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bengals-barnesbabe · 11 months ago

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Mission Report: pending…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Black!WidowReader

Description: Part 2 of You’re My Mission

Upon returning to DC, Red finds out the truth about her capture. She makes sure they never underestimate her again.

Warnings: Violence, Corruption, Nomad!Steve, Angst, Reader being a Bad Bitch (I said it)

Word Count: 2.9k

You're My Mission | Main Masterlist

.˚₊┈୨♡୧┈₊˚.

The slam of the metal door wakes you out of your brief slumber. Opening your eyes, the brightness of the room has you wanting to put your head back down. Attempting to stretch the clang of the metal cuffs attached to your right arm causes you to groan in pain. Before you can complain to the man in the room a picture is thrown on the reinforced desk.

“Good morning Red. Of course, you wouldn’t know that because you haven’t seen the sun in what a week?” A smug female voice belonging to a brunette announces.

“At least I’m not chained to Fury’s hip like a bitch. When’s the last time he let you out without adult supervision?” A harsh smack flies across your face causing a satisfied grin to grow across your lips.

“Enough.” The pirate says pushing the image forward. “You stole a collection of highly classified files the last time you paid us a visit, now if you want more than the dog shit they’ve been feeding you. Tell me what the KGB needed them for.” He sat across from you spreading out the pictures from your OP along with the folders missing their precious files.

You look up at him, “Am I supposed to look at the patch or the twitching eye?”

“Who did you sell the information to, Agent Reyes?”

You shrug at the mention of your past cover. “Reyes didn’t sell them to anyone, Red on the other hand. Well, she had a deal with the devil back then. Who else would want to know about SHIELD’s secret prison in the middle of the Pacific, especially the basement level filled with lots of fun toys.”

Hill slaps down a picture of Barnes and Romanoff. “You should start talking or your precious soldier will pay the price.”

You scoff and spit on their files. “If you think I won’t let both of them die then you’re very mistaken. If you want information out of me, don’t give me baby offers. Between us, we both know the price you’d pay to keep your stupid organization from burning to the ground again.”

Fury leans back in his seat before standing and pulling his lap dog out of the room. “Send in the Captain.”

Finally some fun.

Outside the room, Steve stands watching you through the one-way mirror. “That didn’t go well.”

The director scoffs, “She’s a black widow, they never do.” Then he struts off.

“She knows what she’s doing, Nat told us they’re trained to always be the smartest in the room. She’s been working us for weeks, every time we go in we come out with less information. Get this our file on her- blank, even Nat’s had some of her past missions. Red’s a ghost and we’re running out of time.” Maria huffs.

Steve turns to her and nods. “How long?”

“72 hours, she probably knows how this entire compound works. She’s going to retaliate at any moment, this is fun to her. Good luck.” When the captain goes back to the window, she locks eyes with him and smiles, then as if she can see through the glass she blows him a kiss.

Steve shakes his head and enters the room. “Hi beefcake, haven’t seen you in a while. 4 days maybe.” She tilts her head, causing an unsettling feeling to creep up his spine.

“Something like that, let’s talk about something else today.” He joins her at the desk and places her file down on it.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” She gestures for him to sit.

He coughs to disrupt the chuckle in his throat, then opens the file. “Our files on you are empty. The only people who know more than intelligence are Natasha and Bucky. And everyone thinks you’re going to escape in less than 72 hours.”

You smirk. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to give you your deal.” You can’t help but snort out a laugh.

“You are going to make a deal with me? What could you possibly have that I want? Heroes don't make much money in any job, what’s your offer, Steven?”

“I disabled all coms and video from the room, it’s just us Red.” The soldier leans over the table and takes hold of the chain holding your arm. Your eyes don't leave his as he finds the loose bolt and faulty cuff. He smirks letting go and sitting back in his seat. “72 hours huh.” You shrug.

“24 hours, get as far as you possibly can and never come back.” He whispers, raising your brows.

“No.” His nostrils flare at your response. “You want me gone for a reason, but not a good enough one. I want more.”

He sucked in his teeth. “I can get you a million and a safe house if you leave tonight.”

You smirk and take the pen from his jacket pocket. “You want me gone, this is what it takes. If you can’t fulfill, the world’s going to find out just how dirty their Captain is. I wonder what James’ll think.” You write down your final offer and shove it towards him. He stops it before it flies off the table and opens the folder.

He scoffs. “You’re joking.” You just sit back in the chair and tilt your head.

“Your move Cap.”

“It’ll take me a while to get all 10, Stark’s not just going to bat an eye at that much going missing. No one knows, not even Nat. No communication of any kind to him. I’ll come by tonight with everything, just sit tight.” He breathes standing from the desk.

You grin up at him. “If you need some help with the money, I’m sure James could help you. See you tonight Nomad.” You wink. “Oh and tell Natalia I wanna have a chat.”

Leaving the room, Steve turns and Natasha stands there pissed with her arms crossed.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” She warns.

Steve frowns, “Clearly I don’t. She won’t say anything, she just sits there and laughs every time I go in. No one’s gotten anything out of her, maybe you should go in.” He requests feining his disgruntled persona.

The widow shrugs, “Then you should go, this won’t be pretty.” She rolls up her sleeves and goes into the room. Steve nods but decides to watch from the outside.

When she walks in, you don’t look at her, instead deciding to twist off the last bolt of your chains silently.

“Look at this, the Red Widow, I can’t say I’m shocked that we’re here again. I mean you always seem to be below me, first in the ranks and now you’re my prisoner.” She darkly chuckles before shutting the lights off.

“This’ll be fun.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Bucky is on his way back from a mission when it happens.

He spent 3 days tracking down your old handler for information only to find out he put a hit on you years ago. He started making calls the minute he got to the safe house, every single one of your potential employers had cut their ties to you. It wasn’t recent either, when you were released from the Red Room you’d gone after anyone could find. They sent agents after you and got them back in bags. Everything SHIELD had been feeding him was a lie, it didn’t take much for him to find out the truth meaning they knew all along. They wanted you alone and he was on the other side of the world.

Barnes quickly abandoned his mission after that, making haste to get back to the compound before it was too late. Too bad he could hear the blaring alarms from the jet. By the time he got to the containment center, it was just an empty room with red flashing lights. It wasn’t lost on him that no one else was in the vicinity, but before he could tear some agents a new one, a glare reflected on the mirror from inside the room.

Now he could tell the room wasn’t only red because of the lights. Fresh blood stains on the white walls and marble floor led to the flipped-over desk with the object that created the glares. He crouched down to the desk, a knife embedded in the metal and writing indented in its handle.

“What’s it say?”

Barnes pulls the knife out and faces his friend. “Where were you?”

The captain lets out a yawn that lacks lethargy and stretches his arms out. “I’ve been in bed for a few hours, last mission really tested my limits. You know how it is.”

James nods, unconvincingly. “You check the security feed? Fury said something about bringing you in before it cut out. What happened Steve?”

The man shrugs his shoulders. “Buck, I haven’t been down here since that first interrogation. No one called me, I had no idea what was going on until the alarms started going off.” Bucky glazes over the writing on the knife once more before passing it over.

Steve furrowed his brows. “This isn’t Russian, she didn’t write this.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Survive. I gave it to her on our first mission. Romania 2005, it was a long-distance kill mission. There were no nerves in sight, just pure determination on her. I realized on that mountain she was different, she wasn’t doing it just because it was her job. It was her chance to prove to Dreykov that she was better in every way compared to Romanoff. I carved the word and tried to tell her that life wasn’t about that, but her mind was set on becoming his first hand.”

“She still took the knife, that’s gotta mean something. Look, there’s something else on the other side.” Steve flips it over. “Romanian I’m assuming.”

“Pentru iubitul meu cu inima rece.”

'for my cold-hearted lover'

“It’s not nice, is it?”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

*bold was said in Russian*

“You did well.” The soldier glanced at the shivering girl before punching in the code to the safe house.

“I knew what I was doing. I didn’t need a babysitter.” As soon as the door was open, she shoved him aside and strode in. He shook his head falling in suit then turning on the lights and generators.

“I know, you said it clearly on the mountain. I was just backup in case your location was leaked, not supervision.” He began to strip his heavy gear off and noticed the girl on the other side of the room was still shivering. He picked up his jacket and walked over to her.

“Widow’s don’t feel pain, I don’t need your pity.” She shrugged him off and sat on the couch.

He exhaled enough to notice his breath in the air. “The heat won’t kick in for a while and I don’t pity you y/n.” He placed the heavy jacket around her shoulders.

“Iubit cu inima rece.” She huffs under her breath.

The soldier snorts and sits next to her. “You picked that up quickly, a bit harsh though.”

“It’s the truth, that’s who you are. Aren’t you soldat?” She turns to him and their eyes lock. His crystal blues spot nothing hostile in her remarks.

“My guess is as good as yours, dragă.” A soft grin peaks on her lips.

“I know who you are.” His gaze drops to her lips, and when it lifts hers are on his lips as well.

“Who am I?” Their faces are so close she feels the words as they leave his pout.

“You’re my cold-hearted lover.” He smiles and claims her with his lips.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“So?” The Captain drags his friend out of his dreamscape.

“I need to find her. Where’s Romanoff?” The soldier tucks the weapon away and marches out of the cell towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

“Bucky wait!” Rogers takes off after him and makes the elevator before it closes. “There’s something you need to know.”

Bucky scoffs because he already knows. He knows his best friend better than anyone in the world- all the worlds. At the end of their conversation in the cell, his resting heart rate was 35 bpm while at the beginning it was around 90 bpm. Athletes are known to have lower resting rates because of their agility, same goes for super soldiers. The average person has a resting heart rate of around 60 to 100, so for Steve’s to be that high when he was supposedly ‘fresh out of bed’ means he knows more than he’s letting off.

“Nat was the last one in the cell.” Bucky gestures for him to go on. “A couple of hours ago, she went in to talk, but she underestimated her. Y/n was armed and unchained. Nat barely made it out alive.” The doors open to the medical bay, they walk over to the first room and there sits a bloodied and battered Black Widow. At least he was honest about that.

“This where you were when she escaped? Cleaning your girlfriend’s wounds?”

“Buck, no one knew she’d be able to get out so easily. She could’ve left weeks ago if she wanted, but she stayed just to enact her revenge on Nat. She planned this, every part. She even hit Stark.” Barnes raised a brow.

“10 million dollars in shares and revenue was stolen from Stark Industries hours before her escape. He’s been trying to trace the hack, but nothing has come up. It just disappeared.”

So the plan was to speak to her quietly, move the money using Hydra tactics then conveniently make the containment center empty after Natasha’s attack. Not how he’d go about aiding her escape, points for creativity though.

“That true?” He asks as the wounded widow sees them.

She rolls her eyes but nods. “I went in to give her a taste of being home, but she was on me before I could do anything. I hate to say it, but her techniques were brutal. The last time I was injured this bad it was you.” She locks eyes with Bucky for a moment before he looks away.

“She used everything you ever taught her. Her chains wrapped around my neck, knife to the side, she used anything she could get her hands on. The best thing was everything was nonlethal.” She ends with a light laugh that turns into a cough.

“Okay that’s enough, you need to get some rest.” Steve helps her to her feet and walks her to the threshold Bucky stood at. “Wait.”

She puts a hand on his metal arm, it’s the one part of her body still pale. “Before I blacked out she said, ‘Я выжил.’ I guessed that was meant for you.” Then the couple walked off.

I survived.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Driving up to the once very family-friendly home, made the rumbling from the bike cease to sound. Old memories of you and him playing house, being happy, pretending that love was real flooded your mind until you parked his bike. None of it was real, there’s a reason it’s called puppy love. He thought you could stay with him in his brickstone forever. Now he's lost you again.

You enter the vacant home and quickly find the closet you hid your stash box in. Opening the box you’re relieved the soldier hadn’t found it himself. Passports, IDs, a money clip, burner phones, keys, and a matchbox. You dump everything into a carry-on and then find a change of clothing. It’s not that you don’t want the smell of the Black Widow’s blood on you, because it ignites every cell in your body. But the people at the airstrip would think otherwise, no matter how much you paid them.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you study the look, but it’s missing something. You open one of the drawers of the dresser and find what you’re looking for.

Jackie Odom, the sexiest 60 in water wave wig. She was missed heavily.

You check the time before moving to the bathroom.

01:24 AM

He’ll be here any minute. You quickly release your neglected curls from their elastic prison, dunk them in water, and attempt the fastest braid down in your life.

By the time you leave you've accomplished two things: saying goodbye to the old and hello to the new.

01:30 AM

From a hill deep in the woods, you can see the soldier and his tag team of heroes with flashing lights and loud sirens. The men in uniform go in as the men out of uniform stand in front of the house engulfed in flames. His bike front and center had already taken the most damage. A full tank of gas will do that for you. Your soldier looks to the woods almost like he can spot you from behind dark clouds and oak trees. You smirk and turn to walk away.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Can I open my eyes now?” You whine as you feel the car stop.

“Nope, let me help you out first.” James’ voice hadn’t flinched from its giddy enthusiasm the entire 27-minute car ride. After a year on this assignment, you might miss that golden tone. Might.

“Perfect distance between the compound and the city, equipped with a state of the alarm system, motion sensors next to every potential exit, and a bunker that would make most agencies jealous.” He was like a kid in a candy store, giving you all the ammunition needed to take care of him.

“What do you think?” You smiled and let him continue with the house tour.

You stayed for 6 days. You gave him 6 days of joy, love, and lust. When he went to bed that seventh night, you raided the bunker, wrote him a note and left.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Until next time, James.” Then you sped off into the distance.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

likes, comment and reblogs are welcomed and treasured ♡

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bloodykora · 2 years ago

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What if Sanji but with an S/O who also fights with their legs but not in the same way

Sanji who defends and basically uses his legs like how people use their arms kinda way but his partner is different.

Preferring to just try and wrap their legs around their victim to bring them down no matter the means (running at target and doing it or getting up high enough to thigh crush the throat)

Y/n is a fucking tank just putting complete trust into themselves while flinging their body in the air to wrap their calves around a dudes shoulders and turning to get them to the ground.

#i was thinking about black widow when this idea popped into my brain #also just realized sanji kinda fights like mercury from rwby so ♡#sanji live action #sanji x reader #kora oc

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lostremind · 2 years ago

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Can't stop thinking of waking up from a nap to find Natasha and your kids, joyfully dancing in the rain outside. You watch, unnoticed, from the window as Natasha, barefoot and carefree, twirls with the children, their laughter blending with the sound of raindrops.

#Idk the thought just came to my head #So random but I kinda like it #Natasha would be total wife material #Natasha would be the cutest ngl #natasha romanoff #marvel #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson

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kashverse · 5 months ago

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Imagine someone making mama reader cry and minisukuna is just roasting who man her cry’s ass, while sukuna is trying to hold back from murder

i didn't wanna make the mamakuna's reading this cry, so have a bit of banter instead. i hope this is what you were requesting for!

rule number 1 in a sukuna family barbecue is to kiss the cook—aka mamakuna, aka you.

rule number 1.2? only babykuna and sukuna can kiss the chef. no exceptions.

but the most important rule—the one etched in stone, the one more sacred than sukuna’s secret steak rub recipe—is rule number 2:

never. insult. the cook.

so when yuki, choso’s plus one, decides to run her mouth at the absolute wrong time, saying, “not gonna lie, this chicken is kinda dry,” there is an immediate, deafening silence. choso, sitting next to her, freezes mid-bite, eyes darting around like he’s witnessing a live execution. nanami takes a slow sip of his beer, very wisely deciding he wants no part in whatever is about to happen. gojo, ever the shit-stirrer, grins and leans in. “oh-ho-ho, you done fucked up.” meanwhile, you? you just blink.

"oh?"

it’s just one word, but it’s enough to send chills down the spines of everyone within earshot. sukuna, who had been manning the grill (read: standing around looking important while you did all the real work), slowly sets down the tongs.

his jaw twitches. his veins pop. he looks two seconds away from committing murder.

"who made the food, yuki?" he asks, voice dangerously calm. yuki, still blissfully unaware of the shitstorm she’s just walked into, shrugs. "i dunno, the caterer?"

sukuna exhales through his nose, like he’s actively trying to keep his soul from leaving his body.

"your caterer is literally sitting right there," choso hisses under his breath, eyes darting to you. yuki, now finally putting two and two together, has the audacity to look sheepish. "oh. uhh…"

but before she can say anything else—

"DODOHEAD!!"

everyone turns to look at babykuna, who is fuming, tiny fists clenched, eyes ablaze with unwavering rage. "how dare you," she huffs, looking as offended as if yuki had personally spit on a framed picture of you.

"i—it’s not that deep—"

“SHAME ON YOU, POOPIEHEAD!!” babykuna stomps her foot, dramatically clutching her heart like she’s a widow in a soap opera. "mama’s food is the best in the whole world!"

"i didn't mean—"

"take it back!" babykuna demands. yuki blinks, caught between disbelief and fear.

"uh…?"

"TAKE. IT. BACK."

babykuna’s arm lifts. her grip tightens around the precious stuffed labubu in her hand. and before anyone can stop her—

"oh, hell no," sukuna mutters, finally snapping.

"you listen here, you ungrateful shit—"

"okay!" choso interjects, physically holding his brother back before this barbecue turns into a crime scene.

"yuki," he hisses, “apologize before you get us both killed.” yuki, now 100% convinced she is not leaving this barbecue alive, raises her hands.

"okay, okay! i’m sorry!"

"say it like you mean it!" babykuna shouts, labubu still armed and ready.

"i mean it!!"

yuki, now sweating bullets, looks at you.

"your food is great. i love it. i’m sorry."

babykuna narrows her suspicious little eyes.

"hmph."

after ten long seconds of dramatic silence, she finally lowers labubu.

"...i forgive you."

yuki exhales in relief.

"but don’t do it again, dodohead!"

sukuna grumbles under his breath, still looking like he wants to throw hands. but then you, grinning, lean over and kiss his cheek. "down, boy," you tease. "i don’t need you getting blood on my good plates."

he grunts. “whatever.” but he still sends a glare yuki’s way.

“next time, i will let babykuna throw the labubu.”

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katebishopsbaefy · 2 years ago

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Soup and Sniffles

natasha romanoff x reader

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚༘

summary: you're sick and dont want natasha to find out. she finds out, fluff ensues.

word count: 961

a/n: hey everyone this is the first fic im posting pls no hate 😄😘

You practically fall through your open window onto the floor of your bedroom, knees almost buckling underneath you. You’re able to catch yourself in just enough time to stop your face from slamming into the ground. The impact from your sort of fall is still loud, though, and you pray Natasha couldn’t hear it.

You realized you were sick two days ago, but only today had you really started to feel the full effects of your illness. School was a nightmare with a stuffy nose and constant headache, and with no time in between classes and patrol, you were absolutely miserable. But, not wanting to worry Natasha or risk being labeled as “useless”, you kept it to yourself and stuck it out. One fight in particular left you stumbling and sneezing, the guy’s ice powers making you feel even more sick. You’d managed to make your way to your shared apartment with Natasha. You couldn’t wait to take a much needed nap.

A knock on the door makes you jump up from your spot on the floor, which you happened to be very comfortable in. Natasha’s voice is muffled by the door.

“Y/N? What the hell was that?” she asks. Shit.

You panic. Clear your throat as quietly as you can, hoping to sound much less congested than you are. “Nothing! I’m ok, I swear.”

“I’m coming in,” she states, and she’s next to you before you can even begin to protest. She notices the carpet moved out of place under your feet and smirks. “Did you fall through the window?”

“Maybe,” you reply. She quirks an eyebrow at you. “Rough ni-” you start, but a cough racks through your body and you’re forced to double over. You recover as quickly as possible, shooting back up with a sniffle and a smile. “Rough night,” you finish. You break eye contact with her once you see the concern laced in her green eyes.

“I can tell. Did you get hit?” she asks, looking up and down your body looking for an injury that could be the source of your cough. She takes your face into her hands and studies the cuts littering it until your own hands push hers away.

“No, I’m fine. Well, I did get hit, but I’m fine. No problem.” You smile at her. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

The back of Natasha’s hand finds your forehead before you can react. Your mind tells you to pull away, but your body leans into the contact in search of comfort. She frowns as you sniff again. “You’re sick.”

“No I’m not,” you argue, finally finding the strength to pull her hand away from you. It drops to her side and her eyes search yours.

“Yes, you are. How long have you been sick for?”

“I haven’t been sick because I’m not sick.”

“Then why do you sound so gross?”

“I’m not gross.”

“You’re pretty gross.”

“I’m not sick, Nat! Jesus,” you swipe your hand under your nose and sniffle miserably. Her fingers find your face once more and she turns your chin to look at her, thumb swiping away a tear you didn’t know had fallen. Natasha looks at you, really looks at you. You’re shivering under her touch, just slightly, but enough for her to notice. Your eyes are sunken and red, as well as the tip of your nose and your cheeks. She looks back into your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asks softly, barely above a whisper.

Tears fill your eyes and you let them. “I don’t feel good,” you tell her, and the wall breaks. She pulls you into her and kisses the top of your head. You're very aware of the grossness you're getting on her shirt, but she doesn’t care.

“I got you,” she whispers over and over into your hair, rubbing circles on your back as you sob. Eventually your legs simply give out, but she’s there to hold you up. Drags you over to your bed and pulls away, forcing you to look at her. She hands you a tissue to blow your nose into.

“Gross,” she comments. You giggle tearily and she smiles at you. “I’ll make you soup if you wanna go shower.”

“Mkay. C’n you do tha’ thing where you put m’ clothes in the dryer so they’re all warm?” you look up at her with the best puppy eyes you can muster. This time she giggles at you.

“I guess so. Try not to take twelve hours in the shower, I want hot water too.”

You know she really wouldn’t care if you took forever, as long as it made you feel better.

You jump in the shower, and when you’re out (45 minutes later), there’s fresh clothes sitting on the toilet for you, plus a fluffy towel. You throw on the clothes and ring out your hair, walking towards the kitchen to the smell of soup.

Natasha watches you and shoots you a small smile. “Better?” she asks.

“Yeah. Less gross,” you reply honestly. Your nose is a lot less congested and your shivering stopped for the most part. You plop yourself down in your spot on the couch and Liho, Nat’s cat, jumps up with you. You pull her into your arms and lay down on a pillow given to you by some distant relative, paying little attention to the sitcom running on the tv.

Nat turns to bring you a bowl of soup, but sees you passed out on the couch, snoring quietly. She walks over and grabs your favorite blanket from over the top of the couch, draping it over you and kissing your forehead. Notices you’re a lot less warm than before, smiles down at you. The soup could wait for later.

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screaminglygay · 2 months ago

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No way back

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

summary: you and natasha joined S.H.I.E.L.D. at the same time, but you're the only one who feels truly at home. while you find your footing, natasha struggles with the unfamiliarity of it all - new people, new rules, and the overwhelming sense that she doesn’t quite belong, but you try your best to make her feel like she´s at home

warnings: slow burn, teasing, kissing, fighting, swearing, light angst, overthinking, Natasha feeling out of place, mentions of a brother's passing, emotional vulnerability

word count: 9.6k

an: thank you for the request!! i had fun writing it, once again sorry it took me forever, the next two parts will be even more angsty!!

part one I part two I part three

The air in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility was thick with unspoken words. Conversations lowered to hushed tones whenever she walked past. The few who didn’t bother whispering let their disapproval show in glances, in the way their shoulders stiffened when she entered a room.

Natasha Romanoff was used to isolation. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just suspicion, it was hatred.

The KGB had collapsed, and the Red Room along with it. She was one of the lucky few who got a second chance, but the agents here didn’t see it that way. To them, she wasn’t just a recruit, she was an enemy, a traitor, a remnant of something they wanted erased. They didn’t see a woman trying to rebuild herself, only the ghost of something they despised.

And yet, there was you.

Bright-eyed and eager, just another fresh recruit with no bloodstained history weighing you down. You weren’t a Widow. You weren’t special. But you were kind. And unlike everyone else, you didn’t look at her like she was something vile.

Natasha noticed it from the start, the way your gaze didn’t linger with wariness, the way your voice didn’t lower when she was near. And when she entered the training room that afternoon, she noticed you again.

The training mats were filled with recruits testing their combat skills. You were off to the side, holding pads for another agent, excitement lighting up your features as you explained something with your hands moving animatedly.

Natasha didn’t care for small talk, but something about the way you smiled… so open, so easy, made her pause.

Moments later, she was called up for testing. Evaluating abilities, strengths, weaknesses. Seeing where she fit. She knew how they expected her to perform, like a ruthless machine. So she did. She made quick work of her opponents, every strike precise, efficient. No wasted movement. No hesitation. When she finally stepped off the mat, there was silence. Not admiration, not respect, just discomfort. A reminder that she wasn’t one of them.

And then you spoke.

"That was insane." Your voice cut through the tension, bright and impressed, not a hint of unease. "How the hell did you move like that?"

Natasha blinked. People didn’t usually direct questions at her unless they had to.

You took her silence as an invitation to continue, unfazed. "I mean, I know it’s years of training and all, but-" you gestured vaguely, still catching your breath from your own sparring match. "That was like some ninja stuff ."

She just stared, unsure what to do with the unexpected enthusiasm directed her way. You were still looking at her, waiting, expecting an answer. No hostility, no apprehension.

She exhaled sharply. "Practice."

You grinned. "Yeah? Guess I should be practicing a hell of a lot more, then." You chuckle. You are not a bad at this, no. You are fast and quick, but these moves, that Natasha made… they were something else.

Natasha almost smirked, but before she could respond, your instructor called for a break. The recruits scattered, finding their usual groups.

She didn’t have one. She was used to sitting alone. It didn’t bother her.

But then-

"Hey, uh, you good?" Your voice again. You were standing in front of her now, holding two water bottles, offering one out. "You kinda just wrecked everyone, figured you might need this."

She eyed the bottle warily before taking it. "Thanks."

You sat down beside her without invitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Natasha waited for the hesitation, the awkward excuse to leave, but it didn’t come.

After many days of training, it became more harsher and more exhausting, you knew it was S.H.I.E.L.D. testing you, trying to sort just the best one, but it was a lot, but not for her, at least it didn´t look like it.

Natasha sat in the corner of the training room, carefully adjusting the bandages wrapped around her hand. It wasn’t a bad injury, just a scrape from earlier drills, but the fabric had stuck to the wound. She barely reacted to the discomfort, her expression cold as ever.

You noticed, though. "Hey, looks like that’s stuck. You need help?" you asked, crouching beside her.

Natasha didn’t even look up. "No."

You grinned, undeterred. "I wasn’t really asking." Before she could pull away, you were already untying the bandages with quick, precise fingers. The fabric peeled away from her skin, and Natasha finally looked at you, her sharp green eyes studying you, not with anger, but with something closer to surprise. She didn’t say anything. Just watched.

"There," you said, satisfied. "That’s better, right?"

Natasha flexed her fingers slightly, testing. "I suppose."

You took that as a win.

From that moment, you made it your mission to include Natasha, whether she wanted it or not. It wasn’t hard, everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. liked you. You were warm, helpful, and easy to talk to. Even the most hardened agents softened in your presence. But when it came to Natasha, people kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones when she passed by, leaving her to sit alone during briefings.

You weren’t having it.

Every conversation, every briefing, every group training, if you were there, you made sure Natasha was a part of it. When you laughed at a joke, you turned to see if she was listening. When you partnered up for drills, you dragged her into the mix. If she tried to stay in the background, you pulled her forward. At first, people didn’t know what to do with it. Some just stared. Some whispered. But you? You smiled at Natasha like she was just another teammate, not the ex-KGB assassin everyone was afraid of. And eventually, even if she didn’t say it, you could tell, she appraciated it.

She appraciate you.

You weren’t exactly sure when things started to shift. Maybe it was during that one mission, the first time you and Natasha had to rely on each other for real. A simple recon op that went sideways, forcing you and her to fight back-to-back. It was the first time she saw you as more than just the kind recruit who wouldn’t leave her alone. The first time she saw that you could handle yourself.

By the time you both got back to base, bruised but victorious, something had changed. It wasn’t big, not yet. Just small moments.

The way Natasha sat closer during briefings, the way her gaze lingered when you spoke. Like she was watching, waiting, trying to figure you out.

So you decided to push things a little further, trying to make her feel more… comfortable and safe. Make her feel more like she belongs here.

"Come with me," you said one evening, right after dinner.

Natasha raised a brow. "Where?"

"The shooting range." You said simply.

She studied you for a long moment. "At this hour? There won’t be anyone else."

"Nope," you grinned. "Just us. I wanted to see the real things you can do with a gun. And I want you to teach me."

Natasha folded her arms, the corner of her lips twitching. "You don’t think it’s- "

"Scary?" you interrupted. "No. Badass? Yup."

She blinked, surprised, before shaking her head with something dangerously close to amusement. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re avoiding the question." You smiled at her, knowing she will say yes, but won´t go down without looking like a scary person.

Which is funny, because not even after bunch of stories you heard, not a single time did you think she was scary. Interesting and strong, definetly, but never scary.

Natasha sighed, but there was no real resistance. She stood up, rolling her shoulders. "Fine. But don’t embarrass yourself."

You grinned. "No promises."

The range was quiet at night, the fluorescent lights casting a cool glow over the empty stalls. You handed Natasha a pistol, watching as she inspected it with the kind of precision that could only come from years of training.

"So, what do you wanna learn?" she asked, slipping into that calm, focused state that made her so lethal in the field.

You thought about it for a second. "Everything."

Natasha let out a short laugh, a real one. "That’s ambitious."

"You´re good with guns, so…"

Her expression faltered, just for a second. She wasn’t used to compliments. Not the genuine kind. But she recovered quickly, loading the gun and placing it in your hands.

"Alright then," she murmured, stepping behind you. "Let’s start with your grip."

Her hands covered yours, adjusting your fingers, pressing against your back to fix your stance. Her touch was careful but firm, her voice smooth as she explained each movement. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth of her body so close or the sheer focus in her tone, but your pulse quickened.

And when you fired the first shot, dead center on the target, you swore you heard a quiet hum of approval.

"Not bad," Natasha admitted.

You smirked. "Told you I wouldn’t embarrass myself. But why is the grip so important? It´s just the shot, no?"

She rolled her eyes, but this time, she didn’t pull away so fast. "Is your gun loaded?"

"No. I had only one bullet in-" before you could finish that sentence, Natasha not so harshly bumped into your wrist and the gun you were holding fell easily down. "Oh… I see now." You turned your head so you can look at her, you smiled a bit, even though you can feel your heart in your throat.

After that bonding the smiles started. They weren’t much at first - hesitant, uncertain - but they were there. Agents who once ignored her were now nodding in acknowledgment. Some even started greeting her by name. It wasn’t lost on Natasha that this shift had everything to do with you.

You had always been easy to like, weaving yourself effortlessly into the cracks of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cold walls. You helped agents with their reports, sparred with them without making it a competition, and always - always - made sure Natasha was included.

At first, people didn’t know how to react. They weren’t sure if you were just being polite or if you really meant it. But then, in the middle of a late-night training session, you made sure to give Natasha the credit, she didn´t think was even there.

"Damn, how did you pull that off?" one of the agents asked after you had effortlessly flipped them onto the mat.

You grinned, wiping sweat from your forehead. "Natasha taught me." Silence. A few skeptical glances were exchanged. "…Romanoff?" someone finally muttered.

"Yeah," you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

For a moment, no one knew what to say. But then, one of the agents turned to Natasha, hesitant but genuinely curious. "Wait… you actualy train others?"

Natasha, who had been leaning against the wall watching the interaction unfold, tilted her head slightly. "When I feel like it."

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t listen to her. She does and she’s actually great at it."

A few agents exchanged glances before someone hesitantly asked, "Can you show us?"

Natasha hesitated. It wasn’t fear. It was just… unfamiliar. People looking at her with interest instead of distrust.

You gave her a little nudge. "C’mon, show off a little." And once again you chuckle, pushing Natasha´s buttons a bit more. Making her open more and show others, that she´s not so cold and scary looking lady.

A beat passed. Then, Natasha sighed and stepped forward. "Fine."

That was the moment everything truly changed. The next few weeks, more agents started joining in. What started as casual observations turned into genuine respect. They saw how skilled she was, how efficient her movements were.

"Oh my god, who taught you that?" someone asked you after another sparring session.

"Natasha did," you answered with a smirk.

And instead of the usual shock or discomfort, the response was different this time. "Damn," one agent muttered. "She’s really good."

"She really is," another admitted.

It was subtle, but Natasha noticed it. The way people started sitting next to her in meetings. The way conversations didn’t immediately die when she entered a room. The way people started listening. For the first time since joining S.H.I.E.L.D., she didn’t feel like an outsider, at least not that much, she felt like this could really be a new beggining for her.

As the days comes by Natasha finally catch you after a training, finally being able to talk to you properly. The gym was empty now, except for the two of you. Sweat clung to your skin, muscles sore from sparring, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave today. Natasha had been improving fast, not just physically, but in how she carried herself around the others. She was more comfortable now, less guarded. It was something you had noticed gradually, and honestly, you were proud of her.

That’s why it caught you off guard when she suddenly said, "Thanks."

You blinked. "For what?"

Natasha exhaled, running a hand through her damp hair before leaning against the wall. "For making me look friendly. Helping me fit in."

You shook your head with a small smile. "Zero idea what you’re talking about."

She shot you a dry look. "Oh, shut up."

You chuckled. "That was all you, Nat. They just needed a little push. So did you."

Natasha didn’t argue with that. She let the words settle between you before glancing down at her hands, quiet for a long moment. Then, almost hesitantly, she said, "I don’t blame them, you know."

You frowned at her, letting her speak.

"The others. For being wary of me." She sighed. "I was trained in the Red Room. Worked for the KGB. I know what people like me have done." She hesitated, then her voice dropped slightly. "I know what I’ve done, I know who I am..."

She didn’t say it, but you heard the word she left unsaid.

Monster.

Your chest ached for her.

"We all make mistakes," you said softly. "But you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? You want to change. To do something good. What happened… happened. You can’t change the past, but you can choose who you want to be."

Natasha let out a breath, something shifting in her expression. "You ate a wisdom, hm?" she muttered.

You grinned, "that’s my daily bread."

A small chuckle escaped her lips, quiet but real. It was rare to hear her laugh, but when she did, it was worth it.

After that, things between you and Natasha just… clicked. Wherever she was, you weren’t far behind. And wherever you were, she was right there with you. People started joking about it. "If we need to find Romanoff, just look for (Y/N)."

"I swear, they come as a set," another agent laughed at that.

You started doing things together outside of training. Natasha would drag you to the shooting range at odd hours, testing out different weapons while you tried (and often failed) to match her skill. In return, you convinced her to join you in normal, non-mission-related activities - grabbing coffee, watching movies, playing pool in the rec room.

And then there were the missions. You worked better together than anyone expected. It was seamless, almost instinctive. The way you covered each other’s backs, how one glance was enough to understand what the other was thinking. You weren’t just teammates. You were a duo.

Time goes by, and it was the one-year celebration of you being in S.H.I.E.L.D. The same goes for Natasha. The party was in full swing, the usually serious S.H.I.E.L.D agents actually let loose, drinks in hand, music a little too loud for a facility, and even the higher-ups seem to have abandoned their usual stiff posture. For once, the atmosphere was light, warm. You had a good time, chatting with everyone, laughing at dumb jokes, even letting yourself get a little tipsy.

But even you had limits, your social battery is wearing thin, and the heat of the crowded room got to you. So, without much thought, you slipped out of the main hall and made your way up the stairs, pushing open the door to the training center’s rooftop. The night air was cool against your skin, refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the party. The city lights stretched out in the distance, flickering like a thousand little stars, and you sighed, leaning against the railing.

Peace. At least for a moment.

Because not long after, the door creaked open again. You didn´t have to turn around to know who it was. Natasha stepped forward, her footsteps light, almost silent. She stopped beside you, resting her arms on the railing. You glanced at her, she looked the same as always, calm, composed.

"You’re not drunk," you observed.

She huffed out something like a chuckle. "Of course not."

"Why? Afraid of letting loose?" you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

She didn´t respond immediately, just watched the city below. Then, with a small shrug, she said, "I grew up in Russia. Tolerance to alcohol is kind of in my blood."

You raised an eyebrow. "Then why you’re not even slightly tipsy?"

"Would take a hell of a lot more than what they’re serving in there," she said, nodding towards the party. "It’s a little pathetic, honestly."

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

"Maybe I should teach you... you look like you would need it," she teased.

"Excuse you, I have some tolerance." You glanced at her, "besides I did have my own growing up experience with drinking."

Natasha looked at you, silent, waiting.

"My brother taught me how to drink," you chuckled, "at least tried to." You exhaled, looking down at your hands. “His names is Thomas.” A pause. “Was.”

She didn´t say anything, but she turned fully toward you, giving you her full attention.

"He was in the Navy," you continued. "One of the best. Smart, strong… better than me in everything, really. But he was also the kind of guy who couldn’t sit back if someone needed help." You took a breath. "There was an accident. A mission gone wrong. He saved his teammate… but he didn’t make it."

You swallowed, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. Even after all this time, it didn´t go away. It´s the alcohol that made your shiny personality, to get a little cloudy.

Natasha was still quiet, but she watched you with something soft in her expression. Understanding.

"That’s why I trained," you said finally. "Why I kept pushing myself. My biggest dream was to work for the CIA, actually." You chuckled, shaking your head. "And I almost made it. Passed all the tests, was about to get in, until a guy with one eye came in and basically stole me."

Natasha’s lips quirked. "Fury?"

You nodded, "Fury."

There was a comfortable silence between you after that. Just the sound of the wind, the faint music from the party below, and the distant hum of the city.

Then, quietly, Natasha said, "I’m sorry about your brother."

You glanced at her, giving her a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Another beat of silence. Then, in a rare, quiet admission, she added, "He sounds like a nice guy."

You chuckled, tilting your head. "He would’ve liked you."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "even though I’m Russian?"

You nudged her shoulder. "Even though you’re Russian." It was very easy to talk to you, to joke with you and to let her guards down, she liked this... she liked spending time with you.

You let out a soft chuckle, leaning your elbows on the railing as you gaze out over the cityscape. The cool night air does little to sober you up, but you didn´t mind the warmth in your cheeks. It was a nice buzz, one that made you loosen up, talk more freely.

"He actually was really into women who could take care of themselves," you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between you and Natasha. "His captain was a woman. I remember how head over heels he was for her… it was crazy. He was thirteen again, having a crush like a little boy."

You laughed at the memory, shaking your head. "I swear, he would talk about her like she walked on water. All serious and professional when she was around, but then the second she left? He’d go on and on about how badass she was."

Natasha chuckled at your rambling, a rare amusement flickering in her expression. You were slightly tipsy, your words a little looser than usual, but she didn´t mind. There was something… nice about it. About you just talking, sharing pieces of your life like they were meant to be told.

She watched as you grin to yourself, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the railing. There was a soft flush to your cheeks, not just from the alcohol, but from the warmth of the memory. It made her hesitate, just for a moment, before she spoke.

"I get it," Natasha finally said, exhaling softly. "Having someone you admire like that."

You glanced at her, intrigued. "Yeah?" And Natasha just hummed.

After few minutes of just silence once again, her gaze fell back on the city. “I had a sister.” A pause. "Have a sister."

Your head tilted slightly, your attention sharpening. "You do?"

Natasha nodded again. "Yelena. She’s younger than me. Stubborn as hell, always had something to prove." A small, almost fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "We grew up together… well, as much as we could. The Red Room didn’t exactly allow for normal childhoods."

You didn´t push, just let her talk, sensing the weight of her words.

"I haven’t seen her in years," Natasha continued, fingers flexing slightly against the railing. "Not since I left." There’s a flicker of something in her expression - guilt, longing. "I don’t even know where she is. If she’s okay. But I still think about her."

You were quiet for a moment, letting her words settle between you. Then, gently, you asked, "What was she like? Back then?"

Natasha exhaled a short laugh. "A menace."

You grined at that. "Sounds about right for a younger sibling."

"She always had this way of getting under my skin," Natasha admited, shaking her head slightly. "Always trying to prove she could be better, faster, stronger. But she was also… kind. Not in the traditional way, but in the way that mattered. She cared… deeply. Even when she tried to hide it."

You watched Natasha’s expression shift, soft in a way you don’t see often. It was different from her usual guarded demeanor, there was something raw in it. Something real.

"I hope she’s okay," Natasha murmured.

You reached out, hesitating for only a second before gently placing your hand on hers. "If she’s anything like you, I’d bet she is."

Natasha looked at you then, her green eyes flickering at your hand on hers, then back at you. But after a moment, she just huffed out a quiet breath, shaking her head. "You’re really bad at this whole tough S.H.I.E.L.D. agent thing, you know?" she said.

You grined, "yeah, well. Someone’s gotta balance you out."

She didn´t argue. Instead, she just let out another soft chuckle, turning her gaze back toward the city. And for a while, the two of you just stayed like that. Side by side, watching the world move below, the weight of past and present settling comfortably between you.

One second, you were just standing there, glancing at Natasha, enjoying her presence - the next, her lips were on yours. Soft. Warm.

A little hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she should be doing this, but then firmer, more certain.

Your breath hitched, heart slamming against your ribs as your brain caught up with what was happening. Natasha Romanoff - Natasha - was kissing you.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, she pulled away, eyes wide, looking more startled than you felt. "Oh, shit," she breathed. "I- I didn’t mean to-"

You blinked at her, still processing, still feeling the ghost of her lips on yours. Butteflies flying everywhere.

"I mean, I did, but I- I don’t know why I-" She took a half-step back, running a hand over her face. "That was- I wasn’t thinking, I just-"

She was spiraling. Natasha Romanoff was spiraling. And honestly? It was kind of adorable.

You grinned, heart still racing, but in the best way. "Nat."

"I shouldn’t have-"

"Natasha."

She shut up, blinking at you.

"Don’t apologize," you said softly, still feeling the warmth of her lips lingering on yours. "That was nice."

She blinked again. "Nice?"

"Very nice." You nodded and as Natasha looked at you fully so she could notice the blush on your cheeks. Knowing very well it wasn´t from the alcohol.

Her brows furrowed, like her brain was still struggling to process the fact that you weren’t mad, weren’t pulling away. "But I just- I didn’t even ask, I just-"

"Yeah, I noticed," you teased, a giddy little laugh bubbling up. "Not that I’m complaining."

Natasha groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is not how I wanted to do this."

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. "Oh? So you wanted to kiss me?"

Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. "I- That’s not- I mean-"

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. A bright, breathless, happy sound.

"I knew it," you teased, poking her arm.

Natasha scowled, but the way her ears were turning pink betrayed her, "you did?"

"Nope, but I wanted you to do it so badly, so… manifestation." You smiled widely at her.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

"And you just kissed me," you pointed out, grinning.

She groaned again, looking up at the sky like it might save her. You just smiled, reaching for her hand and giving it a small squeeze.

"Hey," you said softly. She looked at you, and there was still a little hesitation there, a little uncertainty.

You squeezed her hand again. "This is nice," you repeated, gentler this time. "You are nice. To me. And that’s all that matters."

Natasha stared at you for a long moment, like she was still trying to find a way out of this. But then, finally, finally, she let out a breath. "You’re really something else," she murmured, shaking her head.

You grinned. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of your hand.

…

From the moment that kiss happened on the rooftop, something between you and Natasha changed.

Not in a way that was overwhelming or scary - no, it was easy, like flipping a switch that was waiting to be turned on. You still trained together, ate lunch at the same table, sat beside each other in meetings, but now there was an added something to it all. A kind of warmth, a softness.

Like how Natasha would nudge your arm when she passed by, or how she’d steal your drink without asking, giving you a smirk when you huffed at her. Or how she’d lean into your side when you sat next to each other, casually draping her arm over the back of your chair, fingers sometimes brushing your shoulder absentmindedly.

Little things. Easy things.

Dating Natasha Romanoff was surprisingly not some impossible, larger-than-life thing. It was waking up and getting coffee together before morning drills, where she’d always roll her eyes but still make sure you had your favorite one.

It was stealing quick, hidden moments in hallways when no one was looking, Natasha rolling her eyes at how obvious you were, only to pull you in for a kiss when she thought no one was around. It was training together, still pushing each other, but now with teasing smirks and stolen kisses. It was, you had to admit, kind of perfect.

Natasha was perfect. And everyone was noticing.

Once word got out, because of course it got out, that you, arguably the kindest person in S.H.I.E.L.D., chose Natasha, something shifted in how people treated her.

Not in a bad way, though.

Before, people had been friendly enough, mostly because you kept bringing Natasha into group activities and conversations, but there had always been a kind of caution. A distance. They still saw her as Black Widow, the woman who had red in her ledger, who had a history drenched in violence.

But now?

Now, people looked at her differently.

If you, the person who always went out of their way to help others, who saw the best in everyone, liked Natasha, then maybe she wasn’t someone to be feared. Maybe she deserved a second chance. And Natasha? Oh, she noticed.

People started smiling at her more in the hallways.

They started asking for her help with things - small tasks, not only minor training exercises, more little things they never would have approached her for before.

And the flirting?

The flirting was insane.

It was like the moment people saw Natasha through your eyes, they realized she wasn’t just a deadly assassin… she was hot.

You’d never seen her ego this big before. Training days became something else entirely.

"Alright, everyone, partner up." Maria Hill, Fury´s right hand yelled, so everyone can hear her.

Immediately, half the room turned to Natasha. You watched as agents practically scrambled to be the first to get to her, some subtly and not so subtly bumping into each other in their rush. Natasha smirked.

"Oh," she mused, glancing at you from across the room. "Guess I’m popular now."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "You’re impossible." Not thinking about it as a big deal.

She gave you a smug little smile, tilting her head. "Jealous?" You scoffed, trying not to let her entirely correct assumption show on your face.

She chuckled, then turns to some random rookie, “sorry, but I already have a partner," she said simply, jerking her head toward you.

The rookie looked both disappointed and terrified.

You, however, were fighting back a grin. She is yours and you are hers.

Natasha made her way over, stopping just in front of you. "You don’t mind, do you?"

You huffed, "like you’d let me say no."

She smirked, leaning in just enough for her voice to drop, “exactly."

You swallowed, because god, she knew what she was doing.

"Alright, alright," Maria called, clapping her hands. "Let’s get started."

You were going to kill her.

Or kiss her.

Possibly both.

And Natasha? She knew exactly what she was doing.

After training wrapped up, you and Natasha made your way to the locker room. The adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins, your body buzzing with the remnants of sparring.

Or maybe it was just her. Who knows?

Natasha was grinning, that signature, smug little smirk plastered on her lips as she leaned against the lockers with her arms crossed. "See how much people wanted to spar with me today?" she teased, tilting her head as she looked at you.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please. It was a little desperate if you ask me."

Natasha gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Desperate? They chose me.”

You huffed, turning away to open your locker. "Yeah, well, I think I’m gonna have to start charging them if they want to breathe the same air as my girlfriend." There was a tiny hint of jealousy and of course she noticed it.

Natasha let out a delighted laugh. "Oh? So I’m yours now?"

You turned to her, lifting a brow. "You were always mine."

That shut her up, momentarily.

Then, she grinned, stepping closer. "Oh, is someone turning green?"

You turned away quickly, but Natasha was faster. Before you could even think of hiding, she had you pinned against the lockers, her hands firm on either side of your head as she leaned in.

"I think you are," she murmured, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke.

"I am not," you mumbled, though your resolve was very quickly dissolving.

Natasha chuckled. "Mhm." And then she kissed you. It was soft at first, just a slow, teasing press of her lips against yours. Then, it grew deeper, her hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. You sighed against her mouth, your hands moving to cup her face, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

She was being so affectionate. Touching you like she needed to, kissing you like she wanted to pour everything she felt into you. When she pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, you found yourself whispering, "We’re together… together."

She smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. "We are…" Another kiss to your cheek, "…together." Another to your jaw, "…which is why you should move in with me."

You blinked, your mind short-circuiting. "Wait. What?"

She pulled back slightly, her hands still on your waist. "Move in with me."

You stared at her.

She tilted her head. "What?"

You blinked again. "You just said- wait. Are you serious?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Of course I’m serious. We basically spend all our time together anyway."

You hesitated, your heart pounding. "But we-"

"You want to." She grinned, leaning in again, her lips brushing over yours. "I know you do."

You huffed, narrowing your eyes at her. "…I hate how well you know me."

She smirked, "so?"

You sighed, dramatically, "fine."

"Fine? Just fine?" She can´t help, but chuckle again.

You chuckled as well, "fine, I’ll move in."

Natasha grinned, "good," and then she kissed you again.

The only thing left to do was tell Fury. So you did the next day, since the word travels fast in this facility. You weren’t nervous, per se, but still… this was Fury. You stood in front of his desk, back straight, hands clasped behind you. Natasha was waiting outside, mostly because she didn’t want to hear Fury’s inevitable sarcasm firsthand.

Fury looked at you over the rim of his coffee cup, unimpressed. "You want to what?"

"Move in with agent Romanoff, sir."

He blinked, setting his cup down, "you’re already living in headquarters."

"Yes, sir."

"And now you want to live together?"

"…Yes, sir."

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "I’m happy for you." He said that with total blank expression, so it was hard to tell if he meant it or not.

You blinked, "wait, really?"

"But," Fury continued, leveling you with a look, "don’t you dare let it affect your work."

You swallowed, “it won’t, sir."

"You and Romanoff are my top agents," he said firmly. "I don’t have time for relationship drama messing with my missions. So don’t you dare."

You straightened, "I understand. Don’t worry, sir."

Fury eyed you for a moment before sighing. "Good. Now get out of my office."

You tried not to smile as you turned on your heel and walked out.

Natasha was waiting in the hallway, arms crossed. "Well?"

You grinned. "He said yes."

"Told you he would" Natasha smirked.

You rolled your eyes, nudging her. "Come on, roomie."

She chuckled, draping an arm over your shoulders as you walked away together. Words can´t describe how happy you felt, in this moment… there is nothing more you wish for, maybe more free time, but you´re not gonna push Fury´s buttons. Not yet at least

Each morning from that moment the first thing you registered was warmth. The second was the scent of Natasha, something sweet and faintly floral, mixed with the crispness of freshly washed sheets. The third was movement. Something was shifting beside you, and before you could even react, a hand brushed over your hair, fingers lightly threading through it.

"Mhm," you grumbled, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

A chuckle, "good morning, sweetheart."

You groaned in response, curling further into the blankets.

"Come on, wake up." Natasha’s voice was far too cheerful for this time of day.

You pried one eye open, glaring at her, or at least, attempting to. It probably looked more like a squint. "It’s six in the morning."

"It is."

"Six, Natasha." Ugh. How you hated mornings, early mornings to be exact.

"I heard you the first time."

You groaned again, flopping onto your back and rubbing your face. "This is cruel. I thought you liked me."

Natasha laughed, stretching her arms above her head, the muscles in her back flexing beneath the soft fabric of her tank top. "I do like you."

You pouted up at her. "Then why are you waking me up at an ungodly hour?"

She grinned, leaning on her elbow beside you. "Because you’re adorable when you’re grumpy."

You narrowed your eyes at her, "I hate you." And you mumble something else.

"No, you don’t," she poked your cheek. "But everyone should see this. Our lovely, happy, kind little sunshine is currently wishing me all the worst just because I woke her up."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "That is not true," maybe it was… a little.

"Oh?" Natasha teased, nudging you playfully. "What was it you just mumbled? Something about me rotting in hell?"

You peeked at her through your fingers, "…maybe."

She laughed, and God, it was the best sound in the world. Even though it´s six in the morning, you don´t really mind the reason you´re awake now.

"You’re an agent, baby," she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Not in the next five minutes," you mumbled, reaching for her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers, "Cuddles?"

Natasha let out a dramatic sigh, "fine, but only for five minutes."

You grinned sleepily, tugging her down into your arms. She didn’t resist, in fact, she melted into you, resting her head against your chest, her fingers idly tracing shapes against your arm.

"This is nice," she murmured.

You hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head, "told you."

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Alright, I’ll admit it. You might have been right."

"Might have been?" You smirked at her.

She sighed, "alright, fine, you were right."

You grinned triumphantly, hugging her tighter. Natasha chuckled, tilting her head up to look at you. Her green eyes softened, and she reached up to brush her thumb over your cheek.

"I love you," she murmured.

Oh my god.

For a moment, all you could do was stare. Your sleep-addled brain scrambled to catch up, to process that Natasha Romanoff had just said I love you for the first time. The room was still, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of the sheets as Natasha shifted slightly beside you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, like it knew the weight of those words before your brain could fully register them. She had said it so softly, so easily, like she wasn’t even afraid of it. Like it wasn’t some impossible, unreachable thing.

Natasha looked at you, her green eyes searching yours, and for the second time ever, she looked nervous. Like she thought maybe she had messed up. Like she thought maybe you wouldn’t say it back. Which was insane, because of course you would.

Of course, you did.

"Say it again," you whispered, barely realizing the words had left your mouth.

Natasha blinked. "What?"

"Say it again." Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still breathless, like you’d just been hit with a wave of something so big it knocked the air from your lungs.

Natasha's lips twitched into the faintest smile. And then quieter, but with no less certainty-

"I love you."

Something in your chest burst. You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, before grabbing her face and kissing her senseless. Natasha let out a surprised sound but melted into it instantly, her arms winding around your waist as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. When you finally pulled back, just enough to look at her, you were grinning like an absolute fool.

"You-" You shook your head, pressing another quick kiss to her lips, "you love me."

"I do." Natasha’s voice was amused now, a little lighter, a little happier.

"You love me," you repeated, as if testing the words in your mouth.

Natasha chuckled. "Is that really so surprising?"

"Yes! No! I mean-" You laughed again, completely overwhelmed, "I just- God, I love you so much."

Natasha's expression softened, and you swore you saw her eyes shine just a little. "Yeah?" she murmured.

"Yeah," you breathed. "So much."

She smiled, the kind of smile that made your knees weak, even though you were already lying down.

Since Natasha had told you she loved you, everything had been amazing. She had never been an overly affectionate person before, but now? Now she was. She kissed you in the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.. She pulled you into her lap when you both sat on the couch, arms wrapped around you like she needed to physically anchor herself to you. She always, always held your hand whenever you were walking together.

She made you feel loved. And in return, you loved her hard. You loved her with your touch, with the way you reached for her first thing in the morning, still groggy but always needing her close. You loved her with your words, whispering soft things against her skin late at night, telling her all the reasons she was good, she was worthy. You loved her with your patience, never pushing when she got quiet, never demanding more than she was ready to give.

But still…

Still, something lingered in her.

Although things were better, although she had you and people were being nicer, there was something inside her that just wouldn't settle. A restlessness. Some nights, when you were fast asleep, Natasha would sit at the edge of the bed and just watch you. She would grip the blanket tight in her fists, pressing the fabric to her face just so she could smell you, so she could drown herself in something warm, something real.

She didn’t know why she did it. Or maybe she did.

Maybe it was because she was still trying to believe it.

Trying to believe that this was real. That you were real. That the love you gave her wasn’t something temporary, wasn’t something that would be ripped away the moment she blinked too long. She wanted to believe she belonged here. That this - this bed, this warmth, this person - was home.

But… what was home, really?

The Red Room? Moscow? The cold walls of S.H.I.E.L.D.? The battlefield?

Was she the assassin, the spy, the Black Widow capable of having a home?

Sometimes, she would stare at you, watching the way your lips would part slightly when you slept, the way your brows would furrow if she shifted too much.

And she would wonder… does she love the real me?

The real her. The one with blood-stained hands. The one who had taken lives, who had done horrible things. The one who, despite everything, still questioned whether she was anything more than a killer. Maybe you loved the version of her that you saw. The one who teased you in the mornings, who kissed you breathless in empty hallways, who pulled you into her arms without hesitation.

Maybe you loved that Natasha.

But what about the other one?

What about the Natasha who had once followed orders without question? The Natasha who had ended lives with a steady hand and an empty heart? The Natasha who still, even now, sometimes felt like she was nothing more than a weapon?

Did you love her, too?

Would you still love her if you knew, if you really knew, what she had done?

She didn't know. And she was scared to find out.

So after some time she just thought that faking till you make it sounded like a great idea. It started small. The lingering glances. The playful smirks. The way Natasha would lean in just a little too close when someone was talking to her, her eyes sharp and inviting in a way that made people stumble over their words.

At first, you brushed it off.

You knew Natasha. You knew she wasn’t the type to cheat, not even close. But it was hard to ignore how much she entertained it. The winks she threw back. The way she’d chuckle at comments that were a little too flirtatious. The way she let people’s hands linger on her arm or shoulder when they spoke.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just her way of fitting in, showing people she wasn’t the cold, untouchable Black Widow they once thought she was.

And you got it. You did. For so long, she had felt unwanted, feared, alone.

And now, for the first time, people were seeing her differently. They were choosing her. Not because she was a weapon or a threat, but because they liked her.

And it made her feel… valued.

So you let it go.

Until you couldn’t.

It was one night in your shared room, Natasha sitting at the small desk while cleaning one of her knives, humming softly to herself. You sat on the bed, playing with the hem of your shirt, thoughts swirling too fast in your mind.

"Nat?"

She hummed in response but didn’t look up.

You took a breath. "I love you."

That made her pause. Her hands stilled, and she turned her head to look at you, brows furrowing slightly. "I know," she said softly with a small smile.

But you weren’t really saying it to her. You were saying it to yourself. Like some kind of reassurance. A desperate attempt to convince yourself that everything was okay. That she loved you… that she wanted you.

That this didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t, right? But still, something gnawed at you. Something bitter and heavy, curling in your stomach, whispering thoughts you didn’t want to listen to.

Am I enough?

Maybe the others were more fun. Maybe they weren’t as serious. Maybe they made her laugh more.Maybe they didn’t come with the weight of whispered confessions in the dark, the burden of knowing all her scars, inside and out. Maybe it was easier with them.

Maybe-

"Hey," Natasha’s voice pulled you back, soft but firm. She was kneeling in front of you now, her hands gently resting on your thighs, brows drawn together in concern, "what’s wrong?”

You swallowed, shaking your head, "nothing."

She didn’t believe you. Of course, she didn’t. She tilted her head slightly, studying you the way she did when analyzing an opponent in a fight, like she was picking apart every little movement, every hesitation, every weakness. "Talk to me," she said quietly.

And you wanted to. You really wanted to.

But how could you?

How could you tell her that while she was struggling with believing she belonged, you were struggling with believing you were enough? You sighed, rubbing your palms over your face. "It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been overthinking a lot."

Natasha didn’t move from her spot in front of you, still kneeling, her hands now tracing slow circles over your thighs. "Overthinking what?"

You hesitated. You weren’t lying, not really. But you weren’t saying everything either. Because if you did, if you voiced all the thoughts racing through your mind it might make them real.

So instead, you forced a small smile, shaking your head. "Just… if what I’m doing now is enough."

Natasha’s brows furrowed. "Enough?"

You exhaled, "like… as an agent, as a person, in-" Your voice wavered. "In us." It slipped out.

Her grip on you tightened slightly. "Of course, you’re enough." And the way she said it, so fiercely, so certainly, made your chest ache. She shifted, lifting herself up to sit beside you on the bed, her hand finding yours. "What’s making you feel this way?"

You shrugged, staring down at your intertwined fingers. "I don’t know. I think it’s just… everything."

Natasha was quiet for a moment, and you could almost see the gears turning in her head, the way her mind dissected every little piece of information you gave her. Finally, she sighed, leaning in and pressing her lips softly to your temple. "I love you," she murmured against your skin.

It sent a warmth through your chest, but it didn’t erase the lingering thoughts completely.

And maybe Natasha knew that.

Maybe that’s why, as she pulled back, she searched your face so intently, as if trying to see past whatever walls you were keeping up.

But then something shifted in her own expression. Something almost unreadable. She glanced away, exhaling slowly.

And that’s when you realized-

She was thinking, too.

Overthinking.

You squeezed her hand. "Nat?"

She didn’t answer right away, staring at a spot on the floor like it had the answers to something she didn’t even know how to ask. "I just…" she started, but then shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh that lacked any humor.

"Now you’re overthinking," you pointed out gently.

Natasha exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, well… you’re not the only one who does it."

Your brows knit together. "What are you overthinking?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. And for the first time in a while, Natasha looked uncertain. She was always so sure, so sharp, so steady. But now, there was something hesitant in the way she held herself. Like she wasn’t sure if she was standing on solid ground anymore.

You turned to face her fully, giving her the same patience she had given you. "Talk to me."

She scoffed softly, "that’s my line."

You smiled, nudging her lightly, "it can be mine, too."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I just…” She swallowed, "I´m not sure if I fit in."

Your breath hitched. "What?"

She ran a hand through her hair, her voice quieter now. “I mean, what if people like the fun me, not the weird killer one, but the one that´s…” she gestured vaguely, "normal."

Your chest tightened. "Nat-" You stared at her, heart aching. Because you understood. You understood the weight she carried, the doubt that gnawed at her, the fear of being seen as something she wasn’t sure she could escape. "People like you for who you are, right now. They enjoy your presence, I enjoy your presence. All the time."

To you, there was no version of Natasha to love. There was just her. And maybe… maybe you both needed to figure that out together. So after your talk you just spend cuddling tighter than usual, not talking at all, just enjoying your time together.

Over the days, Natasha had been even more open to others, for some reason, which didn´t help you with the "overthinking" part. It wasn’t just the occasional banter anymore, it was something more. The teasing smirks, the way she leaned in just a little too close when speaking, the way her fingers ghosted over arms, her laugh coming a little softer, a little sweeter.

You wanted to understand this, but the only think you could do was to stend back and watch. She joked with Maria Hill in the training center, standing a little too close, her fingers lingering on Maria’s wrist just a beat longer than necessary as they laughed about something. You weren’t even sure what had been said, but it didn’t really matter. It was the pattern that was beginning to form. It wasn’t just Maria. Natasha was always surrounded by someone now, their attention drawn to her like moths to a flame. And she let them. Agents who barely looked at her months ago now jumped at the chance to train with her, to sit with her in the cafeteria, to find excuses to be near her.

And Natasha? She basked in it.

You didn´t said anything… but days turned to weeks, and it never stopped. If anything it got worse.

It was after training when you finally said something. The adrenaline still thrummed in your veins from sparring, your muscles sore in the best way, but all of it was overshadowed by the tight knot in your chest.

Natasha was drinking from her water bottle, wiping sweat from her forehead when you finally broke the silence.

"The flirting is too much."

She froze mid-motion, brow raising slightly as she looked at you, "wha- baby, you know I would never"

"I know," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I know you wouldn’t do anything, but… I just don’t like them thinking they have a chance, you know?"

For a second, something flickered in Natasha’s expression, something uncertain, but then it was gone, replaced with that easy, confident smirk that had charmed so many people lately.

"You’re the only girl in my sight," she murmured, stepping closer, her voice dropping into something lower, something smoother. Your lips pressed into a thin line. She was doing it again. The charming words, the flirtation, the teasing little game she played when things got too close, too real. And then her fingers traced down your arm, light, deliberate, the heat of her touch sending shivers up your spine.

"You don’t need to worry," she whispered, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "I only want you."

You wanted to stay firm. You wanted to keep pushing, to tell her that wasn’t the point. But then her hands were on you, guiding, coaxing, pulling you into her orbit like she always did. Natasha had always been a master of control, of knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to pull someone under. And she knew exactly how to make you forget.

Natasha led you through the hallways of the compound, her fingers interlaced with yours, her touch grounding, magnetic. You weren’t fighting it anymore. Maybe you should have. Maybe you should have pressed harder, but right now, in this moment, you just wanted her.

"Our room," she murmured, glancing at you from the corner of her eye, a small smirk playing at her lips, "we can shower together." Her voice was low, inviting, and there was no point in pretending you didn’t want that too.

By the time you reached her room, Natasha was already peeling off her shirt, throwing it onto the chair in the corner without care. She turned back to you, stepping close, her fingers immediately finding your waist, tracing over your skin like she needed to remind herself you were real.

She kissed you - slow, deliberate, her lips moving over yours like she had all the time in the world. And then she whispered against your lips, "You’re mine." Her hands slid up, her palms warm against your skin.

"I’m yours," she murmured, pressing another kiss just beneath your jaw. "You’re amazing." The words kept coming, soft and steady, an anchor against the storm of thoughts that had been brewing in your mind for weeks. "You’re everything," she breathed.

Your fingers curled against her back, holding onto her, feeling the way her muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto these words and let them fill the cracks that had started to form inside you.

Natasha rested her forehead against yours, her hands still tracing slow, soothing patterns against your sides. "No overthinking. Not right now," she whispered. "Just me and you."

She kissed you again, and for a little while, you let yourself believe her.

The steam curled around both of you, thick and warm, as the water cascaded down, soaking into your skin. Natasha’s hands never left you, not for a second. They traced along your arms, your waist, the curve of your back, as if she was mapping you out, committing you to memory, ensuring you were still here, still hers.

The shower wasn’t just a shower… it was something else entirely. A quiet space where the world didn’t exist, where doubts couldn’t reach, where words weren’t needed because her touch spoke louder than anything she could say.

Her forehead pressed against yours, water dripping between you, and she whispered it again, "I love you". Over and over again. It was reverent, almost fragile, like she was convincing herself just as much as she was convincing you.

Your hands found her, fingers threading through damp strands of red as she kissed you, deep and slow, like she was breathing you in. Every touch, every movement, felt like a plea - don’t doubt me, don’t doubt this, don’t leave.

She held you like you were something precious. Like you were something she wasn’t sure she deserved but was too afraid to let go of. Her lips brushed over your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin as she murmured, "you´re everything to me."

The weight of those words settled deep in your chest. She didn’t say it often, definetly not like this. Not stripped down to its rawest form, with no teasing, no distractions. Just her, open and vulnerable, asking for something she didn’t quite know how to name. So you gave it to her.

Your fingers trailed along her spine, tracing invisible lines over old scars, new ones, the history of everything she had endured and survived. "I love you too, so much," you whispered, barely audible over the steady rush of water.

Natasha exhaled, a shaky breath against your skin, and then she held you tighter, as if grounding herself in your warmth. She kissed you again, not rushed, not desperate. Just deep. Meaningful. Like she was pouring everything into it, everything she didn’t know how to say.

taglist: @starrycherie, @esposadejoyhuerta

#adele writes #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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sapphosclosefriend · 2 years ago

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First poll ever!!!!!!

In the first one you're like a power couple, often working together because you're your wife's ✨️muse✨️, you're both hot as shit, there's a lot of partying, it could potentially be a lot!!

In the second one it's more of a cute thing but still with LOTS of partying and sex and unhinged diva behaviour!

#i'm so curious #i kinda like these concepts a lot actually #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #marvel #mcu #tumblr polls

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inkedbybarnes · 1 year ago

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unclear

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: everyone thinks you're dating bucky, except yourself.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ minors dni. miscommunication (i love this trope, sue me), angst with a happy fluffy ending, quite stubborn reader, implied smut if you squint, usage of petnames such as baby and doll. lowercase for basically everything.

i haven't finished anything in decades, but i suddenly had an idea just now and decided to write it down. surprisingly, i finished it? might have a lot of mistakes and such since i haven't proofread it yet. also, sorry for using lowercase for this, i kinda like how it looks. hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“you're confusing me. so... you're not dating bucky?”

wanda tilted her head, confusion etched on her face as you spent your weekly girl's night with natasha. it usually consisted of eating food you all desired, drinking until you got wasted, and spilling secrets to one another.

although tonight, you weren't sure if you had any secrets to spill.

"as far as i know, no. we're just friends, teammates. nothing else," you answered with a heavy sigh. "can we talk about something else?"

"hold your horses, young lady! we are not skipping this topic again. you obviously want a label but he isn't giving you one!" wanda protested. she has been constantly asking about you and bucky's relationship for the past weeks, and you always had the same answer. you don't know.

"have you never talked about it with bucky? he looks at you like you'd get lost if he looks away for a second. not a single soul in the tower would think that you're just friends," natasha interjected, taking another sip from the bottle of beer she held. she had a point, as always. "if he's just playing with you, which i highly doubt for barnes, then just end whatever that is. you deserve better than having doubts and confusion, babe."

you've tried asking him multiple times, but every attempt felt like you were stepping on his boundaries. after years of being controlled by hydra, you knew it was possible that he'd hate the feeling of being rushed and entering a relationship that could potentially feel like a cage to him.

but natasha was right. your "relationship" was no longer anything friendly. he sleeps in your bed, claiming he slept better in it, and wakes up beside you to shower you with kisses. none of you even tried to hide it after some time. you always cooked your meals and ate them together, casually feeding one another and stealing kisses in between. you even stopped going on dates and you had no idea if you were exclusive. you deserved to know what your relationship with bucky was, but you were too scared to lose everything once you asked.

"we're not dating. i only see him as a friend, so you can both stop worrying about me." you lied through your teeth, your chest aching as you realised how stupid this was. you sighed and faked a smile, shifting the attention to natasha. "so, tell me about your date with steve! how was the first ever date of captain america since the 40s?"

wanda was distracted by the question, immediately bombarding the now blushing widow with questions. on the other hand, your mind flew away for a minute, finally deciding to get an answer from bucky.

the annual ball that tony stark held for, well, nearly anyone, was nearing. you only had two weeks left, and you haven't even gone out to find something to wear. it was hard to find any motivation to do all that effort when the person you've been waiting to ask you as his date hasn't asked you yet.

although, bucky had a tendency to get shy and hold back. you knew that. so here you were, standing behind the doors to the gym, knowing that bucky would be training at this hour. you still haven't asked him the question you were supposed to ask him, so you decided to do it all at once.

after you've finished your small pep talk, you opened the door to enter the room and your first instinct was to search for bucky.

considering that he was a huge chunk of a man, he was easy to find. however, the sight of him standing in front of a woman that was too close for your comfort wasn't delightful.

he didn't see you entering the room since he was facing the opposite direction, conversing with the agent that happened to be training as well. she had the sweetest and flirtiest smile on her face, bringing her hand up to his arm, slowly caressing it. you didn't mean to easily hear their conversation as you walked closer.

"so, do you happen to have someone for me to have as a date for the ball? i don't want to be lonely on that night, sergeant," the agent said with an extra pout, swaying her hips side to side like a child asking for candy.

"oh, yeah? i think i have someone for you," bucky replied, breaking your heart into pieces with how enthusiastic he was with his answer. "i'm sure you'll—"

you sniffed. unconsciously. not knowing that your tears were already falling, causing your nose to get stuffy. how pathetic, you thought.

your little sniff caught the attention of both the agent and bucky, looking at you in shock. although, the girl was more pleasantly surprised than the opposite. thankfully, you already had your tears wiped before they could see them.

"oh, we didn't see you there!" she greeted you with your name. "we were just talking about our date for this year's ball. who are you bringing?"

"i haven't decided yet, no one's worth it even if i try," you answered bitterly. "so you're going together?"

before bucky could answer, the agent already had her arm wrapped around his, happily smiling at your question. "yeah! amazing, right? i actually thought you two had a thing, but i guess not. glad things worked out in the end."

and that was your last straw. "well, enjoy yourselves. i have to go and find natasha."

you turned to leave, ignoring the loud calls of bucky. you were glad that you never asked him about your relationship and the ball. you were going to be hurt either way.

you spent the next hours stuck in your room, body covered with a thick sheet as you ranted about your frustrations to friday.

it was silly, you knew that, but you refused to call natasha and wanda to remind you of your stupidity and decided to let an ai robot listen to your problems instead.

"and he even flirted back! answering coyly like a teenager. he's 107 years old, fri!" you whined, not noticing the new nickname you've given the alternative intelligence. "ugh, now i have a broken heart and no date in sight. how did it get to this?"

"perhaps you must discuss this matter with sergeant barnes first. your conversation ended quite abruptly with no clear conclusion."

"no, i don't want the truth rubbed on my face," you said, grabbing another piece of tissue to sneeze in. "you restricted him from entering my room, right?"

friday answered with a yes, then you thanked her for listening and decided to get some sleep after tirelessly crying for hours. you knew you had a team meeting with the avengers in a bit, but you couldn't bring yourself to even walk a few steps.

your sleep ended and you were woken up with friday's reminder that it was time for dinner with the team.

with a groan, you pushed yourself off your bed. bucky would be there, but you were too hungry to care. it would be awkward, of course, but you had to face him at some point anyway.

your feet padded towards the door, opening it after trying your hair in a bun.

"ah, fuck."

you jumped at the voice and the body falling to the floor as you opened the door.

"bucky?" you asked, still in shock. "were you sleeping outside of my room?"

you watched bucky stand up, his hand massaging his aching nape as he looked for your eyes. "friday won't let me in. i waited outside instead. i guess i fell asleep during that," he explained, a frown forming on his face. "did you restrict me from entering our room?"

your eyes widened at his choice of words. our room. he considered your room to be his room as well. while that would've made you melt in an instant, you were still hurt to entertain that possibility.

"this is my room, barnes. not yours, not ours. and yes, i had you restricted because i couldn't face you yet. what do you need anyway?"

"i wanted to see you, talk to you." a flash of pain crossed his eyes. "whatever happened at the gym, it's—"

"bucky, you don't have to explain anything to me. we're just friends. it's my fault i assumed we were something. i just need some time to get over it."

"but i thought we were something as well..." he replied, his voice was almost as quiet as a whisper. "i thought we were dating."

"were we?" you asked, genuinely curious. "we never.. you never said anything. i mean, yeah, i wished it meant something, but i thought you wouldn't want to be trapped in a relationship with me, so i just waited. apparently, i was right and i can't blame you for that."

"right about what? the thing that happened in the gym this morning?" he asked. you nodded in response. "i know it sounds like i was flirting back, well i didn't know at the moment, until i asked steve who was clueless but he called nat to help me out and explained that it looked like i was flirting back. i wasn't. i was just going to suggest sam as a date for her. i would never agree to anyone."

oh. so he just wasn't interested in anyone at all.

"besides this one girl who's constantly been in my head. that's if she'd even give me a chance and say yes. i fucked it up badly before i could even ask her properly."

you knew what hoping got you, but you couldn't help but think that he was talking about you. he'd have to be clueless to say all those things in front of you only for it to be someone else.

"i love you, baby. i should've told you that, i should've made it clear sooner. i'm so sorry i let you have doubts when i could've been reassuring you about what i feel for you."

"bucky..."

"i would never feel trapped with you, doll. only you made me feel so much love and freedom. i'd be a fool to let go of that. i'm sorry it took a few hits and harsh words from natasha to make me realise that i wasn't giving you enough when you deserve everything." he held your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him. you felt breathless, tears threatening to fall but this time it was out of joy. "hydra made sure i had no voice to express myself. now, i'll use it to let you know that i love you so fucking much that it hurts when you're not around. i promise to work on it. if anything like this happens again, ask me, baby. demand things from me. i'll give you everything in a heartbeat."

"even if i ask for your arm?"

he laughed, a sound that was music to your ears. "it's yours baby. although, i do like fucking you with my metal—"

"bucky!" you scolded him, hitting him lightly on the chest.

"sorry, baby. couldn't help it. missed my girl so much."

his girl. you loved hearing that.

"it's only been a few hours. don't be silly," you reminded him, but you knew you also felt the same.

"i miss you even when i don't see you for a second." you couldn't help but laugh at his words. "something funny, doll?"

"sorry, natasha said something similar about you a few days ago," you answered. "i'm sorry for assuming so quickly, bucky. you deserved the chance to explain."

"and you did let me explain. i can't blame you for assuming and getting hurt when i never gave you the confirmation to believe otherwise. don't apologise for it, baby."

"i love you," you said, causing him to grin widely.

"yeah? you love me too?" he asked, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "this is official now, right? we're dating?"

you nodded happily, giggling as he landed a kiss to your mouth. "so, you wanna go to the ball with me?"

he kissed you again. "don't. i'm supposed to be asking you that. i had an entire thing prepared for you, i even dragged half of the team to help me out days ago. besides wanda and natasha, of course. couldn't let them tell you about it."

your heart swelled, he was already planning to ask you before all of this misunderstanding happened, and it could've been solved with communication. lesson learned, indeed.

"well hurry because i can't wait to say yes," you playfully threatened him, kissing the tip of his nose until the loud rumble of your stomach interrupted your sweet moment. "ah, right. i was on my way to eat dinner when i opened the door."

bucky laughed, his eyes twinkling witth adoration as he kept his eyes on you. "we can't have you starving, that's for sure. come, let's get you something." he held your hand, and dragged you to the kitchen. he turned to look at you with a playful smile. "wanna cook together like the old times?"

you smiled. "like the old times."

in the middle of your cooking session, you heard whistles and claps along with the footsteps that entered the kitchen. you both turned to find the rest of the team with shit eating grins.

"finally! so is this real or do we need to smack your heads?" tony asked, his hand placed on his hip.

"it's always been real, stark," bucky answered, wrapping his arm around your waist. "except this time, i'm making sure my entire world knows it."

"i think everybody knows you have a thing for each other, barnes." clint added.

"i meant my entire world, not everybody." bucky looked at you with awe. "she's my world."

bucky's answer gained various loud reactions from the team, mostly calling him a cheesy old man and fake gags, but there you were, cheeks heating up as you looked back at him with the same amount of love, if not more.

and he did ask you to be his date to the ball the day after, surprising you with his so-called secret plan.

a year later, he surprised you with a ring as he knelt on one knee.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction

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buckysleftbicep · 12 days ago

Text

the things we left behind 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!ex!bucky barnes x widow!ex!reader (reader is female)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, a whole lot of angst, unprotected sex, creampie, painful break up, depression, toxic relationship

summary: you haven't seen bucky in years. not since the night he left. the blip changed both of you, and nothing was ever the same after. now, val has you working together again. the job is dangerous, the tension is unbearable. and the feelings? still impossible to outrun.

word count: 6.7k

author's note: hi loves, it's been a tough few days and honestly, i am trying to cope with work and school, and how i gotta start on my research paper in a month. i am so overwhelmed, and writing this fic kinda helped me to escape all of that for a bit 💓. thank you for reading, love ya guys and stay safe out there!

The email came at 3:12 a.m.

You didn’t check it right away—you were halfway through disassembling your beretta on the kitchen table, fingers slick with oil, an old jazz record crackling faintly from the busted speaker in the corner.

Outside, another storm carved itself across the city skyline. Rain hammered the tin roof. Wind screamed through the alley like it was trying to claw its way in.

You'd gotten used to nights like this. The quiet ones. The hollow ones. The ones where silence curled around your spine like a second skin. Where sleep didn’t come easy and ghosts sat in the corners.

But you never ignored a message from Val.

Especially not one marked URGENT.

You slid the half-cleaned barrel aside and reached for your tablet. The screen flickered to life, illuminating the room in cold blue.

A notification pulsed at the top corner, her name bold, bureaucratic, unmistakable. You hesitated for a second. Not out of fear, just instinct. You always read the fine print before you let something gut you.

You tapped the message open.

FROM: [email protected] SUBJECT: URGENT: Field Assignment Target: Codename OMEGA. Ex-military. Ex-Hydra. Now independent and building weapons that rival Stark’s worst. Expanding faster than Hydra ever did. You’ll be compensated generously, you’re the best tracker I’ve got. And Barnes could use your help. — V

You stared at the screen for a long time.

Barnes.

Your thumb hovered at the edge of the table, tapping once. Twice. Again.

That name wasn’t a landmine—it was a fucking extinction-level event. A seismic crack straight through your chest.

You hadn’t seen it typed out in over two years.

Not since you deleted every message.

Every photo. Every voicemail.

Not since you shoved him—all of him—into a vault inside your mind and welded the door shut.

Even thinking it felt like betrayal. The air shifted around you. Denser. Sharper. You weren’t sure if it was rage or something colder coiling under your ribs, but it made it hard to breathe.

You rose from the table without realising it, pacing to the window. The alley outside was bathed in harsh shadows, neon from the liquor store sign across the street painting everything a violent red.

You could still remember the last time you said his name aloud. It hadn’t been soft. Or sweet. It had been a whisper strangled by tears.

Just a few months ago, you had seen his face again. Unintentionally. On your shitty television, the one balanced on a rusted ammo crate next to your gear bags. You were flipping through channels to avoid your own thoughts—when suddenly, there she was.

Val, in that smug little purple coat, standing on some makeshift podium like a bad dream. Flanked by the press, and smiling like the devil.

"Meet the new Avengers."

And there he was. Bucky.

Your hand froze around the remote.

He was different. A little older. Clean-cut, almost polished. But not really. There was still something haunted behind the eyes. Something wild under the surface.

You knew that look. You’d memorised it—held it in your hands during the worst nights. It was the way he looked when he didn’t know how to stay. The way he looked at you.

You didn’t watch for more than a few seconds.

Didn’t listen to what he said.

You clicked the screen off.

Walked out of the room like it hadn’t just set a match to the walls you’d spent years rebuilding.

The last you’d heard, he was a congressman. Or maybe that was just another lie the world told itself to sleep easier at night.

You’d made it a rule not to keep tabs. Not to reach out. Not even when you missed him so much you thought your skin might split.

It was the only way you’d survived.

Now this.

Now Val was offering you money. A job. A mission.

But not just any mission. One that meant going back into the field. Tracking a target dangerous enough to spook even her.

A weapons dealer with enough firepower to start another war, based in Romania, deep-pocketed, ex-military, rumoured to be building something worse than Stark tech.

You could do it. Of course you could.

You were trained for it. One of the best assassins still walking—invisible, untraceable, lethal.

Val hadn’t exaggerated. You were the best.

But this wasn’t about the mission.

This was about him.

Working with him. Seeing him again.

Smelling him. Hearing his voice.

Pretending it didn’t hollow you out.

God, after everything— After everything—

You clenched your jaw until your teeth ached and looked back at the screen.

Val didn’t know your history. Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t have sent the message if she did. Or maybe she did know, and sent it anyway. You wouldn’t put it past her.

Your reflection in the glass caught your eye. Same eyes. Same scars. But the woman looking back wasn’t the one he loved. Not anymore.

Maybe she never was.

You sat back down slowly. The room was too quiet now. The Beretta still lay in pieces on the table, glinting dully under the bare bulb overhead. The silence felt like a countdown.

Your hand moved on its own. You tapped out a reply.

I’ll take it.

You could still remember the night he left.

It had started like all the other nights.

Angry, messy and quiet in all the wrong places.

You’d fought again. You couldn’t even remember what about, maybe it didn’t matter. It never really did. It was always about the same things—the silences, the avoidance.

The way he wouldn’t talk to you unless it was laced in something defensive. The way your voice always seemed to crack just before you said something unforgivable.

The apartment was dark, save for the sliver of streetlight cutting through the blinds and the faint hum of the heater that never quite worked right.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, spine tight, fists curled in the sheets. Your chest still heaved from the shouting match, breath shaky, shallow.

You hated crying in front of him. But it was happening anyway.

Behind you, he stood by the door, tall, unmoving, arms crossed like holding onto himself was the only thing keeping him from saying something worse.

Bucky hadn’t spoken in minutes. That always scared you more than the yelling. The quiet.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you finally whispered, voice raw.

He didn’t respond.

You turned to look at him, forcing your voice to steady. “Say something.”

He looked up then, and his eyes, God, his eyes. There was no softness left in them tonight. Just exhaustion, grief wrapped in the shape of a man.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said quietly.

Your heart clenched so hard it hurt. “I want you to act like you still fucking care.”

“I do care,” he bit out. “That’s the damn problem.”

The silence that followed was loud. So loud it made your ears ring.

Bucky’s jaw tensed as he stepped forward slowly, stopping just in front of you.

His voice dropped lower, strained, like it hurt him to say it. “You think I don’t care because I don’t yell back anymore? Because I don’t chase you when you storm out? I stopped chasing you because every time I do, you just run further.”

Your throat burned. “I’m not the only one running.”

That landed. You saw it, in the way his expression faltered, just for a second.

“I lost everyone, Buck,” you continued, voice cracking. “Nat. Steve. The world fucking flipped inside out. I came back and people I loved were either dead or moved on. And you—you were the only thing that felt real.”

He didn’t say a word.

“I just kept thinking… maybe if we held on tighter, we could—”

“Break each other slower?” he cut in.

The words hit you like a slap. Brutal, cold and unflinching.

You blinked at him, stunned. “Is that what you think we’re doing?”

“I think we’re trying to survive a war that already ended,” he said, a little softer now. “And neither of us came out whole.”

Your eyes stung. But you didn’t want to cry.

Not again. Not in front of him.

“So what? That’s it? You give up?”

“I didn’t say that.” he protested.

“Then what are you saying?”

He ran a hand through his hair, stepped back like he needed air. Like you were suffocating him just by standing there. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t know who we are anymore.”

You stood up. Walked toward him. Close, too close.

Your voice was trembling now, but you didn’t step back. “We’re us. We’re still us. You know that.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth—like he wanted to believe it. Like he couldn’t.

“You don’t get to walk away,” you whispered. “Not tonight.”

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It was desperate.

The fight dissolved the moment your mouths met. Your hands went to his jaw, to his hair, pulling him in like you could anchor yourself inside him.

He kissed you back like a man unraveling, like he had no other language left. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you backward until your spine met the bedroom wall.

Clothes came off in clumsy, frantic movements. Tugged shirts. Shaking fingers. Gasps caught in the quiet like smoke. His lips trailed down your throat, your chest, his mouth everywhere—hot and hungry.

He pushed inside you with a groan, and your legs wrapped around his waist like instinct, like need. Your hips lifted to meet his, the angle bruising, perfect.

It wasn’t gentle, it never was when you fought.

Every thrust was a plea. Every moan a memory.

He held you like he wanted to stay. Fucked you like he didn’t know how to leave.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back as he drove deeper.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured into your neck, voice wrecked. “I know. I’ve got you.”

Your nails raked down his back. Your mouth caught his in a sloppy, hungry kiss. You’d done this so many times, made love like it was the only language you both still understood.

And maybe it was.

When you came, it was with a cry muffled into his shoulder. Your body trembled around him, and he held you through every wave. He followed soon after, voice breaking on your name as his hips stuttered, as he buried himself deep inside you, like he could stay there forever.

For a while, you just lay there. Breathing.

You were curled against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, still pounding hard beneath your palm. His arm was around your waist. His other hand gently cradled the back of your neck. He pressed a kiss to your hair.

And then—he spoke.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

Your whole body stilled.

You pulled back just enough to see his face. “What?”

He didn’t meet your eyes.

“This,” he said. “Us. The fights. The sex. The pretending, (y/n) it's killing us.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, we can fix it. We always do.”

“This isn’t fixing anything,” he said, voice quieter now. “We're just stalling the inevitable.”

Your eyes filled again, but you blinked fast, furious. “So what? You want to end it?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation was worse than anything he could’ve said.

“Say it,” you whispered. “If that’s what you want, just say it.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. He looked wrecked, like every word he said carved him open too.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said. “I’m not what you need. Maybe I never—.”

“Don’t say that,” you breathed. “Don’t you dare—”

He kissed you again.

Slow. Final.

And when he pulled away, it was like something tore loose inside your chest. Like a rib cracked open and your lungs forgot how to work.

“I love you, god, I do,” he said. “But we’re not good for each other.”

You stared at him, heart breaking open like glass.“Then why does this hurt so much?”

He looked at you—like it was killing him not to reach for you.

“Because I loved you,” he said, voice wrecked. “And I still couldn’t make it right.”

He left before sunrise. You didn’t sleep for three days.

Bucky hated briefings.

He hated the fluorescents. The cold coffee. The recycled air. He hated the staged professionalism, the smug undertone in Val’s voice, and the folders she always slapped down like a final hand in poker.

But he showed up anyway, half-shaven, black t-shirt clinging to the sweat along his spine, bruises still blooming across his ribs from the chase in Istanbul just a day ago.

A smuggler had gotten lucky with a crowbar and he had returned the favour with a shattered wrist.

Val didn’t even glance up when he entered the room.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered, flipping through a file like she hadn’t been waiting. “Sit.”

He dropped into the chair across from her, spine loose but jaw tight, watching her like he was waiting for the punchline.

“You said it was urgent.”

“It is.”

She slid the top folder toward him across the steel table. No smile. Just business.

“Weapons dealer. Codename: OMEGA. Ex-military and former Hydra, bastard’s freelancing now, he’s building something, Stark-level tech, maybe worse. We don’t know but black market says it’s mobile, adaptive, and spreading faster than anything Hydra ever managed.”

Bucky flipped the folder open, glancing over the first photo. Satellite images. Grainy outlines of a compound nestled in the Carpathians. Weapon crates stamped with false serials. And a man, dark-haired, lean, with a half-smile that made Bucky’s gut twist.

“You want me to take him out?”

“No,” Val said, narrowing her eyes. “Not yet. I want you to find him. Get intel. Map the pipeline. This asshole is exporting something fast, quiet, and powerful, and nobody knows how yet.”

He leaned back in the chair, nodding slowly. “So who’s running point with me?”

That was when she smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. It never was.

“Someone sharp. Knows the terrain like it’s etched into their bloodstream. I needed someone OMEGA wouldn’t see coming, a ghost, basically.” She pulled a second folder from beneath the stack and laid it down with calculated weight.

“So I found the best.”

Bucky’s chest went still.

She tapped the folder once. “You’ve worked together before.”

His eyes didn’t move. Not yet. He didn’t need to look to know. Something low and cold began to unfurl inside him.

“Who?” he asked, already knowing.

Val didn’t skip a beat. “She’s from the Red Room, trained with Romanov. One of the sharpest trackers I’ve ever seen, maybe the best. You worked with her back in 2016. Rogers brought her in to help you disappear for a few weeks.” She looked up at him. “That ring any bells?”

His throat dried out.

Of course it rang a bell. Of course it cracked the whole goddamn church tower.

“She ghosted after the Blip,” Val went on, oblivious to the way the blood had drained from his face. “Merc work. Off-grid. Her name comes up every few years, always attached to success stories. She doesn’t come cheap, but lucky for us, she said yes.”

Bucky didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His hands had gone still in his lap.

Val cocked her head slightly. “Problem?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his tone flat. “No. Just surprised.”

“Don’t be. I told you I wanted the best.”

And she meant it, that was the thing.

Val had no idea. None.

She was looking at him like she’d made a smart tactical move, like this was just another piece on her chessboard.

She didn’t know you were more than a name on a file. Didn’t know that just hearing your name was like being punched in the ribs with a memory.

Of course you said yes. Of course you did.

Bucky looked down at the folder, the one he hadn’t opened. The one that already felt like it was burning through the table. His fingers twitched, fighting the urge to open it. But he didn’t need to. He could already picture your face.

Exactly how you looked the last time he saw you, in that apartment, the light catching the tears on your cheek, your mouth trembling, your voice a broken whisper after one final kiss that hadn’t felt final at all.

You hadn’t spoken since. He’d made sure of that.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were the right choice.

You were. You always have been. Your instincts were lethal. Precise. Back when everything was chaos, when he was hunted, bleeding, feral—you’d found him with no satellites, relying on nothing but your skills.

You’d read the rhythm of his footsteps, you’d seen the man underneath the weapon—and somehow, you’d still touched him like he was worth something.

He remembered it all.

The way you’d looked at him without fear. The way you’d spoken to him like he wasn’t broken. The way you’d fallen— And the way he’d fallen harder.

Too hard.

He clenched his jaw and rose from the chair before Val could get clever.

“When do we leave?”

Val smiled, satisfied. “She’ll be here by morning.”

He turned and left before she could say anything else.

Bucky hadn’t seen you in years.

But the memory of you had never really left.

He had tried to pretend otherwise—told himself he’d locked it away. Buried it. Pushed it down into the same graveyard where the rest of his broken things lived. But the truth was simpler. Meaner.

You were everywhere.

In the way someone laughed too loud on a subway platform, in the weight of silence when he climbed into bed alone.

You’d lived beneath his skin long after you left his bed.

And sometimes, even now—in moments he didn’t expect, he could still feel you there.

He remembered the first time he saw you.

Bucharest, 2016. Steve had said your name, classified—a Red Room defector who knew the streets, the syndicates, the backchannels. A shadow that didn’t leave footprints.

He said you owed him a favour. He never said what that favour was.

You’d found him in less than forty-eight hours.

He was holed up in an abandoned tenement, hiding in corners, still haunted by trigger phrases and mission reports and words like asset and eliminate.

He hadn’t slept in two days. He hadn’t trusted anyone in longer.

Then the door creaked. A whisper of motion. And there you were, boots silent, a pistol tucked in your belt, eyes sharp enough to cut. You looked at him like you already knew every terrible thing he’d done.

And somehow… you didn’t flinch.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you said.

And maybe that was the first lie you ever told him.

Because you did. Just not in the way he expected.

You’d stayed longer than Steve asked. Said the apartment wasn’t secure. Said you didn’t trust the local chatter. But you’d also started bringing back coffee in the mornings. Left food on the table without asking.

You never made him say thank you. You never asked why his hands shook when he reached for a fork.

And when he had a nightmare so violent he woke up gasping, fists clenched, blood on his tongue, you didn’t back away.

You touched his shoulder, soft and steady, and whispered his name until the past let go of his throat.

Until he remembered where he was. Until he remembered who he was.

That was the night you sat on the windowsill, legs crossed, and told him about the Red Room.

Not all of it. Just enough.

You told him about the girl who never shed a single tear during conditioning. Who learned pressure points before she comprehended math. Who killed a man before she learned how to braid her own hair.

He watched you in the half-light. And something broke open in him. Something painful and quiet.

“You think you’re the only one who came out wrong,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve got blood on my hands too.”

He didn’t know what to say.

So he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It couldn’t be.

Two people clawing at each other for something that made them feel human. That made them feel alive.

You’d kissed him like you were starving. Pulled him in by the collar, pressed your body to his like you could crawl inside him and stay there. It was heat and teeth and desperation. It was need, masquerading as anger, safety masquerading as lust.

But later, when your breath had evened out and the moonlight spilled across your bare shoulder, he held you like a secret. His hand moved up and down your spine like he’d been doing it forever.

You curled into him. Stayed there. Whispered things you’d never say in daylight.

He didn’t ask about the scars. You didn’t ask about the dog tags beside his bed. You didn’t need to.

You’d already seen each other naked long before the clothes came off.

That was all it took. That was all it ever took.

Then the Blip happened. And the world ended.

He didn’t know what hurt more—watching you turn to dust in front of him, or himself coming back five years later to find out you hadn’t come back.

They say grief changes people. But this wasn’t grief. This was obliteration.

When you finally returned, months after the snap was reversed—something in you was different. Sharper. Duller. Both at once. Your eyes didn’t light up the same. Your voice came from somewhere deeper.

Bucky later learned the truth in pieces.

You hadn’t come back with the others. Not because you couldn't. But because you hadn’t wanted to.

The moment your body came back, lungs gasping, heart hammering, soul thrown back into flesh, you were alone. Dropped in a place you didn’t recognize. Somewhere cold. Ruined. A city that had moved on without you.

No one was waiting. No one even knew you'd returned.

And when you finally made it back to what was left of the world, you found out what you’d missed.

Natasha was gone. Steve was gone.

Everything you fought for. Everyone who held you up. All of it—just gone.

You didn’t go back to the Tower. Didn’t call anyone. You vanished.

You went underground, took jobs that let you bleed. Let you disappear. Let you punish yourself in silence, in shadows, where no one could see the way grief had gutted you.

It wasn’t about survival. It wasn’t even about revenge.

It was about not being seen. Not being found.

Because if someone found you—if Bucky found you—then you’d have to admit that you were still alive.

And some days, that felt like the worst thing of all.

It took Bucky weeks to track you down.

You'd covered your tracks—burner phones, false names, cities that swallowed you whole. But he knew your patterns. Knew how you moved.

He traced whispers of a woman who never stayed long, it had led him to a crumbling outpost in Albania, an old safehouse half-buried in snow.

You’d just come back from a mission, your knuckles bruised, your jaw clenched, blood dried at your collar.

He watched you from across the road, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat. You didn’t see him until he stepped into the light and said your name.

Soft. Like a prayer. Like a wound.

You didn’t talk about Natasha. Didn’t mention Steve. You didn’t talk at all.

And when he finally got you to come home, Bucky tried to help. God, he tried. He made you tea on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Sat outside the bathroom door when you locked it, listening to the sound of your breath breaking apart through panic.

He held you when you let him—which wasn’t often—and never asked for more. And when the words ran dry, when silence grew sharp enough to cut, he touched you like he could piece you back together. Made love to you like it might be enough, like it might remind you how to stay.

But you didn’t come back to him. Not really.

And if he was honest, neither did he.

The world had cracked open. And when it tried to reassemble itself, the pieces didn’t fit.

He still loved you, that had never changed.

But love isn’t always soft. Sometimes it’s sharp, jagged.

Sometimes it’s made of splinters and sutures. Sometimes it bleeds.

And this one did.

The fights started small.

You stayed out too late. You took contracts without telling him. Vanished without explanation. Returned like nothing had happened—blood on your hands, silence in your eyes.

“Where were you?” “I handled it.” “You don’t have to handle things alone anymore.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Bucky.”

It escalated.

You screamed. He slammed doors.

You made love like it was the last time, every time. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from drowning. He kissed you like he couldn’t bear the thought of breathing without you.

You cried once—during.

He kissed the tears from your cheeks and didn’t ask why.

And the next morning, neither of you said a word.

He had left before sunrise.

Quiet. Measured. Like if he moved too fast, the goodbye would catch fire.

Hours earlier, you’d clung to each other like maybe it could still work. Like maybe the way he held you—deep and slow and shaking, like it could sew something back together that had already torn beyond repair.

He’d kissed you after. Whispered your name like it was a prayer. You’d thought maybe he was staying.

But the words came anyway. The softest ones. The final ones.

“I love you,” he’d said. “But we’re not good for each other.”

He didn’t leave a note, he didn’t need to. The silence between you had already said everything.

You didn’t chase him. He didn’t come back. And neither of you called.

Because whatever it was—love, grief, survival—it had finally burned through.

Now, standing in the tower hallway, hands clenched and jaw tight, he thought about all of it.

About the girl who kissed him with cracked knuckles and laughed when she beat him in hand-to-hand. About the woman who came back from the dead and couldn’t sleep through the night.

He thought about your mouth. Your voice. The way you used to touch him.

You were coming back into his life. He didn’t know what that meant yet.

But it didn’t feel like closure. It felt like fate trying again.

The helicopter touched down just before midnight.

The rooftop landing pad of the compound was slick with rain, wind howling against the glass walls like it wanted in. You stayed seated as the engine powered down, watching water bead and crawl across the window.

The city pulsed below, indifferent and alive. It had been years since you stood in this place. Longer since it had felt anything close to home.

You adjusted your gloves slowly, methodically. Your bag was already slung across your shoulder, weapons holstered, expression blank. The only tell was your fingers—twitching against your thigh like they were searching for something to hold onto.

Footsteps echoed behind you.

"You coming, or do I have to drag you out?" Yelena's voice, unmistakably smug.

You turned. And for a second—just a second, your composure slipped.

She looked the same. Combat boots scuffed from wear. Hair shorter now—cropped into a blunt cut that suited her sharp grin.

There was something in her eyes that made you feel twelve again. She crossed the threshold and threw her arms around you before you could react.

"You bitch," she said, laughing into your shoulder. "You didn’t even text me. I thought you were dead. I tried everything. Even hacked into a mercenary network that tracks off-grid operatives. That’s how low I sank."

You exhaled a breath that almost cracked. Your arms wrapped around her on instinct.

"I missed you too," you murmured.

She pulled back and looked at you—really looked.

"Where did you go?" Her voice dropped a little. Not accusing. Just softer. Like it hurt to ask. "I tried calling, so many times. You just vanished."

You hesitated.

"I couldn’t be here," you said finally. "Not after everything that happened."

Yelena nodded, but her smile faltered. There was understanding in her eyes. And maybe grief too. You had lost your best friend, and she had lost a sister.

"Well, you're here now," she said. "And Val’s gonna shit herself when she sees the two of us in the same room."

You huffed out a quiet laugh. It didn’t reach your eyes.

The elevator opened with a low chime.

And that was when you felt it.

A shift. A cold crackle in your chest. Like a wire pulled tight.

You turned your head.

And there he was.

Bucky stepped off the elevator like a ghost from a life you didn’t let yourself remember.

Dressed in black, cargo pants, worn boots, leather jacket unzipped just enough to show the grey shirt beneath. His damp hair pushed back like he’d just stepped out of the storm. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, his gait loose but alert.

And his expression—his expression was still, but his eyes...his eyes landed on you like impact—like an old wound splitting wide open

They locked on yours with such force it felt like gravity shifted. Something primal and painful surged in your chest.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

He froze. So did you.

It was silent. Just the distant hum of the building, the rain tapping against the windows, Yelena shifting awkwardly between you. No words. Just that unbearable, suffocating pause.

Then he blinked. Swallowed. And nodded once.

"Hey."

It was barely audible. Rough. Like he hadn’t said it in a long time.

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

Yelena glanced between you and cleared her throat. "I’ll uh… give you two a minute."

She was gone before you could stop her.

You turned back toward the window, throat burning. You felt him walk closer—not near enough to touch, but close enough that his presence bent the air.

"You look different," he said quietly.

You didn’t turn around. "So do you."

Another silence.

"Didn’t think I’d see you again," he said.

"You didn’t try to."

That landed. Hard. You could feel it—the way his weight shifted, the breath he held like it might shatter.

"I didn’t think you’d want me to."

You finally turned, eyes sharp, guarded.

"I didn’t."

And it was true. At least partly.

Because as much as you wanted to hate him, as much as you told yourself you’d buried it all—your body still remembered.

The way he used to touch you. Hold you. Make love to you like it meant something.

It all came flooding back now.

You remembered the press of his mouth against your throat, the weight of him between your legs, the way he whispered your name when he was close—like it broke something inside him.

You remembered how he moved inside you, how he clung to you like a drowning man, murmuring your name over and over like it was the only anchor he had left.

You remembered his hands, calloused and warm, roaming your body like they knew every inch, every scar, every secret.

The way he used to fuck you like he was desperate to stay, to feel something that tethered him to this life—to you. Like the act of loving you was the only thing keeping him from disappearing entirely.

And you remembered what it felt like after.

Curled into his chest.

His lips in your hair.

His breath still shaking.

His voice—low and ruined—saying he couldn’t keep doing this.

The ache of it split something inside you.

You swallowed hard. Fingers tightening over your arms like they were holding your ribs together.

"This doesn’t change anything," you said.

He nodded slowly. "I know."

But it did. You both knew it.

Because for all the distance, for all the time, the pain, the silence—the second your eyes met, you felt it. That same, awful, impossible thing.

You still wanted him.

And he still looked at you like you were the only person who ever knew how to touch him without hurting.

It wasn’t love.

It was something worse. It was memory.

The ride into Romania was long, loud, and silent in all the worst ways.

The blades beat a steady rhythm against the night sky, slicing through clouds as the landscape below dissolved into shadow.

You sat across from him on the side bench, both of you facing inward, knees angled close, but never touching. The blades roared above as the helicopter cut through the clouds, the green glow of the instrument panel washing your boots in ghost-light.

You didn’t look at him. But you could feel it. Every flicker of his gaze, every stolen glance. Like gravity pulling him toward something he had long buried.

When the helicopter finally began its descent, the mountains looked like teeth—jagged, looming, half-lost in cloud. The safehouse wasn’t much. A stone structure tucked into a hillside, half-swallowed by fog and overgrowth.

The wind howled around it as the blades slowed to a halt, leaving you both alone with nothing but damp air and unfinished sentences. You slung your bag over your shoulder, boots crunching over gravel as you followed him up the narrow path.

There was no conversation. Just the weight of your history trailing behind you like a second shadow.

Inside, the safehouse smelled like dust and rain. There were two rooms. A generator humming low. A fireplace that hadn’t been used in years.

The air held the chill of old grief, you dropped your gear on the floor, peeled off your damp jacket, and stood there, cold, wet and exhausted. He did the same, his movements slow, careful, like even the air between you might break if he moved too fast.

The silence thickened. Unbearable.

You turned toward him, voice sharp. “You never came back.”

He looked up from his bag. Stilled. “What?”

You stared at him, every nerve in your chest pulled tight. “After the fight. After you walked out. You never came back. Not even once.”

He blinked. “You told me not to.”

“No, I didn’t,” you said, voice rising. “I begged you to stay. I begged you not to walk away, and you still left.”

His jaw flexed. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snapped. “You did anyway.”

He stepped toward you then, chest heaving, anger flickering beneath the surface. “What did you want me to do? Keep pretending we were okay? Just keep fucking you like that was enough?”

You flinched. “Don’t you dare—”

“I didn’t know how to make it better!” he shouted. “I loved you, god, I loved you, but I didn’t know how to reach you. And every time I touched you, I told myself we were okay, that I could keep us from falling apart. But it was fucking killing me.”

You swallowed against the ache rising in your throat. “So you let go.”

He nodded slowly, breathing hard. “Yeah. I let go.”

“And you didn’t look back.”

He stepped closer. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Act like you didn’t leave too. You shut me out. You stopped talking. You disappeared before I even walked out that door.”

Your eyes burned. “Because I was grieving, because everyone I—I loved was gone.”

“And I was still standing there,” he said, voice breaking. “I was right there, and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Something in you cracked.

You pushed him, open palm against his chest. Hard.

He didn’t move. Didn’t stumble. Just looked at you with something hollow in his eyes, like he was still standing in the ruins of everything you used to be.

“I waited,” you whispered. “I waited for you to come back.”

He stepped into you then, hands bracing against the wall behind you, caging you in. The air shifted, heat sparking between you like a live wire.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he said, low and rough.

Your breath hitched.

You stared at him, eyes wet, fists clenched. “Then why didn’t you try?”

His voice was hoarse. “Because I thought I already lost you.”

You shook your head. “No James, you gave up on me.”

“I never gave up on you,” he said. “I gave up on the idea that I was good for you.”

The words scraped across your chest.

“I didn’t want perfect,” you whispered. “I just wanted you.”

The distance between you snapped.

His hands found your face, your jaw, your waist, pulling you in like a man dying of thirst. The kiss came sharp, searing, desperate. All tongue and teeth and ragged breath.

You clawed at his shirt, fisting the fabric, grounding yourself in the heat of him. He pressed you back against the wall, hard enough to shake loose the memories.

His mouth dropped to your neck, your collarbone, biting at the soft skin like he was angry at it. You gasped, arching against him, fingers dragging down his spine.

“Tell me you don’t miss this,” he growled against your throat.

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“Not what I asked.”

He lifted you with ease, walked you backwards to the bed, lips never leaving your skin. He dropped you down, followed you with a weight that felt like coming undone. The rain outside slammed against the windows. The bed creaked beneath the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

Clothes peeled off, slow and frantic at once. He kissed every inch of your skin, reverent and bruising. You clawed at his back, moaned his name like a plea, like a prayer.

When he slid inside you, it stole the air from your lungs.

He moved slowly at first, deep, deliberate thrusts that made your toes curl, your body arch. You clung to him, nails biting into his shoulder blades. He buried his face in your neck.

“You feel the same,” he rasped. “Fuck—you feel exactly the same.”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped. “Please, don’t stop.”

His rhythm quickened, rougher, harder. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by broken sobs and gasping breath.

“I should’ve fought for you,” he said. “I should’ve fucking fought.”

You kissed him, fierce and shattering. “Then fight now.”

He groaned into your mouth. “I love you.”

“Then stay.”

You came with a cry, your whole body seizing around him. He followed with a broken moan, hips stuttering, breath catching as he spilled inside you.

You stayed like that for a long time, chests pressed together, foreheads touching, breath mingling in the dark.

And in that quiet, brutal silence, something shifted.

Not healed. Not yet.

But something close to hope.

You lay still for a long time after, his hand tangled in your hair, your breath catching on every exhale like your body didn’t quite believe what it had just done. Bucky shifted beside you, his arm tight around your waist, grounding you.

“You meant it?” you asked softly. “When you said you love me?”

He turned his face toward yours. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no flicker of doubt. “I never stopped,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

You closed your eyes. Let the words settle. Let the silence stretch.

Then—his voice again. Quieter now. Rough around the edges, like the words scraped on the way out.

“Can we try again?”

Your eyes opened.

He held your gaze, steady and unflinching.

“I know I left,” he continued. “And I know you shut me out too. We both did damage. But I still love you. And I want to stay this time. No matter how hard it gets, I’m not walking away. Not ever again.”

Your chest ached.

Because part of you still wanted to push him away, to brace for the inevitable.

But a bigger part, the part that remembered the sound of his laugh in the morning, the feel of his hands holding your broken pieces together—that part whispered:

Yes.

And for the first time in a long time, you almost believed it could be enough.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it! your feedback is forever welcomed my loves!

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bi-ss · 2 years ago

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~ Ties that bind ~

Bucky x reader- arranged marriage.

Summary: You agreed to arrange marriage when you were little, after seeing who you are to marry. You wish you could go back.

WARNINGS: mentions of boobs lol, James trying to flirt if you squint, Sharon being a bitch, swearing..

(Spelling may be bad as I'm very dyslexic sorry in advance)

2:15. That's the time James said he'll pick you up, and he asked you to be ready. It's 2:53, and you've decided to go for a shower instead.

Slipping your hand into the shower you turn it on trying not to get wet, which you succeed in doing, you lay the shower mat on the floor and look at your self in the mirror before undressing, you step into the now steamy hot shower wetting your hair completely before grabbing your shampoo and washing the roots of your hair. You like shampooing twice before leaving in your conditioner just a smudge so your hair soft, you take a comb but just as you about to start you hear voices come from your room, which is strange as noone really comes in bar you so you were a little confused until you hear them, a deep scruffy voice then you think you hear your bed moving, Is someone laying on it? You thought, you were slowly combing the conditioner in the ends of your hair when you hear a grunt but a deep grunt, you wondered who could be bothering you as it hit you, James motherfucking Barnes. It's been a couple of days since the meeting, and you don't have a James number, but you do have natashas. You were aware that James, Sam and Steve, who ever they may be were talking about all this as Nat over heard but all she said was he were tied, you didn't really care but you do know they Sharon has moved into a spare room on almost the opposite side from the master bedroom, and that one of James few rules were that we were to sleep in the same bed ect ect...

You finish your shower, putting your hair up in a towel, drying yourself and putting on a silk robe, you smirk to yourself as you remembered the last time you saw James were when he ran in to sign a couple papers at the front door and you heard shanon call you a attention seeking where and a man stealing slut, but now here's her man on your bed, without her knowledge, you giggle and unlock the door, breathing quickly and walking out calmly.

You glance over at James and around your room, you see his black blazer hanger on your beauty chair, him laying on your bed, shoes thrown next to it, in an look black shirt and trousers look, shirt slightly unbuttoned, with a shit eating grin on his face. While you, on the other hand, were in a short red silk robe and damp hair wrapped in a black towel, you pull the towel from your head, letting your damp hair, which is slowly shrinking flow free.

James grin slowly falters as his eyes seductively graze across your wet freshly waxed legs and the little bit of cleavage showing, once back to your face he study it like a text book, "if I'd had known you were showering, I would have ran here myself" he speaking proudly like he won a race, a race he ran by himself.

You giggle, slowly making your way to one of the bed posts making sure to sway your hips a little, leaning on the post you pout slowly, "if you were here faster I wouldn't have showered here, maybe at yours but as your late" you check the clock and see its 3:35 "I had to shower here" you continue pout but you weren't sad or annoyed he was late, or he was on your bed, you were more annoyed that hw aas flirting with you becuase he has a girlfriend, you disliked Sharon but no woman should have to know her boyfriend is flirting with another girl, and that he will marry her, no no no no.

Smirking at James as you yourself off the post and walk round the bed next to James, pushing the double doors to enter your closet humming as the smell of diffrent fabrics and soft smells enter your nose, you jump slightly as you feel you large hand on your hip, looking up to see James with a shocked expression on his face. You get an idea in your head, slowly turning to the broad man behind you, grabbing his chin gently with one hand, pulling him down to look at you.

"Go on, mister you get free range" you laugh to yourself as you walk back into your main bed room almost to your bed when you look behind you, still walking, to see James even more confused still standing in the door way, getting to the side of your bed you quickly start explaining before you lose confidence. "You said you wanted to atleast look like a happy couple, so I want you to go mad and dress me" you smile happily as you slowly start sliding down on your side, praying your still atleast a little covered but it didn't take James long to smile like a teenage boy looking at boobs for the first time and disappear into your walk in closet.

Once he's gone, you breathe and wonder where your confidence came from, then you feel bad for Sharon bit then remember she called you a whole and slut multiple times so feel less bad. You grab your phone and see nat texted you 3 times, and the one you can see from your unlocked screen says 'don't feel bad' so when you unlock and see that rest you feel less bad for Sharon as her messages are about how they were fighting because bucky admitted that he'd seen you years earlier at one of your fundraising events but at that time you were dating John so he didn't introduce himself and how he knew for ages she was using him for money but she was shit at hiding it and some other stuff, you replied saying you guessed so and how it was pretty obvious.

Nat: ngl you should probably start making him fall for you

You: why?

He knows she's using him

Nat: yeah but this has happened before, she'll say sorry and how she's change she'll change for a month then slowly change back.

You: oml why don't they don't break up

Like srsly it's kinda embarrassing

Nat: I've been by his side for almost 20 years, they have been together for 3 and at first she was a darling but money changes people

Also, he really loved the person she was and still thinks she's in there

Love does weird shit to us, man

You: fairs, he's picking out an outfit for me rn so I'll see 😛

What do I do just kiss him or something? I've never had to really try it. It's easy when they are already swooning

Nat: I guess, make him feel love for the rest of his life. I doubt he'll let you go

And I'll make sure of it x

You: sound

OK Nat, we met a couple of days ago, lol

Nat did send you another text, but you were by James calling your name while smiling proudly again, throwing your phone on the bed, getting up to see what he's layed out for you, walking past him you see a all black suit with some heels you turn to him nodding with a pleased expression "you did good James, but now I will be changing and you haven't gotten to the stage yet" you wink as you closed the doors but you still see the annoyed just playful gace he pulled, you turn to the suit and pick it up, seeing one of your favourite black lace lingerie sets underneath, you should be upset that he went to fair but you just giggle and started getting dressed and doing very light makeup. Once mascara, lip liner, and lip gloss were applied, you reopened the doors to see his amused, then blank expression, you walk out with your jacket folded over your arm and your shirt undone all the way to expose your bra which for being lingerie with quite covering for the most part, you smile, picking up the bag you had earlier and open your doors making your way to the front hall to where your stuff is to see all of it was gone and with James closely behind you, walking outside to the now only blacked out car there, which wasn't your fathers.

James rushed ahead to open the door for you, climbing in and you watched him walk round and open his door, your bag at your feet with your door closed and seat belt on you were ready, you knew you'd come back home sooner then later so if wasn't emotional.

"James stop staring at my boobs and driving" rolling you eyes as he starts the door and slowly pulling out, you hope it's an short ride that's not to awkward, so you look out the window as the trees go by.

TAGS: @learis @unaxv @cjand10 @pattiemac1 @coffee-winter-and-silence @scott-loki-barnes

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ateezscupid · 1 month ago

Text

─── QUEEN'S HELP ♡

SUMMARY / As a Queen with no King, sometimes you feel lonely. Being in a gigantic castle with no one by your hip. Well, besides for one servant.

warnings ✩ Queen!fem reader, Servant!seonghwa, medieval au, reader is a widow, forbidden love trope, angsty, reader is lonely and seonghwa is an eater /srs, soft!dom reader, switch (sub-leaning)!seonghwa, kinda service top seonghwa, unprotected sex, unestablished relationship, oral (f)

word count ✩ 5.19k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @lezleeferguson-120 @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

NOTE !! highly reccomend you read this in a British accent bc that's how I was reading it LOL

"It's forbidden…this love between us. My mother won't allow me to come know knowing I let a vampire bed me-"

"I will be there for you, my Queen. I would walk through fire than allow anyone to tear you from my cold dead hands."

"Oh, my love…"

"…This is such shit." you curse as you flip through the pages of your book. The fireplace crackles and spits as it dances in the stone hearth, casting shadows around the vast chamber that you call your own. "I mean, really, who writes this stuff?"

"Probably those poverty ridden authors," your friend, Giselle, chuckles as she sat across from you. "Always dreaming of castles and kings." She winks, knowing your secret love for such tales.

"Yeah, well, it's not all it's worked up to be." You sigh, setting your book down. "Especially when the only company I've got is you and the castle ghosts."

"And the servants? The maids and butlers? They're too busy pretending not to listen to every word we say," you add with a roll of your eyes, leaning back into the velvet chair. Giselle laughs, a sound that echoes gently in the high-ceilinged room.

"And what about that one?" Giselle asks, nodding to the young man standing by the sideboard, refilling your goblets with deep red wine. "Seonghwa, isn't it?"

You glance over, not really caring much. "What about him?"

Seonghwa freezes mid-pour, his hand trembling slightly. He's heard you speak of your loneliness before, but this time it's different. There's a sadness in your voice that wasn't there before, a crack in the armor you so fiercely wear. He's only a servant, but he's seen the way you look at the sunsets, the way you touch the cold stone of your ring finger where a ring should be. He's heard the soft sighs that escape your lips in the dead of night when you think no one can hear.

"He seems to be the only cute one." Giselle whispered, her eyes glinting mischievously.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Giselle, you're terrible."

Seonghwa finishes pouring the wine and approaches, placing the goblet before you. His eyes are cast down, avoiding yours, as he bows slightly. "Is there anything else you need, Your Highness?"

You look him up and down, taking in his form. He's not bad on the eyes, sure, but he's a servant, and you're the queen. It's not like you can just… "Giselle, that's absurd," you say with a light chuckle, pushing the thought away.

"Nothing more," Giselle waves her hand at Seonghwa, "Thank you, darling."

"As you wish," Seonghwa says, retreating back to his post by the sideboard. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, a hint of sadness lingering. You've always had a soft spot for the young man, his quiet efficiency and the way he never complains about the endless tasks. But that's all it is, right? A soft spot. Not love. Not like in the books.

But as the evening wears on and your friend heads back to her own chambers, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts and the flickering firelight, you find yourself drawn back to Seonghwa. He's always so attentive, so… present. You stand, the fabric of your royal gown whispering against the cold stone floor as you move towards him. "Seonghwa," you call out, your voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

He jumps slightly, then turns to face you, his eyes wary. "Your Highness?"

"…Come to my bedroom. I need help removing my dress." You say casually, as if asking for a cup of tea. It's not the first time you've called for his assistance in such matters, but there's something different in your tone tonight. A warmth that wasn't there before.

"Of course, Your Highness." He says, his voice steady, but you can see his pulse quicken at the base of his neck. He follows you through the shadowy corridors, the torchlight casting flickering patterns on the ancient tapestries that line the walls.

Once inside your chamber, you sit before the vanity, watching him in the reflection of the mirror as he unbuttons your dress with deft fingers. You've noticed his gaze lingering before, but tonight, it feels more… intense. You clear your throat, trying to break the tension. "How was your day, Seonghwa?"

"It was… it was fine, Your Highness." He murmurs, his eyes on the fabric rather than your reflection. "Just the usual chores."

"Hm." you murmur, watching him in the mirror. "Well, I've had better days myself." You lean back, allowing him to carefully slip the gown off your shoulders. The fabric pools at your waist, revealing the soft curves of your back. "But I've had worse."

"Your day is never truly bad when you're the Queen," he says, his voice a little hoarser than usual.

"You only think that because you're not in my position." you reach back to the tie keeping your corset together, but your fingers fumble with the knot. "Could you help me with this, Seonghwa?"

"Of course, Your Highness." He steps closer, his warm breath ghosting against your neck as he works the knot. You can feel his heart thumping in his chest, so close to yours, and it sends a thrill through you that you try to ignore. You've never been this… aware of him before.

"So, Seonghwa," you start casually, "Do you ever get tired of serving me?"

"…W-What?" Seonghwa stammers, his hands pausing for a moment before continuing to untie your corset. "I mean, it's an honor to serve you, my Queen."

"Wouldn't you want to serve a Queen who doesn't treat you like some sort of… object?" You ask, turning to look at him in the mirror, your eyes meeting his.

Seonghwa swallows hard, his throat dry as dust. "You never treat me poorly, Your Highness."

You couldn't think of anything else to say. The silence between you was thick, like the velvet drapes that shrouded the windows. "Good," you murmur, breaking the tension. "I wouldn't want to think I've been unkind to my most loyal servant."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes never leaving the corset as he loosens the laces. His cheeks are flushed, but you can't tell if it's from the fireplace or something else. You stand, the dress falling to the floor with a heavy sigh. "You can go now."

"But Your Highness, the dress…"

"It's fine, I'll manage the rest," you wave your hand dismissively. "Just… leave me."

"…Is everything alright, Your Highness?" Seonghwa asks, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before dropping back to the floor.

"…Do you find Giselle attractive?" You blurt out before he can leave, watching his reaction in the mirror.

Seonghwa's hands stilled on the fabric. "Your Highness, I-I don't think it's proper for me to have such thoughts about a lady of the court."

"So you do?" you turn to face him. "But what about someone like me?"

"Your Highness," Seonghwa says, his eyes searching yours. "You're different."

"In what way Seonghwa," you stroll over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it. Your heart thuds like a blacksmith's hammer in your chest. The castle walls felt like they were closing in on you, and for once, you craved the simplicity of a conversation with someone who knew your true thoughts.

"You're…my Queen," he stammers, his eyes wide. "You're not like anyone else here."

"I'm…your queen? Not the Kingdom's?" You tease gently, a smirk playing on your lips as you watch his discomfort grow. "You're not supposed to say that, Seonghwa. It's scandalous."

He shakes his head, his cheeks now a deep shade of red. "Your Highness, I-I didn't mean…"

"Come here, Seonghwa." You pantomime a 'shh' with your finger to your lips as you pat the spot next to you on the bed. "Let's just talk for a bit."

Seonghwa hesitates, his eyes flicking to the closed door and back to you. "Your Highness, is this…proper?"

"Stand if you must," you say with a shrug, "but I'm quite comfortable." You lean back into the pillows, watching as Seonghwa reluctantly sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, and the warmth of his body is surprisingly comforting.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" you ask suddenly, the question hanging in the air like the faint scent of jasmine from the candles flickering on the nightstand.

Seonghwa's eyes widen, and he looks down at his hands, twisting the fabric of the bedspread. "Your Highness, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon."

You nod slightly, glancing toward your closet. "Get my nightgown for me."

Seonghwa jumps to his feet, eager to follow your command. He returns with the garment, holding it out to you with trembling hands. You stand and let him slip it over your head, the silk brushing against your skin like a lover's caress. You feel his eyes on you, but you don't look at him. Instead, you stare straight ahead, contemplating the flickering shadows on the far wall.

"Do you remember the day of my husband's funeral," you begin, your voice a soft whisper that seemed to get lost in the vastness of the room. "When the whole court was weeping, and I had to stand there, stoic, because queens aren't allowed to show weakness?"

Seonghwa nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes, Your Highness. It was a sad day for us all."

You step closer to him, your hand reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. "Do you know what I felt that day?"

Seonghwa swallows hard, his eyes searching yours. "Pain. Loss," he murmurs.

"No." you correct him, your voice dropping to a whisper. "I felt nothing. Not pain, not loss, nothing. Just… cold." You step closer, your hand trailing down his cheek. "But when I look at you, Seonghwa…I feel something."

"Your Highness," he says, his voice strained, "I'm just a servant. I shouldn't be the one to…"

"You look at me as if you…as if you see me," you whisper, your thumb lingering on his cheek. "Do you, Seonghwa?"

He swallows again, his eyes flicking down to your hand. "Your Highness," he starts, but you lean in, your lips pressing against his, cutting off his protests. He freezes for a moment, shocked, but then his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His kiss is warm, hungry, and it feels like the first time you've been truly alive in years. You melt into him, your body responding to the touch you've been starved of for so long.

"Seonghwa," you murmur against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair. "Call me…call me by my name."

"Y/N," he murmurs back, his voice thick with emotion as he deepens the kiss. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you firmly against him as if he's afraid you might vanish like the mist at dawn. You can feel his heart racing, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. The formality of titles and station seem to crumble away in the face of this raw connection.

You pull away slightly, panting, and look up at him with desire-filled eyes. "Take me, Seonghwa," you whisper, your voice filled with a need that you never knew existed until this very moment. "Make me feel alive again."

"Your highness, I don't-"

"I'll tell you what to do. Just be with me," you whisper, your hand sliding to the back of his neck. "Please, Seonghwa."

He nods, his eyes dark with need. This isn't something you should be asking, not from a servant, but here in the candlelit privacy of your chamber, the rules seem to bend. He kisses you again, his hands finding the laces of your nightgown, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who's so obviously out of his depth. You help him, eager to feel his skin against yours. The garment pools at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

"I want you to use your mouth on me." You say it without blinking, the words coming out with surprising ease.

"Your…Your Highness?" Seonghwa stammers, his eyes wide with shock.

You smile gently, placing a finger to his lips. "Just Y/N," you whisper, "and I'm not asking for anything unpleasant. I trust you."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation, but you're steady. He drops to his knees, his breath warm against your bare skin as he kisses down your chest, his touch feather-light. You can feel the heat building between your thighs, a warmth that has nothing to do with the fireplace across the room.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You gasp, your hands threading through his hair, guiding him. It's strange, giving orders to a man who's always taken them from you, but there's something incredibly intimate about it.

"Just like that," you whisper, your voice hoarse with need. "But slower, Seonghwa."

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he kisses you again, his touch now softer, more deliberate. The room seems to spin around you, the heavy fabric of your curtains swirling in your peripheral vision. This isn't how you thought a night in the castle would go, but you're not about to complain.

"Your Highness," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and sweet. "I-"

"Shh, love," you run your fingers through his hair. "What is it? You don't know how?"

"N-no, Your High…I mean, Y/N," he stammers, his cheeks a fiery red. "It's just… I've never done this before."

You lean back on the bed, your heart racing. "Well, Seonghwa," you say with a small smile, "Listen to me carefully,"

You guide him gently, your hand on the back of his neck, urging him closer. "Kiss me here," you whisper, your finger tracing your inner thigh. "And here," you continue, moving slightly higher. His eyes widen, but he follows your instructions, his kisses leaving a trail of heat that makes your toes curl. "That's it," you encourage him, your voice breathless.

As his kisses reach the apex of your thighs, you spread your legs wider, giving him better access. "Now, lick me," you instruct, your voice a soft command. He hesitates for a moment, but the trust in your gaze is unmistakable. His tongue darts out, tentative at first, but as you moan softly in pleasure, he grows bolder.

You guide his movements, your hands tangled in his hair. "Circles," you whisper, your breath hitching as he obeys, his tongue swirling around your clit. "Flick your tongue, just like this," you demonstrate with your own, his eyes watching yours in the mirror above the bed. He mimics the motion, and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you. "Yes, like that," you encourage, your voice a little more urgent now.

"Oh christ," you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as Seonghwa's tongue tentatively flicks against your clit. His movements are clumsy, but earnest, and it's oddly endearing. You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape. "Like this," you instruct, demonstrating with your own hand. "But don't be afraid to use more pressure."

He nods, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror once again before he leans back in. You feel his tongue swipe firmly against your sensitive bundle of nerves, and it sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you. You're surprised by how good he is, despite his inexperience. "There," you whisper, your voice a little shaky. "Just like that, Seonghwa."

Your hips rock slightly against his face as he follows your instructions, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes. You can feel yourself getting wetter, the anticipation building in your core. "Good boy," you praise, your hands tightening in his hair. The words come naturally, a mix of dominance and care that feels surprisingly right.

"D-Don't stop," you breathe, your body arching slightly off the bed. Seonghwa's eyes are fixed on yours, his pupils wide with a mix of desire and uncertainty. He's a quick learner, you realize with a thrill, as his tongue starts to mimic the rhythm of your own hand, his movements growing more confident.

"Good," you murmur, your voice a soft purr of approval. "Just like that." His eyes flick up to yours in the mirror, searching for any sign of dissatisfaction, but all he finds is the raw need reflected in your gaze. You can't remember the last time you felt this alive, this… wanted.

"Seonghwa-" you gasp sharply, your thighs tightening around his face. His tongue is still tentative, but the earnestness in his eyes as he looks up at you in the mirror is unmistakable. You're not used to being the one in control, but there's something incredibly freeing about guiding him, about watching him learn your body like it's a sacred text. "Faster," you command, your voice a soft moan.

He speeds up, his tongue swirling and flicking against you, and you feel your orgasm start to build. "That's it," you encourage, your hips beginning to move in time with his movements. The bed creaks softly beneath you, the only sound in the otherwise still room. "Now, suck," you whisper, your hand pressing down lightly on the back of his head. He complies, his mouth closing around your clit, the gentle pressure sending a shockwave through you.

"Y-Yes," you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel the pressure building. "Oh my god,"

Seonghwa's eyes are glued to yours in the mirror, watching for every reaction, every twitch of pleasure. His mouth works you with an intensity that's surprising for someone so inexperienced. You're so close, your body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. "I'm close," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the reflection. You can see the determination in them, the desperate need to please you. His mouth moves faster, his tongue flicking and sucking, his cheeks hollowing as he breathes through his nose. Your hips are moving now, riding his face as you chase the orgasm that's just out of reach. "Yes," you murmur, "just like that."

Seonghwa seems to understand, his movements growing more confident, his tongue delving deeper. You can feel your muscles clenching around nothing, desperate for the fullness he could give you. You've never been with a man who was so eager to learn, so eager to please. It's intoxicating.

You reach down, your hand guiding his head as you show him the rhythm you crave. His mouth is hot, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh. You let out a low moan, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls of your chamber. "There," you murmur, "Right there."

"F-Fuck-" you moaned, your voice unsteady. The feeling was almost too much, his tongue hitting all the right spots with surprising precision for a novice. "Harder," you instructed, your legs trembling.

Seonghwa obeyed, his tongue pressing more firmly against your clit. The sensation was exquisite, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself closer to the warmth of his mouth. You watched his eyes in the mirror, the hunger in them making you feel powerful, like you were the one in control. It was a heady feeling, one you hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"I-I'm-" you gasp. "I-I'm coming!" The words barely leave your mouth before the orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your body shaking with pleasure. Seonghwa's eyes widen slightly in the mirror, but he doesn't stop, his tongue still working its magic until you're boneless, your legs falling open with a soft sigh.

He pulls away, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving. You can see the pride in his eyes, the knowledge that he's brought you pleasure. "Was that…good, Your Highness?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile lazily, your eyes half-closed with satisfaction. "Very good, Seonghwa," you murmur, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "But I'm not done with you yet."

You sit up and back away, flipping yourself over and laying on your stomach. "Now," you murmur, pushing your ass up in the air. Seonghwa stares for a moment, his eyes wide with shock, but you give him a gentle push. "Take me. Just like I asked."

He swallows hard, his eyes dark with desire as he moves behind you. You feel his hands on your hips, his breath hot against your skin as he leans in. "Like this?" he asks, his voice thick with anticipation.

"Mm," you murmur, pushing back slightly to feel his hardness against you. "But be gentle, I'm not used to this."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. He kisses your inner thigh, his breath warm against your skin. You feel his tongue dart out, touching you gently, and you can't help the soft whine that escapes your throat. "Just like that," you whisper, your voice a little shaky. "Softly."

He kisses you again, his movements growing more confident as he starts to understand what you like. You spread your legs wider, giving him better access, and he takes the hint. His tongue traces patterns around your clit, and you moan, your body responding to his touch. "Good," you murmur, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "Seems you must like this, hm?"

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. You can see the hunger in them, the desperate need to make you feel good. "Seonghwa…"

He looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. "Your Highness?"

"Your pants are still on." You say with a smirk, glancing back at him. "How do you expect to serve me properly like that?"

Seonghwa nods, his eyes flicking to the floor. "Of course, Your Highness." He stands, his movements a little unsteady as he unbuckles his pants and lets them fall. His cock springs free, hard and eager. You can't help but stare for a moment, surprised by his size.

"You've been hiding that from me all this time?" You say, a playful smirk on your lips. "A treasure indeed." You spread your legs wider, giving him a better view of your slick folds. "Come, Seonghwa. Give it to me."

He approaches you with a mix of eagerness and trepidation, his cock bobbing with each step. You can feel the warmth of his body against your thighs as he settles back into his position between them. "Just like before," you remind him, your voice low and sultry. "But this time, don't stop until I tell you to."

Seonghwa nods, his eyes dark with desire as he presses his tip against your entrance. You feel a thrill of anticipation as he starts to push inside you, the sensation of his thickness stretching you. "Your Highness," he whispers, his voice a little shaky.

You nod, your breath hitching as he fills you up. "Just like that," you murmur, your eyes never leaving the mirror. You watch as his hips start to rock, his movements tentative at first. "Mm," you encourage, pushing back to meet him.

"Faster," you command, your voice a little more urgent now. He picks up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet sound that fills the room. It feels incredible, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. "Harder," you say, your voice a little louder now.

"Y-Your highness," he moans, his eyes locked shut as he tries to follow your guidance. His movements become more confident, his strokes deeper and faster. You feel yourself building again, the pressure starting to coil in your belly.

"Just like that," you whisper, your voice a sweet promise. "Jesus christ," your fingers grip the pillow in front of you, your eyes never leaving his. The expression of concentration and hunger etched on his features is almost as mesmerizing as the feeling of him moving inside you. "Fuck me like you mean it, Seonghwa."

He takes a deep breath, his eyes flying open, and you can see the determination in them. His hips start to move faster, his cock hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You've never been with someone who takes your words so seriously, so eagerly. It's as if every order you give him is a gift, one that he unwraps with trembling hands and a desperate need to please.

"Oh my god," you moan, your hand reaching back to grab at his hip, pulling him deeper into you. He follows your guidance, his movements becoming more forceful, his breaths harsh and uneven. "Y-Yes, yes, yes,"

You arch your back, pushing your ass into him as he thrusts harder and faster. Your body is a live wire, sparking with pleasure at every touch. You're so lost in sensation that for a moment, you forget that you're in charge. "Oh, S-Seonghwa," you moan, your voice breathless. "You're so… so good at this."

His eyes fly open at your words, meeting yours in the mirror. You can see the surprise and elation in his gaze as he realizes you're praising him. It's clear he's never received such praise, not in this way, not from someone like you. The knowledge that he's bringing you pleasure, that he's the one making you feel this way, fuels his movements.

"I-It feels good?" Seonghwa's voice is a mix of hope and disbelief, his hips stuttering slightly as he continues his rhythm.

You nod, your eyes glazing over as you slip deeper into the abyss of pleasure. Your body feels boneless, your mind hazy, and the only thing that seems to anchor you is the feel of him inside you. "Yes," you murmur, your voice distant. "S-So good."

Seonghwa's grip tightens on your hips as he fucks you harder, his own need building. You can feel it in every thrust, in the way his breath hitches and his body tenses. But you're floating now, lost in the sensation of his cock filling you up. It's too much, and yet not enough.

"I-I need-" you stutter, a moan tearing itself out of your throat as Seonghwa hits that perfect spot again. Your eyes glaze over, your body trembling with pleasure. You can feel yourself falling, slipping into that delicious void where thought ceases to exist and only sensation remains. "I-I think I'm going to-"

Seonghwa wraps his hand around you, his fingers connecting with your clit, the pressure just right as he continues to thrust into you from behind. The combination of sensations sends you spiraling, your focus slipping away until all you can feel is the pleasure coursing through you.

"D-Don't stop, fuck, please!" you beg, your voice barely above a whisper as Seonghwa's touch sends you hurtling towards the edge of oblivion. The room around you fades into a haze of candlelight and shadow, the only anchor being the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your skin slapping against his, and the sweet pressure of his fingers on your clit.

And then it happens. Your orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your entire body convulse. You scream his name, your voice echoing off the walls of your chamber. It's the strongest orgasm you've ever had, and it's all for him, all because of him.

Seonghwa's eyes widen in the mirror, his own orgasm catching him by surprise. He stammers your name as he empties himself inside you, his hips jerking with the force of his release. He's never felt anything like this before, never experienced this kind of intimacy or pleasure. His body feels like it's on fire, a delicious burn that makes him want to collapse on top of you and never move again.

But he holds back, his arms shaking as he supports his weight, his eyes still locked on yours in the reflection. You're still trembling, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. The sight of your pleasure is almost too much for him to handle, and he can't help but feel a little lost in the intensity of it all.

Seonghwa's movements slow, his cock still twitching inside you. He's never felt anything like this before, never been the one to give someone so powerful, so revered, such an intense moment of release. It's intoxicating, and he's not sure if he's ready for the world to come crashing back down around him.

"Seonghwa…" you pant, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. He slowly pulls out, his cock glistening with your arousal, and you feel a strange sense of loss. You roll over, reaching for him, needing to feel his warmth against you.

He's still kneeling on the bed, his chest heaving with his own ragged breaths. His eyes are wide, filled with a mix of shock and awe. He's never seen you like this before, never knew he could make you feel this way. You look at him, struggling to sit yourself up, your body still humming with pleasure. "Come here," you say, your voice a gentle command.

Seonghwa crawls over to you, his eyes never leaving yours as he settles onto the bed. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, the heat of his skin searing into yours. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

You try to nuzzle yourself into him. His arms hesitantly wrap around you, unsure of the right way to hold you, but you guide him, showing him how you like it. His embrace feels safe, like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. It's a stark contrast to the passion that just consumed you, but it's just as satisfying in its own way. "You don't have to be scared," you murmur into his neck. "I won't tell anyone."

"I don't want to let you go." Seonghwa whispers, his arms tightening around you as his head rests on your shoulder. His heart beats a staccato rhythm against your chest, echoing the thud of your own heart. The candles flicker, casting shadows that dance across the stone walls, painting the scene in a warm, intimate glow.

"You don't have to, love." you run your fingers through his head, gently scratching his scalp, the gesture one of comfort. "You're mine. I won't let anyone hurt you," you whisper, the words sending a thrill through his body. The idea of belonging to someone so powerful, so beautiful, was almost too much for him to comprehend.

"Y-Yours?" Seonghwa repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his head against your shoulder feels heavier than it did just moments ago, like the gravity of your words is sinking in.

"Mine," you affirm, your voice firm despite the tenderness in your touch. You pull back to look at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. "You're my secret, my solace." Your hand traces a line down his cheek, feeling the stubble that's started to grow.

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