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vamplvs · 1 month ago

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Could you possibly write something angsty for John Walker where maybe a mission or something goes wrong and he ends up taking out his frustration on reader but apologizes and makes up for it when he notices reader pulling away, I love your writing so much!! Hope you have a good day! 💕

ROUGH NIGHT?

INCLUDES -> john walker x gn!reader WARNINGS -> john is kind of a bitch (predictably) and the reader is kind of a bitch back (which is deserved), hurt/comfort, mentions of blood, injury, and death (missions, yk?), reader is anxious as HELL about john, very vague mentions of sex but nothing explicit WORD COUNT -> 2.8k NOTES -> ugh anon this is EXACTLY the kind of shit i love writing. hurt/comfort is where it's at and this is just so unbearably john-coded in the best way. like yeah! you get it <3 fair warning, this ran away from me REALLY quick. it was supposed to be a short blurb (mostly aftermath and comfort tbh), and then i got carried away. also you can rly see my love-hate relationship w john in this one LMAO. he's my wife but i wanna get into a fist fight with him too, yk?

the tower is always quiet without the team, and bob's presence doesn't do much to keep things lively as he's already a pretty quiet person. they've been gone for nearly two weeks—double the time john told you the mission would take. they're usually radio silent for the duration of their missions, but when a mission takes so long, it's impossible not to worry.

and just as impossible not to wish that john could be safe within the walls of the tower, in your arms at night, or making you dinner.

you spend those weeks with bob going back and forth between checking on him, organizing and reorganizing every corner of your room, and drowning yourself in books and tv—not that it works. john lingers in your mind, images of the worst case scenario dancing in your mind like a taunt. maybe he comes back just fine, or maybe it's in a box. for all you know, he's trapped somewhere between two psychopaths trying to torture him. or maybe the team just can't agree on a course of action.

the silence from them is deafening, only drowned out by the racing of your own heart.

but when they finally come back from some extended mission that john hadn't told you the details of, the usual racket of the tower doesn't return with them. they march pitifully into the floor of the tower that's been dedicated to the living and common spaces. yelena is clutching her side and leaning against bucky for support, whose metal arm is spasming. ava, of course, vanishes immediately upon arrival. in the brief second you lock eyes with her before she disappears for who knows how long, she shoots you a cryptically sympathetic look for someone who looks like they've been through the ringer. alexei limps along, more defeated than you've ever seen him. but john is nowhere to be seen.

"hey, where is he?" you pipe up from where you're sitting on the couch, worry creasing your brow. your book is long forgotten by your side. instead, your eyes keep looking over the group, taking in their injuries and oh, god-

"with the jet," bucky responds, voice worn thin with exhaustion and hint of pain. you watch them leave, alexei's limp worrying you most of all. if he's in bad condition, what does that mean for john?

you bolt upright from the couch, heading off to the jet with a mission of your own. the bleak lighting of these parts of the tower create an endless maze for you to follow. your quick steps echo in the empty hallways—the construction that has been ongoing for the past several months leaving vast parts of the building almost entirely bare.

office rooms, labs, training grounds. all of them are vacant, like the people and equipment meant to be filling them have been stolen from under your nose. even the other living spaces in the tower—entire sections of floors that were once dedicated to an individual team member—are devoid of life. it leaves the building, one that was such an integral symbol of hope and protection, feeling cold.

and it does nothing to help the anxiety that claws at your throat.

by the time you get to the hangar, your pulse is pounding in your ears with enough force that you're sure it's echoing too. you hurtle through the doors of the hangar, desperation coloring every hurried step.

your pace slows when you see him: a lone figure in a wide, vacant room.

john is sitting on a crate by the side of the jet. his helmet in his hands and the shield tossed to the ground. it lies against the ground, discarded and deserted. his suit is covered in dust, debris, and what you think might be blood. with his head down, you can't quite see his face.

"john?" his name is barely above a whisper, and yet it still bounces off each wall. "are you okay?"

john tenses, his hands twitching around the helmet. it takes him a beat too long to respond, and the silence gives you a moment to see him properly. his beard has grown since you last saw him, no longer the neatly trimmed scruff he usually maintains. the bags under his eyes have gotten deeper, too, and there's this haunted look in his eye when he looks up from his helmet. gone is the bright blue you've grown to love. "i'm fine."

"how did the mission go?"

he huffs and stands up abruptly, helmet falling by his side. it rolls away from him, staring at you blankly with its empty sockets. "it was fine." john shoulders past you, his every step pounding against the floor. he hardly looks you in the eye as he leaves.

there's a limp in the way he walks, a favoring of one foot that is more than enough evidence to the contrary—as if you needed anything more.

when bucky finds you later in the kitchen, you're sitting at the table just staring blankly at your laptop. a cruel, steady cursor stares back at you, ever-blinking. bucky works quietly by the stove, apparently unbothered by you until he hands you a lightly steaming mug of hot chocolate—in the very mug john gave you before he left for this mission.

"is he okay?" you ask, staring down at the mug's delicate, flowery pattern.

bucky shrugs. "he's been in the gym for a while." he sits down across from you, running a hand through his hair. "the punching bags are taking a beating, according to ava."

"more than one?"

"apparently." bucky takes a sip from his own mug. in any other situation, the care with which he drinks his hot chocolate would have been endlessly funny. a tiny, delicate mug in the metal hand of a super soldier.

you hum. it's not unusual for john to train after a mission. he takes pride in his skill, after all, drawing all kinds of satisfaction from landing grueling hits against an enemy—and even a place for hits to land, a shield, when needed. but punching bags aren't his go-to, they never have been, especially not to the point of going through several bags. john spars when he wants a fight, but this... this has your worry washing over you in waves once again.

your eyes follow the intertwining swoops of the flowers decorating the mug.

"look, it was rough for us, especially walker," bucky rolls his shoulders back with a sigh. "give him some time, alright? he'll come around." you can't be sure if bucky is trying to convince you or himself. either way, he stays with you. he tells you about the bad intel, about the informant that john had been too rough with, about the regrets that john brought home from the mission. "he'll be okay." and you can only hope that's true.

you don't see john again until hours have passed at that kitchen table with bucky.

when you finally walk into your shared bedroom, you can smell his shampoo lingering in the air even from the doorway. he faces away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting his chin on his hand. and now that he's finally clean of the dirt that he brought home with him from the mission, you can see the bruises littering his back. they range from red to purple to nearly black, and your eyes are glued to them. you're sure that the ones on his chest and stomach must be worse.

"bucky told me what happened," you start, trying to keep your voice gentle. "i- i'm sorry that-"

john whips around, standing from the bed with a stiffness you've only seen in him during the aftermath of the void. his eyes blaze with hurt, backed by a fire built on kerosene and failure. "we aren't talking about this." his hands shake by his sides, knuckles raw and bleeding. bucky's story about the informant swims through your minds sluggishly, lingering. did he punch the scabs back open on the punching bags, or are those new?

"i just wanted to help-" you step forward with your hands out to him in a placating gesture, like he's some kind of wild animal. and with the withering look he gives you, he may as well be.

"yeah, and you never really can, can you?" he laughs bitterly, and his hands twitch again. footsteps pound on the floor, and suddenly, he's close enough to touch, close enough that you feel the adrenaline and shame still pumping through him, "i mean seriously, you sit here in the damn tower, and you hover. you always fucking hover." his voice just gets louder and louder, until you're sure anyone on this floor of the tower can hear him.

"because i care about you, john," you make a strong effort to keep your voice steady, fighting back the thickness wedging itself into your throat with everything in you.

"well, maybe that was your first mistake." his face is inches away from yours when he says it, with nothing but vitriol and venom backing his words.

your eyes burn. "john-"

"just-" he steps back, running a hand over his face, "i just need a fucking break, okay?" as soon as he turns his back to you again, you're out of the room. you swear the slam of the door behind you shakes the entire tower. and if you hear him calling after you, you certainly don't respond.

for the next few days, you avoid john. you spend nights with yelena or bob—thank god for that air mattress you found stashed in a closet months ago. and during the day, you only go back to your room when you know john is going to be out. if it's a break he wants, then it's a break he's going to get.

"he's a brash idiot," yelena tells you when it's her turn to host the movie nights you've been doing with her and bob.

bob, of course, is quick to intercept, "he definitely didn't mean it. right?" he defers to yelena, waiting for her to agree with him. not that she does, but you can appreciate the effort.

john's eyes follow you unwillingly when you're in the same room. they focus on every small movement—the way your eyebrows furrow when you're confused about something alexei says, the dip of you're mouth when you try not to laugh at bucky rolling his eyes at something ava says, the way your hands fidget with the end of your sleeves or your pen when you catch him looking. he feels like a mad man, itching to be by your side as bad as he is. and he can feel yelena laughing silently at him from across the room.

all the while, your heart aches. a break, he said, whatever that means. a break where he stares wistfully at you, eyes heavy with something that you could call sorrow if he hadn't been the one to call for a break.

it isn't until a full four days have passed that he finally works up the courage to apologize to you. it's ironic how he can face the scum of the earth, who do everything in their power to kill him, and yet he starts sweating when he remembers what he said to you. and when he remembers how you took it.

he finds you sitting by one of the windows of the emptier floors, a book in your hand—one of bob's recommendations. this room seems to be some kind of office space, though it's hard to tell with the minimal furniture that's been put in. he lingers in the doorway, taking a moment to watch you sitting peacefully. you don't have your guard up, and god, he misses seeing you like this.

he knocks gently on the doorframe, and you watch him approach with wary eyes. that same guard he was so grateful to see you without returns in full force.

"bob said i could find you here," his voice is hesitant despite how squared his shoulders are, despite how high he holds his head.

you huff. "can't quite keep quiet can he?" the pages of the book flutter when you put it down, the only sound in the room.

silence stretches between the two of you, and john has to look away from your accusing gaze.

"i'm sorry," he starts, shaky and unsure, "you didn't deserve that."

"i know." he winces at the certainty in your statement.

"the mission, it-" john finally looks you in the eyes again, taking a deep breath, "i'm so worried about you, all the time. it just-" his words trail off, like he's still trying to finish the thought. all that planning, and he still can't find a good way to put it all to words.

"yeah."

"i don't want you to get hurt." he flexes one of his hands. the wounds have long scabbed over but are still bruised badly.

"i'll be okay." you shrug, and he almost believes you.

"you can't know that-"

"i'm okay now, aren't i?"

his lips twist into a pitiful half-smile, and you can't help but give him the same look in return.

"when i-" his shoulders fall, "look, i didn't mean-" he curses under his breath, and that nearly gets a smile out of you. "i need a break from this," john gestures vaguely around the room, to the rest of the tower, "not- never from us. i fucked up bad, and i know that."

"okay." every response from you is clipped, tearing his poor attempt at a brave facade to shreds.

"i don't know why-" you give him an icy look that shuts that train of though down immediately. curse you for knowing him so well. "i shouldn't have said it, not like that."

john's heart races in the quiet moments that stretch between you two.

in the blink of an eye, your arms are wrapped around him. he lets out a shaky breath and pulls you close to him. his hands grab for your clothes like he's trying to prove you're really here.

"i'm sorry," he mutters into your shoulder.

"it's okay," you reply gently, threading fingers through his hair.

"you're so perfect, and so- just so close to all of this, and i have nightmares about you getting-" he takes a harsh, shuddering breath, "i don't know what i'd do."

"i know, baby."

you missed him for those days. you missed his hand in yours, you missed his gravely voice in the mornings, you missed his pain in the ass self-assurance. and it's good, so good, to have him back.

you wake the next morning without john in your bed, and if that isn't a rude awakening, you don't know what is. the sheets next to you are cold, and you almost trick yourself into believing that last night was a dream until john walks in with a cup of coffee in that same flowery mug and a tray stacked high with food.

"john?" your voice is still rough from sleep, cracking around the syllable.

"i made you breakfast, baby." with little ceremony, he places the tray of food and the coffee on the bedside table. he does it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like there's nothing else he would rather be doing.

"huh?" your mind is still struggling to catch up. it's too early, and the bed is, quite frankly, far too cold without him.

"i'm making it up to you," he kisses your forehead, and his hand lingers on your cheek for a beat longer than it strictly needs to.

"thought you made it up to me last night," you stretch your legs beneath the blankets, trying to work out some of the soreness. he chuckles at that, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way they do when he laughs.

"oh, that worked, huh?" john sits carefully on the edge of the bed, running a hand over your arm.

"mmm, maybe."

"does breakfast in the bed sweeten the deal?" there's a twinge of uneasiness in his tone matched with a gentle squeeze of your arm.

"only if you get back in bed with me." he smiles at you, all warm and tender.

"i think i can do that."

john finds his way under the blankets with you. his hands are soft when they wrap around you, and warmth bleeds back into the sheets steadily.

"you really should eat that before it gets cold," he mumbles against your neck.

"okay, okay." it's hard not to laugh at where john has situated himself. he's firmly attached to your side, only letting up when you reach for the food. even then, his hold on you shifts just enough to let you move, never quite relenting.

#john walker x reader #thunderbolts x reader #marvel x reader #honestly impressed w how quickly i turned this one out LMAO #usually requests take me a MINUTE (or at least they have in the past on other blogs)#but this scratched an itch ty anon!#john walker headcanons #thunderbolts headcanons #marvel headcanons

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edsnewloveinterest · 1 month ago

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*bucktommy voice*: wHaT bUdDiE bUiLd uP 🤨😡

tim minear himself: yeah we were gonna do it s4 but the network said no

There you have it! Like I myself didn't know about Tim said that but that's a huge evidence. Thank you!

Seriously though, the fact that they changed the network, to the one that more lgbtqia+ community is a big deal.

If that's not screaming buddie canon or buddie build up, then idk what else to say..

#yelena answers 💕#anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard #anon ask #buddie

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unholyhelbig · 1 month ago

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Hey lovely, can I request yelena x fem!reader in the shower. Nothing sexual about it, but yelena or reader (or both) come home after a rough mission and they just need help cleaning up and decompressing. Like I die helping each other wash their hair ahh. Just lots of hugs and softness and love. Ok that’s all thanks love youuuuu <3

Title: The Warmth of You

Ship: Female!Reader x Yelena Belova

Warnings: non-sexual nudity, mentions of injury, mentions of explosions, Mentions of Alien goo (?) and horrible grammar. I don't proofread!

My everything taglist 💕: @thinking1bee (Let me know if you want to be added!)

[A/n: man, I feel like I haven't nailed down Yelena's voice yet so it's making everything awkward and clunky. I'll figure out how to write her with reader one day]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The sound of the front door slamming shut should have been enough to have you rabbiting from bed, scrambling in an attempt to peel yourself away from the clean linen. Your wife didn’t have many rules, but she was strict about keeping dirty clothes out of the bed. It made for a comfortably warm nights sleep, and you couldn’t fault her for that.

You also couldn’t fault yourself for being bone-tired after a horrible mission. Your ribs were bruised, and the taste of blood was stale on your tongue. You’d spent most of the afternoon getting shrapnel tweezered from your upper shoulder. It throbbed uncomfortably and the thought of moving in the slightest was worse than getting scolded.

Your arm was flopped over your eyes, and you considered exhaling and not pulling another breath into your lungs. Even the thought of breathing was too much. Too taxing. You hadn’t toed off your boots, nor peeled your gloves from your sweaty palms.

Yelena had the disposition of a cat. You only knew she was in the room by the way the bed dipped as she flopped onto the other end. A tired groan escaped her, pushed from the center of her chest. It gave you a gentle reminder to inhale. You eased the pain by opening your eyes at the same time. At least the assault of the low-light wouldn’t be as bad.

Your wife was face down on the perfectly made bed in her own tattered tactical suit. There was a sweet smokey scent to her, one that burned your throat. Ash smudged her cheeks and created a hard rind under her fingernails.

“You look like shit.” You said, voice scratchy with exhaustion.

“Did you stop trying to be charming when you locked me down?”

There was a groan that snagged in the back of your throat as you found enough strength to pull yourself to a sitting position at the lip of the bed. Your head was swimming, dizzy to the point of pressing your fingers to your temple. Your ears were still ringing from the earlier explosion, so you didn’t hear Yelena do the same.

She kept her palm to her side, must have tweaked the same muscle that had been bothering her for quite some time now. You laid your hand on her thigh, giving her a gentle grounding squeeze until the sharp pain ebbed away entirely and her muzzy eyes blinked clear once more.

Yelena’s eyes flicked down to your lips, back up again.

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You’re covered in alien goo and looking at me like you want to stick your tongue down my throat.”

“It is supposed to be in sickness and in health.”

You hummed, partially to mask the pain that washed over you when you stood on deer-like legs. “So funny that neither of our vows said anything about otherworldly substances. If you want a kiss, you get a shower.”

You padded into the ensuite bathroom, wincing at the click of the lights and the instant bright glow. The movements were familiar as you went about setting the temperature of the glass paneled shower. There was a heaviness to the air as steam began to collect at the corners of the mirror.

Yelena had worked up enough courage to pull herself from the bed, but took purchase on the doorframe instead. She watched you with a tepid green stare as sweat collected at your brow. The moisture was wicking through what remained of your tactical suit.

“I uh, tweaked my shoulder.” You said.

There was an uptick at her lip, the top scarred with a cotton-candy pink. You were stubborn, didn’t’ ask for help often and still couldn’t get the words to come out properly. Yelena had coexisted with you long enough to pick up on the subtle tics and the softness of your eyes.

She stepped over the threshold, boots against your own. Yelena carried an intoxicating scent of chamomile and the slightest tinge of honey. Of course, that was masked by the sticky pink goo that slicked her hair back, pungent and viscus.

Yelena made quick work of the buttons on your vest, breath warm against your collarbone. Goosebumps raised on your skin and though you hoped your wife wouldn’t notice. Of course, she did, and with a teasing lilt to her voice said “Cold, milaya devochka?”

You scoffed, but reveled in the way her fingers ghosted the bare skin of your collarbone as she peeled away the fabric of the shirt and discarded it on the tiled floor. A frown creased between her eyebrows when she saw the clinging black and blue and purple that bloomed over the expanse of your shoulder.

She let out a low hiss, nudging her nose against your own. Yelena had stripped her vest at the door but allowed you to work at the off-white of her suit. There were always too many buckles for your liking and made some intimate moments more frustrating than not. But, today you went slowly, moving the suit down to her waist.

Yelena’s muscles tensed and untensed as your fingers tickled over her biceps. There were various cuts and bruises and red marks that marred the expanse of her skin. She sighed out contentedly at your touch, hands reaching our and unclipping your bra. She let that, too, fall to the floor.

You’d been married to her for six years, and her eyes still went hazy with attraction each time she saw you. Her thumbs brushed against the sides of your hips, exhaling shakily. Your fingers moved to her belt, unlatched it with ease.

Once the both of you were stripped, standing naked and vulnerable in front of each other, you grasped her hand and pulled her into the warm stream of water. A shiver wracked your body at the quick change in temperature.

It was easy to maneuver the two of you until Yelena got the brunt of the warmth. A sigh of contentment pushed out of her lungs. You silently reached for the shampoo, meeting her eyes for confirmation.

“You do not have to.” Her whispered words blended with the falling water.

“I know, but I want to.”

Yelena gave you a slight nod and let her eyes flutter closed. Years ago, she wouldn’t turn her back to you, would track you at the corner of her eye. She knew where you were at all times. There had been a quiet glower about her, and you were convinced she despised you. That had melted gradually into mutual respect, and then something more. This.

She let out a contented whimper as you worked the suds into her hair, working the goo away with each swipe of the hand. Yelena leaned closer out of habit, her breasts pressing to your own in a familiar comfort as the floral scent of lilac filled your lungs.

You rinsed the soap away and diligently shifted her until her back was pressed to your front. You could feel the tone of muscle under your fingertips, the dirty blonde steeple of hair that dipped below her waistband.

Your chin rested on her shoulder, hugging her close, simply wanting to be near the woman that you loved. “Feeling better, baby?”

“Mm, move your hand a little lower and I’ll be back at 100%”

You were much too tired to give in to your wife’s pandering, and the way her head fell lazily against your shoulder gave away her own exhaustion. The water was running cold and her body pressed slick against your own was the only thing keeping you from shivering. You flicked the water off despite her murmurs of protests.

“Are you always this dramatic?” You asked a question you already knew the answer to.

“I have never been dramatic a day in my life. Wrap me up in a towel before I freeze to death and lose all my fingers and toes.”

“I thought Russians never got cold.”

The sharp glare she shot towards you with the precision of a drawn arrow shut you up. It had lost it’s true effect years ago, but it was still a sign that you were toeing the line. Yelena didn’t pout, but she got damn close with the jut of her bottom lip and the faux trembling she forced upon her shoulders.

Towel it is.

You draped one over her shoulders before wrapping yourself in one, thankful for the warmth yourself. When you turned to grab a third one to attend to Yelena’s dripping hair, now goo free, the air was knocked clean out of your lungs as she wrapped herself around you, cheek pressed into your side.

Having significant height over her played to your advantage in moments like this, when you both craved touch and she could tuck herself easily under your chin. She mumbled something against your bare skin, shooting affection up your spine.

“What was that?”

“I’m happy I have you to come home to,” She clung to you harder, eyes clenched shut. “We go on a lot of uncertain missions, to space, to the middle of the desert, but you are my certain. You help me wash the day away and just be.” Yelena blinked her eyes open, peered up at you. “I love you.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again, before finding yourself. Your wife, she had always been affectionate behind closed doors. It was more physical than it was verbal. She’d drape her legs over your lap, or lay her entire body on top of you. She’d watch you come out of sleep slowly while tracing patterns on your back. She showed her love plenty. She said it a little less, making something crack inside your chest now.

“I love you too, Lena. I want to come home to you every day for the rest of my life.”

She sniffed, nodded against your bare skin. “We have to change the sheets. Your outside clothes were on the bed.”

“So were yours!”

Yelena tsked, placing a fluttering kiss to the birthmark on your shoulder, her breath hot on your skin. “I do not recall this.”

#Yelena Belova #Yelena Belova x reader #Yelena Belova x you #Yelena Belova x y/n #Thunderbolts x reader #Thunderbolts x you #Thunderbolts #Marvel #Marvel Oneshot

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mommyslittlebird · 17 days ago

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ok remember that funny time when i did the biting request? hear me out now, muzzle. do with that what you will :3

- 🦊💕

Yes! I’m still working on the biting request but this one is a little shorter so I’m posting it first.

“Mamaaaaa!” You whined, rubbing your face with your paws and against the carpet, trying to get the dark black muzzle off.

“Puppy,” Wanda chided, grabbing you by the wrist and hauling you upwards. From how you were acting, you’d think she’d put you in a saw trap. It was a far stretch from the softest and most comfortable muzzle she could find at the store. “You’re going to hurt yourself. Cut it out.” She was firm, but not unkind despite having wrestled with you for almost half an hour about this now.

“Mama, I don’t wanna wear it!” You pouted, yanking your paws out of her grip and crossing your arms over your chest. You schooled your face into a sneer, ears pitifully sagging from the top of your head.

“Awww, baby,” she cooed, scratching behind your droopy ears. “Don’t give me that look. It’s just for the party. There’s gonna be a lot of people here, and sometimes when we excited by all the people we can get a little bitey, can’t we?”

“That was one time!” You grumbled. Wanda shot you an amused glare. You turned away, shifting uncomfortably. “And the other… couple of times.”

“You can take it off as soon as everyone leaves. It will only be for a little while, I promise,” Wanda reassured. “And we’re still gonna have so much fun.”

You pouted grumpily, continuing to look unconvinced. You refused to even look at her.

“Natty and Bowie are gonna be there, and Yelena and Kate are bringing Franny,” Wanda explained, trying to cheer you up.

You sat in unamused silence, seething and angry like a defiant toddler. You didn’t even bark when the doorbell rang. You just stayed firmly planted on the couch.

“That’s Nat and Bowie right now! Come on let’s go give Natty a hug. Just this once I’ll ever let you jump on her, yeah?” Wanda said, trying to get you up off the couch.

You huffed, not budging.

“Alright, suit yourself,” Wanda sighed, leaving you to stew while she greeted the guests.

You were still sat in the same position 5 minutes later, when Natasha came into the living room.

“Oh, there’s my favorite puppy,” she said, sitting down next to you. “What’s got your tail in a knot?”

“Mama’s being mean…” you grumbled. “She’s makin me wear a muzzle!” You leaned on Natasha, crawling into her lap.

“Oh,” Natasha cooed sympathetically. “That is very mean. I bet she’s the meanest mama in the whole world.”

“Yeah!” You pouted, curling up against Natasha’s chest.

“Well,” she started, rubbing your back in soothing circles, “since she’s the worst mama in the whole world, you probably wanna come home with me and Bowie, right? You wouldn’t want to snuggle with that mean old mama, would you?”

She felt you tense as you looked up at her. There was a slight crack in your resolve.

“We can set up a crate for you, since there’s no puppies on the bed at my house, and you can sleep all by yourself. No mean mamas allowed. You wouldn’t have to worry about slimy goodnight kisses, or silly little bedtime songs, or anything else,” she continued.

You froze starting to think you’d made a mistake. Still you didn’t speak up.

When Wanda walked in the room a moment later, Natasha started to scold her. “Wanda! How dare you make this poor angel wear this… torture device. Clearly they need to be removed from your home immediately. From now on, they’ll be living with me, right puppy?”

“B-but…” you started to protest. You look to Wanda, staring at her for a long moment before reaching your arms out for her to pick you up. “I’m sorry, mama! Please don’t send me away.”

“Aww,” Wanda chuckled, pulling you into her arms and carrying you on her hip. She kissed your forehead and rested your head on her shoulder. “You’re okay puppy. You’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck with mama’s snuggles and slimy kisses until the end of time.”

You sniffled into her neck. “Are you mad at me? For being a bad puppy earlier?”

Wanda laughed and rested her head on top of yours. “You’re not a bad puppy,” she assured you, rocking you gently. “You’re my good puppy. A very very silly puppy sometimes, but you’re my very silly puppy. And not even Natty can have you. You’re all mine.”

She smothered your head in kisses, making you squirm and wiggle in her arms. “Now, go have Bowie help you get your toys ready. Your friends are gonna be here soon.”

She set you down, winking at Natasha and mouthing a ‘thank you’ before patting your bottom and sending you off to prepare for the party.

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