played on an endless loop through the speakers, and the unmistakable aroma of gingerbread wafted (somehow) through the air.

As was classic Tony Stark fashion, a lineup of extravagant holiday parties had already been scheduled and meticulously planned for execution. Natasha Romanoff though was already dreading it.

Hoping to avoid any unnecessary interaction, she quietly sneaked into the communal kitchen, intent on grabbing a couple of waffles Wanda had made earlier. But as soon as she stepped in, she felt the weight of several pairs of eyes on her back.

“Ah, Miss Romanoff, there you are!” Tony’s voice rang out, cheerful and full of purpose. He was already decked out in one of his newest suits—sharp, festive, and annoyingly ostentatious.

Sighing, Natasha turned around, realizing it was too late to make a run for it. She was greeted by the sight of her team sprawled across the couches and armchairs in the lounge, each of them absorbed in their own activity, but now casually watching Tony’s sudden commotion with mild interest.

“Morning,” Natasha grunted, reluctantly moving to join them, plate in hand.

“Just the person I was looking for!” Tony said, flashing a shit-eating grin as he patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Instead of humoring him, Natasha settled herself on the fluffy rug in front of the coffee table, placing her plate down without a word.

“You are officially invited to the pre-Christmas party hosted by moi,” Tony declared dramatically.

“Tony, you literally held us hostage at one last week. I still have a hangover,” she deadpanned, recalling flashes of the chaos where even she had gone overboard with the alcohol, thanks to Sam Wilson’s stupid drinking games.

“Oh, come on! This one’s different. It’s intimate—just for us heroes and co,” Tony countered, undeterred. Then, leaning back smugly, he added, “I even got the space lady to come. How awesome is that?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Oh don’t be boring. Where’s the wild Natasha Romanoff we all love?” Tony teased, grinning as if to provoke her.

“Easy. She doesn’t exist,” Natasha replied flatly, cutting into her first waffle. She let out a satisfied hum at the sweet taste.

“These are amazing, Wanda,” she said, looking over at the young witch.

Wanda, sitting comfortably on a loveseat, smiled warmly at the compliment. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Is it a new recipe?” Natasha asked, curious.

“Yes, actually. I added a bit of cinnamon and—”

“Okay, okay!” Tony interrupted, baffled by the lack of attention he was receiving, looking bewildered between them two. “Let’s get back to the main thing here. Are you coming?”

At Natasha’s reluctant silence, Steve stepped in with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Natasha. I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior.”

“Ugh, boring—” Tony groaned, dragging the word out in sing-song. But under Steve’s hardened stare, he sighed in defeat. “Fine. It’ll be a cozy hangout. No traces of fun or whatever,” he relented, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Taking another bite of her waffles, she carfulkly took a sip of her coffe, trying to hide her smirk as she sees Tony waiting in anticipation fo her response. “Fine.”

Tony threw a punch onto the air, clapping in victory. “Carol is coming you said?”

He nodded proudly. “Yeah I managed to rope her and her little sidekick in. There is also the kid, Clint and his family…”

”Dont forget Strange.” Bruce, who just entered the living room reminded. Tony grumbled a bit at that. 

“Yeah, Houdini too. Scary lady and Patch eye…god were those hard to convince— Oh and my lab assistant too.” Nathasa choked at that.

”Assistant? She practically takes over your lab.” Bruce chuckled. 

Tony rolled his eyes, but there was no hint of malice. If anything, a spark of pride made his eyes a bit brighter. “Yeah well, I taught her well. Did you knowl that last week she-“

 Nathan’s brain disconnected at a scary speed after those words. Images of you hit her hard, and she could already start to feel her heart race a bit. 

Y/N Y/L/N was Tony Stark’s most recent lab and tech assistant, and to say he was impressed would be an understatement. After reviewing your résumé, Tony had practically declared you a godsend. You were one of the rare people who could keep up with his eccentricities, effortlessly managing the stream of tasks he threw your way. It didn’t take long for you to earn a permanent spot at the Avengers Tower.

Natasha remembered the first time she saw you as if it were yesterday. She had been on her way to ask Tony for a replacement for her gauntlets after a particularly rough mission. When she stepped into the lab, though, she was surprised to find someone else hunched over the workbench.

Frowning, Natasha set her hand on the fingerprint scanner, the door sliding open with a soft whoosh. At the sound, the stranger turned around, and Natasha froze in place.

For her, the world seemed to stop spinning, settling into an almost unnatural silence. You were… ethereal. 

In her life, Natasha had faced aliens, wizards, and even sentient robots. So how far-fetched was it to assume she was now standing face to face with an angel?

Even though you didn’t know her, a gentle smile settled on your lips, your gorgeous eyes peering at her with almost childlike curiosity. Natasha stood there, frozen in place, unable to move. It wasn’t until something shifted in the silence that she remembered to breathe again.

Startled, she realized she hadn’t moved from the doorway. The door had automatically closed where she stood, trapping her. Embarrassed, she quickly stepped forward, pushing herself to snap out of it.

And, of course, she had to stumble. The gauntlets she was holding slipped from her grip and fell to the floor with an unforgivable thud. Cringing, she immediately knelt down to retrieve them. What she didn't expect was for you to do the same, even if your movement were more calm. 

She flustered when she dared to look up, finding your own awaiting gaze. “Well, if they weren't broken before, they sure are now.” You joked with a smile, tone teasing but not judging. 

Blinking, Natasha started sputtering, not really knowing what to say. Or how. “Yes.” 

“Yes” is what her stupid brain decided to go for. Even thinking about it even now, her face scrunch with self embarrassment. What was even happening? Taking a breath, she redirected her eyes to the ground. Right, the gauntlets. They are broken. Need them fixed.

Finally standing up, she forced her body not to fidget. As if sensing this, you offered a hand to her. “Y/N Y/L/N, Mr.Starks new hire here in the lab.” 

Tentatively, she accepted the shake. Her mind hanging on how your hand seemed to fit into hers. “Natasha Romanoff. Um, avenger.” 

God what’s wrong with her? You giggle at that, and the sound is enough to get her out of her head. Of course that the sound is also beautiful. Was there anything about you that wasn’t? Why is she even think that?

 “I know. Pleasure to meet you, Ms.Romanoff. So…may I help you with those?” You ask, your hand still being held by hers. Noticing this, Natasha removed her grip as if you were burning. 

“Please.” She ended up saying, utterly embarrassed by her behaviour. Still, you gave no sense of judgment, only nodding and taking her over the workbench. 

She stayed with you all that evening. And most of the next ones after that. 

***

Her infatuation with you only seemed to grow since that first meeting, and the others quickly picked up on it. They saw it in the way Natasha—the most grounded person they knew—started sputtering and flustering whenever she talked to you. The unshakable confidence she was known for seemed to melt under the warmth of your sunshine smile and the twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

And as much as they insisted for her to make an actual move, Natasha refused. 

“Uh-oh, I know that look.” Wanda sang, like a high school girl teasing her friend in high school when they listened the name of their crush. Rolling her eyes, Natasha scoffed.

”There is no look.”

”Oh, but there is.” Clint, who was watching Sam and a struggling Bucky play Mortal Combat added, not even looking away from the screen. “Your pupils practically shape into hearts— likes a lovesick puppy. It’s almost painful to watch.

”Shut it Barton.” 

You were too good for her, Natasha decided on her own. You were like the sun, kind and warm, gentle in a way that it was entirely selfless. Natasha's life was one of dangers and precautions, she didn’t want to expose you to any of the threats that surrounded her lifestyle. 

Even if she ached to be close to you, call you her own. 

“Now it’s the time to make a move. Who knows? Maybe you will find each other under the mistletoe.” He adds with a wink.

Tony hummed. “Hm, that’s actually a good idea.” 

Her head whipped toward him. “Don’t even think about it, Stark. Besides, that’s a stupid tradition. How do you even know that Y/N would willingly kiss someone just because a stupid parasitic plant is above her?”

They all laughed at that.

“Our Y/N? Please. She practically had a mental breakdown when I broke a mirror in the lab the other day,” Tony quipped, grinning.

Wanda nodded in agreement, casually flipping through the pages of her book. “Yeah, once she made me search the entire tower for something made of wood to touch, just so I wouldn’t jinx the next mission after I mentioned a hypothetical worst-case scenario. Still don’t get that one.”

Natasha’s face went pale at that, remembering a conversation she’d once had with you. You had mentioned that, while you didn’t fully believe in superstitions yourself, your family did, and it had resulted in some strange and unshakable habits for you. “Better safe than sorry,” you had said with a shrug.

A cold sweat made her tremble slightly, worsening by all of a sudden interested and sneaky grins on her friends faces. 

Whatever, she still can not go.

***

She still had to go.

When you confirmed your attendance, you clapped excitedly, rambling about how fun it would be to spend your first Christmas together. You even brought it up when she bought you lunch—a frequent occurrence, since you often got so engrossed in your work that you forgot to eat. Natasha would be lying if she said your words didn’t tug relentlessly at her heart.

And so, there she was, surrounded by the thrumming chaos of an all-together gathering, overwhelming decorations, and overly festive arrangements at every turn. Anxiety prickled at her as she glanced toward the newly decorated attic. They couldn’t possibly have infested the entire place with mistletoe, right?

Wrong.

They were everywhere.

On every doorway, on the stairs, in the high columns and ceilings, even on top of the Christmas tree, scattered around—everywhere she looked, there it was. Mistletoe.

Trying to shake it off, Natasha focused her attention on the ground, her sharp gaze scanning for the culprit behind this festive ambush.

“Tony!” she half-yelled, her steps quick and deliberate as she marched toward the eccentric billionaire, who was in the middle of a conversation with Pepper.

His head whipped toward her, a flicker of fear flashing across his face before his usual smug smirk returned.

“Care to explain?” she demanded.

“Explain what, exactly? My fantastical abilities to host, or…?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

She glared furiously. “Aw, c’mon, don’t look so grumpy, Grinch! This is a time of tradition, joy—”

“And manipulation?” she interrupted through gritted teeth. “This is way too much.”

Despite her glare and the unmistakable edge in her voice, Tony remained unfazed. If anything, his amusement only grew. He glanced over her shoulder, his expression brightening as he perked up.

“Well, complaints are non-refundable. Sorry, it’s the new policy. If you’ll excuse me, Pepper needs me to sign some super high-confidence document, right, dear?”

Pepper frowned. “What are you talking ab—”

Before she could finish, Tony gently grabbed her hand and began steering her away, the two trailing off into the crowd.

Natasha was about to follow and press him further, but a voice behind her made her freeze.

“Nat, hey!”

She turned around, and suddenly, everything seemed to slow down for her. There you were, wearing a comfy red sweater, black jeans, and a pair of Mary Janes. Your hair, usually tied back for work, was flowing freely, framing your face. It was a simple, casual look, but Natasha felt her face heat up at the sight of you.

As you got closer, alarm bells blared in her mind. Her eyes darted upward, and her stomach dropped. One of those dreaded mistletoe clusters hung right above where you were heading.

Panicking, she practically sprinted toward you, desperate to avoid both of you standing under it. But she miscalculated her speed, and before she knew it, she was barrelling straight into you.

You let out a startled huff as her momentum almost knocked you over, but her quick reflexes kicked in, and she steadied you before you could stumble.

“Geez, Romanoff,” you joked, brushing yourself off as you smiled up at her. “We just saw each other this morning. Did you miss me that much?”

Your teasing tone and warm voice snapped her out of her panic, but the damage was done. Natasha’s heart was hammering in her chest, her senses overloaded as she became acutely aware of how close you were. The soft warmth of your body pressed lightly against hers, the delicate scent of cocoa beans, coconut, and something distinctly you filling the air around her.

Her cheeks burned as her mind scrambled for something—anything—to say as she looked down at you, mortified. Luckily for her, your attention diverged when someone from the staff (who even brings staff in closed up parties?) bough a chocolate fountain in a rolling chair. “No. Way.— I thought he was kidding!” 

And just like that you went off excitedly, a silhouette of dust being the only trace of you left. Sighing, Natasha brought her hand to her racing heart, trying to figure out a way to survive this evening. 

Her eyes opened again in determination, she was going to take off these damned things, starting with the one right on top of her. 

***

This task, however, grew increasingly difficult as the evening wore on. Between being roped into endless conversations, you constantly looking out for her (and her desperately trying to avoid you), and the absurd number of mistletoes everywhere, Natasha felt like she was fighting a losing battle. It was as if they were multiplying before her very eyes.

Her frustration peaked during a particularly embarrassing moment—one where, of course, you were the witness.

After listening to Peter and Kamala endlessly gossip about high school drama, Natasha had collapsed onto the sofa, her patience hanging by a thread. As her gaze wandered across the room, her eyes landed on the ceiling—and there it was. Another  mistletoe. This one was perched slightly higher than the others, hanging right above the beanbag chair where you often sat. Of course.

Those strategic bastards.

Taking advantage of everyone being distracted in the kitchen, she sprang into action. With no ladder in sight, she grabbed a nearby chair and carefully climbed onto it. Still too short to reach, she braced herself against the shelves, stretching precariously as she balanced. Every slight wobble of the chair made her heart lurch, but she pressed on, determined to remove the offending decoration before anyone noticed.

But of course, that was the moment you walked in, calling for her.

“Nat? Aren’t you hungry? I saved you some of those little pies you like so much—”

Your voice startled her, and she immediately looks down at you. Her grip slipped briefly, the chair wobbling dangerously beneath her.

“Y/N! Shit—” she hissed, her heart leaping into her throat. Scrambling to steady herself, she clung to the edge of the shelf and managed to avoid completely losing her balance. She froze, her cheeks heating as she realized you were staring at her, bewildered.

“What… are you doing?” you asked, the corners of your lips quirking up in confusion and slight amusement.

Blushing furiously, Natasha’s mind scrambled for a reasonable explanation. “Um… I was just… looking for Clint? You know how much he loves to hide up here.” she said with a nervous laugh, trying to sound nonchalant.

Before you could respond, someone brushed past you, momentarily breaking the tension.

It was Clint, holding a bottle of rosé wine, with the kids trailing behind him. “No alcohol until you’re 21,” he announced, his tone firm but playful.

“But I am 22!” Kate argued.

Clint snorted. “Sure you are.”

As they disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your attention back to Natasha. Arching an eyebrow, you crossed your arms, your curiosity clearly not satisfied.

“Oh, great! There he is!” Natasha blurted, clinging to her flimsy excuse. She waved awkwardly in Clint’s general direction, desperate to change the subject. “Let me just—”

But as she began stepping down, her foot slipped on the edge of the chair. She let out a startled gasp as she lost her footing entirely.

”Oh my- Natasha!”

***

She even tried to gain support in enemy territory.

“Steve!” she called out. The man looked over at her and clearly tried to sneak off, but it was too late. “Just how many are there?” she asked, her desperation evident. So far, she’d removed eight mistletoes and had endured three risky situations where she’d practically had to run away from you.

“Of what?” Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink, feigning ignorance.

Natasha huffed, crossing her arms. “Please, let’s skip the act. I know you also took part in this.”

Steve remained silent, his expression unreadable but gullible. Natasha sighed in exasperation. “Come on, Steve, you’re the most reasonable one out of all of them. Just tell me where the rest of the mistletoes are!”

She could see the guilt on his face—he was clearly uncomfortable. Steve Rogers wasn’t a man who lied easily. As he opened his mouth, clearly about to crack, Sam and Wanda swooped in.

“What are we talking about?” Sam asked with a goofy smile, casually draping his arm around Steve’s shoulders as if shielding him from her interrogation.

Natasha’s left eye twitched. “You know exactly what, Wilson.”

“Hmm, do I?” Sam teased, his grin widening.

Natasha ignored him, focusing on her second-best shot, since it was clear Steve wouldn’t be of much use now.

“Wanda,” she said, turning to the witch, “how many mistletoes are there?”

Wanda shrugged, playing innocent.

“If you tell me…,” Natasha added, her voice turning sly, “I’ll lend you those boots of mine you like so much.”

Wanda hesitated at that, her composure faltering slightly. “… The ones with the metal buckles?”

“The ones with the metal buckles.”

Wanda’s eyes glinted with temptation as she weighed her options. But after a brief internal debate, she furrowed her brow and firmly shook her head and crossed her arms. “No. We’re doing this for your own good, Natasha.”

Natasha laughed forcefully, her expression taut with frustration. “For my own good? I’m losing my sanity over here, Wands.” Her tone was sharp, but her forced smile remained plastered on her face.

Just then, a voice cut through the air, making Natasha freeze.

“Have you guys seen Natasha? I swear I just keep losing track of her today,” you said, your voice light-hearted as you spoke to Bruce and Tony.

The group perked up at your words, and Natasha’s head snapped toward the sound of your voice. There you were, standing across the room, looking as radiant as ever as you chatted with the two men.

As Tony and Bruce were about to point in her direction, Natasha didn’t waste another second—she quickly ducked behind the rolling chocolate fountain cart, slipping out of sight just in the nick of time.

***

It all came down to the climax of the party. Most of the children were asleep by now, and only the closest circle remained. Natasha was exhausted but relieved. She had finally managed to get rid of all the mistletoes, even if, in doing so, she had humiliated herself in ways she hadn’t thought possible.

Now, she could finally relax and hang out with you. Or at least, that’s what she thought. A wolf whistle and cheers erupted from her friends, who had formed a circle outside on the terrace. Curious, she approached, only to regret it immediately as she was squashed between Steve and Bucky.

Her face went pale as she saw the final mistletoe, hanging right above you and a smug Carol Danvers. In her frantic pursuit of avoiding standing under a mistletoe with you, someone else had managed to get there before her. This outcome was far worse, and dread filled her as she watched the scene unfold.

She couldn’t stand it. The way Carol got closer with bravado and you, with a smile (it was more polite and friendly than anything, but at that moment she didn’t see it like that), made her heart drop.

The world once again slowed down, but this time it was for her and you. And she just couldn’t stand it. Shattering the slow-motion moment, her mouth and body moved faster than her mind.

“Wait! You’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe, not near it! I mean—look at that angle, it’s tilted and all wrong. Besides, is it me or are the leaves…wait, let me just scoot over here—” she muttered, pushing her way through the onlookers to get to the mistletoe. Everyone went quiet in surprise as she reached it and caressed the leaves. You just stared at her, but she seemed to pay no mind. “Ah, as I thought! These leaves are all dried. How about we replace it? Here, I know where we can find a suitable one. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

Without thinking, she took your hand and practically dragged you away, turning back toward the group. “We’ll be right back.”

Everyone remained quiet as they watched the two of you disappear.

***

“Here, let me just…” Natasha started, trying to find her card in her pockets. “Where did I—ah, here.”

With quick motions, she attempted to swipe the card to unlock her room. You stood behind her, watching her increasingly desperate attempts to open the door.

“Nat…” you started softly.

Chuckling awkwardly, she waited for the green light, but it still wasn’t processing for some reason. “These are so annoying. I keep insisting to Tony that he should just put in a code, but he doesn’t listen—”

“Nat.”

“Typical of him, I know. Let’s try again.” Waiting for the red light to turn off, she swiped again, and this time the light turned green. “There, finally.”

You tried calling her again, but she interrupted. “Sorry for the wait. There are some left in my room, let’s just pick one and…” She said, turning the handle and opening the door, knowing that all the stolen mistletoes were in the corner.

“Natasha!” You finally yelled, making her turn around with wild eyes. Uh oh, you almost  called her Natasha.

Your face held no negative feelings, only the patience you were known for. “Nat.” Slowly, you grabbed her trembling hand and got a bit closer. Your worry made her squirm.

“What’s going on?” you started softly, as if trying not to scare her. The consideration and gentleness in your voice made her almost burst into tears. “You’ve been behaving… strange this entire party. Running around all over the place… avoiding me.” You whispered the last words, clearly pained, and her heart shattered.

The last thing she wanted was to make you feel bad. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your question was so raw, your expression vulnerable, and Natasha wanted nothing more than to wrap you in her arms, kiss you gently, and reassure you that you didn’t—couldn’t—do anything to upset her. But she couldn’t, and the knowledge of it broke a little bit more.

“No, no, of course not. It’s just—” She started, her words getting stuck in her throat, unsure of how to put them together. “The others decided to put the place swarming with mistletoes.”

You looked at her in confusion. “Okay…why?”

Refusing eye contact, Natasha took a deep breath, her heart pounding so loudly that she thought you could hear it. Without dropping your hand, she stepped a little closer, her legs slightly trembling. She figured the best thing to do was to just say it and get it over with. She had already been making a fool of herself the entire day. But saying it was harder than she thought it would be. The fear of rejection was suffocating her.

“Because…” Finally daring to look at you, her neck reddening all up to the point of her ears, being suddenly conscious of the warmth radiating. “Because they know how serious you are about superstitions. And that if we got caught under one, then I… then I would finally dare to kiss you.”

The admission came as a whisper, shame and embarrassment hitting her like never before. It was as if she was going to combust from the inside. A pause hung between the two of you, each second of it feeling like a stab straight to her chest.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine losing you. You had become so close this year, and to think that just a couple of silly words could ruin everything was killing her. Her eyes closed tightly, waiting for the worst—a rejection, disgust, or just pity. Any of these would shatter her.

But it never came. Instead, she felt warmth—a gentle caress on her cheek, you softly urging her to open her eyes and look at you. Your face was far from the rejecting one that Natasha’s brain had conjured. Instead, it was a reassuring one, with a bright smile like the one you first gave her the day you met, your eyes soft and bright under the lights.

She blinked, as if the soft touch had pulled her back from her darkest places. Her heart seemed to stop, no longer beating out of fear but for hope. Because as she studied you, she saw nothing but kindness and happiness.

“You… you’re not upset?” she asked, as if it were too good to be true.

Your smile widened, laughing softly under your breath at her surprise. “Nat, how could I ever be upset? I—” This time it was you who searched for the right words, your cheeks flushed with a lovely rosy color that Natasha couldn’t help but find fascinating. “How could I, when I’ve been waiting for you to do this for quite some time?”

Your admission hung in the air, like a symphony. Natasha could feel the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. “You have?”

“Of course I have.” You confessed, as if the question were ridiculous to even ask. “You’ve been everything my heart has been yearning for, Natasha.”

Natasha sure wasn’t a poet, but right now she was seeing the world as one. The way in which your words embraced her, your slightly dilated eyes looking at her as if she was the only one on your mind.

Was this what the others saw? The look she has been too oblivious to see?

She wanted to hit her head in frustration, all the time wasted because of her doubts. But she was free of them now, having you as her savior.

Getting closer, she dared to pull you closer by your waist, marveling at how it felt in tandem with her movements, as if you two had done this a thousand times before, in different lives, before this one.

“So… you’re telling me I made that champagne pyramid fall all over Fury for nothing?” she asked, as if it were a secret.

You laughed loudly at that, remembering the moment when Natasha stumbled all over the table later on in the evening. Everything seemed to make sense now.

“You know…” you started, the laughter dying down as you softly tucked a piece of Natasha’s hair behind her ear, your touch lingering on her jaw. “For someone so intelligent and charismatic, you sure are clumsy at times.”

Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile. “Only because you…” she started, but caught herself, her eyes slightly widening.

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Only because of that? Do I make you nervous, Romanoff?” You grinned, adoring the way she seemed lost for words.

Sputtering, she tried to defend herself, but someone beat her to it.

“Very much so!” Tony yelled.

Your eyes snapped toward him, only to see the team huddled up behind the corner.

You snickered, Natasha flustered. “What are you…? Go away!” She hesitated.

Tony smirked. “Not so fast, Romanoff! You have to kiss.”

Confused, she followed his hand motion, only to see a mistletoe floating with surrounding red magic.

“Damn it, Wanda…” she muttered, but you just laughed at your friend’s antics, hiding your face in her shoulder.

Natasha’s attention shifted back to you, her smile filled with adoration. Finally, you peered up at her.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to…” she started shyly, not wanting to pressure you into doing anything. But you only got closer to her.

“I don’t know, I think you do owe me a kiss,” you replied with a grin. “You know, to balance the universe.”

“Yeah…” she muttered, eyes lowering. “To balance the universe.” She reaffirmed, leaning down. But before her lips touched yours, she gripped you and dragged you both into her room, slamming the door shut. She ignored the muffled complaints heard from the hallway as she pinned you against it, wanting to have you all to herself.

Connecting her eyes with yours, she searched for any trace of doubt, but found nothing but darkened irises. Hesitation left her once and for all as she leaned in, her lips meeting yours. She sighed, and everything else seemed to fade into the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle and tentative, giving you both time to discover each other. But the passion, held back for so long by insecurities and “what ifs,” broke free like a dam, intensifying everything tenfold. Her hand gripped your waist slightly harder, while one of your hands trailed up to her hair, tugging it just enough to make her shudder. Urgently, she pulled you even closer, as if afraid you might disappear.

Her breath quickened as she felt your body pressed against hers. The kiss deepened, turning frantic with all the pent-up desire. Suddenly, you tugged at her bottom lip, almost provocatively, as you looked up at her through your eyelashes. Natasha groaned, her heart racing. It was like seeing a whole new side of you, and she just couldn’t get enough.

Licking into your mouth, she hummed as your knees seemed to buckle, holding your hips to make sure you didn't fall.  No, you weren’t going anywhere. Not when she finally had you in her arms.

You could feel the tension in her body as you traced her shoulders and back, her muscles tensing with every movement. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of you, kissing you—consuming you with everything she had.

It left you breathless. If anything, air became the only obstacle, the only force capable of separating you. Both gasping for breath, you didn’t dare to say anything for a moment, just taking in the overwhelming sensation of being so close, so lost in each other. 

“You know, technically…” you started slowly, a playful smirk on your lips. “Technically, you interrupted my kiss with Carol before.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, her grip on you tightened, a small growl escaping her at the thought of anyone else getting the chance to do what you had just done. But you quickly calmed her, softly cupping the side of her face. “So, you owe me another kiss.”

She looked at you with darkened eyes, a mix of desire and challenge in her gaze. “I guess you’re right… We wouldn’t want to have bad luck.”

“Of course not,” you repeated, your lips brushing against hers as you gently guided her closer. “You know how superstitious I am.”

“Yes, I do,” she whispered, a teasing smile crossing her face as she closed the distance.

[writerslittlelibrary]

I will be your family

masterlist ao3 profile

summary: growing up on the streets had never been easy, but when you steal the wrong person’s wallet, your life changes forever…

pairing: Mob!Natasha x child reader

warnings: none, just pure fluff

genre: fluff, angst

words: 1763

a/n: something abnormal is going on cause I’ve written three fics this week and I am planning on writing more. the apocalypse is near…

this one is posted on ao3 at the same time, so if you prefer to read on ao3 click this link

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

When your parents died, you were only six, and it didn’t take long before you realised you would have to resort to stealing to survive. Foster care never came to pick you up, with how over full they have been since a virus three years ago. 

Many adults succumbed to the virus, and with that many children were left an orphan. 

The government took in who they could, but a large percentage of the orphans were left on the street, you included. 

You started stealing two years ago. You were against it at first, but when you got so sick from being hungry, you stole a cinnamon bun from a bakery. It was the best piece of food you had ever eaten. 

Soon, you moved up from stealing food. You learned swiping wallets wasn’t that difficult with people being distracted by their smartphones.

Stealing was easy, and while you still slept under a bridge, you did so with a full tummy. 

Now you were eight, and you spotted your best target yet.

You were sitting at a table in the mall, munching on a sandwich while scouting the best potential targets. So far, a red-headed woman caught your eye. She was on her own, and when she pulled out her wallet she was absolutely loaded. 

Seriously, who carries around that much cash? She was basically asking to get robbed.

To make it easier for you, she literally put her wallet in her back pocket. Like, be for real lady, you’re about to get robbed by an eight year old and it’s your own fault. 

You finish your sandwich quickly, abandoning the wrapper at the table while starting to follow the red haired lady around. She doesn’t stop at any of the other stores, just the one jewelry store you spotted her in. Maybe she was picking up a nice pair of earrings. 

Had you been older, or perhaps been able to follow the news, you’d known who you were following, and you’d known about the bodyguards she always had with her. 

Unfortunately, you hadn’t, and when you swipe her wallet, all you can do is yelp at the strong hand that encircles your entire upper arm. 

“Hands off,” a gruff voice commands. 

Startled, you drop the wallet, staring up at the man with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been caught before. What the fuck do you do now?

You turn your head to look at the red haired lady, seeing her now staring down at you with intrigue, rather than anger. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?!” the man asks meanly, his voice rough and commanding. It makes you quiver. You don’t think you’ve ever been this scared. 

“James, be gentle,” the red haired woman commands, and immediately the man loosens his grip on your arm. He doesn’t let go, however. 

The woman crouches down, now just a little lower than your eye level. You were never a tall child. 

“What’s your name?” she asks. 

You shake, tears now falling from your eyes and staining your cheeks. The woman reaches out her hand, gently running her hand along your cheek before using her thumb to wipe your tears away. 

“It’s quite alright, darling, there there. Why did you try to steal, hm?”

You can’t find it in yourself to respond, scared of what the consequences might be. Will she call the police? Will you go to prison for all the stealing you have done so far? 

The man holding you gives you a light shake. “Answer.”

“James,” the red haired lady immediately scolds. 

The man, ‘James’, lets go of your arm completely now, grunting some response to the lady who has now gently taken your hand. She’s started stroking the back of your hand with her thumb. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” the lady says. “Why don’t you tell me where your parents are?” 

You sniffle, stuttering slightly when you try to speak. 

“Dead…”

The expression of the woman turns glum. Then, she pushes that expression away, putting a pleasant smile on her face. 

“Well, we can’t have you returning to the children under the bridge now, can we? How about you come with me, and I will make sure you have a nice warm bed for tonight?”

You look at her confused. “You’re not going to call the police?”

The woman laughs. 

“Oh, no, darling. Let’s just say I’m a bit more important than the police around these parts. I can personally decide over your punishment for trying to steal, and right now that ‘punishment’ consists of a warm meal and a warm bed.”

“Why?” you ask her, voice shaky and confused as to why this woman whom you tried to steal from would want to help you. 

“Because you are quite a clever child. Had James here not caught you, I wouldn’t have noticed.” The woman reaches her hand towards your face again, gently pushing some hair behind your ear. 

“Not many people manage to sneak up on me, and an even smaller percentage manages to steal from me without me noticing. You are a very special child, my darling.” 

The stand from her crouching position, gently taking a hold of your hand and guiding you out of the mall, towards the parking lot. It’s only now you notice that large group of guys in suits that follow her. 

She leads you towards an expensive looking, black suv, opening the door for you and helping you step in. 

She climbs in after you, sitting next to you while James takes the passenger's seat. Another man in a suit takes the driver's seat. 

“Are you famous?” you then ask.

The woman looks amused, a small chuckle escaping her mouth. 

“You could say so, yes, although I am not famous in the sense you’re thinking of. I’m not a movie star, nor a famous singer.” 

“What are you then?”

“I am a business woman,” the lady says, straightening her jacket. 

“A business woman? Are business women considered famous?” you ask. The woman nods.

“Oh yes, I do so much important business, I’ve grown quite the name for myself,” she says, before she smiles kindly. 

“But those are not the things you should be concerning yourself with. How about you tell me your name now?” 

You nod, telling her your name to which she responds with her own. 

Natasha. 

After about an hour, you arrive at a very large, high building. The car drives into a garage under the building, and when it comes to a stop one of the men in suits opens the door for you and Natasha. 

Natasha helps you step out of the car, and she leads you towards the elevator. 

You stare at the buttons hopefully, not wanting to ask yet also not wanting to let this opportunity pass you by.

You don’t know if Natasha is a psychic, but after the day you’ve had you might argue that she is. She doesn’t even need for you to utter a single word before she’s motioning her head towards the buttons. 

“PH,” she says, and you’re quick to press the button that reads ‘PH’. 

What it stands for you don’t know. 

Once upstairs, Natasha leads you into what you assume is her kitchen, where an old lady is already cooking.

“Do you have any allergies?” Natasha asks, to which you shake your head. 

Natasha pulls out a chair for you, helping you climb onto the high stool before sitting in the one opposite from you.

“Do you live here alone?” you ask after a moment of silence. 

Natasha nods. “It’s quite big to be living alone, I agree. Perhaps you could help me fill up the space.”

“How?” you ask. Natasha smiles.

“Well, what do you like to play with? Do you have any favourite toys?” 

You look down at your hands, picking your skin while you fidget anxiously.

“I don’t have any toys…”

Natasha smiles again, and when you look at her, you feel… safe…

“We’ll fill it up with all the toys you want. Perhaps we’ll start with a nice drawing set. What do you think about that? Perhaps some nice crayons?” 

At the mention of crayons, your head perks up. You’ve always liked drawing. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Natasha promises. 

------------------------------

You’ve been with Natasha for a few weeks, and you’ve never been happier. Settling into a routine with her was rather easy. Natasha was very clear and direct, which you thrived on. The structure she provided you was something you never knew you needed. 

She did get you those crayons she promised, and you were currently laying on the carpet in the living room, drawing a beautiful picture for Natasha. 

You were drawing the two of you, holding hands, and you even added a big red heart in between the two of you. 

Granted, they were only stick figures, but you hadn’t had a lot of practice in your life. You’d improve, Natasha promised. 

After debating it for a few minutes, you grabbed the yellow crayon and added a crown to Natasha’s stick figure. You very quickly learned Natasha was basically the queen of the underworld, and funnily enough, that didn’t bother you. 

She provided you safety when no one else did.

She gave you a warm bed, hot meals every night, and most importantly, love. 

You finished your drawing, standing up from your spot on the floor in favour of going to Natasha’s office. She’s probably busy, like she always is, but she’s assured you that she doesn’t mind when you interrupt her. 

You knock on her door anyway, and when you hear her call out you push the door open. 

Natasha immediately closes her laptop, smiling while she pushes her chair back, patting her lap in invitation. 

You’re quick to rush over, scrambling to sit in her lap and enjoying the kisses you receive on your head. Natasha holds you tightly, the warm, strong embrace of a mother. 

“What do you have there?” she asks when she spots the paper in your hand.

Shyly, you hand her the drawing, studying her face while she observes it.

“Oh Malyshka,” she sighs happily, “this is wonderful. Truly an outstanding job you’ve done. Is this me?” 

You nod, laying your head on her shoulder.

“You have a crown because you’re a queen,” you explain. 

Natasha smiles, kissing you cheeks and forehead a million times.

“I love it, you’ve done a wonderful job. I will make sure to hang it somewhere where it can be admired every single day.”

You smile, kissing her cheek. 

“Thank you mama.”

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @papimapileon @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @l1kepeps1cvla @lorsstar1st @superlegend216 @ravensinthedaylight

[bigtreefest]

Cinnamon Rolls

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has to decide which is the lesser of two evils: waking you up from your nap, or letting the cinnamon rolls in the oven burn.

Word count: 1,686

Content/warnings: fluff! Kissing, cooking, Steve being too perfect and sweet, tickling

A/N: hehehe, thanks to @thezombieprostitute for always indulging my thots and whims, especially regarding my love for cinnamon rolls and cinnamon roll-like men.

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @mikeykuns

Main Masterlist

You looked over the back of the couch and towards the kitchen in the open living area of the cabin you and Steve were staying in for the weekend. Tony had insisted, of course, that the two of you take some time off and away from the city, which at this point, didn’t take much convincing, even for two people who worked themselves to the bone as much as you and Steve.

The past three weeks had been grueling, as you guided Steve and the rest of the Avengers through a mission in a South American city via coms. It was a series of sleepless nights and food rations, but worth it for the safety of the world. Both you and Steve were willing to pay that price, but afterwards, somehow Tony talked you into taking him up on his offer for alone time in his remote property upstate.

It was nice, but cold, which you would’ve complained about if you hadn’t had a personal heater in the form of your super soldier husband. The same man who was bent over the oven right now, sliding in a tray of something that he wasn’t letting you see. What you were happy to look at in the meantime, though, was that ass, somehow still so plump and prominent in a pair of flannel pajama pants that you’d hardly seen him take off since you’d gotten here. One of your favorite sights, that probably would be until the end of time, was Steve when he was relaxed and comfy. And you knew he loved to see you the same way, wearing a pair of old sweats and his Army hoodie that he’d gotten soon after joining this century.

The view earned him a cat call whistle, and when he stood and closed the oven door, you were sure the blush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the heat in the kitchen. It was nice how much you could still make him a little bashful after all this time.

You watched his eyes, full of amusement and affection as he rounded the corner of the couch to move towards where you were curled up in a blanket by the fire.

“You gonna tell me what you and those buns have got cooking, good looking?”

Steve let out a lighthearted chuckle and the corners of his eyes creased, still as beautiful as ever. He shrugged as he lifted the soft throw blanket and settled in against the armrest before gesturing for you to snuggle up to him.

“No way. It’s a surprise. You can guess once it’s done, though.”

You sighed as you laid a hand and your head on his chest, adjusting until you were comfortably laying with him, legs tangled. Steve reached for the book you had turned upside down on the coffee table to keep your page and looked over a few lines.

“The Hobbit, huh?”

You nodded, the rustling sound of his threadbare hoodie on your ear just covering his faint heartbeat.

“Yeah, Bucky lent it to me.”

Steve exhaled a laugh through his nose, a boyish grin rising on his face. “That’s the least he could do. Punk stole my copy back in the day, then gave it to some girl he never saw again after he was done.”

You smiled in response to the way he reminisced about the old days. You absolutely loved when Steve would bring up his childhood memories. They were so different from yours, yet so full of parallels. Kids will be kids, after all.

You put your chin on his chest to look up at him, met with sparkling blue eyes, reflecting the bright light that bounced off the snow outside the windows.

“Of course he did. He was a charmer, wasn’t he?”

Steve leaned down for a kiss as you stretched to meet him.

“For sure. Not as much as me, though, of course.”

You playfully rolled your eyes along with him. “Right, of course. I’m sure you were a real heartbreaker back in the day.”

Steve’s eyebrows lowered and the corners of his lips turned upward in a sarcastic smile. “Left and right.”

You placed a reverent kiss on his sternum before resettling yourself on his pec, squishier than usual from not having been to the gym in a few days. It was perfect.

You smiled to yourself. “Well, I’m glad those days are behind you.”

Steve brushed a hand up and down your back. “I’d never break your heart, you know, I’d rather work to fill it with love every day. Forever if I can.”

Steve always knew exactly what to say to have you blushing, too, even if it was unintentional. The words that spilled out of his mouth warmed you from the inside out with how sincere they always were. You patted his belly gently, “and I hope to do the same for you.”

Steve hummed before he held the book back up in his line of sight.

“Glad we’re on the same page. Speaking of which, you want me to read for you?”

You nodded again, tucking a hand up under his hoodie, warming your cold fingers against his abs. “Mmmhmmm.”

Steve cleared his throat and began, his voice a smooth, deep rumble conducted through his chest and across your body. It was one of the best sounds, one of the best feelings, to be curled up close to him and taken care of. Cherished.

The gentle cadence of his voice carried in the cozy air around the couch as your breaths began to even out. Steve sensed it as your body relaxed into his, fully softened in a light slumber. He finished the page he was on just to make sure you were fully out before marking where he stopped and placing your book back on the table. He continued lulling you to sleep gently, his blunt fingertips drawing circles between your shoulder blades. Steve basked in the sunshine of enjoyment that came from how safe he knew he made you feel.

He sat there for a second, satisfied with everything in his life. With you, everything hard he’d gone through before was worth it. Nothing could break the feeling of fullness in his heart.

And then he smelled it. The cinnamon rolls. How long ago had he put them in? He craned his neck to look at the timer on the stove. They were just past halfway done. And Steve would rather die than move you right now when you were so peaceful. He considered his options and pulled out his phone.

Tony, can you remotely turn off an oven up here?

No. What part of ‘everything’s off the network except whatever you bring up there’ did you not understand?

Steve sighed to himself. He thought Tony was joking. Could he actually have a place somewhere so disconnected? He knew there was at least a Wi-Fi router, but really? Nothing else? Tony Stark has changed.

Why? Doing something else that’s keeping you from the oven?😏

Yes. But not like that. Steve rolled his eyes and opened up a different text conversation.

Sam, can redwing open doors?

Yeah, but the door probably won’t close again. He’s got lasers. You need help?

Steve sighed again. That wouldn’t work either.

No, I’ll figure it out.

One more try. Maybe Bucky and Nat?

Hey. Either one of you close to Tony’s place in the mountains? I got a favor to ask.

No. We’re at dinner in the city. Why? Everything ok?

Steve bit his lip in contemplation.

Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks anyway.

He locked his phone and set it on the coffee table next to your book, running a hand over his face. He could do this. Maybe he could carefully carry you to the kitchen, just to take them out, then go back to the couch? But would that disturb you too much?

Maybe he could stuff pillows into his spot and you wouldn’t even realize you were clinging to something else. Yeah. That could work.

He looked back over at the timer on the oven. It had just reached two minutes left. Okay, he was gonna do it. Just move carefully and quietly and quickly to hit the button so the timer didn’t startle you awake.

But it was too late. Before he could even move a muscle, you were stirring. Eyes still closed, your nose rose to the air, taking a deep breath of the scent that had permeated the cabin. A smile took over your face and your eyes finally fluttered open, landing on Steve. Your voice held a light rasp to it.

“Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.”

Steve nodded. “Uh huh.”

You shifted to straddle his waist, arms clinging around his torso. “Cinnamon rolls made by my favorite cinnamon roll.”

Steve laughed at the long running joke of what you always called him, moving to sit up, big hands holding you steady against him. He stood with your body wrapped around his and made it to the oven before the loud beeping started, shutting everything off and setting the tray on the counter.

“Of course, darling.”

He set you on the granite beside the stove, kissing your nose at your whine at the loss of his touch. He opened the fridge and pulled out a container of cream cheese icing he had made, setting it in your hands as he sifted through the drawers for a knife.

You took off the lid, swiping a finger through the frosting and sucking it off with a moan.

“Dang, that’s good.”

You scooped up another bit, holding it out for Steve, but when he opened his mouth, you booped it onto his nose. With a giggle, you went to kiss it off but Steve was too quick, whisking you away back to the couch.

“Ohhh, you’re gonna get it.”

Before you knew it, you were kicking and laughing so hard that your stomach hurt, surrounded in a world of love and warmth with your husband. Even though this was a short trip, every day with him felt like this on the inside.

Bonus A/N: ohhhh sweet Steeb. Gimme this cinnamon roll🥺

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

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“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[theshamelesssimp]

Having a bad day, read x reader! Having a good one, read x reader! Bored, read x reader!

All in all, live, laugh, love x reader!

[writesick-lover]

Cry-baby

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

summary: Jake Seresin is a walking pile of ego and pride, but who would have thought he would find himself an angel of a girlfriend. Who also turns out to be a huge cry-baby!

a/n: since I’m sick I decided to binge-watch the two Topgun movies (again) and it has definitely brought back the love I have for this franchise!!! And who can be a better writing material than our young aviators from the second movie? And although I don’t know how I got this idea, it wouldn’t work on anyone but Jake Seresin. ENJOY!!!

warning: a bit of swearing but otherwise just fluff ;)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You and Jake have been dating for a while now. You still couldn't believe it. Jake. Seresin. He was a walking embodiment of confidence, ego, pride and perfection, an aviator on top of that, which meant he was also always cornered by women everywhere he went. Always ending up on top. And yet he picked you. And this was never about an insecurity of yours or some self-doubts.

It was about the fact, he invited you out even after your kind of disasterous first date.

"Woah! Somebody better bring a fire extinguisher soon," Jake commented the second you came into the restaurant for your first date, taking off your coat. You rolled your eyes, knowing this must have been one of his overused lines, but a small smile crept on your face. And that was all for Jake Seresin to brighten up like the sun itself. You spent your whole first date just talking, Jake always asking you questions and finding all the opportunities to brag about himself. You barely knew each other, introduced by a distant relative in one of the family gatherings. But despite all your doubts, he was an amazing listener and talker, the conversation between the two of you flowling as smoothly as ever. 

You learned a lot about Jake from that first meeting. He was stationed far away from his family ever since he joined the Navy, missing his little sister who seemed to grow twice as much everytime he came home. He didn't really talk a lot about his first years in the Navy. He loved all types of sports - according to him, he was just so good in all of them - and he enjoyed old love songs. He was also a big lover of board games, altough not a lot of people knew that about him. He especially loved them, thanks to the fond memories with his family. As the evening went, you started to slowly but surely fall for Jake Seresin. Although with his charm, you were sure it was inevitable.

Yet you couldn’t be more different from him. You were never good in board games and it only ended up in others fighting. You were never a big fan of sports - you didn't really grasp the rules quick enough to stay interested, and to be completely honest with yourself, you sucked in every one of them. On the opposite, you loved baking - Jake admitted that he was never very patient for that mysterious art. You absolutely adored trips to the nature - Jake had barely any time for that, flying off in jets that produced too much of CO2 (you had to breathe through that one). 

Despite all of these differences, you seemed to find a greater understanding in one another. While you adored Jake Seresin as a family guy, he immediately suggested a hike in the mountains, connecting both of your hobbies. At frist you thought Jake Seresin was the type of guy to hit and run, end the first date with an extra sleepover and then disappear without a note the next morning. But his eyes stayed trained on you the whole night, his hands stretched out in the middle of the table, taking yours in only if you let him, and letting go, once you needed them to support your story with additional gestures. 

"What about love songs? Or any songs in general? Although I am warning you, I am prepared to fight for the honour of my love songs," Jake winked at you, the butterflies in your stomach making you let out a loud chuckle. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind. So, songs, huh?" you hummed, trying to come up with a genre you liked. Because you loved love songs, but behind close doors. The reason being something a guy like Jake Seresin probably wouldn't want to know on the first date. But you could never pick the right timing.

"Mary," a man at the table behind you said, the name catching your ears together with the romantic songs suddenly played by the band, slowly closing in on the table. The man got up, taking the attention of the whole restaurant, before kneeling on one knee. "Oh god," you managed to whisper to yourself as your eyesight started to get a little blurry on the edges. 

"Will you marry me?"

The time has seemed to stop as you weighed your options. The best one for now seemed to be the bathroom. 

"Yes!" Mary exclaimed, throwing herself onto her soon-to-be husband. The band, the candles, th whole restaurant getting up to clap, it was all too much. You had to go. Now. 

"Excuse me," you got up as tears welled up in your eyes, fighting to get out. Nobody really noticed your escape except Jake, who looked quiet puzzled at your sudden disappearance, but decided to make nothing of it. Yet. But suddenly it was 10 minutes since you left and he couldn't help himself but start to worry. So he decided to investigate. 

He walked up to the bathrooms, waiting for anyone to come up from the ladies' room. After a few seconds, one woman did, stopped immidiately by Jake's towering figure. "Sorry, is there a pretty lady about this tall there? I have a suspicion my date might have escaped," he joked a bit on his own account as he began to feel nervous, but still trying to keep his cool. The woman was not laughing the slightest. 

"There is. But I don't know what you have told her, that girl is crying tears like a waterfall," and with that the woman was gone, leaving Jake even more confused. "What the fuck?" he said to himself, trying to pick up the courage and open the ladies' room to check up on you. He stood there frozen for a few seconds.

After that, he finally managed to at least knock. 

"Y/n?" he asked, not hearing any response for a few seconds. "Y/n, I know you're there. If you haven't already escaped... Is everything okay?" he knocked once more, now finally getting an answer.

"Yes, yes! Everything is just fine!" you facepalmed yourself, trying to make the redness go away, along with the rest of the tears. You just have to stop thinking about the couple. 

"I don't know about that. Apparently you are in there, crying," Jake yelled from the corridor. Shit! You cursed, still trying to salvage what you could. But Jake was still there, knocking. Nothing could save you.

"Y/n," Jake was slumped against the wall after what felt like an eternity of knocking, his two fingers lazily knocking out different rythms before you opened the door, startling him. "Holy mother of god!" he yelped, looking down at you. Your face was all puffy, eyes reddened together with your cheeks. From the embarrassment obviously. "I'm sorry," you whispered, taking in a deep breath. "I understand if you don't want to continue this anymore, or see me again, it's completely-" 

"Hold on, hold on, hold on. What are you on about now?" Jake interrupted your already memorised bathroom speech. You two stared at each other in confusion, your mouth opening and closing for good 10 seconds before Jake decided to take the interrogation into his own hands. 

"Why, exactly, are you crying?" he asked, his eyebrow cocked. You gulped. "There's one thing I haven't told you about," you looked down, the floor suddenly more interesting than the hotshot in front of you. And Jake didn't like that. "Hey, hey," he snapped his fingers gently. "Eyes are up here," he smirked and you rolled your eyes, wiping your nose. "I do listen to love songs, very much but," your gaze again fell on something behind him, the couple no longer there. “I get very emotional, as you can see, anytime something like that happens.”

"Do you have like a chronic emotional crying syndrome or what?" he asked with an almost mocking laughter in his voice as he looked to where you were looking. Your brows furrowed. "Yes. Yes I actually do," you said a bit fiercely for your character, immediately cooling the fire rising inside you. You didn't want to make it even worse than it already was. 

"Wait, really?" his head shot back at you, now actually full of surprise.

"Well, it's not an official condition," you mumbled, now slumping next to him against the wall. Who cares about that dinner anyway now?

"I just cry everytime I see or hear something that rises too many emotions in me. I cannot control it. Everything is just so beautiful and breathtaking! These tears attack my eyes and I have to run away for at least a whole half an hour until I'm all fine again," you confessed, waiting for his reaction, although you knew exactly what it was about to be. He didn't disappoint.

Jake Seresin broke into the biggest fit of laughter ever. Although he was at least trying to be quiet, you had to give him that. "Yeah, right," you mumbled, pushing yourself off the wall, ready to pack your things and leave. Another ruined date. Thanks taken couples, you really make it easy for us. 

"Hey, wait! Where are you going!" you heard Jake try to call after you between his laughing and panting. You were already by the table. "Y/n, where do you think you're going!" Jake cornered you there, tears of joy sparkling in his eyes. "I'm sorry! I just- I haven't met anyone like you so it seemed a little funny to me, I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean it," he started apologizing, bits of chuckles escaping his lips. "Yeah, you still seem to find it funny," you pouted, ready to leave. 

"No, no, I promise, I mean it when I say that I'm sorry," he caught you gently by your wrist. "But here I was, crushing my ego, thinking this hot chick just escaped the thorugh the bathroom window because I was ugly, can you believe that?" he wiped his tears. “I swear, even I have some weak moments,” he wiped the tears away, shaking his head with a few chuckles. His hand relaxed, letting yours go, because you suddenly didn't feel like going yet. "You're so shallow," you hit his chest playfully but he caught your hand on the place where his heart was beating.

"But this hot chick hasn't escaped, right?" 

You let out a loud laugh that was caught between his lips. And that's how your first of many dates went. You couldn't believe your luck, nor your memory from that day. And after a few months of dating, Jake took you to cinema to see his favorite film, leaving out the fact that this was the only film making him emotional enough. He sniffled quietly next to your storm of tears, occasionally breaking a smile at how hilarious you were, when in fact you were just the same, laughing at him. It was a miracle how you two found each other.

"That's Hangman's chick?" Nat pointed to a woman in the corner of the bar, close to where Hangman was playing darts at least 100th time this evening. She was holding a strawberry milkshake in her hand, dangling her feet as she watched her boyfriend win (100th time, again). And everytime he did, he leaned in for a peck, quickly wiping the tears of joy off of her cheeks- from yet another of his wins. 

"It's like he kidnapped her and the ransom is to act this with him, or something," Rooster mumbled, making Natasha let out a loud laugh in surprise. “Someone is jealous, huh?” she teased, Rooster rolling hus eyes. "She looks nice, kind," Bob noted, smiling the girl's way. "Yeah, definitely not Hangman's style, they're like peas and carrots," Rooster noted again, a teasing smile on his lips. 

"What do you know?" Phoenix shrugged, turning around for her turn in the pool. "Maybe there's a side of Jake we are yet to discover," she said nonchalantly, hitting her ball straight to the hole. "Bull's-eye!"

But the game was interrupted by the sudden long ringing of Penny's bell. 

"Attention!" she shouted across the bar, every guest prickling their ears. "There's a couple, Ben and Mary, who have been frequent guests of ours to the point where we call them family," Penny smiled as the whole bar agreed, lifting their drinks. "But today, Ben has a special announcment he wants to share with you," 

A man walked into the middle of the bar where probably Mary was standing, taking a deep breath.

"Mary?" he asked, lowering himself on one knee.

"Oh no." Hangman's head immediately shot to you, but you were already staring at him, tears already glistening in the light.

"Yes, Ben?" the woman asked, already knowing what's coming. Everybody knew.

You won't make it to the bathroom. Jake lifted his eyebrows, nodding to the bathroom across the bar and shaking his head. 

You sniffled.

Beach? He pointed to the open door nearby, leading to the beach.

You nodded frantically and as the words 'Will you marry me'  fell from Ben's lips, you were already out of there, heading for the ocean waves.

Jake hugged you from behind, hiding his amused smirk (which you knew was there), quickly wiping the tears already streaming down your face. "You cry-baby!" he said mockingly.

"I know! But it's all just so beautiful," you sniffled, already used to his teasing.

"So are you, babe"

"And you"

You turned around. Jake’s eyes looked at you in content, making you feel like you’re the only one for him. Because you are the only one for him.

“I love you,” he whispered, pushing a strand of your hair behind you ear, his hand resting on your cheek.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

“Even when you’re a little cry-baby!” Jake pinched you cheek lightly, his mocking tone making you laugh out loud. That was until he locked the laughter by connecting your lips with his, keeping it all to himself.

Thanks taken couples, you really make it easy for us. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Let me know how you liked it with like, comment and repost!

Who else from the Dagger squad would you like to read about next? ;)

If you liked this story, you might like -> That’s my wife

[trikruismybitch]

Did I Cross The Line?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Kate Biship, MentionPast!Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader

Warning: Domestic Violence, Violence, Angst, Implied Cheating

Summary: Y/n comes home after dinner and finds her wife home from a week long mission.

Word Count: 1.1k

Part Two

You walk through the door sighing, dropping your keys on the counter.

"Where were you?" Natasha asks voice husky

"With Yelena and Kate", You sigh again, you've been doing that a lot lately.

She scoffs. She narrows her eyes. It's dark but you can still see her. She's sitting at the counter sipping on a drink, most likely bourbon. Her backs slightly forward so you know she's had a few, not drunk, probably slightly tipsy.

"Listen, I'm tired and kinda tipsy. I really don't want to argue right now." You try to keep your voice soft but it comes out bitter anyways.

Natasha leans back in her chair, "I haven't seen my wife in a week. I come home she's gone and you leave no note, no text? And now when you get home at 2AM you just want to go to bed? You don't even want to speak to me?" She's angry you can tell by her voice even as she keeps tries to keep it even.

"You were on a mission Natasha, I didn't know when you'd be home. You have a phone you could have texted me." You're tired. Your bones feel heavy in your body, weighing you down, "Plus I was out with Yelena and Kate. It's not a big deal."

Natasha downs the rest of her drink.

"How am I supposed to feel, huh? You out with your ex doing god knows what?!"

You roll your eyes having heard this a few times. "My god Nat! I'm out with Yelena and her girlfriend! Kate and Yelena are dating now, did you forget that? And we're married! Kate and I have no romantic feelings for each other anymore, whatsoever!" You yell back "What you think me and Kate are having a quicky in the bathroom while Yelena waits at the dinner table, are you insane?"

Natasha stands up in anger "All I want is to come home and have my wife waiting for me! Is that so much to ask for?" she yells back

"You have to be kidding me! You're always gone Natasha! Always on a mission! I'm not going to wait around at home for you like a dog at your beck and call! I have a life too!"

Natasha scoffs, shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips "Did you forget that, that's my job! I have a responsibility Y/n! You knew this when we got married!"

"I'm an Avenger too 'Tasha, did you forget that?" You take a step closer to her "I go on missions but I don't make that my entire life! I have a life outside of avenging, I want to be able to spend time with family and friends!"

You huff out a breath "I can't with this Natasha. You have been absent from are marriage for months. Ever since the mission in Murcia," Natasha's eyes dart to the left but come back to stare at you. "You come home but you aren't present. You say you have training but i've gone to visit and you aren't there. So where have you been Natasha?"

She looks away from you not answering your question. You hesitate but ask it anyway, "Are you having an affair?"

Natasha's eyes flash to you, her crossed arms dropping.

She stares at you wide-eyes before they turn dark and angry, "How dare you ask me that! I have given you everything. We're married!" She defends herself.

"What else am I supposed to assume Natasha! You aren't here! You lie to me about where you're going! You take back to back missions! We haven't had sex in months! So you have to be getting it from somewhere else! 'Cause it sure as hell isn't me fucking you!"

"Unbelievable" she mutters, Natasha shakes her head and turns away.

"Are you serious? Don't walk away from me! You wanted to talk right?!" You go to grab her arm but the second you touch her.

It happens instantly. She clocks your left jaw and continues to attack. You block what you can but you're too shocked to properly defend yourself.

"Tasha, what are you doing!" you groan as she lands a blow on your ribs.

Natasha goes to strike your face but you block her. Grabbing onto her arms and locking them to your side so you can look at her. Her eyes are black and wild, her breaths coming out in heavy spurts and you know something is seriously wrong.

It all happens so fast. You got distracted and she used it to flip you on your back. Your head rings with the sudden onslaught of punches. Then you can't breathe.

"N-nat" you choke trying to break her grip in your throat. But she can't hear you. She stares down at you and her eyes are unfocused and you know Natasha isn't really there.

Your vision starts to go blurry with tears and black splotches clouding around Natasha's head. If you don't do something now you're going to lose consciousness. With all your strength, you're able to elbow Natasha's inner arm, loosening the hold she had on your neck. You slam your other elbow in the soft part of her thigh turning your body to throw her off you. You get up as fast as you can, left hand holding your neck, your right grabs the table to help you up. You take deep breaths, trying to regain your lost oxygen.

You turn to see Natasha sitting up from where you threw.

"Y-y/n....what-" she looks so shocked. She takes you in. You're leaning on the counter, you have cuts on your face as tears stream down your cheeks

"baby-" she chokes out tears falling from her eyes as she realizes what she had done "I-im so sorry" she reaches out towards you from her position on the ground yet even with the distance you find yourself flinching back, backing away from her.

You slowly start to inch away towards the door. Natasha starts shaking her head standing up "W-wait, i'm sorry. I didn't mean-" Your eyes go wide as she stands up quickly, too quickly, and comes at you.

You're scared. You never thought you'd be scared of her. That she'd hurt you. You shake your head and you run out the door.

"Y/n!" Natasha goes to chase you to explain. "Come back!" She needs to explain. She needs to apologize.

You run, heart beating rapidly as you hear her footsteps as she follows you. You bang on the door as loudly and fast as you can. You look around and see Nat round the corner, so you bang harder on the door.

The door opens.

You and Nat both yell.

[cece693]

So I had this silly idea of a character being super duper shy around you and who better else to write about than Pietro Maximoff. Not many fanfics are on Tumblr about him (which isn't all that suprising considering he dies by the end of his first movie) but in my heart he's very much alive. Hope you enjoy!

Tongue Tied

pairing: pietro maximoff x gender neutral reader tags: Pietro is a mess, wanda is a good sister, reader is amused but likes Pietro, the speedster is adorable

Pietro had a routine: wake up, shower, eat breakfast in a hurry (sometimes literally), and then spend the day reminding the Avengers just how fast he was. Confidence was basically his middle name. That is, until you came along. All it took was your shy smile—once—and boom. Suddenly, Pietro was about as smooth as a pothole-filled road.

Accident #1:

Your first week at the Avengers compound was a whirlwind. And when you asked Pietro for a tour, he practically teleported to your side. Wanda, arms folded, watched with a mischievous grin from the corner, ready to document his inevitable blunders.

Pietro cleared his throat. “So, um, this is the training room,” he said, gesturing to a door. “And that’s—” Only, the door he pointed to was actually a storage closet. Wanda snickered.

“Oh,” you said, peeking inside at a broom and mop. “State-of-the-art training gear, huh?”

Pietro’s eyes widened, cheeks burning. “Ha! Yes, definitely not the training room. That’s…um…storage. This—this is the training room.” He zipped across the hall to the correct door so fast, he nearly tripped over his own feet.

An awkward silence filled the space between you while Wanda silently mimed a facepalm. Pietro didn’t look remotely cool as he tried to recover, but you just smiled, amused. “I like the personal touch,” you teased. “Broom-fighting is a lost art.” Pietro managed a shaky laugh. Maybe you found it endearing—he could only hope.

Accident #2:

The Avengers often hosted casual cookouts on the compound’s spacious lawn, complete with steaks, veggie burgers, and unfortunate attempts at comedic karaoke from Tony. You and Pietro ended up manning the grill together—a recipe for comedic disaster. “I got this,” Pietro insisted confidently. He flipped burgers at record speed, so quickly that half of them landed in questionable angles on the grill.

You tried not to laugh as one burger sailed off into the grass. “Huh, I think that one tried to make a break for it.”

“Yeah, well…” Pietro pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I’ll just pick it up.” He was back in a flash, depositing the rogue burger in the trash can while giving you a sheepish grin.

Wanda breezed by, eyeing Pietro’s stumbling attempts. Leaning in close so only he could hear, she teased, “Your face is as red as hot sauce.”

He rolled his eyes. “Go away, Wanda.”

But you overheard, chuckling. “I think it’s cute,” you said lightly, hoping to ease his nerves. Immediately, Pietro dropped his spatula. It clanged onto the grill with a loud metallic thunk. He stared at it, wide-eyed, while Wanda practically had to bury her face in her hands to stifle her laughter.

Accident #3:

Pietro loved nicknames. He threw them around like confetti—“Hawky” for Clint, “Tin Man” for Tony, “Red” for Wanda. But he hadn’t come up with one for you yet. Not for lack of trying…he just kept choking on his words each time he tried.

One afternoon, you were in the common lounge, reading a book, when Pietro zoomed in, nearly knocking over a lamp in the process. He waved it off casually, muttering something about “lousy furniture placement.”

“Hey,” you greeted. “What’s up?”

“Um. Nothing. You, er, do you want to—” He exhaled in frustration. “Grab a bite to eat? Maybe see a movie?”

Your eyes lit up. “Oh! That sounds great.”

Pietro’s relieved smile nearly split his face. “Cool! That’s—great. Awesome. Perfect.” He then tried to do his usual flirty finger-gun move, but ended up accidentally pointing at Wanda behind you. Which made him look more than a little unhinged.

Wanda arched an eyebrow from the kitchen. “You see, this is painful for me. Personally, I never thought I’d watch my brother turn into…this.”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at Wanda’s dramatic pity act, placing your book down. “Don’t be too hard on him,” you said, sending Pietro a fond smile.

The speedster, desperately trying to salvage his cool, opened his mouth to retort—but all that came out was a strangled cough. He quickly cleared his throat, mentally cursing himself for failing to say something suave like, I’m just dazzled by you, obviously.

Wanda decided she’d seen enough: her brother might never confess how he felt unless he got some help. She cornered you in the gym, where you were finishing up a routine. “You know my brother’s head-over-heels for you, right?” she said matter-of-factly.

You blinked in surprise, setting down a dumbbell. “I had a feeling. I…uh, like him too.” Your smile was bashful but unguarded. “He’s sweet, in his own weird, speedy way.”

Wanda smirked. “Well, I’m tired of watching him embarrass himself. Let’s do something about that.”

She proposed a plan: she’d lure Pietro to the observation deck, a quiet place perfect for stargazing, conveniently around the same time you’d be there. An accidental rendezvous, if you will. That evening, you stood on the open-air platform, staring up at the twinkling sky. The gentle wind ruffled your hair as you waited. Right on cue, Pietro arrived—though not at his usual breakneck speed. He sauntered in, probably coached by Wanda to “act normal,” though you could see the pulse in his neck beating fast.

“So,” you said, turning to face him. “Wanda said you wanted to talk?”

Pietro swallowed, his confidence visibly slipping. “I—yes, I did. But I—I didn’t know she’d, you know, ambush me like this. Not that I mind talking to you!” He paused to take a breath, clearly annoyed at himself for rambling. “Look,” he began again, more softly, “I like you. A lot.”

Your face heated at his directness. “Well, that’s good, because I feel the same way.”

The relief that flooded Pietro’s features was priceless, like he was finally able to breathe. “Seriously? Because sometimes I worry I’m, uh, coming off as a total dork—”

“Dork’s a strong word,” you teased, stepping a bit closer. “I’d say adorable.”

Pietro blinked. “Adorable? Me? That’s new.”

You laughed, the sound echoing sweetly under the stars. Without thinking, Pietro reached for your hand. Not to whisk you away at supersonic speed, but to gently lace his fingers through yours. “Maybe,” he ventured, “we could do something not orchestrated by my meddling sister? Like an actual date?”

Your nod was immediate. “I’d love that.”

When the two of you finally returned inside, hand in hand, it was as if the entire compound had been lying in wait. Clint almost dropped a bowl of popcorn in shock, while Tony paused mid-sip of his coffee, eyebrows shooting up. “Well, well,” Tony said, smirking. “Looks like Speedy finally found his voice.”

Pietro rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Tin Man." From across the room, Wanda gave a thumbs-up, wiggling her eyebrows. You mouthed a “thank you,” and she winked.

[marvelseries19]

RETURN TO YOU

Chapter Four - Castaway

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter Four | Chapter five |

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You’re finally found. After years lost and alone, a faint signal is enough to bring someone to your island. You're brought home, weak, scared, and unsure if it’s real.

A/N: Finally, the moment you've been waiting for. I'm not entirely sure if this should be the end. I kinda have more ideas to tell, but maybe I'll post those as like one-shots or something. I wanted to thank you guys for letting me know that you liked it. I don't think I've ever had this much engagement on my fics. I really appreciate the love this one has had.

On another note, in the last chapter, I asked if you read this, and by this, I meant these messages, I leave here, not the chapter. So, once more, do you guys read these messages?? Also, as always, any questions, requests, ideas, and feedback are all welcome. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries and such.

Word count: 4.4k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The low hum of the SHIELD operations room barely registered as Maria Hill leaned over the dim console. The soft, rhythmic blinking on the screen in front of her was steady, consistent — unmistakable. A signal. Faint, primitive, but deliberate. Her fingers flew across the keys as she opened a secure channel.

"Get me Director Fury," she said, her voice low but urgent.

The line crackled before his voice came through, rough and clipped. "What have you got?"

Maria didn’t look away from the screen. "A signal. Old-school. Someone stripped a Quinjet transponder and spliced it into basic field tech. It’s broadcasting on an early SHIELD frequency — nothing sophisticated, but it’s clean. Repeating."

"That’s a long shot," Fury replied.

"Not if it’s her," Maria said, and there was something unshakable in her tone. "And I believe it is."

There was a pause. She could almost hear him weighing it in silence. Her eyes stayed on the blinking pattern, steady as a heartbeat.

"It’s the captain."

Fury’s silence stretched again — longer this time, heavier.

"You always did trust her instincts more than anyone else," he said eventually.

"She earned that trust," Maria murmured. And she remembered — the smoke, the fire, the chaos.

Kandahar.

—

The sky was dust-streaked and orange, gunfire painting the air in bursts. Agents scattered, wounded, shouting. No one had orders. The comms were fried. And then you appeared — ash-streaked, limping, blood on her sleeve, and calm in her eyes.

“We lost comms!” someone had yelled. “Do we pull back?! Where’s the fallback point?!”

Maria remembered how you didn’t hesitate. She remembered the way you moved — forward, always forward — as if gravity bent toward your conviction.

"With me," you said. That was all.

Two words.

And twenty agents followed you without looking back.

Maria hadn’t said it aloud that day — but someone else had. A younger recruit, clutching his rifle and running to keep up: “Captain’s got us.”

The name stuck.

—

Maria exhaled softly, her eyes never leaving the console. "She pulled twenty agents out that night. Half of them wouldn’t be here without her," she said quietly.

"Is she still alive, Hill?" Fury asked.

"She sent that signal," Maria replied. "I know it's her, and that’s all I need to know."

"Take a team," Fury ordered. "Get her back."

Maria was already on her feet. "Already working on it."

She shut the console off, leaving the weak, blinking signal behind — but only for a moment.

She would follow it. All the way to the end.

—

The quinjet dipped below the clouds like a shadow cutting through the sky, its engines whisper-quiet over the dense canopy below. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting streaks of gold and fire across the endless stretch of green.

Maria stood near the loading ramp, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon as if she could will the trees to part and reveal a miracle.

She’d barely slept on the flight over, fingers tight around the datapad that showed the narrowing coordinates. Each pass of the satellite brought them closer. Each sweep of the low-band signal narrowed the window.

Still, it felt like a dream.

Three years.

Three years with no trace.

Three years of dead ends, quiet funerals, and trying to help Natasha through a grief Maria shared but didn’t dare speak aloud.

And now this.

A single echo. A half-broken signal from a beacon no one was supposed to remember how to use.

She hadn’t told Natasha. Couldn't. Not yet.

Hope, Maria had learned, was dangerous when it burned too bright. And she wouldn’t be the one to light it unless she was sure. She had seen firsthand what it did to her friend , how it tore her apart each time a lead turned out to be false. Maria needed more than a faint signal to give Natasha false hope.

The quinjet hovered over the narrowed location, nestled between cliffs and jungle, and the team fast-roped down in practiced silence. Maria followed, landing with a solid thud against the uneven earth.

It was still. Too still. But the readings didn’t lie. Someone was here.

She signaled for the group to split. “Fan out. Sweep the perimeter. Eyes sharp. Weapons down unless you see a threat.”

A chorus of affirmatives crackled through comms.

They moved.

Not far away, tucked in the hollow between two rocks and overgrowth, you stirred.

The sound had been faint — a low thrum, like distant thunder.

It came again, closer this time.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting every movement. Your limbs ached. Your head spun. Your skin had taken on the leathery feel of too much sun and too little water. The weakened body you lived in now barely resembled the one that once trained at SHIELD’s academy. The one that flew the quinjet with quiet confidence. The one that could disappear without leaving a trace.

You had survived.

But barely.

You blinked hard, pressing your fingers to your ears.

Voices.

Were those voices?

You crouched low, instinct taking over even as your knees buckled beneath you. The sound of boots brushing leaves. A sharp rustle of brush being moved aside. You bit the inside of your cheek.

It’s nothing. You’ve imagined things before. You’d seen shadows become people. Branches become outstretched hands.

But the voices were growing louder now. Clearer.

“Check the cliffside—Hill’s got east.”

“There’s a trail here—looks like something’s been walking through.”

“Signal strength increasing. It’s close.”

No. No, that was real. That wasn’t just your mind trying to comfort you again. That was real.

Still, your body didn’t move. Not yet.

You sat frozen, heart pounding, as footsteps closed in.

And then—

“Hey!” a voice called. Not a hallucination. Sharp. Solid. Commanding. “I’ve got something—!”

Then another voice. Lower. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Stand down, it’s her—God—” The foliage parted, and there she was.

Maria.

Your mind couldn’t process it all at once. She was wearing tactical black, hair pulled back, eyes scanning like she didn’t dare believe what she was seeing.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but nothing came out.

Maria dropped to her knees, her voice thick and trembling. “Hey, hey—it's okay. It's me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked again, too weak to flinch as her hands gently framed your face.

Her breath caught. “Jesus… you’re really here.”

You tried to speak, lips cracked, throat dry. Only a rasp escaped.

Maria shook her head, a soft curse under her breath. She slipped an arm around your shoulders, guiding a canteen to your lips. “Don’t talk. Just drink.”

The water stung going down, but you drank like you hadn’t in days.

Because you hadn't. Rainwater could only last for so long.

Maria kept holding you, one hand steadying the canteen, the other pressed lightly against your back as if reassuring herself that you were solid. Real. Not another ghost.

And then she whispered, almost like she didn’t want anyone else to hear, "I'm so sorry it took this long.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not yet. Not when it felt like the moment could vanish if you blinked.

But Maria didn’t rush. She stayed there with you in the dirt, surrounded by jungle, brushing a hand gently through your tangled hair.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly. “We’re taking you home. I’m gonna make sure of that. And I’ll tell her—I’ll tell Natasha.”

You didn’t know if it was the relief or her voice, but that’s when the sob broke free.

And Maria, strong as ever, just held you tighter.

The team moved quickly once they found her.

You were conscious, your body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline as they guided you through the undergrowth. The sight of the quinjet waiting on the shore hit you harder than expected.

Your steps faltered.

The air caught in your throat.

It looked almost exactly like yours—the one that went down in flames, the one that left you stranded and alone. Your chest tightened, breath hitching, muscles locking up as memories flashed behind your eyes. Fire. Smoke. The sound of metal tearing. The impact.

You stopped walking.

“Hey,” Maria’s voice was calm and soft. She stepped in front of you, eyes steady, hand gentle on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re taking you home.”

You shook your head weakly, barely audible when you said, “I can’t… I can’t get on that thing. I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid,” Maria cut in, her voice rough with emotion. “After what you’ve been through, it makes perfect sense.”

Your eyes were glassy, full of apology and fear you couldn’t quite name. “I want to go. I just… I can’t.”

Maria glanced at the medic nearby, nodding once.

“We’ll help you sleep through the ride, okay?” she said, already crouching down with her. “No pain. No panic. You’ll wake up at the medical facility. Safe. I promise.”

You gave her the faintest nod, your fingers still gripping Maria’s sleeve like an anchor.

Maria stayed close as the medic prepped the injection, gently brushing damp hair back from your forehead. “You did so good, alright? You held on. We’ve got you now.”

The sedative took hold quickly, easing your breathing as your eyes fluttered shut. Maria caught you carefully as she slumped forward, guiding her into the medic’s arms and onto the stretcher.

And as the engines spun up and the quinjet lifted into the sky, Maria sat beside you, phone already in her hand, staring down at Natasha’s name on the screen.

It was time.

The quinjet hummed around her, steady and familiar. Maria sat strapped in beside the stretcher, her eyes drifting to you every few seconds — as if making sure she was still there, still breathing, still real.

You looked so small.

So fragile.

And it shook Maria more than she wanted to admit. This woman, who once sparred with her until both of them limped off the mat laughing… This woman who had stood beside her through firefights and missions no one else could have survived… Now she lies wrapped in blankets, sedated, ribs visible under her skin, lips cracked from dehydration.

Maria swallowed hard. She stared at the screen for a long second before finally pressing the contact.

The call connected after two rings.

“Maria?” Natasha’s voice came out sharp, tight. Tired. Like she’d been running or not sleeping again. “Is something wrong?”

Maria’s breath caught. “Natasha…”

Something in her tone made Natasha go completely still on the other end.

“We found her,” Maria said softly.

Silence.

“I need you to meet me at the SHIELD medical facility in New York. We’re bringing her in now. She's alive, Nat. She's—she's not in good shape, but she’s alive.”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. Just a breath — hitched, broken — and then, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got her right here with me.” Maria looked over again, lowering her voice instinctively. “She held on. Three years, and she never gave up.”

There was a long pause. When Natasha spoke again, her voice cracked.

“I’ll be there.”

—

The city blurred past the tinted windows of the SUV, but Natasha barely saw any of it.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Every second that passed without her at that facility made her heart pound harder in her chest.

You were alive.

Alive.

It didn’t feel real.

She had imagined this moment too many times — always in dreams, in cruel fantasies her mind would conjure when sleep finally took her. But this wasn’t a dream. Maria had called her. Maria had sounded shaken. That never happened.

Alive.

Natasha’s breath caught again, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name — hope, disbelief, fear. She didn’t even realize tears had started to run down her cheeks until they hit her jaw. She didn’t wipe them away.

Three years.

Three years of not knowing. Of waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Of closing her eyes and hearing your laugh, only for silence to greet her. Of rage. Of grief so heavy it felt like a second skin.

And now… you were back.

But at what cost?

She kept replaying Maria’s voice in her head. Not in good shape. Those four words sliced deeper than anything else. Natasha had seen the aftermath of war. She had seen what being stranded did to a person, physically and mentally.

What if you didn’t remember her? What if the pain of those years had buried the part of you that knew her name? What if the reunion she’d dreamed of — clung to — was nothing like the reality waiting for her?

The driver turned sharply, and Natasha gritted her teeth, leaning forward.

“How much longer?”

“Five minutes, ma’am.”

Not fast enough.

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to breathe. One hand unconsciously reached for the ring still looped through the chain around her neck — your ring — warm now from her skin.

She didn’t know what she’d find when she walked into that facility.

But for the first time in three years… she had something to walk toward.

You.

—

The quinjet touched down with a soft thud on the rooftop pad of the SHIELD medical facility.

Before the engines had fully powered down, the med team was already waiting — gurney prepped, portable monitors ready, gloved hands reaching for the ramp before it even dropped.

Maria stood to the side, out of the way but not detached. Her jaw was clenched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together. She hadn’t said much since the sedation. Only that she’d call Natasha again once they landed. But she didn’t need to. The call had already been made. Natasha would be here soon. She knew it.

The second the hatch opened, the team surged forward.

You were still unconscious — sedated, peaceful in the worst way. Your skin looked pale under the harsh facility lights, your body far too light as they transferred you to the gurney. The bruises, the cuts, the ribs pressing too close to the surface — it was all too visible now.

Monitors were clipped to your finger, an oxygen mask gently pressed to your face, and soft commands echoing between the medics:

“Get her on fluids, stat.”

“We need a CBC and a full metabolic panel.”

“Chest X-ray, abdominal ultrasound.”

“She’s dehydrated; start with normal saline, keep it slow.”

The medics disappeared down the hall with you, swift and practiced, the sound of their shoes a controlled blur of movement.

Natasha had just stepped into the hallway when she saw them roll the gurney past.

She stopped mid-step.

Time halted.

You.

There. Real.

But not awake. Not smiling. Not whole.

Her hand went to the wall to steady herself. Her breath left her in a sharp, silent exhale. She couldn’t move.

Maria stepped in beside her, watching the hallway where the doors had just swung closed behind the gurney. “She’s stable. Vitals are holding. They’ll take care of her.”

Natasha didn’t speak. Her eyes hadn’t moved from that door.

A nurse came around the corner holding something small and delicate in a gloved hand. She looked between them before gently addressing Natasha.

“She was wearing this,” she said softly, offering the chain.

Natasha reached out slowly, her hand trembling as she took it.

Your ring. Still looped through the chain she gave you three years ago.

She held it tightly in her fist, pressing it to her lips like a prayer.

Maria watched her quietly. “She survived,” she whispered, more to herself than to Natasha. “She actually survived.”

Natasha’s voice cracked when she finally spoke, low and hoarse. “She wasn’t supposed to.”

Down the hallway, machines beeped. Doors swung. A medical team did everything they could to stabilize you — rehydrate, monitor, and evaluate. You didn’t stir, but you were alive.

That was all that mattered.

For now.

It felt like hours.

The sterile hallway never changed, but Natasha hadn't moved from that same spot. She leaned forward in the plastic chair, elbows on her knees, fingers still curled around the chain holding your ring. The weight of it was nothing — and everything.

Maria had stayed close, pacing occasionally, making a few quiet calls, but mostly giving Natasha space. There were no words left to say.

Finally, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors. He looked tired but calm.

“She’s stable. Fluids are working, and her bloodwork came back cleaner than we expected. Malnourished, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But no infection, no internal injuries beyond the obvious bruising, and a few injuries that didn't heal properly, but nothing to worry about. We sedated her gently. She might wake up soon.”

Natasha stood the moment the doctor nodded toward the room. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. Just for a few minutes, and keep it quiet. She’s been through a lot.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She was already moving.

—

The room was dim and quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound. You were there, lying so still under the soft white sheets, a faint oxygen tube at your nose, IVs at your side.

Natasha stopped at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t ready. She’d pictured this moment a hundred different ways over the past three years. None of them came close.

You looked like you and not like you — thinner, paler, yet tanned, your hair longer and tangled in places, and skin marked with sun and wear. But it was you.

Carefully, Natasha stepped closer, lowering herself into the chair beside your bed. She didn’t speak. She just watched. Studied your face. Every part of her wanted to reach out — but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the fragile stillness.

She opened her hand. The ring glinted dully in the light.

“I never stopped wearing it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Never took it off. Not once.”

Her fingers curled gently around your hand, the one not bound by tape and tubing. You were warm. Not cold. Not gone.

“I should’ve been with you,” she whispered. “I should’ve—”

But she couldn’t finish.

Her breath caught, and for the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff let her shoulders fall and her head bow beside the woman she never stopped loving.

She stayed like that. Until the rhythm of your heart monitor seemed to slow into something steadier. Familiar.

Until maybe — just maybe — she felt your fingers twitch beneath her own.

Natasha’s eyes remained fixed on you, but her mind had drifted. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, nor how many times she had muttered those quiet, broken words — promises, apologies, confessions — to the room, to the air, to you.

The weight of everything she hadn’t said was finally crashing down on her, more than she could have prepared for. The years without you, the months of pretending she could go on without even knowing where you were, the guilt that had gnawed at her every waking moment, the hopelessness she buried deeper each day. It had always felt like she was waiting for something — waiting for the call, the news, anything that would bring you back into her world. She couldn’t breathe without the thought of you, couldn’t focus on anything with your absence hanging like a shadow.

But here you were, lying in front of her, fragile and yet still alive.

Alive.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the ring, the very symbol of everything she’d almost lost forever. The years had worn away at its luster, but it still gleamed, faintly — a promise. She had thought she’d never see you again. She thought she’d have to carry this unfulfilled promise forever.

And yet, here you were.

Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t. Not here, not now, when you needed her more than ever.

"I promised you I’d come for you," she whispered, her voice rough. "I promised."

She held the ring in her hand as if it could reach you — as if it could bridge the gap between her pain and your absence. She was scared, more than she cared to admit. Scared of how you might feel when you woke up. Scared of what you might remember. Scared of how fragile this moment was — of how fragile you were.

Her hand moved slowly to the side of your bed. She didn’t want to disturb you, but she couldn’t stop herself. The need to be close to you was overwhelming. The need to feel that connection — that spark of life that had once been so familiar, so undeniable between you.

“I couldn’t live without you,” Natasha whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I won’t let you go again.”

For a moment, she simply sat there, eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath. The world outside the room seemed distant and cold — nothing mattered except the space between her and you, the fragile space that had once been filled with shared laughter, quiet mornings, and stolen moments.

The steady beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in her mind, a reminder that you were here, that you were real, that you were alive. But what was left for the two of you now? Could things be the same after all that had happened? Natasha didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn't—wouldn't— let you slip away again.

The door creaked softly, and Maria stepped in, her expression quiet but understanding. Natasha didn’t look up. She didn’t want anyone else in this moment, but Maria’s presence was a grounding force — a reminder that Natasha hadn’t been completely alone through all of this.

“She’s going to be okay,” Maria said, her voice gentle but firm. “She’s a fighter, Nat.”

Natasha didn’t respond, her eyes never leaving you. She wasn’t ready for anyone’s reassurance. Not yet.

Maria waited for a moment, then sighed softly. “I’ll give you some time. Just… don’t do this alone. Not again.”

But Natasha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest, the heaviness that had been there for years. There was no way to put it into words.

She only nodded silently, her gaze never wavering from your sleeping form. And in that silence, Natasha finally let herself hope again. Not just for your safety, but for something more. Something she had almost forgotten how to believe in.

She wasn’t alone anymore. Neither of them was.

—

The first thing you felt was the weight of your own body. The heaviness of skin and bone sinking into the sterile softness of hospital sheets. The dull ache beneath the surface of everything. But more than that, it was the quiet hum of machines, the faint beeping of a heart monitor, and the sterile scent of antiseptic that confirmed it — you weren’t on the island anymore.

You were safe.

That realization alone felt unreal.

Your eyelids fluttered, the light above muted through lashes you struggled to lift. The world came back to you in pieces — sound, then shape, then color. The sharp clarity of a cold IV line in your hand. The warmth of a blanket pulled up to your chest. The dull echo of a familiar voice.

It was the last one that made your heart stutter.

Natasha.

She was sitting beside you. Tired. Still. Her posture held together by force alone, like she hadn’t moved in hours — maybe longer. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her entire body leaned ever so slightly toward you, as if afraid you’d vanish if she didn’t stay close.

You blinked slowly, and her eyes found yours in an instant.

The breath she let out was shaky. You saw it — the moment she shattered just a little more but also held herself together just enough to stay strong for you.

“…hey,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely a sound at all. But her eyes were full — of grief, of relief, of everything she hadn’t dared let herself feel until now. “You’re here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. You tried again — your voice rasped and cracked, dry and weak.

“…Hi,” you whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes immediately. Natasha leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, her hand brushing your arm like she needed to touch you to believe this was real. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Weeks. Maybe years.

“I didn’t think…” you started, the words struggling to form.

“I know,” she said, voice tight. “Me neither.”

Your eyes darted around, and that’s when you saw it — sitting on the table beside a vase of white flowers, looking oddly solemn in the sterile light — was Red. Your Red. The coconut you once talked to when you were losing hope, when your voice was the only one on that island. Someone had even propped it up with a little folded towel beneath it like a throne.

You stared at it, blinking again, and then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Red made it?”

“Maria made sure of it,” Natasha said with a hint of a smile, though her voice was still breaking. “Said she’d have murdered her entire team if they left him behind. Apparently you muttered its name after they sedated you.”

Your throat burned. Everything hurt. But Natasha’s presence eased something inside of you that had been coiled tight for years. She looked at you like she was scared you’d disappear if she blinked. And you looked at her like she was the first warmth you’d felt in forever.

You reached for her hand, slowly, shakily. She took it before your fingers even fully stretched toward her.

“You waited,” you said softly.

“I would’ve waited forever,” Natasha whispered back.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full — of all the words you didn’t need to say, of the pain that was finally beginning to thaw, of the bond between you that had never broken, even after everything.

Even after all this time.

You closed your eyes again, not to sleep — just to rest. Just to breathe. Just to be.

With her hand in yours and Red by your side, for the first time in a long time… you believed everything might be okay.

----

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