natsgrave

[natsgrave]

what in the actual fuck? i literally crashed out when Y/N said “i wish you would dare to love me as i love you, Wanda.” because hello??? that's literally a knife that got twisted in me and drained all my blood.

i love angst.

What They Will Say About Us - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: A love from the past returns, and Wanda gets a second chance to make it right. But some decisions are easier in their concepts than in reality.

Warnings: milf!Wanda angst hours, implied internalized homophobia, hidden making out, attempts to Judaism references, and mentions of past relationships. | Words: 1.727k

A/N-> I blame the movie Disobedience and the song of the title name (by FINNEAS) for this one.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

It was such a risky idea, honestly.

Wanda had no reason to be in the Synagogue this afternoon, other than her personal motivations of course, which came down to an old friend in town. 

The black sheep returns, she heard, from a good dozen people. It made her stomach turn. Wanda wishes she could have summoned the same courage as you, years before, and left everything behind. Fought her own father like you did and had the minimum of happiness like she imagines you found in New York.

Or at least, Wanda likes to believe so. When she thinks of your adolescents, stolen moments here and there, and how you left without hesitation, she must believe that what was out there was better. It made you happier, at least.

The Synagogue was crowded and it was too risky to look around that much. Wanda felt watched from all sides - whether it was Pietro and Crystal, or Erik and Natalya, she had the impression that all eyes were on her. As if everyone knew how much she wanted to stare at you.

Your presence there was noticed very easily and commented on by everyone. The choice of black clothes, the outrageous jeans for the traditional community, every strand of rebelliously messy hair. 

Everyone looked at you as if you were a crime against everything the faith stood for, but Wanda looked at you as if you were a masterpiece.

The small sarcastic smile as you mumbled Hebrew as you entered, the almost non-existent nod before ignoring your sister's simple request to take the seat next to her and avoid any commotion, your determined steps to the small group standing around having a conversation.

Every inch diminished between you two made Wanda's heart skip a beat.

"Shalom Adonai." You greeted, interrupting whatever conversation was going on between Wanda's family. She tried to disguise how much she was begging for your attention, but you caught every stolen glance, the smile at the corner of her lips getting harder to hide and bringing a warmth underneath her own dress. 

You were embraced by Natalya, tenderly, around the neck. She had always liked you, Wanda remembered. 

"Shalom Adonai, Y/N. It's so good to see you home, child." Said the woman so warmly that you almost felt bad for the lack of manners you were about to present.

"Yes, yes, it is good to be back. Would you guys mind if I talked to Wanda for a second?"

She knew she was blushing, and that it only made her father's disgusted expression worse. But something about the punk-rock attitude made them assume that you might cause a scene if you were denied, and Erik just nodded in agreement. 

You offered Wanda a smile, invading her personal space only to go around her, grabbing her hand in the process. 

She followed you through the halls to an empty room, as she would have followed you to New York if you repeated the invitation.

"Why are you being so shy and quiet?” Your question came on the way, hand in hand with her, when you turned your head for a moment. A tease followed before Wanda could answer. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

She chuckled through her nose, indignant at something so absurd. She had been happy to the point of barely sleeping properly for the past few days since the news that you were in town reached her house, and she longed for a visit that never happened. It was foolish to think that you would come to their parent's home, not when you were revisiting family after so long. But at least in the Synagogue, Wanda found you. Or the other way around.

You stopped walking in a dimly lit room, at the exit of a staircase that no one would pass after the meeting had begun. It was a cramped space that the younger ones used to hide from chores, that you, Wanda, and Pietro had used many times as teenagers.

You challenged her then. You loosened her hand to rummage in your pockets and took out a lighter and a different cigarette, wrapped in silk. It was only to elicit a reaction from the woman in front of you, who widened her eyes as if you were the devil itself and grabbed your hands.

"You can't-"

"I'm just messing with you, Princess." You retorted with an easy smile, shoving the items back into your pocket, and to the end of the other's sanity, your hands moved to hers again before Wanda could pull away completely. "You haven't changed a bit."

Her shaky breath tickled your cheek. 

"You did." She murmurs affectedly, looking at everything but your face, and mostly at your hands together. Your fingers playing with hers. "You cut your hair, and your clothes...it suits you."

You hum distractedly, Wanda has no idea it's because of her perfume. So many years, and she messes with you the same way. Licking your lips, you try to bring clarity to your own thoughts.

"I heard you were getting married." You state then, and Wanda has to look at you, frowning.

"What? How-? I-I-"

You chuckle, taking in every trace of the face you missed so much. "Your mother invited me to the engagement feast." You explain casually. "I dismissed an event, so imagine my surprise when I heard you dumped the guy's ass..."

Wanda bit back a smile, she shouldn't laugh at this. At the shame she had put her family through; the most rebellious act of her entire life, dismissing a rich, Jewish, and proper fiancé. Chosen by god and her parents.

"Sorry for the inconvenience in your schedule." She returns, teasing, her eyes sparkling the way they only get around you.

You smile, interlacing your fingers together and bringing an immediate wave of nervousness to the woman in front of you. The gentle tug lessened the distance.

"I just got through packing up and ran over here." You murmur then, a very sincere and vulnerable look in your eyes suddenly.

Wanda swallows dryly, her heart hammering. "Oh, really?"

Your smile didn't falter, but your eyes did. "Do you remember... what I told you when I left?"

Wanda could hear her heart in her ears. She nodded, and you moved her hands to your waist. She gasped, overwhelmed with the longing for you, with the love she had kept for so many years. Her burning face was hidden in your collarbone, and you chuckled, equally affected, you slipped your arms around her to reassure her.

"I said I'd come back at any second if there was a risk of losing you to anyone, Wands." You whispered against her, even as she confirmed that she remembered. "And here I am. I hope not too late."

She shook her head frantically, drawing another laugh. You were tormenting her after all, how audacious. Wanda grimaced, and brushed her lips against your neck first, enjoying the flinch, before sinking her teeth in your skin.

You whimpered, low against her ear. Wanda licked the bite and sucked until she had a mark and you were soft against her, melting.

"Wanda." You called out, and she pulled away in the same second, only to firm her mouth on yours. 

It was exactly as she remembered it, but even better. You tasted like peppermint candy and coffee, and it was too delicious for Wanda not to squeeze your sides and push you against the wall. 

Your tongue slid into hers until her head spun and her knees buckled. The sermon began downstairs, and the music drowned out any gasping sounds that escaped her lips.

Wanda took advantage of it.

You were out of breath when you let go, and your hair seemed wilder than before. Your hands were dangerously beneath her blouse, gripping her waist directly by the skin. The strong squeeze would be enough to mark, and Wanda would have to be careful about changing clothes at home.

"Run away with me." You gasped suddenly, and Wanda stopped breathing. 

She had a flashback, so many years before, where you were much younger and much more insecure, and she was terrified. And you asked the same question and began to cry as Wanda shook her head in the negative. 

"Detka..." She started uncertainly, not with the same fears as years ago, but with the same cowardice. 

You had changed more than she had, and your eyes were as firm as your tone.

"I have an apartment and a job." You reasoned, your hands releasing her waist to hold her face. "All the stability and security I couldn't give you at 17, I have it now. I got it all so I could be with you, princess. Run away with me, Wanda. Please."

Her eyes burned. "My family would hate me." And you knew it was true, yet you still loved Wanda the same way you did when you were seventeen.

"I would be your family." You assure her, caressing her cheeks tenderly. "And we...we could make a family of our own, too."

Wanda sobbed softly, returning to her original position, her face hidden in your collarbone. You almost began to cry too, but you busied yourself with holding her, smoothing her hair until you had her definitive answer.

"It's a beautiful dream, detka." She whispers against your skin, her arms tightening around you. "The best one there is."

You kissed the top of her head. "Let me make it come true, Wands."

She sobs, and the music there and low ends. Wanda needs to stop crying before someone comes to check, so she does so quickly, wiping away the tears and almost hiding them from you. 

"Reality would tear us apart." She declares, but you deny it with a nod, offering her a sad smile before moving closer to kiss her forehead. Wanda almost tugs you away, but like years ago, she flinches.

You sigh and face her in the eyes. "I wish you would dare to love me as I love you, Wanda."

Her gaze begs for sympathy, but you can't give it to her now. You turn your back on her and leave her alone on the staircase, and it's as if Wanda can hear the memories echoing in that space.

Maybe one day, she will find the courage to follow you.

[natsgrave]

I just want her to hold me and tell me everything will be okay, kissing my forehead and hiding me from the world outside.

[natsgrave]

fanny as natasha's personal cupid 💘

Operation: Obedience

Natasha Romanoff x Dog Handler!Reader

Summary: It starts with chaos in a pink harness and a trainer who makes obedience sound like a love language. It ends with Natasha finally understanding what it means to be chosen and choosing to stay.

Warnings: injured animals, dog bites, animal distress but no animal death!

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: happy sunday! this was supposed to be a stand alone but i love the premise of this so if anybody’s interested in a part two, i have a couple ideas i may write🖤

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

Natasha Romanoff is many things. Spy, Assassin, Shield Agent, Avenger, Auntie Nat, stubborn older sister and now? Dog sitter apparently.

With Yelena off on a month-long mission, freeing brainwashed widows, she had gone to the only person in the world she could trust. So that left Natasha with Fanny. A clingy, spoiled, absolutely unhinged rescue mutt with attachment issues, no training and zero respect for her authority.

After Fanny eats an entire steak off Natasha’s plate (again), knocks over a crate of Stark’s prototypes and bolts across the compound in pursuit of Sam Wilson’s drone. Natasha’s had enough, for a second she regrets ever having to reconnect with her stupid sister, who got an even more stupid dog.

If she had made better life choices, she wouldn't currently be getting dragged down the hall by a twelve pound mutt in a sparkly pink harness. She stumbles into the lounge and cries out to Wanda, who just sips her tea calmly. “Fanny! Heel!”

Fanny snorts, ignores the command entirely and yanks harder toward the elevator like she owns the building. “Why don’t you take her down to the K-9 facility?” Wanda suggests. “They’ve got actual trainers. And the main handler… she’s nice.”

“She’s hot!” Clint hollers from the kitchen, making the witch roll her eyes.

“Damn, I’ll take Fanny for you Nat.” Sam grins. “I might need some training too.”

“Gross.” Wanda fake-gags. “And has Laura heard your thoughts on the trainer, Clint? Perhaps I should let her know to come by with Lucky.”

“I mean- I was just- I was helping Nat out…”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’m not desperate. I mean for Fanny to behave? Of course. But I don’t need anyone, I’m fine on my own. Besides I don’t need help training this damn dog.”

“She doesn’t need training, she needs an exorcism!” Bucky offers unhelpfully, trying to get the hound who’s now mounted his back and trying to pull the hair tie from his hair.

“Ok, maybe I’ll stop by.”

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

“This is a stupid idea.” Natasha mutters, awkwardly walking Fanny, who’s currently trying to bite her own leash and tugging her whichever way she pleases.

The spy sighs, letting herself be dragged through endless corridors, following the signs for the K-9 wing. It’s not like the sterile, fluorescent training rooms and labs she’s used to. This part of the compound is quiet in a different way. It’s all warm lighting, clean floors and the faint sounds of barking and whistles echoing softly down the hall.

She turns a corner and stops short.

You’re kneeling beside a massive German Shepherd, adjusting a training vest while murmuring something low and calming. You’re not in standard issue Shield uniform, just black cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt, sleeves half rolled up, posture easy but every inch of you radiates quiet authority. The dog beside you sits perfectly still, watching your hands like they’re made of bacon.

Natasha’s brain stalls, just for a second.

And that’s exactly when the 12 pound traitor on the other end of the leash decides to bolt, yanking the leash out of Natasha’s hand and tearing down the hallway at full speed, tail wagging like she’s on a mission.

“Fanny, no!”

Too late.

Fanny barrels into the training space, completely undeterred by the tall German Shepherd that watches you like you hold the sun. She flops dramatically at your feet and starts performing tricks Natasha’s pretty sure she’s never actually taught her.

The other dogs flinch at the chaos but stays perfectly still, waiting for your next command. You blink at the sudden appearance and then look up at Natasha.

Natasha suddenly feels over-trained but severely underprepared. And maybe, definitely, like she’s forgotten how to breathe.

“I take it she’s yours?” You smile at the redhead, who is as stiff as the trained dog in front of you. You have the kind of voice that makes obedience sound like an invitation.

Natasha clears her throat. “Technically she’s my sister’s. I’m just the… dog sitter.”

Fanny lets out a groan of ecstasy as you scratch behind her ears. She licks your wrist and whines for more when you rise to your full height from your crouch. You simply glance down at her then back at Natasha.

“She’s dramatic. But smart.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, you’re in luck. We work with dramatic types all the time.”

Fanny barks once, a single and pointed sound. Natasha sighs and walks over to the two of you, her steps cautious like she’s entering a room full of explosives. And with Fanny? That’s not entirely far-fetched. You glance at her sideways as you clip a lead onto the dog’s sparkly harness.

“Before I start working with her, it helps to get a baseline. See what she already knows. What kind of commands you’ve used. Anything she responds to.”

Natasha’s expression doesn’t change, but you see the faintest flicker of discomfort. Is an Avenger actually nervous of a mutt?

“Sure.” She mutters. “No problem.”

You start to give her some space as Fanny bounces on her paws like she’s ready to do parkour. “Go ahead. Show me what she can do.”

Natasha hesitates then clears her throat and turns, trying to subtly crack her neck like she’s preparing for a sparring match. She turns to Fanny, schooling her face into something deadly serious. “Fanny, sit.”

Fanny barks.

Natasha frowns. “Fanny. Sit.”

Fanny leaps onto her hind legs, spins in a circle, and lets out a victorious howl. You bite your lip, smothering the laughter that’s threatening to erupt.

Natasha glares. “She knows sit.”

“Totally. Very… interpretive.”

She ignores that.

“Down!” She commands.

Fanny runs to the corner, grabs a rubber bone and starts aggressively chewing it. Natasha’s ears go faintly pink, you can almost hear her mind cursing out this damn dog.

You make a polite sound, somewhere between encouragement and a failed attempt not to laugh.

“How about recall?” You suggest, gently. “Come, stay, leash manners?”

“She’s been fine on the leash.” Natasha says, quickly. “Except when she’s not.”

You raise a brow then gesture to the training dummy in the center of the mat. It’s shaped like a vaguely threatening human, standard for desensitisation training.

“Let’s try this. Can you walk her past the dummy? Just don’t say anything. I want to see how she reacts.”

Natasha nods. It sounds easy enough so she adjusts the leash, steps forward with practiced precision.

Fanny trots along beside her for exactly two seconds.

Then she sees the dummy and she just lunges, yanking the leash from Natasha’s hand, barrels into the dummy, knocks it clean over with a crash, mounts it like a rodeo champion and-

“Oh my god.”

You can’t help it now as you burst out laughing.

Natasha stands there, expression flat but eyes screaming. “She’s- She’s never done that before.”

You walk over, gently unhook and unmount Fanny, who looks thrilled with herself. Tail wagging, tongue lolling and truly living her best life embarrassing her aunt.

“You know, dominance humping’s pretty common in insecure dogs.” You say, trying to sound professional.

“She’s not insecure.” Natasha grits out. “She’s psychotic.”

You nod solemnly. “Could be both.”

You offer the leash back to her and your fingers brush between the leather. She flinches like it burned but she doesn’t quite pull away.

You grin. “We’ve got work to do.”

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

It’s been three days. Three full days since Natasha Romanoff last darkened the door of the K-9 training wing.

On the first day of Fanny’s training, she’d simply come to observe between whatever Avenger duties she had going on. Her eyes followed your every movement, you weren’t sure if she was trying to memorise commands or if she was just distracted by something else entirely.

When she came to collect Fanny at the end of the session, she stumbled through pleasantries, politely endured your in-depth explanation of the training Fanny had undergone then thanked you softly and disappeared. But over the past three days, a different redhead had started showing up with the dog. One with deep, unreadable eyes that flashed red when she arrived with Fanny in tow and perfectly under mind control.

You told yourself Natasha was just busy, off doing important Avenger things you’d never understand. Or maybe she was still recovering from the deep, psychic shame of watching her sister’s dog hump a training dummy in front of you.

Still, you’re mid-training with one of the new explosive scent dogs when the door opens and in walks Fanny, tail up, tongue out, dragging Natasha behind her like a kite. Like she was telling you ‘Look who I found!’.

You look up from your crouch, trying and failing to hide your smile.

“Progress check?”

Natasha straightens up, feigning disinterest like it’s a second language. “Figured I’d see if she’s… improving.”

Fanny immediately runs to you, flops on your boot and rolls onto her back for belly rubs like you’re her soulmate.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yep. Wild progress.”

Natasha frowns. “She sat for me yesterday.”

“Wow. Call the press.” You gesture toward the back mat, where your usual training set-up sits, scent targets, obstacles, behavioural triggers. “You want to help?”

Natasha hesitates. You watch the tiny flicker of conflict in her face like she’s weighing whether staying for a few minutes of dog training is somehow exposing her emotionally.

“Sure.” She says. “I’ve got… time.”

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

You’re on your back, breathless from laughing and trying to not look directly at the soggy redhead next to you.

You’d set up a simple agility run with cones, tunnels, short climbing frames and Fanny, in a moment of pure chaotic energy, had chosen to sprint directly through the cones, avoid the tunnel entirely, and use the ramp as a launching point to dive into a water bucket.

Now she’s soaked. Natasha’s soaked and you’re not much better.

You hand her a towel and finally catch a glimpse of her, she’s smiling at the dog like she wants to strangle her and frame the photo.

“You okay?” You ask, trying not to look too hard at the way she softens.

“Yeah.” Natasha says, wiping her hands. “Honestly? This was… better than I expected.”

“Most people say that about Fanny, right before she humps the training dummies or decides to rid you of your socks.”

She glances at you, a little sideways like she’s searching for something she hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask.

“You’re good at this.” She says, quietly.

“After that display of training, I think I need to be fired or maybe Fanny is just an exception to a normal dog?”

“Not just the dogs, all of it. You’re…”

You pause, really looking at her. She’s not flirting, not exactly. “You’re just good.”

She finishes lamely, avoiding your eyes as a red shade rises to her cheeks.

You lean just slightly closer. “Maybe you should stick around longer next time. See how good I really am.”

Her mouth twitches until Fanny barks once and sits directly on Natasha’s foot, like a smug little chaperone.

“Your dog’s totally cockblocking you.” You murmur.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You both laugh. It’s soft, the kind of laugh people don’t fake. The kind you can tell she doesn’t do often.

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

It’s late afternoon at the Avengers compound and everything’s just calm.

The wind moves through the trees, soft against the outer fences. It’s one of those rare moments, where there’s no distant gunfire, no alarms, no team-wide emergencies. Just a quiet moment where it feels like the world’s finally taking a breath.

Natasha jogs in from the tree line, sweat-slicked and flushed from having clearly pushed herself too hard. Again. She slows to a walk as she reaches the paved path near the west wing, tugging out her earbuds. Her breathing’s steady but her eyes are distant.

And then she sees you.

You’re across the compound path, walking one of your dogs. Not a puppy, or not one of the flashy, perfect recruits.

This one is different.

A big, old shepherd mix, worn around the muzzle. One leg moves stiffly, the other back paw drags just slightly in the dirt. His fur’s patchy, clearly healing from something. One eye is missing while the other fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

You’re walking slow, letting him set the pace. You’re not saying anything but your hand brushes his head every few steps, grounding him.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha doesn’t feel like she’s watching someone play a role or do their job. She’s just watching you. And that dog, he trusts you like it’s instinct.

You glance up and spot her.

Natasha goes still, instinctively pulling herself straight, guarding something she’s not sure she wants to guard around you anymore.

You hesitate then clear your throat, smile small but warm. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Natasha mutters back, looking down to the dog beside you, a question on the tip of her tongue.

“He’s retired. Came in last year after a blast shattered his back leg and part of his skull. Doesn’t move like he used to.” You answer before she can ask. “Still tries to chase squirrels, though. Doesn’t catch them but he tries.” You pat his side gently, earning a nuzzle to the thigh.

Natasha’s lips twitch. “He’s stubborn.”

“So are most of the best things I know.” You’re not quite sure if you’re referring to her or Fanny.

You don’t know what makes you ask, maybe the way her walls are just a little lower after that run, maybe the way she hasn’t looked at her comms since she spotted you but you go for it anyway. “You want to walk with us?”

Natasha blinks. For all her training, she’s terrible at hiding surprise when it’s real.

“You don’t have to.” You add, quickly. “I know it’s slow-going. He likes to stop every three steps and sniff grass like it’s a delicacy.”

“No, I-“ She cuts herself off then softens at the two sets of puppy dog like eyes staring back at her. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

You don’t say anything, simply gesturing her down the path and walking so close together that your shoulders brush.

The dog stops again and again, noses something in the grass, sniffs the plants, eyes darting the tree lines. You get to a clearing, a good amount away from the compound and bend down to take his leash off, watching Natasha bend the same.

She crouches beside him and you watch her gently scratch the side of his neck, the good side.

“What’s his name?” She asks, letting him lick her fingers.

“Bear.”

“Looks like one.”

You smile. “He thinks he’s terrifying, actually he is in action. But he cries during thunderstorms and won’t sleep unless he’s touching someone.”

Natasha glances up at you, her voice drops. “Yeah. I know the type.”

After letting him run free for a while, stretching out the three good legs he’s got, you whistle him back and clip the leash on again. Together you fall into an easy rhythm, slow and steady steps, soft conversation flowing between you. You talk about the new puppies due to arrive soon, she talks about Fanny’s owner, her sister, who’s clearly the mastermind behind all his mischievous habits. Bear lumbers ahead at his own pace, tail swaying lazily. The sun’s lower now, casting long shadows across the compound’s gravel path. It’s peaceful.

You and Natasha walk side by side, not speaking for a while as the compound reappears through the trees.

Natasha finally breaks it, her voice low and unreadable.

“You ever think about leaving this place?”

You glance over. She’s not looking at you, just watching Bear meander to the grass again, where he sniffs a rock like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Like quitting?” You ask.

She shrugs. “All of it. This place. The job. The people. Just… disappearing.”

You take a breath. “Sometimes.”

Natasha nods like she expected that.

You wait a beat before adding. “But then I remember why I do this.”

She looks at you now. “The dogs?”

You smile. “Them but it’s bigger than just the dogs. I know I’m not on the front lines, I’m not risking my life for others but I’m helping, in my own small way. It’s the least I can do.” You shrug, feeling a little exposed. “It’s enough. Well at least it’s what I tell myself at night.”

She huffs a quiet laugh through her nose but it fades fast. “I think about it all the time. Leaving. I used to do it like clockwork, one job, one identity, gone. But now…” She pauses, searching for the words. “…Now there’s nowhere I want to go. But I don’t know if I want to stay either.”

You nod, letting the honesty settle between you. “That’s still progress.”

“How?”

“Means you’ve got something worth staying for. That’s more than most people. Maybe you just need to find something else that really makes staying worth your while.”

Bear lets out a heavy sigh and flops down in the grass, clearly declaring the walk over. You crouch to check his paw, brushing some dirt out from under the pads. Natasha stays standing, watching you, admiring you.

“He chose to live.” You whisper, softly. “When he came in, he could’ve just… shut down. But he didn’t. He kept trying to move, even when it hurt.”

You look up at her, you don’t say it out loud but the message is clear.

So did you.

She meets your eyes. For a long time. Something flickers in hers, something unguarded and achingly human.

“I didn’t come on this walk for him.” She blurts out, almost randomly.

You blink, thrown by the blunt honesty. “No?”

“No.” A pause. “And I don’t keep coming to the training room to watch Fanny’s progress.”

“Oh.”

“I think she’d hump the dummy again if it got me out of my own head.”

That draws a quiet laugh out of you. You stand back up, brushing grass off your knees and meeting her eyes.

“Well. Next time, we can skip the excuses.”

She tilts her head, just a little. “There’s a next time?”

You smile, soft but certain. “Yeah. If you want one.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But her fingers brush yours when she reaches down to pet Bear again. It’s not an accident.

“I do.” She says, quietly.

And for once she means it.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The sun was just beginning to dip as Natasha made her way through the doors of the K-9 facility, Fanny at her side, barely pretending to stay on the leash. She’d spent the afternoon ‘supervising’ Fanny’s training with one of the newer handlers, pretending to read intel reports she definitely wasn’t paying attention to, making sure the progress wasn’t slipping away because, of course she only truly trusted you with the mutt.

As she walked toward the exit, she hoped for just a glimpse of you. To see you and to remind herself she didn’t need an excuse to be here.

She hears your voice before she even rounds the corner. Firm. Focused. No-nonsense but somehow, still kind. “That’s it. Down. Hold. Good. Hold, wait for it…”

Natasha turns into the training room and stops in her tracks.

You’re on the main floor, standing in the center of a controlled obstacle course with one of the working dogs, a sleek black and tan Malinois, responding to every word like it’s gospel. He darts through tunnels, leaps cleanly over hurdles, hits precision stops like he’s reading your mind.

You whistle once and hold up two fingers. The dog immediately shifts into a crouch and crawls on command, eyes locked on the decoy target at the far end of the mat. It’s not just good, it’s damn impressive.

You’re not flashy and you don’t don’t show off. But this? This is an insane amount of control, of trust and bond.

And you look entirely in your element, sleeves pushed up, hair gathered back, sweat glinting on your temple, voice low but commanding.

Natasha watches in silence, jaw twitching slightly.

She thought she had a handle on the whole quiet crush on the dog handler thing. Apparently, she did not.

She doesn’t even notice Fanny yawn beside her, until the mutt lets out a loud “WOOF.”

You look up mid-command.

The Malinois snaps to a sit, perfect posture. Fanny, meanwhile, sprints toward the course like she owns the place and proceeds to trip over her own paws and crash into a foam tunnel.

“Fanny!” Natasha mutters, dragging a hand down her face

“Hi.” You call, laughing as the Malinois calmly walks to the water bowl like this is clearly beneath him. “You just missed the best part.”

Natasha’s eyes are still on you. “No.” She says, softly. “I don’t think I did.”

You arch a brow, cheeks warming slightly, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you snap your fingers. Fanny freezes mid-tail wag. “Sit.”

She actually sits. Natasha blinks. “How-”

“Bribery.” You say, with a wink. “And mild psychological warfare.”

Fanny barks, totally unbothered as you kneel beside her, giving her a quick scratch behind the ears and a treat from your pocket.

“She is improving.” You say gently, looking up at Natasha.

“Yeah,” Natasha says. “So am I.” You both pause. “I wanted to see you.”

Something’s different in her eyes now. Less guarded, more grounded. “You did?”

“I did.” She confirms. “And I’d like to see you tomorrow night?”

“Yeah?”

“Yesss.” She drawls, laughing at your stunned expression. “I can pick you up here at 8pm?”

“I- Yes- Yeah, that sounds… good.”

“Good.” She repeats. “Let’s go Fanny.”

What the hell just happened?!

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The next evening, Natasha’s early.

She makes her way down to the K-9 facility, a little more nervous than she expected to be. She’s not in her usual Shield uniform or even a mission suit, just jeans, a black jacket, hair in loose waves like she’s trying to look casual, like this isn’t her first real date in years.

She tells herself she’s just checking in before dinner. Fanny’s leash is tucked under her arm and she’s practiced what she’ll say when she sees you.

But when she walks into the main room, you’re not there.

A younger handler is wiping down crates and glances up when Natasha enters.

“Hi!”

“Hi, I’m looking for-“

“Yes. Yes, I- She said- Well-“ The young handler stutters, clearly not expecting to see the Black Widow. “She’s at the Med bay.”

“WHAT?!” She almost growls.

“Yeah. Uh, there was an incident. One of the dogs- something happened during a mission. She went with the vet team to stabilise him. It was bad. Lot of blood.”

Natasha doesn’t wait to hear the rest. She’s already moving.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The doors hiss open to chaos, barking, low groans and rushed footsteps. One of the older German Shepherds, Bear’s brother in uniform Natasha thinks, has his splayed on a steel table, half-sedated and clearly in pain. His leg’s twisted unnaturally, blood matted deep into the fur.

And you’re there, on the ground and kneeling beside him.

Your face is calm but barely. Hands shaking as you stroke the uninjured side of his neck, whispering soft reassurances that sound like muscle memory and like you’re holding back everything else.

The dog snarls, eyes wild. He snaps, once, twice and catches your forearm on the third, hard enough to draw blood.

Natasha jerks forward but not as fast as the man beside her, armed with a huge tranquilsor that would be enough to put out a rhino.

“Ma’am, back off-”

“No!” You say, through your teeth. “He doesn’t understand what’s happening.”

The dog snaps again, catching your hand this time. You wince but he’s already letting you go and whining softly.

“Shhh, I know. It’s ok.” You whisper, already reaching for the much smaller needle in your vest pocket. “He just needs to feel something safe before he goes under.”

You get close again, whispering something too soft for Natasha to hear and then you stick the needle cleanly into his shoulder.

The dog lets out a whine, shudders but slowly goes still.

The moment he stops fighting, you do too.

You slump down beside the table, breathing hard, blood trickling from your arm. One of the vet techs moves in to lift the dog away, muttering about surgery and nerve damage.

Natasha is there the second you’re alone. “What the hell were you thinking?”

She drops to a crouch beside you, pulling your arm into her lap, already inspecting the puncture wounds. “You could’ve lost a hand! Do you even realise how close his teeth were to your-”

“I know.” You mutter. “I know.”

She rips a gauze packet open with her teeth, one clearly suited more to an animal than human but neither of you care. Your blood’s on her gloves before you even notice she’s touching you. It’s not her anger that gets to you, it’s the fear behind it.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. “But if they gave him what they wanted, he would never have woke up.”

She doesn’t respond, just continues to clean the wounds along your arm.

The vet returns briefly at some point. “He’s stable.” He assures before his face becomes a lot more somber. “But it’s touch and go. Nerve damage, internal bleeding. We’ll do everything we can.”

You nod, voice hollow. “Thanks.”

The door closes again and that’s when it hits you.

You lean back against the wall, blood still drying on your skin and your whole body starts to shake as you pull away from her.

The tears hit fast, harder than you meant to let them, pulling out of you in rough, uneven sobs. Your face twists and you instinctively turn away, as if you’re embarrassed by the weight of it.

“Sorry.” You choke out. “I just- He’s not just a dog. He’s- He trusted me. I-” But you can’t finish it.

Natasha doesn’t move for a second but then she very gently takes your chin and turns your face back toward her

“Don’t apologise.” Her voice is quiet. “He’s not just a dog to you. I know that.”

You try to blink the tears away but she’s already pulling you into her, one arm tight around your shoulders, your blood still on her jacket sleeve.

And when she says. “You made him feel safe. That’s what he needed.” You finally let yourself fall forward into her arms and just breathe.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The sky’s dark by the time Natasha comes back from the vet ward with Fanny trotting beside her, leash taut, ears perked, tail doing that suspiciously innocent wag. Natasha had dragged you to Dr Cho, made her stitch you back together and clean your wound much better than she could have ever done. She had even stayed outside the dog’s surgery, so you wouldn’t worry he was alone.

You’re sitting outside the recovery wing, arm bandaged and fresh stitches, looking exhausted with eyes rimmed red, clothes still stained with blood but now, your breathing’s steady.

Natasha crouches beside you without saying anything at first. She just puts a hand on your knee, grounding. “He’s stable. They think he’ll make it.” She assures you.

You exhale, sharp and shaky. “Thanks for coming and staying.”

“You think I wasn’t going to?”

You don’t answer that. Fanny whines and licks your good hand. Natasha glares at her but the mutt leans harder into your leg.

“Traitor.” Natasha mutters, making you smile.

“She’s loyal to whoever has treats.”

“You don’t even have any.”

“She knows I would.” You both laugh but it’s quiet, the events of the night still heavy.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

You don’t really remember how you asked her to come with you. It might’ve been mid-sentence, mid-sigh, something like ‘I just don’t want to be alone tonight.’

She didn’t hesitate.

Now you’re curled on your couch, left arm braced with a pillow, still smelling faintly of antiseptic. Fanny has made herself fully at home, snoring upside down on your rug like she pays rent.

Natasha’s in your kitchen, sleeves rolled, hair tied back, humming something low as she works a pan over the stove. “You cook.” You say in disbelief.

“I survive.” She corrects. “You’re bleeding. The bar is low.”

But the scent of garlic and something buttery drifts into the air. She brings over two plates, a simple pasta dish on each, loaded high with toasted bread.

You blink, stunned. “Are you seducing me with carbs?”

“If it works, I’m making pancakes in the morning.”

You laugh, hardly able to pull your eyes from her and to the meal in front of you.

You both eat while the TV murmurs in the background, just quiet enough that you can hear Fanny’s snoring through it.

Once you’re both finished, you tried to clear the plates but she refuses to let you, not wanting you to get the bandages wet. So you wait patiently until she falls beside you, sinking into your soft couch cushions.

There’s a pause, a moment of peace.

You look over at her to find she’s already looking at you.

“You scared the shit out of me today.” She murmurs, quietly.

You swallow. “I was scared too.”

“You didn’t act like it.”

“Well, neither did you.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second. “I didn’t want to lose you and it wasn’t just because of the dog. I trusted you could do it, I knew you could but- I got scared.” A sigh follows. “I don’t get scared.’

That lands like a soft hit to the chest. You reach out slowly, brushing your fingers along hers.

“I don’t know what this is.” You say, voice small.

“Me either.”

Fanny chooses that exact moment to wake up and hop up, wedge herself between you both like an obnoxious little cupid and drop a saliva-damp rope toy in Natasha’s lap.

You both stare for a second then laugh, half delirious at the late hour and also in disbelief.

“She really knows how to kill a moment.”

“Or make one…”

Natasha leans in before you can even think to stop her, hand gentle on your jaw, gaze asking for permission she doesn’t need to speak.

And then she kisses you.

It’s not fast or rough. Just steady, sure and real.

When she pulls back, you’re both breathless but still smiling.

“So…” You murmur. “Pancakes?”

“Only if you let me stay.”

“Deal.”

Fanny flops across both your laps and lets out the loudest, most satisfied groan imaginable.

“You did this, didn’t you?” Natasha laughs, scratching her head.

She doesn’t move, she just lets out another dramatic sigh, her tail thumping once against the couch.

And when Natasha’s lips meet yours again, Fanny closes her eyes with the contentment of someone who knows her mission is complete.

[natsgrave]

Hozier was so real for writing It Will Come Back cause I, too, would crawl pathetically back to someone who's shown me love once like a wild little creature who's just learned what kindness and warmth feels like for the first time.

[natsgrave]

may this love find me, i'm begging.

Call It What You Want

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: A happy you and Natasha through the eyes of the avengers. Plus Yelena.

Warnings: Disgustingly fluffy.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: My brain realized that I’ve never written anything that doesn’t have at least 50% angst and took that as a challenge. Enjoy and let me hear your thoughts! Also if you saw me post this then delete it no you didn’t.

[Masterlist] [Part 2]

Keep reading

[natsgrave]

i can't believe it's already the end. i'm so happy for both of them, especially natasha. she finally gets to be happy and keep someone she cares about and loves.

Knight Falls - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Wolverine!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: Your perfect life with Natasha isn't meant to stay that way with the Red Room still looking for her.

Word count: 3782

AN: The final part! Thanks to everyone who supported and read this series and finally encouraged me to finish it. :)

Click here to read Part 3.

“You weren’t quite strong enough, so I guess I have to finish it myself,” Natasha says, eyeing Dreykov’s desk with a little trepidation.

“What are you going to do?” Even he doesn’t have the foresight to predict her plan.

Natasha doesn’t even steel herself with a breath before she slams her face onto his desk, hearing the satisfying crunch of her nose give way before the explosive pain waters her eyes.

“Sever the nerve,” she tells him, but before she can punch the smug expression of his face, the door bangs open. Taskmaster drags you in. You look like you fought a pack of lions and lost. Your previously white shirt is in tatters and soaked in blood, and she can tell something is wrong with your legs by the way they’re awkwardly folded underneath you.

“Y/N!” she calls out, but you hardly seem to react to her. Taskmaster puts a gun to your head. “Don’t!” she says, fearful that you might not survive getting shot again. 

“That is not for her,” Dreykov says, “It’s for you.”

BANG.

Natasha isn’t fast enough to move out of the way and the bullet rips through her thigh. Her leg buckles and she falls, crawling to take cover behind Dreykov’s desk. She sees you throw yourself at Taskmaster to knock him off balance, but you can’t do much more than that and he pushes you off easily, continuing to advance towards Natasha.

She looks at her surroundings frantically for something she can use as a weapon as Taskmaster nears her. Dreykov’s hand slams a button under his desk and he backs away as red warning lights and alarms sound off. 

“Kill them both,” she hears Dreykov instruct Taskmaster.

“You think it’s that easy?” you mumble; Natasha can barely hear your weak voice over the alarms. You shuffle to block Dreykov’s path to the door. “Trust me, bub, I’ve tried a lot of things and I’m not going anywhere.”

Dreykov sighs as if you’re just a simple annoyance. “Kill this one first,” he says in Russian, beckoning Taskmaster over. Natasha wishes she could breathe a sigh of relief as his attention is taken away from her, but she’s worried you won’t survive another fight against him.

You cling onto the wall for support as you drag yourself into a standing position. “Take off your mask,” you say, “I want you to look me in the eye when you kill me.”

“We can kill you as many times as we need,” Dreykov says, snapping his fingers. Taskmaster raises his gun again.

“Good luck with that.” You look beyond Dreykov and Taskmaster to make eye contact with Natasha. Despite that she can’t communicate telepathically with you, she seems to know exactly what you’re thinking as your eyes shift over to Dreykov’s desk and you subtly press your body weight against the wall. 

Brace for impact.

She hunkers down beside the desk, feeling the protest in her wounded leg, just in time as a colossal wave of movement tilts the room almost 45-degrees to the right. Dreykov loses his balance and goes sliding into the window, while Taskmaster manages to hold his balance–but just barely. The room groans and angles back to the left.

“What the hell is that?” Dreykov roars. 

Outside his ceiling-to-floor windows, a large, dark-gray jet lowers into view. When Natasha squints, she can see Storm in the cockpit, and her heart leaps with joy. She nods at Natasha, and the clouds darken and thunder booms. The Red Room’s aircraft jostles again as the jet moves closer.

You’re back to fighting Taskmaster again, slashing at him and forcing him to retreat towards the windows. The sight of the Blackbird has raised your morale, and you surprise yourself when you finally catch a chink in his armor and his blood spills onto your claws.

The Blackbird steadies itself and a ramp lowers, Scott and Jean appearing in their ridiculous yellow-and-blue costumes that you swore you would rather die than publicly wear, but you’ve never been so happy to see them.

You pull Taskmaster close to your face and can hear wheezing behind his mask. “Fuck you,” you spit, shoving him back so hard he breaks through the window. As he stumbles to find his balance on the ledge, Scott blasts him with a pair of ruby-red optic beams. Taskmaster is knocked completely off the aircraft by the force, but it hardly gives you any satisfaction to watch him fall to his death (mostly because it was by Scott’s hand over yours).

Jean levitates her and Scott over to the broken window. 

“Need a hand?” Scott yells out over the sound of the wind.

“I almost had him,” you grumble. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Jean asks. You know she’s read your mind and the things you’ve thought about in the last hour. It’s more embarrassing than annoying, and you don’t want her worrying about you. 

“I’m fine,” you grunt, even though everyone in the room can tell you’re lying.

“The professor told us to grab something,” Scott says, catching you as you slump forward, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. “Can you get on the Blackbird?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Just…one…more thing.” You point to Natasha and Dreykov in the corner of the room. 

“Do you want our help–”

“No. Go.” Jean looks uncomfortable at leaving you, but Scott urges her on and they disappear into the hall. Natasha gets to Dreykov before you can, but you trust she can handle herself. While you are no longer leaking blood all over the floor, you are still not in good shape and all you really want is to drink a case of beer and sleep for a week. 

Natasha looms over Dreykov, and the first punch she lands on him is almost euphoric. For years, she had imagined putting her hands on this man and now she was finally here. After all the pain he had caused her, the humanity he had stripped from her, she wanted him to pay for all of it.

“Please, please,” Dreykov begs as he hunches down, Natasha raining blow after blow on him. She couldn’t believe he was begging for her mercy, after all the times his subjects did the same and he turned a blind eye to them. She didn’t stop, punching and kicking him harder and harder until her knuckles bled and she couldn’t feel her shins. 

In the background, you stagger towards them. You hear footsteps down the hall, glad that Scott and Jean had found whatever they needed so quickly, until you start counting and realize there are far more than two pairs of footsteps approaching. Looking over your shoulder just in time, you see a group of Widows crowd into Dreykov’s office. The lead Widow wields some kind of harpoon gun and you barely move in time to block Natasha from their view as the spear launches out and goes through your thigh.

Natasha hears your howl of pain and turns away from Dreykov, shocked to see the Widows surrounding you. She looks back at Dreykov, crawling away from her, his face a bloody pulp from her hands. The Widows yank you off your feet with the rope attached to the spear and converge on you. 

“No!” Natasha screams, limping over to help you. She doesn’t care about killing Dreykov anymore; she won’t lose you. She grabs onto the first Widow she can reach, throwing her to the side and kicking another in the back of the knees. But they outnumber her, and based on the way you are laying limply on the floor, you’re in no state to help her. 

Natasha will fight for you until her last breath.

She is easily knocked over and stomped on, punched and electrocuted. Her vision swims as she crawls towards you, reaching for your bloody hand. Your eyes aren’t open anymore and she isn’t sure if you’re even breathing.

“Y/N,” she whispers, wishing she had the privacy and energy to say more. “Please don’t leave me…”

BANG.

Natasha ducks down, thinking another gun has gone off. Suddenly, the kicks and punches stop. She lifts her head and sees red powder sprinkling down from the ceiling. The Widows have backed away from her, staring at each confusedly as if they didn’t know how they got here. 

“You’ve all been freed,” Jean says. “Get this ship on the ground and get out of here.”

The Widows look at her as if they each have a million questions on their minds–and they probably do. Even Natasha isn’t totally sure what happened.

“Go now,” Jean emphasizes, and the Widows react stiffly, as if being forced by an invisible hand to turn around and march out of the room like robots. Natasha crawls over to you and nudges you gently. She holds her breath when you don’t respond at first, until finally your eyes crack open. 

“N-Natasha,” you whisper. 

“I’m here,” she says, rubbing your arm. 

“Don’t forget,” you wheeze, grasping for her hand, “That son of a bitch.”

Natasha’s head snaps up to the corner of the room where Dreykov has hunched down, trying to make himself smaller as if that will hide him. Heart pounding in her chest, she goes over to him, snagging a letter opener she sees on his desk.

“You can’t kill me,” Dreykov challenges, although he shrinks down even further. 

“Yes I can,” Natasha says, striking him across the face for emphasis. She would never let another person tell her what she could and couldn’t do. Besides, how many people had she killed while working for the Red Room? She had dreams and nightmares about killing him, and now she finally had the perfect opportunity. She has to do this now, even though the thought of another death on her hands (even Dreykov’s) made her sick to her stomach. 

“You are a failure,” Dreykov says, trying to get to his feet but Natasha slams him back down again. “You never listened to orders. You always hesitated when we asked you to put down a subject.”

“That doesn’t make me a failure,” she whispers, emotion clogging her throat. She draws the letter opener back, aiming for his neck with hesitancy and Dreykov catches her wrist before more than an inch of the blade can sink into his shoulder. 

He laughs. “You can’t even kill me right,” he says. “After everything I did to you.”

“You deserve far worse than this.” Natasha tries pushing the letter opener down harder, but he matches her strength equally. 

“I will not die to your hand, Natalia.”

She yanks her wrist away from him, tears of defeat burning her eyes. “Maybe not mine. But what about hers?”

You suddenly appear behind Natasha, pushing her out of the way as the silver claws slide out from between your knuckles. Dreykov looks at you, the malice in his black eyes dissolving into pure fear. 

“Wait–” he pleads, raising his hands in submission. You descend on him with a snarl, plunging your claws deep into his belly. Dreykov tries pushing you away, but he’s losing too much blood too quickly. His face pales and his final words slow. “No, please–”

“Enjoy hell,” you growl, ripping your claws out and he slides to the floor, gurgling and shaking. You turn towards Natasha and open your arms to take her in a hug. She nearly knocks you off your feet, but having her body against yours is something you’ll never take for granted again. 

“Thank you,” she whispers as you kiss her forehead. “I thought I could, but–”

“You did fine, darling,” you say. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. There’s hardly an inch of you that isn’t covered in blood and you’re ready to fall asleep standing. It’s been the longest day of your life, and it still isn’t over. You look over to where Jean and Scott are, where they watched you kill Dreykov. You’re not sure how they found you two, but you’re forever indebted to their intervention. 

You hold Natasha’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

***********************************************************************

The trees fly by as you jog down a rocky slope, dodging sprawling roots and rocks bigger than your head.The sun that filters through the leaves is almost healing on your skin as you soak in the raw elements of nature. Wind bites at your cheeks but you fully welcome the sting. To you, this is what freedom and peace feels like. 

You finally pause to drink from a flowing stream and take off your sweat-soaked shirt to splash some water onto your body. You crawl up the bank and rest your back against a tree. The chirping of birds and the hum of insects lull you into a trance and you close your eyes, thinking about the whirlwind of the previous week.

The freed Widows successfully grounded the aircraft and you returned home on the Blackbird with Natasha and your team. But it had been difficult for you to celebrate, plagued with flashbacks and nightmares you had spent so many years trying to lock away. Then there was the fact that Taskmaster nearly tore you apart twice in less than 24 hours, and suffice to say, you needed some alone time to process and heal. 

You were still angry at the professor, who withheld the knowledge of how you two would be taken to the Red Room, but he claimed it was the only way and that the two of you would be able to handle yourselves. Even Natasha didn’t entirely agree with him, but it was all over now, and you hoped she wouldn’t drag you off again anytime soon.

A few minutes go by in silence until a twig crunches unnaturally and your eyes fly open. As you turn your head, Natasha’s scent touches your nose and you instantly relax, waiting for her to approach you.

“Lost?” you ask as she appears from behind. She’s wearing workout clothes like you and practically glowing. Her nose is a little crooked still and she has a black eye that has faded into a deep red over the past week. You hate seeing her with injuries, but they remind you of how strong and brave she is.

“No, I’m exactly where I want to be.” Natasha smiles down at you, and she’s so beautiful it makes your heart hurt. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I know you didn’t come all the way out here because you wanted to see other people.”

“I’ll always make an exception for you.” You pat the grass next to you and she sits down. “How did you find me?” The curiosity gets the best of you.

“Jean.”

You smile and shake your head. 

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything you did in the Red Room.” You grunt by way of saying you’re welcome. “I wish I could’ve planned it better, but I’m so grateful you came with me. I can’t imagine having to do all that by myself–I don’t think it would’ve been possible.”

“You did great, darling,” you reply, putting your hand over hers but she withdraws from your touch.

“I feel awful dragging you into something like that,” she admits. “And when I thought I could kill him but I couldn’t–And then had you step in before I’d even asked if you were okay–”

“Nat.” You offer her your hand again, and with some hesitancy, gives you hers. “I’m not losing sleep over him.”

“I know, but then Taskmaster–”

“He’s dead too,” you point out, still miffed Scott had gotten the final blow over you.

“He almost killed you,” Natasha says.

“Well, he didn’t. Most people don’t succeed there,” you add.

“For a second, I really thought I was going to lose you forever,” she says. “And I realized how selfish I had been asking you to come with me, expecting you to protect me, killing Dreykov when I couldn’t–”

“I’d do it all for you again,” you say simply, and it’s not a lie. “But don’t ask me too soon.”

“I love you,” Natasha bursts out, leaning forward to throw her arms around your neck.

“I love you too, darling.” You press her against you and this time she doesn’t pull away. Her weight is like a blanket around you and you lean into her, breathing in her scent and feeling an indescribable sense of calm. Even though she got on your nerves from time to time and often pulled you into her overly ambitious plots, Natasha was your person, your home, and you wouldn’t want to exist without her.

Natasha cuddles closer to you as if sharing your same thoughts. “I was thinking…Maybe we can move out of the mansion and live off on our own?” she asks. “I know that’s the life you’ve always wanted, the life you were living before you met me.” “Yes, but then I met you,” you reiterate. Truth be told, you had warmed up to being at the school. You enjoyed being around the kids, as obnoxious and obtuse as they could be sometimes. “Do you like it at the school?”

“I do,” she says, with a little hesitancy.

“Then we can stay. For now, at least,” you say, and her face lights up. “I don’t think the professor would mind.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha asks.

“Absolutely. It’ll be nice to enjoy some time here before you take me off for another adventure,” you say, kissing her as she blushes. 

The professor had told Jean and Scott about something called Red Dust, which was a kind of antidote that could reverse the mind control of the Widows and Wolf Spiders. They had found a canister just in time before the Widows had almost killed you and Natasha, but even though they had been freed, there were many others still in the world that needed rescuing. You and Natasha both knew this, but you had asked her for some time to rest first. She agreed without argument. 

“We can stay here for a while,” she says, her hand brushing against your abs suggestively. Heat pools in your belly and you’re almost embarrassed at how quickly she can turn you on. The two of you had not been intimate since the night spent in Russia, not that Natasha would ever pressure you, but you knew she had been waiting to spend that time with you again. 

“Were you talking about here or the mansion?” you ask, placing your hand on hers and pushing it down towards your shorts. 

“Both,” she answers, then looks to where her hand now rests on the tie of your shorts. “Are you sure?” 

“Mhmm.” You kiss her softly, then more passionately as arousal spreads through you. She returns your passion equally, and suddenly you find yourself lying flat on your back, Natasha on top of you with her hand down your shorts, fingers teasing at your slick entrance. You shift your legs apart and run your hands up her sides, not realizing how much you missed her touch. “Natasha,” you whine, bucking your hips up. “I need you.”

“I know,” she whispers, kissing your cheek the same time her fingers enter you. Your back arches off the ground as you clench around her. It feels like your heartbeat is between your legs as you throb and pulse for her. “Let me take care of you,” she says, pistoning into you gently. But you want her to take you harder and faster, to claim you and remind you who you belong to. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your head tips back when you feel the pressure of her thumb against your clit, and for a few blissful seconds you focus only on the pleasure Natasha gives you. Not the terrible memories of the past week and earlier, not the fact that you almost lost your life and Natasha’s in the Red Room. The indescribable pain and crippling fear that twisted your stomach and took your breath away.

“Y/N,” Natasha says, bringing you back to the present. “Stop thinking so much.”

“Make me forget,” you challenge, pulling her down for a hard kiss. She presses her fingers deeper into you and your body flexes impressively as you pant and moan beneath her. Her weight starts to rock back and forth and you smell her growing arousal. Instinctively you reach for her shorts, eager to please her, but she pushes you away. 

“Today is about you,” she says, her fingers finally curling into the spot that makes you see stars. 

“Fuck, darling,” you gasp, your body trembling so hard you’re afraid Natasha will fall off. “Right there, baby…don’t stop.” Your hips move quickly to encourage a faster pace and she complies, kissing down your neck and nipping at your collarbone. Arousal fogs your mind as your hands wander under Natasha’s shirt, pushing her bra out of the way and closing around her breasts. 

“Y/N,” Natasha moans, which is like music to your ears. Especially since the two of you are basically in the middle of nowhere and don’t need to mind anyone’s privacy. 

“I love you so much, darling,” you pant. Your bodies rock in tandem, and the closer you get to your peak, the less control you have. Your hands claw at her back, trying not to leave deep scratches, but Natasha has told you she loves it when you leave your marks on her. (Unfortunately, due to your healing factor, she could not really return the favor.) 

“I love you too,” Natasha says, moving her arm faster and feeling the resistance as your walls clamp tighter around her fingers. 

“Almost…there…” you grunt, the heat in your stomach reaching a tipping point. 

Natasha leans down, pressing her chest against yours until you can feel her heartbeat. It’s pounding nearly as hard as yours. “Show me how good I make you feel,” she whispers and you completely fall apart at her words. The endorphins rush through your system, finally drowning out the unsavory thoughts as you finish all over her hand. Your body is buzzing, your breathing frantic, and you don’t even notice her pull her fingers out as she drops down to cuddle on your chest. 

You limply on the forest floor, staring up at the perfectly white clouds that drift through the sky. You stroke the back of Natasha’s head as you catch your breath. No words need to be spoken; you both understand and appreciate each other in a way that cannot be described. You would never regret choosing this woman and consider yourself so lucky to have her by your side. No matter what happened, what obstacles the two of you had to face, you would do it together. 

Forever.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Another happy ending. :) Thanks so much for reading!!

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[natsgrave]

Angel 😭

[natsgrave]

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? I WAS FLABBERGASTED, SHOCKED, APPALLED, SPEECHLESS, AND STUNNED.

you did not hold my hand for that ending...

this is incredible!!!!!!!

The Maid - Part 5

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 3923

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: This took longer than expected, but it's the moment you've all been waiting for...

Read part 4 here.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Natasha hasn’t left her apartment in two days. Her phone is on max volume, awaiting any calls or messages from you, but she hasn’t heard from you since she ran out of your home after shooting your wife. She played the local news 24/7 on her ancient television whose image blacked out every time the upstairs neighbors jostled her apartment. They reported a shooting in your neighborhood and showed a clip of flashing police cars and an ambulance fanned out on your street, with the victim hospitalized, but no further updates.

The anticipation was killing her. 

She had called Clint to tell him you knew about her background, despite what he had promised, and he offered to move her out of the city–state, even–immediately. But Natasha couldn’t do that to you. Perhaps she was a little naive to expect you to reach out to her after what she had done, but she believed you would keep your word.

Now, she has to get ready for a shift at Steve’s house, and she’s terrified to go back to your neighborhood. Clint had told her to cancel all her shifts there, but she refused, thinking it looked too suspicious. Plus, she was hoping to catch a glimpse of you while she was in the area. With anxiety knotting her stomach, she packs her car and drives to your neighborhood.

She doesn’t know why she didn’t expect to see your house still standing, as if the police would burn down a crime scene after their investigation. While the exterior looks perfectly normal, something feels off about it. Natasha wonders if you’re home, but she won’t dare knock on your door now.

Steve comes out of his house just as she squeezes her Nissan between a Mercedes and BMW. The street is surprisingly full of cars.

“Hey, Natasha!” Steve calls as he jogs down the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to text you to cancel. You can go home now if you want, and we’ll pay you for the trouble of coming over though–”

“Cancel?” Natasha asks, stepping onto the street. “Is everything okay?”

“Peggy’s hosting a little gathering right now, so there’s a lot of people in the house,” Steve says. “It’s been so chaotic around here the past few days–”

“Why? Did something happen?” She and Clint had agreed it was safer for her to play dumb, to reinforce the idea that she had been far away from your home the night of the shooting.

“Um.” Steve moves closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you hear about what happened at Y/N and Wanda’s house two days ago?”

“No.” Natasha tries to put on her best expression of confusion.  

“There was a shooting,” Steve says, and Natasha feigns a gasp of shock. “Wanda got shot, and she’s in the hospital now, but in a coma. No one’s seen Y/N since it happened either, and obviously there was only one person who could’ve shot Wanda…”

“No!” Natasha says, more out of disbelief that you’re taking the fall for her. 

“The whole neighborhood is shaken up,” Steve says. “Why don’t you come inside? A lot of the neighbors are here. We have food, and it might make you feel better to not have to process all this information alone.”

Against her better judgement, Natasha follows Steve into his house. It’s not nearly as big or grand as yours, but it feels more like a home. Steve proudly displays pictures of his family on the walls, and his children’s toys and belongings are often scattered everywhere. Natasha had met them only once as they were usually at school when she was there, but James was a mini image of his father, and Sarah was an adorable little girl. Steve’s wife Peggy was also extremely kind to her (unlike yours was), and Natasha genuinely enjoyed having the Rogers family as her client. 

There are only adults present currently, with most of them sitting on the lawn in the backyard, shaded by a canopy. Peggy is in the kitchen, slicing into a gigantic watermelon. 

“Hi, Mrs. Carter. Do you need any help?” Natasha asks out of instinct.

“Oh, hi, Natasha! I thought Steve was going to tell you to stay at home,” Peggy says. “Not that we don’t enjoy having you here–”

“I forgot,” Steve says, walking in behind Natasha. “Too much stuff going on–”

“Well, since you’re already here, help yourself to some food, Natasha. And you can join everyone out back.”

“Thank you.” Some of the people here are also Natasha’s clients, and the last thing she wants to do is share a meal with them, but she forces herself to stay. This is her chance to gather more info on you and Wanda.

Natasha grabs a paper plate and lightly loads it up with fruit and some appetizers she can’t name, then steps out into the yard. While the Rogers don’t have a pool like you do, they make up for it with a half basketball court and a little playground that even Natasha finds herself jealous of. 

“Is that Natasha? Having some fun on her day off?” someone calls out.

“Well, I came here to work, but apparently I wasn’t needed today,” she responds.

“Come sit with us, dear!” The loud voice of Agatha Harkness booms out. While she wasn’t a client of Natasha’s, she knows to keep a wide berth. It feels like she’s entered the lion’s den as she takes a seat next to Agatha, joining the circle of the neighborhood’s elite gossipers. “We were just talking about you.”

“You were?” Natasha feels her cheeks heat up.

“Of course! You do housework for most of the families here, so you must have a front-row seat to all the juicy drama, right?” Agatha says.

“I try to mind my own business.”

“Yes, but if something happens in front of you, won’t look away, right?” Dottie Jones, your next-door neighbor, asks. Natasha spares herself from answering by shoving a whole apple slice into her mouth.

“You heard what happened to Wanda?” Agatha asks. “Oh, poor thing. We tried visiting her in the hospital yesterday, but we were turned away. Apparently, Y/N won’t let any visitors in, but conveniently no one’s seen Y/N since the incident, that piece of shit.”

“Wanda should’ve gotten a divorce before it came down to this,” Dottie says. “I can’t believe she might lose her life to that bastard.” She wipes her eyes for dramatic effect, but Natasha sees no tears on her face.

“I heard it was a money issue,” Monica Rambeau chimes in. “Apparently, Y/N’s company is on the verge of bankruptcy, and Wanda wasn’t too keen on loaning her trust fund money to a failing business.”

“It’s just so fucked up,” Agatha sighs. “If your business is failing, that’s your fault and you need to take responsibility for it. Trying to kill your own wife to get her money is just so wrong on every level.”

It hurts Natasha to hear these women speak so poorly of you. She would defend your honor, but she also doesn’t want to give herself away.

“Did the police come talk to you ladies yet?” Dottie asks. “They came this morning to my house and asked a few questions. I told them I’d heard yelling a lot recently–mostly from Y/N. And what Wanda’s told us about not feeling safe or cared for in her marriage anymore.”

“But you didn’t hear the gunshot?” Monica says. Dottie shakes her head.

“I thought it was a trash can falling over or something.”

“Vision’s the one who made the call,” Agatha says. Natasha almost chokes on a cheese cube. “And it’s a good thing he did, otherwise they might not have been able to get to Wanda on time–”

“He’s always looking out for her,” Monica agrees. “He’s a good man. Wanda should’ve left Y/N for him already, then this would’ve never needed to happen.”

“When she pulls through–not if, when–I hope she sues the fuck out of Y/N,” Agatha says.

“I hope Y/N gets life in prison,” Dottie adds. “That bastard deserves to rot for eternity.”

Natasha stares down at her plate, wanting to cry and scream at the same time. She hates how these women talk about you, but she hates herself even more for not standing up for you. 

***********************************************************************

Natasha finally manages to escape their clutches and goes home, feeling much worse than she had when she left this morning. While she worked for half of them, she had never seen this side of them before. Clearly, Wanda had influenced them beyond reason: you were none of the awful things they said about you. It also made Natasha extremely uneasy to see how many people were on Wanda’s side when they didn’t know any part of the truth.

She trudges up to the third floor of her building because her elevator is broken again and nearly collapses when she sees you standing by her front door.

“Y/N?”

“Hi.” You look like you haven’t showered in two days, and your eyes are strained like you hadn’t slept since you last saw her. Your cheek is still a little swollen where Wanda hit you several times. “Sorry to catch you like this. I would’ve called ahead, but I didn’t want to leave any digital traces.”

Natasha doesn’t even bother to ask how you know where she lives, but she quickly goes over to unlock her door and usher you inside. She wishes she had spent more time cleaning her own place, she thinks, as she eyes the dirty dishes piled up on the counter, the unopened mail on the floor, the kitchen table loaded with used Tupperware.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks. “I just got back from Steve’s house. He was hosting the neighborhood ladies, and they said no one’s seen you since–”

“I know. I just got released from jail,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “My lawyer posted bail, so I can’t go far, but I knew I couldn’t go back to the house. I’m sorry to bother you here.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Natasha wishes she could say how happy she is to see you again. “Make yourself at home. Sorry it’s not the cleanest at the moment–when you spend all day cleaning, it’s hard to do it for myself–”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, “Do you mind if I use your shower? It’s been two days since I washed up, I know I look like crap.”

Natasha wants to say you still look good as ever, but holds her tongue. “Please, go ahead. I can go down to the laundry room and wash up your clothes while you’re showering too.”

“I don’t want to burden you–”

“You protected me that night and you had no reason to,” Natasha says. “You could never be a burden to me.” She makes eye contact with you and feels her knees go weak when you smile at her. 

“Thank you.” You look away first. “I’m sorry Wanda was always so awful to you and that I never stood up for you. You were always so respectful to her and me, even when neither of us really deserved it.”

“You deserved it,” Natasha says, finding her courage. “You deserve better than her.”

You don’t respond, only nodding and walking to the bathroom.

***********************************************************************

You’re not entirely sure why the first place you went after being freed from jail was Natasha’s. Your lawyer, Murdock, had offered to book you a hotel, but you could’ve done that yourself and to be honest, you were afraid to be alone. It was an extremely vulnerable time for you. You were being charged with aggravated assault that could easily be upped to attempted murder depending on the investigation and Wanda’s condition. Murdock had played the self-defense card, which was an easy sell because of your injuries, but you knew not to celebrate too early.

When news got around of what you had done, you weren’t so sure how many would take your side. It would be dangerous to underestimate what Wanda might’ve said about you behind your back. But Natasha knew the truth. She was responsible for part of it, but you didn’t blame her at all. You knew you could trust her. Maybe that was because you haven’t slept in two days or had a proper meal, but you felt safe with Natasha. More than you ever had with your own wife. Even knowing what she had done in her home country that forced her to flee and take on a new identity. 

It was Wanda’s idea to run a background check on Natasha. You had protested at first, but she was adamant about needing to know every detail about the woman who would be spending all her time in your home. She made a good point, but the second you met Natasha, you knew you didn’t have to worry about her stealing or vandalizing, and to be quite frank, Wanda never cared about those things either. She just wanted the information so she could blackmail Natasha if she ever acted out, but neither of you were prepared for what the investigator came back with, and you were even more shocked when Wanda still agreed to employ her.

“She won’t kill us. It’ll be too obvious who did it,” Wanda says.

“I feel like being dead is enough of a problem on its own,” you counter. 

“If we hire her, with this information–” Wanda clutches at the thick folder the investigator had compiled “–she’ll have to do whatever we tell her. She’ll never argue back, she’ll never refuse, because if she does…” She flips the folder open to the page of a decade-younger Natasha, slightly blurred from the movement of running away from the crime scene. “Everyone will know what she did back in Russia.”

Your stomach twists at the way your wife is viewing the situation. She has no qualms allowing a convicted murderer to clean her home, simply because she could threaten her into doing whatever she wanted. You want to spare Natasha from this fate, but you know there’s no changing Wanda’s mind. 

Besides, if you never had the guts to kill her, maybe Natasha did.

You shower until the hot water runs out, and wrap yourself only in a towel to step out. Natasha is off washing your clothes as promised, but you’re shocked to find her waiting not only with your clothes neatly folded and clean, but also a bag of takeout on the table.

“I thought you’d be hungry too, so I went and picked something up. I would’ve cooked, but the fridge is a little empty right now–”

You cross the room in four large strides and scoop her up in a hug. You barely restrain yourself from kissing her too, but she doesn’t shy away from your hug, pressing her face against your chest and squeezing you back tightly.

“Thank you,” you whisper to her.

“Anything for you.”

You change into your fresh clothes quickly and sit down with Natasha on the couch to eat. The silence is not uncomfortable as you shovel food into your mouth, while Natasha’s appetite seems more reserved than you. She lets you eat all the leftovers and you feel like a bear before hibernation, tiredness hitting you full force as you sink back into the cushions.

“Let me clean up and then I’ll let you sleep,” you hear Natasha say, and she pats your arm as she gets up but you grab her hand to stop her from walking away.

“Thank you,” you say, knowing you sound like a broken record, but you’ve never meant the words more in your life. “You know you saved my life, right?”

Natasha looks away and shakes her head. “I almost killed your wife.”

“Exactly.” You tug on her arm and she loses her balance and falls into your lap. For the first time ever, her body is pressed against yours, her cheap vanilla perfume swirling around your head. Natasha puts her hand on your chest, as if she’s going to push away from you, but she doesn’t, trailing one hand up the back of your neck and cupping your head. You know it’s totally wrong to want her like this, to even have her touching you like this, but as far as you were concerned you weren’t married to Wanda anymore.

“Natasha,” you whisper so faintly you’re not sure if she heard you, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Wanda doesn’t deserve you,” she says. “But I deserve you.”

The proclamation is enough for you. You tilt your head back and part your lips slightly, inviting Natasha to kiss you. She takes full advantage, slamming her mouth into yours, threading her fingers into your hair to hold you there. The touch of her lips is electrifying, with more passion than any of the kisses you’d shared with your actual wife. Your arms wrap around her back; it just feels so right to have her weight in your arms, her body pressed against yours. You never want to lose this woman; you never want to go back to Wanda again.

Natasha surprises you by grinding down in your lap. You moan when her thigh brushes over your bulge. You’re instantly light-headed by the way blood rushes to your groin and your hands slide down to her butt, squeezing until she groans into your mouth. 

She suddenly pulls away, panting, a rosy glow to her cheeks. “Y/N, you’re still married,” she says.

“We’re separated,” you tease, but you know she’s right. What you’re doing with Natasha right now makes you no better than Wanda. Your hands drop from her body to the couch in a sign of submission. “But…yeah. Things are complicated right now.”

“I think we should wait,” Natasha continues, and she sounds as pained as you feel about not being properly together. “I don’t want to rush into this, especially with everything going on.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you admit. You feel yourself deflate in your pants. “Besides, I should probably get tested first. If Wanda gave me anything…I don’t want to give it to you.”

Natasha’s cheeks flame red when she realizes what you’re talking about. “That’s fair. We won’t do anything until you’re tested and all this is settled.”

“Yes,” you agree, even though it’ll take all your willpower to keep your hands to yourself. Natasha stands up and you join her, reaching for her hand again and spinning her around to face you. You can’t help yourself from bending over to kiss her, because you already miss her lips on yours. “You’re so beautiful,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over the curve of her cheek. “I could never stop thinking about you when you weren’t at my house.”

Natasha hums as she wraps her arms around your waist to hug you. “I walked in on you and Wanda doing it once,” she admits. “And ever since, I thought about your body and your cock every time I touched myself.” You practically shiver at the thought of Natasha using you in her fantasies. You can’t wait for her to show you exactly how she wants you. 

“Well, I can’t wait to make it a reality,” you respond, pushing your hips forward so Natasha can feel your growing bulge against her stomach. She brushes her fingers over the outline in your pants.

“I can’t wait until you’re properly mine.”

***********************************************************************

It feels wrong returning to your neighborhood the first time since the incident. But you didn’t plan on staying long, just grabbing some clothes and a few things from the home. Your lawyer had said to be quick and quiet–not that you weren’t allowed to go home, just that it wasn’t the best look to the public. You picked the middle of the day, hoping your neighbors would be out or working so you wouldn’t have to face any of them, but your luck was never great.

“Y/N?”

Your shoulders tense, but quickly drop in relief when you see Steve jogging across the street. “Hi, Steve.”

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks, and you’re touched by his kindness. If any of your neighbors had seen you here, they would’ve run you over with their car before speaking two words to you.

“Can you talk inside?” you ask, not taking any chances with anyone eavesdropping.

“Sure.”

You usher him through the front door and lock it. The house feels dirty and wrong, despite its clean appearance. Who knows how many pairs of police boots had walked through it, the amount of chemicals used to clean Wanda’s blood off the floor. But you don’t have a chance to think about that now.

“I’m so sorry about Wanda, Y/N,” Steve says. “If there’s anything Peggy and I can do–”

“Don’t. She doesn’t need anything from anyone,” you interrupt. Steve looks shocked at your words. “She was cheating on me. With a lot of people from this neighborhood.”

He’s silent for a moment as if having some kind of internal struggle. “Wanda tried to sleep with me, shortly after you guys moved in,” he finally reveals. “I should’ve told you, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since because I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?” You won’t tell him you were there, spying on them through the closet like a voyeur in your own home. 

“Wanda said she’d tell Peggy we had slept together. And all the other women in the neighborhood,” he says, sounding strained. “Peggy wouldn’t believe her, but I wasn’t so convinced the other women wouldn’t. Wanda has a lot of influence here. You’ve seen how they hang onto every word like it’s gospel.”

“I know.”

“And there’s something else I wanted to tell you,” Steve continues. “I knew about the gun.”

“The gun?”

“Wanda asked me if I knew where she could buy a gun,” Steve says. “I referred her to my friend Bucky, who runs an armory, and he sold her a revolver. It was done legally of course, and we’re all adults here, so I didn’t think much of it. It’s her right to have a gun if she wants.”

“Yes, it is,” you state, although you’re not sure why Steve is telling you all this. 

“The weird part is that Wanda specifically asked Bucky to sell her blanks instead of bullets,” Steve says. “He tried telling her that guns aren’t toys, and if it was for protection she needed live bullets. No noisy, flashy blanks were going to protect her from anything.”

You start to laugh. Steve was right; blanks wouldn’t protect anyone, but they would put on a good show. And your wife was all about the theatrics. But you knew her better than anyone, and if she was going to go as far as to fake a shooting, you would make sure she regretted it. 

“She said she wouldn’t buy the gun unless she got her blanks, so Bucky caved,” Steve says. “She could’ve gotten bullets from another source, but it was just so odd. We figured she might’ve just wanted the gun for show, you know? But she could’ve gotten a fake for much cheaper–”

“Steve,” you finally interrupt his rambling. “I knew about the gun.”

“Oh, you did?” Relief breaks out on his face. “That’s great–”

“And I noticed the gun had blanks in it. So I switched them with real bullets.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: The plot continues to thicken...Did this answer any questions or create more? 🤔

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[natsgrave]

i guess it's safe to say that they're both stupid for not feeling the tension between them sooner... like hello? all of that was not casual??? none of that as casual.

“was it casual when she—” NO! ABSOFUCKINGNOT!

Study Sessions

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You and Wanda have been best friends since your first semester of college. When you have to take a physics class, Wanda is more than happy to help you study, but your late night study sessions blur the lines between friendship and romance.

Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; bottom!wanda maximoff, top!reader, fingering (w receiving), oral (w receiving), wanda’s first time with a woman, slight angst, jealousy

A/N: Save me college Wanda, college Wanda save me…

——————————

The sun beamed down on you as you walked across campus, sweat forming on the back of your neck from the heat.

You had just finished your first day of classes for the semester and you were feeling confident about all of them, except for one. Even as an English major, you were stuck taking a physics class to complete some general requirements for graduation.

You could handle the most complex forms of literature on a bad day, but when it came to math and science, you found yourself feeling a little lost.

The good news was that your roommate and best friend, Wanda Maximoff, was a physics major. Wanda was everything you wanted to be - naturally smart, driven, focused, and incredibly organized.

She was also the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on, long brown hair that was somehow even softer than it looked, stunning green eyes that sometimes made you nervous under her gaze, and the perfect body - since you shared a room, you’d seen her undress before, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to look like her or fuck her brains out.

You constantly pushed down any desires you felt towards Wanda since she was your best friend, telling yourself your friendship was far too valuable to risk just because you occasionally had confusing feelings towards her.

The two of you had known each other since you both started college. You were roommates your first semester and instantly became close, despite your contrasting personalities. Where you were more relaxed and laid back when it came to your studies, Wanda was very serious. It made sense though, her major was far more demanding than yours was and she always worked hard to maintain her perfect GPA.

You’d always admired Wanda and found that you could no longer envision your life without her by your side. She was easily the best friend you’d ever had; she was supportive when you needed it and stayed on top of you when you felt like slacking. Wanda was extremely likable and you felt honored that she considered you her closest friend as well.

When you finally made it back to your dorm, you sighed as you felt the cool air inside. You headed to your room and unlocked the door, stepping through the threshold to the familiar sight of Wanda studying. You smiled to yourself; it was only the first day of classes and she was already trying to learn as much as she could.

“Hey,” you greeted, setting your things down and plopping into your bed, taking a moment to relax.

“Hi,” Wanda said back, turning in her chair to face you. “How was your first day?”

“It was good,” you responded, looking over at her from your bed. “My professors seem cool, most of my classes don’t seem too hard. What about you?”

“Not too bad, although my nuclear and particle physics class might kick my ass this semester,” Wanda chuckled.

“Is that what you’re over there studying already?” You teased her, gesturing to the open books on her desk.

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty interesting. I want to get ahead this semester so I have more time to hang out with you and do fun stuff,” she explained.

“That’s good. I’ll remind you that you said that the next time you’re trying not to go to a party with me,” you joked, bringing a smile to her face. “Or maybe you could use some of that extra time to help me out, I’m stuck taking a physics class this semester and I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Oh, which one?” Wanda asked, her interest piqued.

“Classical mechanics I think,” you said, feeling slightly embarrassed at needing help with one of the most basic physics courses.

“That’s a fun one,” she commented. “I’d be glad to help detka.”

That was another thing about Wanda. She often called you pet names, in a friendly way of course, but it made your heart flutter every time she did it.

“Okay cool, thank you. Maybe we can have a study session at the library tomorrow if you’re not too busy with classes?” you asked, knowing you only had one class to worry about in the morning.

Wanda turned towards her desk to flip through a binder, checking her schedule. “I have a morning class and one in the afternoon, could we do 7pm?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, biting back a smile at the thought of Wanda tutoring you.

“Perfect! I’ll meet you there tomorrow.” She turned back to face you again, her expression becoming serious as she pointed a finger at you. “Ten minutes of bed-rotting time and then I want to see you reading or writing something,” she demanded, trying to motivate you to get ahead like she was.

“Okay mom,” you retorted, rolling your eyes playfully.

She went back to studying, taking notes as she flipped the pages of her nuclear physics textbook. You laid in bed for a few more moments, scrolling through Instagram reels, before getting up to join her in studying.

The next day, you attended your morning class and then grabbed a latte at the coffee shop on campus, deciding to review your notes as you sipped your drink, knowing it’s what Wanda would want you to do.

The rest of the day went by slowly but you managed to get some work done. You were eager for your study session with Wanda, excited to spend some time with her after the two of you had gone home for the summer and had barely seen each other.

You arrived at the library early, finding it to be relatively empty at this time of night. A few students were at the computers, but overall the library was quite vacant. You picked a spot in the corner, away from others, where you felt you’d have the most privacy and the least distractions.

You waited for Wanda, who came in a few minutes later, looking around the shelves before she spotted you.

“Hey,” she greeted as she sat down beside you, her thigh touching yours. She reached into her bag to pull out different colored pens, highlighters, sticky notes, and some of her old physics notes from when she took classical mechanics.

“Hi,” you breathed out, forcing yourself to ignore the feeling of her so close. “Someone came prepared,” you jested, making her laugh softly as she finished setting up.

“I’m here to help you, aren’t I? I have to make sure you have everything you need,” she quipped with a smile and the most adorable nose scrunch.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight; you didn’t remember it being this hard to be around Wanda, but everything she was doing was driving you crazy in the best way. You watched her for a moment as she placed everything on the table in an organized fashion, biting her lip with a focused expression on her face. You wanted nothing more than to pull her bottom lip from between her teeth and capture it with your own.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” She broke the silence, bringing you back to reality. You blushed at what you were just thinking about, nodding in response.

“Sounds good,” you managed, opening your textbook to the first chapter.

Wanda reached over to move the textbook so it was centered between the two of you and as she did so, your fingers brushed against each other. You almost shivered at the act, the soft touch feeling like too much but not enough at the same time. Wanda didn’t seem affected as she began to dig into the material, asking you what the professor had already gone over.

She somehow kept finding ways to touch you, whether it was a hand on your shoulder or her fingers grazing your own over the textbook as she pointed to pictures and paragraphs. You could barely answer her questions, the close proximity and subtle touches making you yearn for her.

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda was just as affected; she was just better at hiding it. She couldn’t understand why but she kept intentionally finding ways to be closer to you. She didn’t notice the effect it was having on you, too preoccupied with steadying her own heart rate every time she felt your skin against hers.

She’d always thought you were beautiful, but this was something else. She didn’t know why she was struggling to keep her composure around you now. She’d always found comfort in your presence - you often studied together, came home drunk from parties and cuddled in the same bed, or watched movies together laying side by side, the computer across both of your laps.

Something about this study session felt weirdly intimate. She was enjoying teaching you about her passion, physics and science, and maybe that was part of it. She chalked it down to that and tried to push her feelings aside, focusing on helping you with your studies and being a good friend.

A friend - that’s what she was to you and that’s how it would stay. She couldn’t complicate something so perfect with these conflicting feelings of wanting more from you.

Despite both of you trying hard to ignore how you felt, the air was still charged, the tension still there. It wasn’t just this time either - it became a regular occurrence.

Wanda helped you with physics at least once a week and her eager guidance actually helped you grasp the subject more. You found yourself falling in love with the way her eyes would light up when you brought up a subject she knew a lot about. She was so excited every time you understood it too, feeling both accomplished that she could help and proud that you were getting it.

She found it adorable when you didn’t understand something and she loved the way your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to think harder about it. The two of you became closer than ever, which you didn’t think was possible. You and Wanda were already attached at the hip when she wasn’t deep in her studies and you never expected to feel like you were getting to know her better just from a few study sessions, but you loved it.

You found yourself wanting her, despite trying to repress those feelings. Sometimes when you got an answer right and Wanda beamed with excitement, you only wanted to break the distance and kiss her, to feel her lips against your own and wrap your arms around her neck as she kissed you back. You couldn’t help but look at her lips as she spoke, imagining how soft they’d be against your own. Whenever she bit her lip, you wished she was biting yours.

The thoughts weren’t always so innocent though. Yes, you wondered how she would taste as you kissed her, but you also wondered how she would taste with your head between her legs. You wanted to thank her for her help by making her cum on your fingers right there in the library, where anyone could see.

You tried to shake those kinds of thoughts, feeling guilty for thinking of your best friend that way, especially when she was being so kind as to tutor you on the subject you struggled with. She didn’t have a lot of free time to begin with, her workload keeping her fairly busy, and here she was making sure you could pass your physics class with flying colors.

And here you were, too distracted by thoughts of fucking her to pay attention to Newton’s law of attraction. The only law of attraction you could think about was how you felt about Wanda.

Wanda was in the same boat, cursing herself for threatening to ruin your friendship with this newfound attraction towards you. She wondered if her seemingly innocent thoughts about you in the past were actually just the seeds of this desire for you, only now flourishing the more time you spent alone with her.

Whenever she felt your gaze on her, it made her feel hot all over. She tried to ignore it and focus on the material, reminding herself that you just needed help with physics. That’s what she was there for, nothing else.

But sometimes, she wished it was more. When you weren’t looking, she’d rake her eyes over you, taking in the sight of you beside her, feeling her heart stop in her chest when you’d catch her staring. You convinced yourself she was just watching you to make sure you were immersed in the subject, when in reality she was most definitely checking you out.

Still, her eyes on you made you nervous and you brought your attention back to the textbook in front of you solely to rid your cheeks of the blush she caused.

One particular night in the library nearly changed everything.

You read Wanda’s notes about motion and energy, scanning the pages to better understand the concepts. While you admired her neat handwriting and the cute ways she annotated her own notes, Wanda admired the concentrated look on your face.

She was so lost in watching you that she barely noticed when you spoke.

“So special relativity is the exception to Newton’s laws when objects move at high speeds and general relativity is when objects are too massive, right?” You asked, looking up at her for confirmation as she stared at you intently, a slight smirk coming across your features when you caught her.

“Yes,” she choked out, looking away for a second to regain her composure. “And quantum mechanics?”

“That’s the exception when objects are very small,” you responded, feeling confident in your answer.

“Good job,” Wanda praised, making your heart flutter. “You’re really getting it.” She looked at you with nothing but pride and approval, smiling softly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling hot under her gaze. Despite how nervous she was making you, you didn’t break eye contact.

The two of you sat like that for a moment, just looking at each other, until Wanda’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a brief second. You almost thought you imagined it at first, but then she did it again. You mimicked her actions, looking down at those lips you wanted so desperately to capture with your own.

You swore Wanda was leaning in and you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same. Your faces were mere inches apart now and you could feel Wanda’s warm breath against your lips.

Before you could close the gap, the door to the library opened and startled both of you. You turned to look at who came in, silently cursing them for ruining the moment as Wanda pulled back to look too.

There was an awkward silence before Wanda cleared her throat. “So now that you know what quantum mechanics is, let’s move on to the definitions of atomic and subatomic,” she said, her voice nearly trembling as she tried to recover from the heated moment you shared.

“Right,” you responded, turning your attention back to her notes, trying to calm your racing heart.

You and Wanda had almost kissed, everything suddenly felt very real. But instead of addressing what just happened, Wanda moved on, bringing the conversation back to the task at hand.

You played along, focusing on looking for the definitions she mentioned, finding it difficult to learn anything new when you had just come so close to kissing the brunette.

The rest of the study session felt tense and slightly awkward, but you made it through the last of the material without any hitches - or almost-kisses. Eventually, the two of you packed up your things and headed out, discussing projects and exams on the way back to your dorm.

A few days later, you were watching a movie in bed when Wanda came in, smiling brightly with a skip in her step.

“What’s got you so giddy today?” You asked, pausing your movie.

“Do you remember Vision, from my data analysis class?”

“Yeah,” you answered, nodding.

“He just asked me out,” she said excitedly. “I said yes of course. We’re going out on Friday, he’s taking me to dinner.”

Her words felt like a punch to the gut. You forced a smile, trying to be happy for her when all you could focus on was the feeling of your heart breaking.

“That’s great, Wands,” you muttered. “I’m happy for you.” The words felt fake coming out of your mouth but you kept up the act and tried to ignore the jealousy bubbling within you.

“He’s so sweet, he even used a silly joke about data to ask me out,” she went on, continuing to tell you about her day as you listened, your mind elsewhere the entire time.

All you could think about was the kiss you almost shared, how it meant everything to you and nothing to Wanda. Obviously she wasn’t interested in you like that and you wondered if you merely imagined the intimacy of the library study sessions. You had to come to terms with the fact that the tension you felt in the air when you were with Wanda lately was all in your head.

You thought when you almost kissed that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way. Now, you realized you were horribly wrong, the harsh reality hitting you like a truck. Wanda was just being nice helping you study and you let yourself believe that it was more. You felt incredibly stupid, wishing the ground would swallow you whole so you didn’t have to hear any more about the date Vision was taking Wanda on.

What you didn’t know was that Wanda only said yes to Vision out of pure denial. She was having a hard time coping with her feelings for you and this seemed like a good way to move on, to try to save your friendship from her own selfish desires. She was excited for her date, hoping that it would take her mind off of you.

Maybe Vision would be the perfect guy for her and she could fall for him instead. He was handsome, slightly dorky, and very chivalrous, always holding the door open for her when they showed up to class at the same time. He was planning on taking her to a lovely restaurant near campus and Wanda was trying her best to look forward to it.

Friday rolled around and Wanda went on her date, which couldn’t have gone better. Vision greeted her at her dorm with flowers, walking her to his car and taking them to the restaurant. He listened intently while Wanda talked about herself and her passions, seeming genuinely interested. He paid at the end of dinner, leaving a generous tip for their server which Wanda found attractive. He asked politely to kiss her when he dropped her back off and didn’t pressure her for more.

Despite how wonderful the date was, Wanda was frustrated. She didn’t feel a spark with him like she did with you. She didn’t feel anything when they kissed, not even when he cupped her cheek in his hand as he moved his lips softly against her own.

Wanda felt more butterflies in her stomach from your hand brushing against hers during a study session than she did from kissing Vision at the end of their date and she hated it.

She figured it would take some time to get over you and continued to see Vision, going on a couple dates a week with him when she had the free time. She tried to continue your study sessions as well, but you told her you didn’t need the extra help and to just have fun with Vision. She felt slightly hurt - she didn’t like the idea of you not needing her anymore - but she was also proud of you for taking on the subject on your own.

You, on the other hand, were avoiding Wanda at all costs. You only came back to the dorm when she was in class or when she was already asleep, staying out late hanging around college parties that weren’t nearly as fun without your best friend.

You were in far too deep and came to the conclusion that you needed to move on in order to stay friends with Wanda. So you kept your distance, hoping that not seeing her or hearing from her would help you lose feelings for her.

You also couldn’t bear to see her with Vision; the sight of them together on campus made you feel sick to your stomach. You didn’t want to hear about their dates either, knowing it would destroy you. You couldn’t possibly listen to Wanda describe how he got to take her out and kiss her and hold her when it should’ve been you, not without revealing your true feelings to her.

While you spent your days hiding from the brunette, Wanda was confused as to why you were avoiding her, not understanding that it was an act of self-preservation.

She had so many things she was excited to tell you about - being the top student in her relativity class, getting a perfect score on her nuclear and particle physics exam, and of course, her budding relationship with Vision. The opportunity to tell you never came, as you were gone until she went to sleep and out of the dorm before she woke up.

She missed your study sessions, even if not having those intimate moments with you was for the best. She missed your movie nights, your conversations, your presence in general - she missed everything about you. It frustrated her to no end that she could never seem to see you anymore and she wondered how you could possibly become so busy all of a sudden.

She only realized you were actively avoiding her one night when she stayed up late, waiting to see if you’d come back to the dorm.

When you entered, you were surprised to see her still awake.

“Hey,” she said, happy to see you for the first time in weeks. “Where were you?”

“At a party,” you said back coldly. You internally cursed yourself for not staying out later, unaware that Wanda would still be up when you came back. You looked around before grabbing some things from your dresser. “I need to shower,” you announced, leaving the room before Wanda could ask any more questions.

The brunette waited up for you, but you never came back. She waited hours before she finally succumbed to sleep, her thoughts a jumbled mess as she drifted away.

When she woke up the next morning and you were still gone, she knew you were actually making an effort not to see her and she could only wonder what she had done wrong. She mulled over it for a while but came up with nothing. She thought back to the almost-kiss and wondered if maybe she had made you uncomfortable that night.

Days went by and you continued to avoid her. Not knowing why you were staying away from her was driving her crazy. Her grades even began to suffer from how distracted she was in class, her mind consumed with thoughts of you.

She finally decided to confront you about it, but first she’d have to actually find you. She vaguely knew your class schedule but didn’t want to corner you in a public place, so she went to the one place she thought you might be late in the evening.

As soon as she entered the library after hours, she saw you in the corner at the same table the two of you used to sit at for your study sessions.

You were nose deep in your physics textbook, focusing intently as you tried to understand the topics without Wanda’s help. She walked over to you, mentally hyping herself up for the conversation she was both anticipating and dreading.

When you set the book down to take notes, you looked up and your eyes widened at the sight of Wanda approaching you.

Before you could say anything, she was taking a seat across from you. “Why are you avoiding me?” she demanded, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms, her tilting to the side.

“I- I’m not, I-” you stuttered out.

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Don’t lie to me. You’re never back at the dorm anymore, you stopped spending any time with me, you literally said you were going to shower and just never came back. So don’t you dare lie to me right now.”

“I’ve just been busy,” you said nonchalantly, not wanting to tell her the truth. “I have a life outside of you, you know.” You regretted the words as soon as you said them.

“Bullshit,” she responded, getting angry. “You’re avoiding me and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. What did I do to you?”

“Nothing, Wands,” you reassured her. “You didn’t do anything. I just- I need to be alone.”

“Why?” She didn’t let up. She came here to get answers and she would get them one way or another.

“It’s personal,” you tried, hoping she wouldn’t press any further.

She scoffed. “What’s so personal you can’t share it with your best friend?”

You were at a loss for words. You couldn’t tell her the truth and risk ruining your friendship, but at this point there was barely anything left to ruin. You hadn’t seen Wanda properly in weeks, your friendship with her was practically nonexistent at the moment.

When you didn’t respond, she spoke again, softer this time. “What’s going on? You can tell me anything,” she uttered, reaching out to place a hand over yours.

“I can’t tell you this,” you mumbled, feeling your resolve weakening.

“What could possibly be so bad you can’t tell me?” She asked, her heart falling at the sight of you looking so small under her gaze.

“I- I can’t stand to see you with him,” you whispered, your voice so low she almost didn’t hear you.

“With who? Vision?” she asked and you nodded, looking down at your lap. “I still have time for you too, I’m not choosing him over you,” she tried to dispel your worries, not yet understanding what you were implying with your confession.

“No, Wanda, I can’t stand to see him with you,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “You don’t get it, you are choosing him and it hurts too much to be around you.”

“What are you saying?” She questioned, feeling both confused and hurt.

“I’m saying that I like you, Wanda,” you started. “As more than a friend.”

Wanda was silent for a moment, processing what you were telling her. Could she really have been so oblivious that she didn’t notice you wanted her too? It all made sense now. You’d stopped hanging out with her right around the time Vision came into the picture and she couldn’t figure out why, but now she understood.

“Please say something,” you said, feeling nervous and vulnerable as you looked up at her, unable to read her expression.

“I- I didn’t know,” she managed to get out.

“That was kind of the point,” you retorted, half-smiling to alleviate some of the tension.

Wanda let out a suppressed laugh. “I only started seeing Vision because I like you too,” she began. “I thought if I could be with him, I wouldn’t have to worry about complicating things with my feelings.”

Your mouth fell open at her words; you weren’t expecting her to ever reciprocate how you felt about her. “You do?”

She nodded. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship,” she said.

“Me neither,” you mumbled, looking down at her lips for a moment before making eye contact with her again.

She smirked when she noticed where your eyes went, making you blush. “I don’t think that’s a problem anymore,” she said, her eyes flicking down to your lips and back up.

“I think you may be right,” was all you could say before you stood up and walked around the table. Wanda stood up too, meeting you halfway as you pulled her in for a kiss that was long overdue.

You sighed against her lips, kissing her deeply the way you’d wanted to for so long. Your mouths moved together perfectly and it felt so right, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop.

This was what Wanda was waiting for.

The kiss she shared with you was everything her kiss with Vision wasn’t. It was electrifying in the best way, butterflies erupting in her stomach with every movement of your lips against hers.

When her tongue traced your bottom lip, you nearly moaned into the kiss, immediately granting her entry. Your tongue collided with hers and she whimpered, the sound going straight to your core. You brought a hand up to caress her cheek, your other hand going to the back of her head to play with her hair, causing her to let out a soft moan. This was everything you could’ve imagined and more.

Wanda’s hands came up to your face, cradling it as she deepened the kiss. Your lips and tongues moved in tandem, neither of you wanting to stop any time soon.

When you finally did detach from her, it was to catch your breath. You stayed close, your noses still touching as the two of you breathed against each other. You felt every breath from the brunette against your skin, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as you finally opened your eyes.

You pulled back slightly to look at her, her eyes opening to meet your stare. Her pupils were dilated and you were sure yours looked similar. She looked so beautiful looking at you longingly, her lips swollen from the kiss and her breaths coming out labored, green eyes sparkling with lust and adoration.

“Wow,” you breathed out.

“Wow indeed,” she agreed, chuckling as she pulled you in for another kiss, this one much shorter than the first.

A comfortable silence fell over you, the two of you taking in the moment.

“So what now?” you asked, looking at her tenderly.

“I don’t know,” she answered, biting her lip. “It’s safe to say the friendship is ruined at this point, because I don’t want this to be the only time we do that.”

You nodded your agreement. “Me too,” you replied, your eyes falling to her lips once again. “I want you, Wanda. I have for so long.”

“I want you too,” she said without hesitation. “I’ll tell Vision it’s not working out. I want to see where this goes.”

You made a face at the mention of his name and Wanda chuckled. “Oh, you really don’t like him, huh?” She teased.

“Not one bit,” you murmured. “Not when he got to have what I wanted so badly.”

“Charmer.” She smiled at you, her cheeks turning red at your words.

“Can I kiss you again?” You blurted out, feeling your own cheeks redden at your neediness.

She responded by pressing her lips to yours once more and letting her tongue slide into your mouth, humming into the kiss contentedly.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, languidly kissing in the library after hours, catching up on lost time.

When you went back to your shared dorm for the night, you picked back up where you left off, this time with Wanda in your lap as you laid in your bed. Every once in a while, she’d grind her hips down against your lap just to hear you grunt in arousal against her lips.

You fell asleep together in your bed, Wanda’s head on your shoulder as her breathing evened out.

The following week, Wanda ended things with Vision and you took Wanda out on a proper date. Vision’s date paled in comparison to the one you took her on. This date was better simply because it was you and not him, but on top of that, you took her somewhere nice and treated her like a princess the whole night. She practically swooned every time you held the door for her, complimented her, or pulled out her chair for her.

By the end of the night, you were on cloud nine. It was just like spending time with your best friend, but this was infinitely better because you could kiss her whenever you wanted and tell her how beautiful she looked at any given moment.

You walked back to your dorm together, fingers interlocked as you listened to her talk about her dreams after college. When you made it back to the dorm, you opened the door to let her in first.

“Such a gentleman,” she joked, stepping in, and you followed.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew what I wanted to do to you right now,” you said, pushing her against the door softly and looking at her for permission to kiss her.

A pang of arousal shot through her at your words. She wasn’t expecting you to be so bold, but she also wasn’t complaining. “Oh yeah?” she asked, playing along. “How about you show me?”

You didn’t hesitate as you kissed her hungrily, the feeling of her lips on yours making you feel dizzy with lust. You slipped your tongue into her mouth and she gasped at how eager you were, kissing you back with just as much fervor.

You trailed your kisses down to her neck, making her moan as you licked and sucked at the soft skin there. Her perfume invaded your senses and you groaned against her neck, her scent making your knees weak.

Her moans spurred you on as you sucked at her pulse point. She gripped your shoulders, her head thrown back against the door, eyes fluttering closed as you continued your assault on her neck.

She pulled you back up for another kiss, moaning into your mouth when you sunk your teeth into her bottom lip. When you finally pulled apart to catch your breath, you ran your thumb along her bottom lip, gazing into her lustful eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” You checked in with her, wanting to make sure she was really okay with what was about to happen.

“I’ve never been with a woman before,” she admitted, suddenly feeling shy. “But I want it to be you, please.”

You nearly groaned out loud hearing her beg for you, nodding as you lifted her up and carried her to your bed. You placed her down gently, crawling on top of her and kissing her again.

You once again began your descent, kissing her neck and sucking on her soft spots. She squirmed beneath you, feeling herself becoming wet under your touch.

Your fingers found the bottom of her shirt, playing with the fabric as you silently asked for permission to remove it. “Take it off,” Wanda whispered, starting to feel desperate from your slow teasing.

She sat up so you could pull the shirt off of her and reached back to unclasp her bra, letting the material fall from her shoulders. Your mouth fell open at the sight of her bare chest, nipples already hard. You’d seen her topless before while she was changing, but never like this. You’d never been allowed to look as much as you wanted, to admire her before you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” you said, bringing your hands up to her chest as she leaned back again. Your thumbs brushed over her nipples, causing her to let out a whimper that sent heat coursing through your body.

You leaned in to take one of her nipples in your mouth, licking it gently before sucking on the hardened bud. Wanda moaned at that, the sound making you even more aroused. She sounded so pretty moaning under your touch and you couldn’t wait to hear what she sounded like when she came undone for you.

You gave her other nipple the same attention before moving down, one hand finding its way under her skirt. Your fingers reached her center, feeling a wet spot on the front of her underwear.

“You’re so wet for me,” you mumbled, in awe of how turned on she was. It almost made you feel a bit cocky, knowing it was you who made her so wet she was soaking through her panties.

“Please,” the brunette gasped out, bucking her hips up against your fingers. “Need you.”

“Yeah? You need me, pretty girl?” You cooed, rubbing your fingers along her slit over her underwear.

She nodded frantically, her hips desperately trying to meet your hand for any sort of friction against her aching pussy. You pushed aside her panties to touch her without any barriers and you let out a moan of your own at the soft, slick feeling of her folds against your fingertips. She was dripping, her wetness clinging to your skin and the lace of her panties as you dragged your fingers through her folds teasingly.

All of a sudden, you pulled your hand back and she whined, already missing the contact. “Shh, I’m just gonna take these off, okay?” You asked, subtly making sure she was comfortable with you removing the last of her clothes.

“Yeah,” she responded, lifting her hips so you could pull her skirt and panties off in one motion.

Once she was rid of her clothes, you took a moment to appreciate the view before you. Wanda was gorgeous all over, you thought to yourself, admiring her underneath you. You raked your eyes over her, committing the sight to memory as she blushed against the covers of your bed, feeling hot under your gaze.

“You can stare all you want later, right now I need you,” she said breathily, grabbing your hand and bringing it to where she needed you most. Your fingers met her wet center once more and you immediately started rubbing her clit, making her moan and buck her hips.

You kissed her again, swallowing her moans as you picked up your pace, making tight circles on her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, just like that,” she whimpered, her face contorted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, heavy breaths escaping her as you brought her pleasure.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” you mumbled, watching her throw her head back and close her eyes as she got lost in the feeling of your fingers against her.

You stopped your movements just long enough to tease her entrance and upon hearing another “please,” you slid a finger inside. You fucked her with one finger for a few moments before sliding another one in, causing her to let out a guttural moan at the feeling of you stretching her out.

You kissed down her body again, making your way down to where you desperately wanted to taste her. When your hot mouth met her clit, she let out another delicious sound, her hips starting to grind against you, chasing her pleasure. Her movements caused her clit to rub against your tongue while your fingers pumped inside of her and she felt herself becoming close already.

“You taste so good,” you praised, barely moving your mouth from her pussy to speak, before reattaching your lips to her clit and sucking hard. She moaned at your words and at the pressure building in her lower stomach, continuing to rut her hips against you.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m so close,” she moaned, one hand coming to the back of your head to keep you there, as if you would ever deny her anything.

With a few more thrusts of your fingers, she came undone, loud moans filling the room as she reached her peak. Her hips stuttered against your face, her clit pulsing under your tongue while her pussy clenched around your fingers.

You slowed your movements, helping her ride out the aftershocks, small whimpers and moans leaving her as she came down from her high. She sighed, all of the tension having left her body, before pulling you up for a kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

“I could get used that,” she hummed, smiling up at you tiredly.

“Me too,” you panted out, still incredibly turned on from seeing her cum for you. “I kinda can’t wait to do it again.”

“You want me that bad?” She teased, smirking.

“Absolutely,” you replied genuinely, staring at her with so much love and lust in your eyes it made her heart flutter and her pussy throb.

“Go ahead baby, fuck me again,” she said, your own cunt clenching around nothing at her words. You returned to your new favorite spot between her legs and did exactly what she told you, her hand in your hair guiding you the whole time.

After three more rounds, Wanda was spent, and you joined her at the head of the bed, letting her turn towards you and rest her head on your shoulder. You held her close as she traced patterns on your arm, catching her breath after falling apart for you so many times.

“Do you still need help with physics?” She asked, breaking the silence.

You chuckled at that. “Yes, desperately,” you responded, letting a hand come up to play with her hair. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

She laughed, finding it amusing that you’d needed her help the past few weeks but were too stubborn to ask for it. “Study session this week?” she suggested, her eyes falling closed at the feeling of your fingers on her scalp.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you said, smiling happily, feeling at peace in the arms of the girl you loved.

You never would’ve thought you would be so grateful for having to take a physics course, but now you were certain it was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

[natsgrave]

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

[natsgrave]

When Scarlett Johansson joined the Marvel universe all the way back in 2010, she did not have the ability that current actresses in the franchise have now and that is the ability to be seen as a valuable member of the team as opposed to an accessory.

My girl was being sexualised at every single interview, being asked if she wore underwear under her black widow suit and even being groped by interviewers. Natasha’s background was only slightly explored and her fighting style consisted of wrapping her legs around men’s heads in order to further appeal the male audience.

Yelena has the story arc she has and the ability to grow as a character because Scarlett fought for her to when she was producing the Black Widow movie. It makes me so upset that she knew she would never get the superhero experience that the men around her had, so she put aside her own spotlight in order to give Florence the standing that she couldn’t have.

I will not accept Natasha slander because Scarlett put everything she had into that character for a decade and had to go through so much just to be a part of that franchise.

[natsgrave]

this is literally what a rollercoaster of emotions are. stop playing with my feelings, what the fuck??? wanda, will you please stop being stupid and coward and just accept the fact that you're soulmates and you can't do anything about it? stop punishing yourself and dragging Y/N to hell hole. also, it's Y/N's casual, backburner, and the cut that always bleeds era. phase. whatever you'd like to call it.

Written in Our Souls - Part 5

Wanda Maximoff x Reader 

Summary: Wanda continues to run from her fate. But for how long?

Word Count: 5,733

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence, a little fluff

Series Masterlist

---

Y/N’s POV

After the party Y/N avoids Wanda. 

She doesn’t avoid the others, but she keeps her head down. Trains when scheduled. Eats when Natasha drags her. Sleeps when exhaustion wins over the ache. But it’s a ghost of a life, a holding pattern. She isn’t really living—just existing around a wound no one else can see.

Except Nat.

She sits across from Y/N every morning, arms folded, eyes sharp. She doesn’t fill the silence. Doesn’t coddle. Just shows up. And maybe that’s the only reason Y/N hasn’t disappeared entirely.

“You’re eating,” Nat notes one morning, her tone unreadable as she eyes the half-eaten toast on Y/N’s plate.

“Barely,” Y/N mutters.

“Still counts.”

A long silence.

“She’s not okay either, you know.”

Y/N doesn’t look up. “Don’t.”

“She’s unraveling.”

Y/N’s throat tightens. “Then she should say something.”

“She won’t. You know that.”

Y/N finally lifts her gaze, voice sharper now. “Then what am I supposed to do? Keep standing there like a fucking lighthouse while she steers away?”

Nat leans in, elbows on the table. “You love her.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to let her destroy me.”

The words feel like glass leaving her mouth.

Nat doesn’t argue.

Because she knows Y/N’s right.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda sits on the rooftop.

Her fingers tug at the edge of her sweater sleeves, hiding the pulse of Y/N’s name against her skin. It still burns sometimes. Quietly. Like a whisper she tries not to hear.

She’s not sure how many people she’s snapped at today.

Bruce, when he asked if she was sleeping.  

Sam, when he jokingly mentioned she was more intense than usual.  

Vision, when he said he was worried.

She doesn’t want his worry.

She wants the girl whose name is on her wrist. Her soulmate. The one she was supposed to wait. And now, wouldn’t even look at her. 

No.

She pushed her away. She knows that.

But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.

She thinks of Y/N’s voice—soft in the hallway that night, barely a whisper.

“I’m just a mistake, Wanda.”

The words she once said backfiring at her.

Wanda leans forward, forehead resting on her knees, arms wrapped tight around herself.

For the first time in days, her powers are still.

Because she’s too tired to feel anything except the ache that started in her chest after Y/N started ignoring her. 

---

Each day without Y/N stretches longer than the last.

And each day, the lie Wanda keeps living—the one where she pretends Vision is the right choice, the safe choice—scrapes her raw from the inside out. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to be stronger. Clearer. She thought if she just committed hard enough to the path she’d chosen, the ache would fade. The bond would silence. The name on her wrist would stop glowing like an ember pressed into her skin.

But it doesn’t.

It worsens.

The more she ignores it, the more it punishes her. The name—Y/N’s name—burns now. Not gently. Not warmly. But with sharp, cutting heat, like it’s trying to remind her that something real is dying.

And Wanda is the one killing it.

She’s quieter these days. Vision tries to cheer her up by asking her on dates, or trying to cook paprikash for her. And she tries too.

---

Y/N’s POV

The worst part is: she still dreams of her.

Wanda.

She’s in everything. Every hallway. Every laugh that’s not hers. Every silence that lasts too long.

Y/N pretends she’s fine. Enough to keep up appearances. Enough to nod when Steve gives her orders. Enough to answer when Sam or Bruce ask how she’s holding up.

But the truth is, she’s unraveling too. Quietly. Elegantly. Like something made to fall apart.

Because the bond won’t let her go.

Because Wanda won’t.

Every time Y/N tries to move forward, something pulls her back. A glance in the hallway. Her voice during a mission. The whisper of her powers lingering in the air when she leaves a room.

The worst is the guilt—because Y/N knows Wanda is in pain too.

But she can’t be the one to fix this.

Not when she wasn’t the one who broke it.

So, she waits.

And waits.

And breaks a little more every time the name on her wrist pulses with a longing that will never be returned.

---

Wanda’s POV

She kisses Vision one night.

Softly. Mechanically. Like it’s written in a script.

His hands rest at her waist. Gentle. Polite.

Wanda doesn’t feel anything.

She pulls back, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. Vision tilts his head, puzzled.

“Wanda?”

“I’m tired,” she lies, backing away. “Long day.”

She doesn’t look at him when she leaves the room. Doesn’t stop until she’s behind a locked door, sinking to the floor, breathing like she’s drowning.

Because she is.

In guilt.

In want.

In a love she tried to bury and couldn’t.

She lifts her wrist. Y/N’s name is glowing again, brighter than ever.

And this time—her chest hurts so much she cries.

---

Y/N’s POV

Then one night.

It all starts as a tingle.

A small, burning pull that wakes me from sleep like a whisper too loud in the dark. I sit up, heart racing. My wrist—Wanda’s name—is glowing faintly beneath the skin, not in the warm way it sometimes did before, but sharp, erratic. Like it’s panicked.

I rub at it, wincing, then glance at the clock.

3:12 a.m.

A pit forms in my stomach.

Something’s wrong.

I swing my legs out of bed and sit on the edge for a moment, debating. My chest aches. My whole body feels tense, like my soul is bracing for impact.

Should I check on her?

She told me to stay away. She made it clear that I was a mistake. That we were. I’d spent days putting distance between us, even when every part of me screamed to do the opposite.

But this—this burning sensation, this invisible thread tugging at me in the dark—it’s not something I can ignore.

I’m halfway to the door when—

Knock. Knock.

I freeze.

A soft, shaky knock again.

And then I hear it. Breathing. Ragged, desperate.

I open the door.

Wanda collapses into me.

She doesn’t say a word. Just folds into me like her legs gave out the second she saw my face. Her arms wrap around my middle, and her head buries itself in my chest as the sobs break free.

I stand there, stunned, arms hovering awkwardly for a split second—then I wrap them around her without thinking. Tight. Like I’m trying to hold her together.

She’s trembling. Shaking so violently it scares me.

“Wanda…” I whisper, pulling her inside, closing the door with my foot. “Hey… hey, I got you, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

But she’s not okay.

She’s falling apart in my arms.

She clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to this world. And maybe, for her, right now—I am.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda doesn’t remember getting out of bed. Doesn’t remember walking the halls barefoot, or the way her vision blurred from tears.

She just remembers waking up screaming.

Vision didn’t hear her. He just remained still beside her. She doesn’t know.

But Y/N—Y/N was the only face her mind called out for. The only arms that felt safe.

Now, in Y/N’s room, Wanda curls into her like a child, like something wounded and small, and Y/N doesn’t ask questions. She just holds her.

Her heartbeat is steady.

Wanda lets herself breathe again.

For the first time since that mission… she doesn’t feel like she’s drowning.

---

Y/N’s POV

I guide her slowly toward the bed, not letting go for even a second. She clutches my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.

“It was just a nightmare,” I whisper, barely audible over her sobs. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

She doesn’t answer. Her entire body is shaking, curled in on itself like she’s trying to disappear. I sit down on the edge of the bed and gently pull her into my lap, her knees each one beside me, arms wrapped tight around my neck.

She buries her face against my chest, and the sound she makes—it’s broken. Like her soul is splintering in my hands.

I wrap my arms around her tighter, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I’ve got you,” I murmur again, and again, like a mantra. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

My fingers thread through her hair in slow, calming strokes, and gradually the sobs dull into small, stuttering breaths. Her heartbeat pounds against mine, ragged and desperate, like she’s trying to sync to something steady. Something real.

She shifts just enough to tuck her face under my jaw, her skin hot and damp against my neck. And I swear—it’s like our souls are speaking in silence.

When she finally speaks, her voice is so raw it makes my chest ache.

“I saw you die.”

I freeze.

Wanda’s hand clutches my back like she’s trying to hold me here. Her voice trembles.

“You were on a mission. And something exploded. I couldn’t reach you in time—your mark on my wrist just—” she gasps. “It burned. It burned like it was trying to stop your heart from leaving mine.”

My arms tighten instinctively around her.

“I tried to stop it. I screamed. But you were gone.”

“Wanda—”

“I couldn’t breathe. I woke up choking on it. I didn’t know where else to go. I just—I needed to see you. To feel you.”

She lifts her head slowly. Her eyes are bloodshot, cheeks streaked with tears, and all I can see is fear. Vulnerability. Love that’s bleeding and terrified.

“I’m here,” I whisper, cupping her face in both hands. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Wanda leans into my touch like she can’t get close enough. Her forehead presses against mine, our breaths tangling in the small space between us.

“You’ll always have me,” I say, voice soft and shaking. “Even if you push me away. Even if you say we’re a mistake. My heart doesn’t care. It still finds you.”

Her eyes flutter closed as a new tear slips down her cheek. I kiss it away without thinking.

She doesn’t let go.

Neither do I.

We sit there like that for a long time, just breathing the same air. Letting the silence carry everything we’re not ready to say out loud.

Eventually, she curls up against my side, fingers still tangled with mine. Her breathing slows. Steadies.

She falls asleep in my arms, soft, warm and safe.

And I stay awake, watching the rise and fall of her chest, her name burning gently beneath my skin—not in pain this time.

But in something that feels a lot like peace.

And love.

---

Wanda’s POV

Morning light filters through the room, casting a warm golden glow on the walls.

It’s soft. Gentle. The kind of light that could almost convince her everything was okay.

But it’s not.

She blinks her eyes open, her head still resting against Y/N’s shoulder. The steady rise and fall of Y/N’s chest under her cheek is comforting. Too comforting.

And that’s what terrifies her.

Wanda sits up carefully, trying not to wake her.

Y/N is still fast asleep, face peaceful in a way Wanda rarely gets to see. There’s a hand still loosely wrapped around hers, and Wanda stares at it for a long moment—like she’s memorizing the feeling. The warmth. The safety.

She hadn’t meant to come here last night.

She didn’t plan to collapse into her soulmate’s arms and cry herself to sleep like a child. But the second she woke up from the nightmare, Y/N’s name was the only thing echoing in her mind. Not Vision’s. Never Vision’s.

It was Y/N.

Just like before.

What did I do?

Her breath catches.

What have I done?

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to need Y/N like this. Not after everything she said. Not after how cruel she’d been.

She’s engaged. She has responsibilities. A future already mapped out. A life she's forcing herself to choose.

But lying in Y/N’s arms last night felt like home.

And that terrifies her more than the nightmare ever could.

Wanda carefully untangles herself from Y/N’s arms. Her movements are slow, calculated—like if she breathes too loud, the moment will shatter.

She stands at the edge of the bed, looking back at her soulmate just once.

There’s a faint crease between Y/N’s brows, like even in sleep, something inside her knows.

Wanda’s chest tightens painfully.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers under her breath.

Then she turns and slips out the door—quiet, fast, like she’s fleeing the scene of a crime.

Because in her heart… it feels like she just committed one.

Wanda walks back to her room.

Her bare feet hit the cold hallway floor, and the chill cuts through her like guilt. She hugs her arms around herself, not even sure which way she’s going. Just away.

She’s almost at the corridor that leads to her own room when she hears a voice.

“Wanda?”

Her breath catches in her throat. She turns—and there he is.

Vision stands at the corner, dressed in his usual casual morning wear. He tilts his head slightly, concerned but not suspicious.

“I was looking for you,” he says with a faint smile. “You were not in bed.”

Wanda forces a smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should have woken me.”

I couldn’t.

Instead, she says, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He walks toward her and reaches for her arm, gently. “You weren’t in the library either. I checked.”

She stiffens under his touch. “I just… needed air. I wandered for a bit. Ended up falling asleep somewhere.”

He frowns slightly. “Are you alright?”

Wanda nods too quickly. “I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”

He brushes his fingers down her arm. “I wish you’d come to me. You know I’m here, don’t you?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it.

You were never the one who could calm the storm.

Not like she did.

“I know,” she lies.

Vision gives her a small kiss on the temple, and she closes her eyes, hoping it’ll feel like something. Hoping it’ll anchor her to the choice she made.

It doesn’t.

It just makes her stomach twist.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says gently. “You should shower. You look pale.”

She nods again, walking past him with a polite smile and a whispered, “Okay.”

But as she slips into her room and closes the door behind her, she leans back against it and finally lets herself shake.

Not from the cold.

But from everything she’s trying not to feel.

---

Y/N’s POV

I wake up to silence.

No soft breathing beside me. No warmth curled into my side. Just the faint scent of her shampoo on my shirt and the hollow weight of empty sheets.

I sit up slowly, blinking away the haze of sleep.

She’s gone.

The spot where she slept is still faintly warm, but fading fast. And it’s like the moment hits me all at once—like a punch to the chest I didn’t see coming.

I run a hand down my face, trying to breathe through the ache building in my ribs.

I knew this would happen.

I told myself not to fall asleep. That if I did, she’d be gone by morning. That this wasn’t real. That last night—her arms around me, her voice shaking against my chest—was just temporary.

But knowing it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I shift to the edge of the bed, rubbing my wrist out of habit. It’s still warm where her name is burned into my skin. Not painfully. Not like before. Just… there. Like it knows she was close. Like it remembers, even if she’s already pretending to forget. The pain in my chest is less too.

I glance toward the door.

There’s no note. No message. Just absence.

The same kind I’ve felt when she looked me in the eye and said we were a mistake.

I grip the edge of the mattress, jaw clenched.

Last night, she let me in. Let herself fall apart. She came to me. Not Vision. Me.

And this morning… it’s like it never happened.

I stand up, dragging on a hoodie, trying to shake the chill that settled in my bones the moment I woke up alone. I don’t know what I expected. I guess part of me hoped… something would be different.

But it’s the same story, rewritten with softer words and sharper endings.

Still, I’d hold her all over again if she asked.

Even if she leaves every time the sun rises.

---

Wanda’s POV

She hasn’t looked at Y/N in days. Not really.

Not since that night she crept into their bed like a secret and let herself feel something she swore she’d never want.

The morning after, as she walks back to her room, she bumps into Vision who has been looking for her. And when she went to the kitchen, she slipped into his side like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t spent the night tangled in someone else’s arms.  

Like she hadn’t felt peace for the first time in weeks.

Now, she lies in bed beside Vision. His presence, once familiar, now feels suffocating. He doesn’t sleep, but he rests, and he’s quiet. Kind. But utterly wrong.

Wanda stares at the ceiling.

She can’t sleep. She hasn’t, not properly, since that night.

And when she finally falls asleep, it happens again. 

The dream starts quiet.

She’s back on the battlefield—scorched earth beneath her boots, smoke curling through the air like fingers reaching for something already gone. The sky is red, too red, like it’s bleeding. And all she hears is wind. No voices. No gunfire.

Too quiet.

Then she sees it: a flash of movement ahead. A familiar silhouette standing tall amidst the ruins.

“Y/N,” she breathes, relief flooding her chest.

She runs toward her, the broken ground crumbling beneath her feet. Y/N stands facing away, still and silent. Her stance is off—tense, unreadable.

“Y/N,” Wanda calls again, louder now.

Y/N doesn’t turn.

Wanda’s heart hammers. She moves closer. She reaches out a hand. “Please, look at me—”

And then she sees it.

Blood. So much blood.

It’s soaked into Y/N’s shirt, pooling beneath her, staining her fingers. Wanda’s breath catches in her throat as Y/N finally turns—slowly, painfully—and when their eyes meet, it’s like something inside Wanda splits clean in half.

Y/N is smiling, but it’s not the one Wanda knows. It’s hollow. Fading.

“You didn’t come,” Y/N says, voice soft, broken. “You chose him.”

“No—no, that’s not—” Wanda stumbles forward, clutching Y/N’s arms, trying to hold her up, to stop the bleeding with her hands, her powers, anything.

But her powers fizzle out uselessly. Like they’re gone. Like she’s nothing.

“I’m here now,” she begs. “Please, just stay with me. Please, I’m so sorry—”

Y/N shakes her head slowly. “It’s too late.”

Her knees give out. Wanda catches her, cradling her in her lap, rocking back and forth as tears blur her vision.

“You were supposed to be mine,” Wanda whispers, voice cracking. “You’re my soulmate.”

Y/N’s hand rises, brushing her cheek—gentle, forgiving.

Then her eyes go still.

And Wanda screams.

---

She wakes up with a gasp, drenched in sweat, her sheets tangled around her limbs. Her heart is a fist, pounding against her ribs.

Her hand flies to her wrist—Y/N—still there. Still glowing faintly in the dark.

Still alive.

“Wanda?” Vision sits up beside her, his voice gentle. “Are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer.

Her breath stutters. The phantom pain lingers in her chest like a bruise. The sound of Y/N’s voice—“You chose him”—won’t stop echoing.

“Would you like me to get you water?” Vision offers, his hand reaching for hers.

She flinches.

“No,” she says quickly. “No, I just… I need air.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She’s already grabbing her hoodie, already walking out the door barefoot.

---

Wanda hesitates only for a second.

Then she opens the door. Quiet. Like she did before.

The room is dark, but she knows the shape of her in bed. Knows the rhythm of her breath. The way she sleeps—curled slightly toward the wall, as if bracing for something that never comes.

Y/N shifts. “Wanda?” her voice is hoarse, sleep-soft, confused.

She doesn’t answer. Just crosses the room and climbs into her bed. She’s trembling.

And just like before, Y/N doesn’t question it. Her arms open for Wanda like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Wanda presses herself into her warmth, anchoring herself in the rise and fall of her chest.

“I saw you die again,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “In my dream. I was too late. You were bleeding and I—I couldn’t save you.”

Y/N’s arms tighten around her.

“I’m right here,” she murmurs. “I’m okay. I promise.”

But she doesn’t ask why Wanda keeps coming. Or why she keeps leaving.

And that makes it worse.

Because she should.

Wanda buries her face in her chest, fingers fisting the fabric of her shirt like she’s afraid she’ll disappear. The dream still clings to her—the blood, the silence, the way her eyes had gone still.

“I felt you slip away,” she chokes out. “And it felt like the end of everything.”

Y/N says nothing. Just holds her tighter.

Wanda’s voice breaks into a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” Y/N replies softly. “You’re scared.”

She closes her eyes. She wishes Y/N would hate her. Scream at her. Push her away.

But instead, she holds her. Gently. Steady. Like Wanda hasn’t shattered her over and over again.

And Wanda lets herself fall asleep in the arms of the person she keeps losing—even when she never lets go.

---

The next day, Wanda is having another nightmare.

The world feels wrong—distorted, blurry. Wanda can’t focus, can’t understand what’s happening around her, but she feels it, deep in her bones. There’s a weight pushing her down, suffocating her. Her heartbeat is louder than everything else, echoing in her ears.

And then she hears it.

Save her

It’s her wrist, burning in pain, as if ripping her skin open.

Wanda’s breath catches. She tries to look for Y/N, but her legs feel like they’re made of stone. She can’t move. 

And then she sees her.

Y/N is kneeling, shackled to a cold metal chair, her body bruised and bloodied. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with terror. But it’s the pain in her eyes that makes Wanda’s chest tighten—the agony of someone she loves being tortured.

Wanda’s heart races. She tries to scream, to reach out to her, but nothing happens. No sound, no movement. The room is suffocatingly silent except for the echo of cruel laughter.

Then, a voice Wanda doesn’t recognize fills the space—a cold, mocking voice.

“We’ve been watching you, Wanda. You think your precious Y/N is safe? She’s nothing. A pawn in your game.”

Wanda’s breath catches in her throat. The voice continues.

“Don’t worry, though. We’ll let her live—for now.”

The voice chuckles, and the sound sends chills down Wanda’s spine.

“We know you care for her. But it seems you’ve chosen someone else, haven’t you? That thing you call Vision… He’s the one you’ve chosen. Not her. Not the one who could have stood by your side.”

The words feel like a slap to Wanda’s soul. She feels herself tremble with the weight of them. She doesn’t understand how she’s hearing this. How this could be true.

But the figure in front of her doesn’t stop. 

“You don’t care enough, do you? You hurt her for him.”

Y/N winces at the words, her body wracked with pain from the torture, but she looks up at Wanda—eyes pleading, desperate for her to stop them, to save her. But Wanda can’t move, can’t reach her.

The voice smirks. “We’ll stop if you beg, Wanda. Beg for her life. But we know you won’t, because you’ve made your choice. Vision. The one who doesn’t feel like this one does.” 

The HYDRA agents laugh, taunting her, their voices cutting through Wanda’s heart.

Wanda’s vision begins to blur with tears, and she watches as they turn their weapons on Y/N, ready to deliver another round of torture. The air in her lungs is too thick, like a vice crushing her chest.

“Stop!” Wanda tries to shout, but her voice is a whisper lost in the void. 

Y/N’s eyes find hers, and in them, Wanda sees the hurt—the belief that she’s been abandoned. And it’s true. I chose Vision.

The world around them is suddenly quiet. The room is still, like time has frozen. Y/N’s trembling body looks up at Wanda one last time, her lips barely moving. She smiles—tired, but so loving, as if she’s trying to reassure Wanda, as if she’s trying to tell her something that Wanda can’t hear.

Then, in an instant, the figure standing over Y/N moves with brutal precision. A cold blade flashes across the air.

Y/N’s body jerks violently, and Wanda watches in horror as the blade cuts across Y/N’s throat. The blood splashes onto the floor, pooling around her. Y/N’s eyes flicker with shock and pain before they slowly go blank, and her body goes still.

Wanda’s heart stops. Time starts again, rushing back to her like a tidal wave, and she screams out in agony, but her voice is swallowed by the silence.

---

Y/N’s POV

Somewhere deep in her sleep, Y/N jerks awake with a sharp, breathless gasp. The room is too quiet. Too still. But it’s the pain—the deep, gut-wrenching pain—that’s the first thing she feels.

Wanda.

It crashes into her like a wave, raw and unrelenting. The physical pain is excruciating, but the emotional ache that follows is worse. She can feel it like an open wound. Wanda’s grief. Her regret. Her sense of abandonment. It rips through her like a razor, and for a moment, Y/N can’t breathe.

She sits up in bed, heart hammering in her chest, sweat pooling on her forehead. Her hands clutch the sheets, her eyes wide with confusion and terror. What was that? What happened?

But she can’t answer her own question. All she knows is that Wanda’s pain is bleeding into her own, and it feels like it’s suffocating her—drowning her in something far darker and deeper than physical torment.

Y/N presses a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself, but the ache is relentless, unforgiving. Her wrist burns with the mark of their bond—the name Wanda written there.

—

Wanda’s POV

Wanda jerks awake with a gasp, heart racing, breath shallow. The nightmare still grips her like chains—Y/N’s screams, the blood, the mocking voice of HYDRA echoing in her head:

“You chose him. So we’ll spare him.”

She shoves the blanket off and stumbles out of bed without a glance at Vision. Her hands are trembling, her legs unsteady, but she doesn’t stop. The walls of the compound feel like they’re closing in as she moves down the hall in a daze, pulled by instinct—by the thread that connects her to the only person she needs to see.

She reaches Y/N’s door.

No hesitation this time.

She pushes it open—and her breath catches in her throat.

Y/N is sitting up in bed, clutching her chest, her face twisted in pain. Her skin is damp with sweat, her eyes wide and glassy.

“Y/N,” Wanda panics, the dream too vivid in her mind.

Y/N looks up, their eyes meeting. “Wanda…” she whispers, her voice rough. Before she can continue, Wanda is grabbing her face and checking if she’s okay. 

Before either of them can think, Wanda’s already crossing the room, hands on Y/N’s cheeks, scanning her face like she needs proof she’s real—alive. That she’s here.

“You’re burning up,” she mutters, brushing sweat-damp hair back. “Are you in pain? Is it your chest? Where does it hurt?”

Y/N winces faintly but leans into her touch. “It’s okay,” she says, though her voice betrays the effort it takes.

But Wanda isn’t reassured.

“No, it’s not okay,” she snaps, voice pitching higher. Her hands run over Y/N’s arms, her shoulders, searching desperately for injuries. “You’re sweating—you’re breathing too fast. Your heart—your heart feels wrong.” Her fingers hover helplessly over Y/N’s chest, terrified to touch too hard, terrified not to touch at all.

Panic coils tighter and tighter around her ribs. Her mind is screaming at her—you’re losing her, you’re losing her, do something, save her—

“I need to get Bruce—I need to get Tony—you’re not okay, you're not healing right, we need to call someone—”

“Wanda—” Y/N tries again, but Wanda barely hears her.

Her power flares without warning, making the lamps in the room flicker wildly. The air crackles with raw magic as her body vibrates with terror she can’t contain. It feels exactly like it did in the nightmare—helpless, useless, too slow to stop it.

“I can’t—I can’t lose you,” she chokes out, voice breaking apart into jagged pieces. “I felt it, Y/N. You were dying. You’re dying and I’m just standing here—”

“Wanda,” Y/N says again, louder this time, pushing through the pain to grab her wrists, anchoring her.

Their eyes lock.

Wanda freezes, trembling, her magic surging uselessly under her skin.

“Breathe,” Y/N whispers, like she’s trying to catch her through the storm. “Please, Wands. Just breathe with me.”

Wanda’s chest heaves. It feels impossible, like her lungs have forgotten how. But Y/N’s hands are solid and real, wrapping around hers, grounding her.

“In and out,” Y/N murmurs, voice low and steady. “You’re here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly—painfully—Wanda forces a breath into her burning lungs. Then another. And another.

The crackling air around them starts to calm. The lights stop flickering.

But Wanda’s hands stay clutching Y/N’s like she’ll never let go again.

Then, as her breathing starts to even out, the panic gives way to something deeper. Something worse.

Guilt.

 “I felt it. I felt you. What happened?”

The sight of her like that—hurting because of her—makes Wanda freeze. Then panic seizes her all over again.

“I—I’m sorry,” Wanda stammers, stumbling into the room. “It was a nightmare. They had you. HYDRA. They said they’d spare Vision because he was the one I chose, and then they—” Her voice breaks, and her legs give out.

Y/N is already shifting, reaching for her.

Wanda collapses into her arms, shaking violently. “I couldn’t stop them. I was screaming and they just—they just laughed. And then they—” Her voice dies into a choked sob.

Y/N wraps her arms around her, wincing slightly from the residual echo of pain, but holds her tight. “It wasn’t real,” she murmurs. “I’m right here. You found me, remember?”

“But you felt it,” Wanda whispers, horrified. “I hurt you through the bond.”

“No. I felt what you feel. Not what you dreamt about. And I’m okay now,” Y/N says softly. “You're okay now. We’re both okay.”

Wanda clutches her tighter, burying her face in her neck. “I thought I lost you. It felt real. Like I was already too late.”

“You’re not too late,” Y/N says, kissing the top of her head gently. “You came back.”

Wanda nods against her skin, unable to speak.

And this time, when they lie down, it’s not Wanda crawling into Y/N’s arms—it’s both of them pulling each other close. Holding on. Not letting go.

---

The Next Morning — Y/N’s Room

The light is soft when Wanda stirs. Pale golden, barely filtering through the curtains. It brushes over her face, warming her skin just enough to make her blink awake.

She’s not in her room.

Not in Vision’s bed.

The warmth she feels… it’s not artificial or distant. It’s alive.

Y/N.

Her breath catches as memory floods back—the nightmare, the way she ran through the halls like she was drowning, the moment she burst into Y/N’s room and found her already awake, clutching her chest with a pained expression.

And now… this.

She opens her eyes—and Y/N’s already looking at her.

Her face is close, closer than it should be, like they’d never let go. There’s a slight crease on her cheek from the pillow, and her lips are parted just enough to suggest she’d been watching Wanda long before she woke.

“Morning,” Y/N whispers, voice raw. Gentle. A little shaken.

Wanda doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. She just looks at her, letting the reality sink in.

She stayed.

And Y/N didn’t ask her to leave.

The moment feels too fragile to speak into. Too sacred.

Y/N’s hand is already there—resting lightly on Wanda’s back, like it had stayed there the whole night. Not possessive. Just present. Grounding. Real.

“Did you sleep at all?” Wanda asks, voice barely audible.

Y/N nods, slow. “Only after you did.”

Her chest aches at that. “You felt it,” she whispers. “The nightmare. What I felt.”

“I felt everything,” Y/N says quietly. “It tore through me, Wanda. I thought something was happening to you.”

Wanda closes her eyes for a second, guilt crawling up her throat. “I didn’t mean to pull you into it.”

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies. “I was already there.”

Silence stretches again, but it’s different this time. Warm. Familiar. Full of things neither of them have found the courage to say aloud.

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Wanda admits, her voice even softer now. “Not once. It was quiet with you.”

Y/N doesn’t smile. Her eyes just soften, a sorrowful kind of knowing in them that makes Wanda’s throat tighten.

“Maybe your soul finally found its way home,” she says. It’s not a line. Not meant to make anything easier. It’s just the truth.

Wanda wants to cry. Or kiss her. Or both. But she does neither.

Instead, she lifts her hand and brushes her fingers along Y/N’s wrist. She doesn’t need to look at it to know her name is there. She can feel it—burning, steady, alive.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Y/N meets her gaze, no judgment in sight. Just quiet understanding.

“I know,” she says. “Me too.”

Wanda breathes in. Deep. Full.

And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself stay in it.

Not the guilt.

Not the fear.

Not the life she’s pretending to live.

Just this.

Her.

The bond.

---

A little fluff for the pain 😁

[natsgrave]

taste your own medicine, wanda. i think you kinda deserve that.

Written in Our Souls - Part 4

Wanda Maximoff x Reader 

Summary: Wanda continues to run from her fate. But for how long?

Word Count: 6,930

Warnings: angst

Series Masterlist

---

Y/N’s POV

The morning sun filters through the thin curtains, casting a soft light across the room. I wake slowly, my body heavy, my mind still foggy with sleep. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then, reality comes rushing back.

I turn my head, and there she is. Wanda. Her face is peaceful, her eyes closed, her breath soft and steady. She's still in my arms, her body curled into mine, her head resting on my chest.

My heart skips a beat as I take in the sight of her. This is the closest I've ever been to her, and it feels like my soul is singing. I want to stay like this forever, just holding her, feeling her breath against my skin.

When I realize, my hand is caressing her cheek and I can’t help but smile when she snuggles more into my body. And at that moment, I wish I could wake up beside her for the rest of my life.

I can’t contain myself and when I realize, I had buried my nose into her hair. 

Floral

Her scent is a mix of roses, orchid, and a hint of bergamot. It’s not too sweet but addicting. 

I see her hand is grabbing my shirt while she sleeps and I find it adorable. I caress her hand and I remove it delicately from my shirt, and that’s when I see it.

Y/N

It’s my name. She has my name on her wrist. The proof I’ve been trying to find that we are actually soulmates.

I subconsciously rub my name on her wrist with my thumb and I hear her gasp.

She stirs alert, but as soon as she sees me she smiles softly and caress my cheek. 

“Good morning” I whisper and that seems to have snap her out of something because the next second she pulls away and cover herself with the blanket. 

“Why are you in my bed?” She asks blushing. 

“You had a nightmare last night…I just wanted to make sure you were okay” I tell her calmly.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped” I add.

She doesn’t say anything. 

“Did your wrist tingle when I touched it?” I ask her because of how she woke up when I rubbed the name on her wrist.

“How did you-?!” She starts to ask me but soon realize

“It’s my name” I give her a weak smile. Completely far from the smile I gave her when we first met. When I was happy to finally find her.

“Th-that doesn’t mean anything” her tone is cold. And just like that the pain was back.

“Because you are engaged” I look down at my hands trying not to cry. 

Wanda doesn’t reply. The silence stretches, but this time it feels hostile—sharp, dangerous. Her eyes are fixed on the blanket pulled up to her chin, like it might shield her from this moment. From me.

I wait. Maybe part of me still hopes she’ll say something soft. Something honest.

Instead, she lifts her gaze slowly, and it’s like the warmth is gone.

“So what?” she says flatly. “Yes, it’s your name. But just because we are soulmates I was supposed to wait for you? I was supposed to leave everything to be with you?”

Her words hit like a slap. I blink, stunned. “I… I… No, I… I mean-.”

She laughs—but it’s sad and pained? “You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through”

“Then, let me know you. Let me be here.” I ask

Wanda shakes her head. “No. It’s a mistake.”

The breath leaves my lungs all at once. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” she snaps. “I have to mean it. Because if I don’t, then everything I’ve built, everything I’ve told myself, falls apart.”

I nod, even though I feel like I might collapse. “Right. Got it.”

I turn toward the door, heart in pieces, but stop just before leaving.

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to, Wanda,” I say quietly. “You can pretend this is all some mistake. But your soul knows mine. And one day, that truth will be louder than your fear.”

“I’ll shower first” I lock myself in the bathroom before she can say something. 

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda watches as Y/N walks out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. The sound is deafening in the silence that follows.

Her heart is pounding in her chest, but it’s not from the rush of adrenaline she’s used to on missions. No, this is a different kind of fear. The kind that makes her feel small, weak, and lost.

She’s left alone in the room, staring at the space where Y/N had just been. The bed feels cold now. Empty. The warmth from before is gone, replaced by a hollow ache in her chest.

She shouldn't have said those things. She knows she shouldn’t have. But the words came out anyway, like poison slipping from her tongue without warning.

Wanda wraps her arms around herself, hugging tightly, as if trying to hold herself together. 

What did she expect? To just give in? To surrender herself to this bond, to Y/N, just because it’s written in the stars? In their souls? She can’t. Not when so much of her life has been out of her control. Not when she’s spent so long fighting for stability, for purpose—only for it all to be thrown into chaos by the presence of someone who are too late. Not when she’s already promised herself to someone else.

But even as she thinks this, the words echo in her head: Your soul knows mine.

Her throat tightens. She hates how true that feels. How undeniable it is.

“No,” she mutters to herself, shaking her head. “This is… this is just a mistake. I’m not… I’m not supposed to feel this way.”

She pushes herself off the bed and stands in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her eyes are red-rimmed from the tears she didn’t allow herself to shed. She barely recognizes the woman in front of her—lost, confused, hurt.

She hadn’t meant to lash out. But the more Y/N pressed, the more she wanted to scream. To push away the person who could take everything from her, even if they didn't mean to.

---

NO ONE’s POV

The mission was a success. But the silence between Wanda and Y/N was deafening. They hadn’t exchanged a word since what happened in the morning. The air between them was thick with tension, so heavy that even the the others noticed when they arrived.

Natasha and Clint were waiting for them when they got back, but it wasn’t hard to tell that something was off. Clint, ever the observant one, gave them a glance, but it was Natasha who immediately picked up on the shift. 

She watched as Y/N stormed toward her room, her movements sharp, her face a mask of frustration. Without saying a word, Natasha excused herself from Clint’s watchful eye and followed Y/N down the hallway.

When Y/N entered her room, she slammed the door behind her, her frustration too much to contain. She pressed her palm to her chest as the pain hit again, sharp and familiar. 

“Not again,” she muttered, trying to breathe through it. But the tightness in her chest only intensified.

Unable to hold it in, Y/N lashed out in anger. She kicked her bed, and with her enhanced strength, the heavy frame went flying, crashing against the wall with a loud bang. 

“What the hell, Y/N!” Natasha’s voice rang out from the door.

Y/N froze, chest still tight, the frustration growing. She turned slowly, guilt already creeping up. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a sigh. “What happened? Did you and Wanda fight or something during the mission?”

“Nothing,” Y/N murmured, her gaze fixed on the floor. 

“It’s not nothing when you kick your own bed to the wall, Tony is gonna kill you!” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “And if you think I didn’t realize something was going on between the two of you, you’re very stupid.”

Y/N stayed silent, biting her lip, the weight of everything pressing down on her.

Natasha stepped forward, a more serious expression on her face. “You two know each other before the Avengers, right? And don’t deny it this time.”

Y/N hesitated, heart pounding. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone this, but Nat’s eyes were unrelenting. After a long beat, she sighed, her hand shaking slightly as she lifted her shirt to reveal the name on her wrist. Wanda’s name. 

Nat’s eyes widened. “Omg. You two are soulmates?! But… but she’s engaged!”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, clutching her chest harder, feeling the pressure build up.

Nat’s gaze softened as she took a step closer, her sharp eyes noticing how Y/N pressed her hand to her chest. “Is that why you always seem to be in pain? Is this… about the bond?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her breath shaky. “I don’t know. I never heard of anything like this. The bond doesn’t… it’s not what I expected.” 

She sank down onto the broken bed, feeling the weight of her words settle over her like a blanket she couldn’t shake off. The pain in her chest was unbearable, like her heart was being squeezed by invisible hands. 

Nat leaned against the door frame, her arms still crossed, but her expression softening. “So, you’re telling me, you’re soulmates with Wanda… and you’re both completely avoiding it?”

Y/N shot her a tired look. “What else is there to do, Nat? She’s engaged. She can’t just… leave everything for me.”

“She’s not just going to forget about you, Y/N. You two were meant for each other.” Natasha’s voice softened. “But I’m guessing Wanda isn’t as ready for that reality as you are.”

Y/N’s chest ached even more, the pressure building until it felt like it might tear her apart. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold it together. 

“I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if I can live like this.” 

Y/N flops back onto the broken bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, the ache in her chest still unrelenting. She covers her eyes with the palm of her hand, trying to stop the tears. But it’s useless. They come anyway, falling in silent streams down the sides of her face.

“I always imagine how she would be. How she would look like…how her smile would look like…how her voice would sound when calling my name…” Y/N whisper as her tears just flow. 

“All I want is just for her to be happy,” she whispers through shaky breaths, the words breaking as they leave her lips.

The tears fall faster, each one like a tiny shard of glass piercing her heart. She can’t stop them. She can’t stop feeling like she’s drowning in a sea of things she can never have. 

Wanda—her soulmate—was never meant to be hers. Not like this. Not when she’s already given her heart to someone else. 

Y/N wants to be selfish. Wants to scream and demand that Wanda see her. That she choose her. But she won’t do that. She can’t do that to Wanda. 

The guilt is suffocating. She wants to scream at the universe, at the cruel twist of fate that bound them together when there was no room for her in Wanda’s life. Not now. Not when Wanda was already engaged to Vision. 

The pain in her chest intensifies with every thought. It’s not physical anymore—it’s emotional, an all-consuming ache that leaves her raw, exposed, and hopeless.

“I just want her to be happy,” she says again, her voice thick with tears. “Even if it’s not with me.”

Natasha stands still, watching Y/N, her arms uncrossed now. She walks over to the bed, sitting down next to her, though she doesn’t touch her. The silence stretches for a moment, as Nat considers her next words carefully.

“You deserve happiness too, Y/N,” Nat says softly. “But you can’t keep sacrificing your own for someone else’s. That’s not love.”

Y/N lets out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Love? Is it love if she doesn’t even want me?”

“Wanda doesn’t get to choose this,” Natasha says. “Neither do you. But it’s clear as day—you both feel it. And if you keep running from it, it’s only going to hurt more.”

Y/N nods weakly, wiping her tears away, but the pain won’t go away. It’s still there, sitting heavily in her chest.

---

Wanda's POV

Wanda walks into her room, the weight of everything still pressing on her chest. Her mind is a blur of emotions, none of them making sense. She’s barely aware of Vision standing by the door, his presence a gentle reminder of the life she’s supposed to be living.

“Wanda?” Vision’s voice is warm, concerned. He takes a step toward her, his brow furrowing as he watches her carefully. “How was the mission?”

She forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It was fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Vision steps closer, the soft hum of his voice attempting to fill the space between them. “You don’t look fine. Something’s wrong.”

She shakes her head quickly, not wanting to explain, not wanting to face the truth herself. “It’s nothing, really. Just... tired.”

Vision doesn’t seem convinced. He reaches out, his hand landing gently on her shoulder, the touch warm and reassuring. His hands have always comforted her—always made her feel safe. But today, everything feels off.

She stiffens, the strange sensation crawling up her spine. His touch, once a source of peace, now feels foreign. There’s no comfort in it, no connection. It’s like a cold weight settling over her chest. She forces herself to stand still, to keep her expression neutral, to pretend it doesn’t bother her.

But it does. It bothers her more than she can explain.

Vision notices the shift in her. His hand lingers on her shoulder, and she fights the urge to pull away. He tilts his head, his glowing eyes filled with concern. “Wanda? What is it? You’re not yourself.”

She wants to scream. She wants to tell him everything—about Y/N, about the bond, about the way her soul aches when she’s not near her soulmate. But she can’t. Not when everything she’s worked so hard for is slipping away.

“I’m fine, Vision,” she says, the words slipping out cold and flat. “Really. Just… tired.”

She avoids his gaze, her chest tightening, as if a heavy weight is pressing down on her. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she can’t pretend anymore. She can’t pretend that her world isn’t shifting beneath her feet, that her heart isn’t tugging in a direction she doesn’t want it to go.

When Vision steps closer, wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to pull her into an embrace, she freezes. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t move. His arms feel… strange. His touch is too much, too familiar in a way that feels wrong.

Wanda’s heart races as she stands there, trapped in his embrace. It’s not the same. It’s not the same as last night, when she had fallen asleep in Y/N’s arms, feeling her heartbeat, hearing her breath. That had felt natural. Right. But this… this is nothing but a reminder of what she’s losing, what she’s sacrificing.

She can’t bring herself to pull away. She can’t be cruel, not when Vision is trying so hard. But everything inside her is screaming to get away, to go back to what felt real, to what is real.

“I… I’m just going to rest,” she says quickly, pulling out of his arms. “I need some time alone.”

Vision looks hurt, his brow furrowed as he takes a step back. “Wanda, if something’s wrong—”

“I just need to be alone,” she repeats, her voice strained. She doesn’t wait for a reply before she turns and walks away, leaving Vision standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his face.

She shuts the door behind her, pressing her back to it, her breath coming out in shaky gasps. She feels guilty. She feels confused. And worst of all, she feels lost.

---

NO ONE’s POV

In the days following the mission, Y/N became a ghost.

She still trained. Still attended briefings. Still wore the same calm expression she always did. But the light in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by something quieter. Hollow. Her usual laughter was gone, her presence no longer grounding—it was like she was just… floating. Drifting through the compound like she didn’t belong.

No more banter during meals. No more showing up at training early to try to spar with Wanda. She avoided the common areas when the team gathered. If Wanda walked into a room, Y/N would find an excuse to leave.

Steve noticed first. He said nothing, but he started showing up to the gym at the same odd hours Y/N did, watching her push herself like she was trying to outrun something.

Then Sam brought it up during a late-night debrief.

“Anyone else feel like the air’s been sucked out of the room lately?”

Natasha exchanged a glance with Clint.

“You mean Y/N,” Clint said flatly.

“She’s pulling back,” Sam added. “From all of us.”

Natasha didn’t respond. She just stared at the table, her jaw tight.

Bruce looked up, confused. “Is she okay? Did something happen on the last mission?”

“She and Wanda haven’t spoken since,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t think they’ve even made eye contact.”

That made heads turn.

Wanda, sitting at the far end of the table, pretended not to hear. Her face was unreadable, but her grip on her coffee mug tightened just enough for Natasha to catch it.

Something had happened.

And no one was saying it out loud.

---

Y/N’s POV

I train until my muscles scream and my lungs feel like fire. It's the only time I don't feel the ache in my chest.

I dodge every strike the simulation throws at me, sweat dripping down my temple, my knuckles raw. It's like if I can just keep moving, keep hitting something, I won't think about the look in her eyes when she said it was a mistake.

I throw another punch, harder than I need to, and the simulation sparks out. I broke it. Again.

"Shit," I mutter, stepping back.

I can feel eyes on me before I even turn around.

“You’re going to run yourself into the ground,” Steve says from the doorway.

I grab a towel and wipe my face. “Better than standing still.”

He walks in slowly, hands in his pockets. “You don’t talk to anyone anymore.”

“I talk.”

“Not really.”

I shrug. “Didn’t realize I owed anyone a conversation.”

He watches me for a beat, then says, “Y/N… I know something happened. I want you to know that you can tell me things. You are part of the team now. You are family.”

That almost breaks me. I look away.

He doesn’t push further, “just think about it. We here if you need us” then, he leaves me to the silence.

I sigh and start to punch the punching bag.

---

Wanda’s POV

She feels it. The silence. The shift in the air that follows her like a shadow.  

Y/N doesn’t speak to her anymore. Doesn’t look at her. If they happen to cross paths in the hallway, Y/N’s footsteps speed up like she’s running from something. From her.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t—after all, this is what Wanda wanted, right?

But every time Y/N walks out of the room, it feels like a thread snapping inside her chest.

And today, at the debriefing, when Clint mentioned her name—“You mean Y/N”—Wanda felt the heat rush to her face. Not from embarrassment. From guilt.

Because she knows why Y/N is pulling back. She knows it’s her fault.

She stares into her coffee, pretending it tastes like anything but regret. Pretending she doesn’t feel Natasha’s eyes on her from across the room. Pretending her hands aren’t trembling just slightly.

She hears Steve say it:  

“She and Wanda haven’t spoken since.”

And her stomach sinks.

But still, she says nothing. Because if she speaks, it would mean admitting too much.

Later, in her room, Wanda sits cross-legged on the floor, staring at her wrist.

Y/N. The name is still there. Of course it is.

She presses her fingers against it, hard enough to leave a mark, hoping for something. A spark. A sign. Anything to make this easier.

But all she feels is the echo of what could’ve been.

---

That evening, when she walks past the gym and hears the heavy thud of fists against a bag, she knows exactly who it is.  

She peeks through the glass just for a second. Y/N is drenched in sweat, pounding the punching bag like it did something personal. Despite the circumstances, the scene makes a shiver run through her spine straight to her lower belly. She sees Steve leans in the doorway snapping out of the trance she just had. He is watching Y/N with something close to worry on his face. They talk. Wanda can’t hear the words—but she sees the way Y/N deflates, the slump of her shoulders.

She looks… broken.

Wanda tears her gaze away before Y/N can see her watching.

She turns down the hall, faster than necessary, trying to ignore the burning behind her eyes.

Because this is what she asked for. This is the distance she put between them. And now?

Now she’s drowning in it.

---

Y/N POV

The door to Y/N's room flew open with the grace and force of a tactical breach. Natasha Romanoff didn’t knock. She never knocked.

Y/N barely looked up from where she sat on the edge of her new bed, shoelaces half-tied, wearing the same hoodie she’d been living in for the past three days. Her eyes were hollow, dull. Sleep-deprived. There were dark circles that hadn’t been earned from missions — just a war in her own head.

“I’m not in the mood, Nat.”

“That’s cute,” Natasha deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. “It’s almost like you think I’m giving you a choice.”

Y/N sighed and dropped her gaze. “I’m serious. I just… I don’t want to see anyone right now.”

“Well I want to see you somewhere other than this self-pity crypt you’ve locked yourself in. So you’re coming to the party.”

Y/N scoffed bitterly. “Why? So I can fake a smile while my soulmate who rejected me walks around in the arms of the microwave she’s supposed to marry?”

Natasha pushed off the frame and walked in, unapologetic, tossing something soft at Y/N — a black, sleek button-up. “No. You’re coming so you remember that you’re alive. That you’re you. And that no one — not even Wanda Maximoff — gets to take that from you.”

Y/N stared at the shirt in her lap, unmoving.

Nat crouched in front of her, voice softer now. “I know it hurts. I know what it feels like to have your whole world shift under your feet. But you’re not going to fix it by hiding in here, training till you collapse, and skipping meals. Plus, you stink!”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “You’ve been spying on me.”

“You make it easy when your shower schedule is nonexistent.”

That earned a small, reluctant smile from Y/N. The first in days. Natasha saw it and pounced, smug.

“There she is,” Nat said, standing and tossing Y/N a pair of dress pants and a tie from her closet. “C’mon. Go shower and put these on, we’ll sneak vodka into the punch and make bets on which intern pukes first.”

“I really don’t—”

“Not a request,” Nat cut in. “You get ten minutes. Be downstairs or I’m dragging your sulky ass out in whatever you’re wearing now. Hoodie and all.”

Y/N blinked at her, then looked down at her hoodie — the one with soup stains and threads unraveling at the cuff.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Nat grinned. “And I’ll make sure FRIDAY plays your playlist on loop in the common room while I do it. The sad one.”

Y/N groaned and flopped back onto the bed, but this time, there was no protest. Just a whisper of a sigh and a tug at the hem of the hoodie, fingers curling with decision.

“…Five minutes,” Y/N mumbled.

Nat was already heading to the door. “That’s the spirit. You’ll thank me when you’re dancing.”

“I hate dancing.”

“Good. Means you’ll drink faster.”

---

Wanda’s POV

Tony’s parties were always the same — loud music, dazzling lights, and enough champagne to fund a small country. The tower's main floor buzzed with energy, laughter echoing off marble and glass. Everyone who was anyone was there. But none of it mattered to Wanda.

She stood near the bar, nursing a drink she hadn’t really touched, pretending to listen as Vision spoke beside her about some new energy signature he'd discovered during their last mission. Her eyes, though — they wandered. Always wandering.

Then the air shifted. She knew Y/N was there. Her wrist told her.

Natasha strolled in first, looking effortlessly lethal in red, smirking like she’d just pulled off a small heist. And trailing behind her—

Wanda froze.

Y/N stepped into the room, shoulders square beneath a fitted black jacket. The black button-up underneath was open at the collar, hinting at skin and strength and everything Wanda hadn’t stopped thinking about, no matter how hard she’d tried.

Their hair was tousled in that careless way that only looked effortless on them. And when they scanned the room, there was something new in their expression — quieter, colder. Like a part of them had shut off.

Wanda’s heart did something strange. Twisted. Ache and heat, all tangled up in one breath.

“You look pale,” Vision noted beside her, gently. “Are you alright?”

Wanda blinked, tore her gaze away. “I’m fine,” she said too quickly.

Across the room, Natasha nudged Y/N toward the crowd with a smug little smile, then disappeared into the sea of people — her mission, apparently, accomplished.

Y/N moved through the space like a shadow, offering half-smiles, polite nods, but not really being there. They refused every drink handed to them and brushed off small talk with ease. Wanda couldn't stop watching.

And then Y/N looked up — eyes locking with hers across the room.

It was barely a second. A heartbeat. But it was enough.

The last time Wanda had seen Y/N, they were breaking in front of her — quiet devastation hidden behind forced composure. But this? This Y/N was unreadable. Polished and distant and hurting in a way Wanda could feel but couldn’t touch.

She looked away first.

Because the guilt in her chest burned hotter than the wine on her tongue.

---

Y/N's POV

Y/N leaned against the balcony railing, half-hidden from the crowd inside Tony’s latest party. The city lights sprawled beneath the tower, and the music thumped faintly behind her, but nothing could shake the heaviness pressed into her chest.

Coming here had been a mistake. She knew it the second she saw her across the room. She was already looking. But after few seconds she looked away.

Typical.

“You gonna keep sulking out here like a ghost, or can we pretend you’re still alive?” Natasha’s voice cut through the air, dry and sharp, but warm in that big-sister way she always carried when Y/N needed it most.

Y/N sighed. “Took you longer to find me than I expected.”

“Had to give you five minutes of brooding. Anything past that and I start charging.”

She stepped up beside her, flicking her wrist to reveal two shot glasses already filled. “Come on, speedster. Drink.”

Y/N raised an unimpressed brow. “You know it doesn’t work. I burn through this stuff before it hits.”

“That’s why I brought the good stuff.” Nat handed over the glass anyway. “Just humor me.”

Y/N sniffed it. “This isn’t the thing that made Clint cry, right?”

“No, this is the stuff that made Tony cry.”

“…oh.”

They clinked glasses, and Y/N downed the shot in a blink. It tingled for a second — warm, pleasant — but nothing. Her body processed it faster than a regular heartbeat.

“Told you,” Y/N muttered.

Nat rolled her eyes and pulled out a silver flask like it was Excalibur. “That’s why I asked Thor for backup.”

Y/N stared. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Nope. Just trying to get you to stop being a sad puppy for five minutes. Now drink.”

Y/N hesitated — but Nat raised a brow, that silent challenge written all over her face.

“Fine,” she muttered, taking the smallest sip.

Holy. Hell.

Fire bloomed in her chest — not painful, but bright. Sharp. Electric. Like lightning had kissed her insides. For a moment, everything slowed down — she slowed down — and her vision steadied, her thoughts quieted.

“…okay,” she said, blinking. “That’s new.”

Nat grinned. “There she is.”

Y/N takes a proper gulp this time, before they wandered back into the party, Nat’s arm slung lazily around Y/N’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before they joined Sam by the bar, and Thor showed up again with a fresh keg and a booming voice.

Fifteen minutes and a few sips later, Y/N was planted on a couch, shaking with laughter. Sam had just done the worst Steve Rogers impression she’d ever heard, and she couldn’t stop giggling.

“He said what?” Y/N gasped, clinging to the pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to the planet.

Sam put a hand on his heart. “‘This fit is low-key fire, fam.’”

“No, shut up,” Y/N wheezed. “You’re lying. He didn’t.”

Nat was laughing too, perched on the arm of the couch and sipping from her flask. “We have the security footage. It’s going in the vault.”

Y/N leaned her head back, finally exhaling. The tension in her chest had loosened — not gone, not really, but dulled. For the first time in what felt like forever, the silence in her head wasn’t so loud. She felt… okay. Just for a moment.

From across the room, something prickled. A shift in the air. Y/N glanced up — and caught Wanda staring.

Their eyes met.

And just like that, the warmth cracked.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda is still looking at Y/N with a glass of wine in her hand that she’s barely touched. 

Y/N is tucked into the couch with Sam and Natasha. There’s laughter, bright and easy, rolling out of her like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Sam’s just said something stupid — probably one of his Steve impressions — and Y/N is giggling, of all things. Cheeks slightly flushed, head tipped back, that smile that makes Wanda warm spread across her face.

Something inside Wanda twists. Not in anger. Not quite.

She takes a sip of wine to hide the way her hand trembles.

But then Sharon Carter steps into the frame, like a glitch in Wanda’s vision — cutting across the crowd, making a direct line for Y/N.

Of course.

Of course Steve brought her. And of course Sharon zeroed in on Y/N like she’s the most interesting thing in the room. Because she is.

Wanda watches with growing unease as Sharon leans in, laughing too loudly at something — and then rests her hand on Y/N’s arm like they’re suddenly old friends. Y/N, sweet as ever, smiles back. A little shy. A little awkward. But she doesn’t step away.

Sharon’s hand trails down Y/N’s arm. Lingers on her bicep. Fingertips pressing in. Playful. Familiar.

Mine.

The word crashes through Wanda’s head before she even realizes it.

And then—pain.

She gasps, nearly dropping her wine glass as a burn flares beneath her sleeve. It’s not heat. Not really. It’s the bond — the soulmate bond — screaming.

Y/N’s name pulses under the cuff of her sleeve, glowing faintly against her skin.

She’s mine.

Vision who has been babbling beside her notice something’s wrong. “Wanda, are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer him.

“Wanda?”

Still, she doesn’t take her eyes off Sharon — who is now brushing imaginary lint off Y/N’s shoulder like they’ve known each other for years.

“I’m fine,” she mutters.

But her voice is too tight. Vision knows it. “You’re clearly not. Perhaps we should—”

“I said I’m fine.”

Her voice cuts sharper this time. And even Vision looks surprised at her.

But Wanda doesn’t hear him anymore.

Her magic buzzes beneath her skin. Her pulse roars in her ears. She sees it — the way Y/N tries to subtly step back, like she’s trying to be polite without encouraging anything. But Sharon just leans in more.

And then…

She touches her again.

That’s it.

Wanda’s grip tightens. The wine glass shatters in her hand with a crack, red liquid dripping with the blood down her fingers. Startled gasps echo nearby, but she barely notices. Red mist coils at her fingertips, magic flaring out like smoke without her realizing.

She’s already walking.

The crowd parts for her without question, sensing the storm brewing in her wake. Sharon turns just in time — her expression faltering the second she sees Wanda’s face.

Y/N rises slightly from the couch, surprised. “Wanda?”

But Wanda doesn’t look at her.

Her gaze is locked on Sharon, her voice low and ice cold. “Hands. Off.”

Sharon blinks, startled. “I—what?”

“I said—don’t touch her.” Magic crackles in her palm like fire licking at her skin.

“Wanda, what are you doing?” Y/N asks, stepping forward. She reaches for Wanda’s arm gently — just to calm her, to ground her.

The second their skin connects, the storm stills.

Not completely — but enough. Enough that Wanda can breathe. She looks at Y/N’s eyes, and she feels calmer. But when Sharon speaks again it flips.

Sharon’s eyes flick between them. Her lips curl. “Seriously?”

Wanda’s eyes are sharp, dangerous. “Walk. Away.”

Vision finally reaches them, voice hushed but urgent. “Wanda, please. What are you doing?”

Wanda just ignores him.

Sharon scoffs but does walk away, eventually — with an eye roll and one last look over her shoulder.

The tension in the room slowly begins to melt. Music stirs back to life. Conversations resume.

But Wanda stays still, hand trembling, magic curling faintly from her fingers. Y/N stands closer now, visibly shaken, watching her with something soft and confused in her eyes.

Wanda turns her head away, chest rising and falling too fast.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Y/N’s voice is gentle. “Wanda”

But Wanda just walks away.

 Her hand still burns — not from the glass, not from the magic — but from the name carved into her skin, glowing brighter than it has in weeks.

Y/N.

---

Wanda’s heels click softly against the corridor floor as she moves away from the party, trying to keep her breaths even, her expression composed. Her fingers are still damp with wine, red streaks trailing like veins down her skin, but she doesn’t stop. Not until she’s back in the quiet of her room, the door clicking shut behind her.

She exhales sharply. Leans against the door. Closes her eyes.

Her hand is still burning.

It’s pulsing again — like it knows she’s close, knows she’s unraveling. Wanda presses her palm over it, like she can smother the ache. She can’t.

There’s a knock.

She freezes.

“Wanda?”

Vision.

Of course.

She waits. Maybe he’ll go away.

Another knock, followed by his voice, soft and careful. “May I come in?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before moving to open the door.

Vision steps inside, concern etched into every line of his synthetic features. His gaze immediately drops to her hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he says gently, stepping closer. “You shattered a glass in front of everyone. Your magic was—Wanda, you lost control.”

She flinches at the word. “It was nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

Wanda turns away, walking toward the small sink in her bathroom. She runs cool water over her hand. Watches the wine and blood swirl together and disappear down the drain.

Vision lingers in the doorway. “Was it… Sharon?” he asks after a beat. “You seemed… upset when she was speaking to Y/N.”

The faucet squeaks as Wanda shuts it off harder than necessary. “It’s not important.”

“Wanda—”

She spins to face him. “I said it’s not important.”

Vision blinks. His voice drops. “You’re clearly in pain.”

That makes her pause. Just a second. Her eyes flicker toward him, and she almost—almost—tells him the truth.

But she can’t.

So she breathes in slowly, composes herself, and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I just overreacted,” she says. “I’m tired. I need sleep.”

Vision watches her. She can tell he doesn’t buy it. But he nods anyway. “I can stay with you.”

“I need to be alone. You can go back to the party.” Wanda says without looking at him.

He hesitates… and then leaves without another word.

The door shuts behind him.

Wanda exhales again. Alone.

She peels back her sleeve slowly and looks down at the name on her wrist. It’s still glowing. Still burning.

Y/N.

Even now, after all this time, after all her trying — it’s never stopped. Never dulled.

She brushes her thumb over the letters. Closes her eyes.

And for just a moment, she lets herself whisper the truth

“She’s mine.”

---

Y/N’s POV

Y/N barely hears the music.

Not when her eyes are still locked on the spot where Wanda disappeared.  

Not after seeing the red curling around her fingers, the wine and blood mixing like something out of a bad dream.

She should’ve gone after her sooner.

But Vision did.

And Y/N… she waited. Waited long enough to breathe. To think.  

To feel that sharp, low tug inside her chest — not magic, but something deeper. Older. Bone-deep.

She doesn’t remember walking upstairs. Only that the hallway is too quiet when she gets there, and Vision is just stepping out of the room. He pulls the door closed gently behind him, his expression unreadable.

Before he sees her she hides, and once he’s gone, she approaches the door.

Then she knocks.

Softly, twice.

Nothing.

“Wanda?” she calls gently.

Silence.

She presses her palm to the door like that might somehow bridge the distance. “It’s me.”

Another pause. Then: “I just want to check your hand.”

Still nothing.

Y/N waits… until the lock clicks.

And the door opens.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda hesitates before unlocking the door.

She should’ve ignored the knock. Let it pass like all the other things she’s tried to bury.

But then she heard the voice.

Y/N.

And something inside her cracked — something fragile she’d been holding together by sheer will.

Now, the door creaks open, and there she is — eyes soft, worry carved into every line of her face.

Wanda can’t look at her for long.

She turns away, wordless, walking back inside and leaving the door open behind her. Y/N steps in quietly, closing it with a gentle click.

The silence settles thick between them. Still. Heavy.

Y/N speaks first. “You didn’t let anyone help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Wanda murmurs, but the words are brittle. Fragile. A lie she no longer believes herself.

Y/N moves closer. Her hand reaches out, gently taking Wanda’s injured fingers in hers.

Wanda flinches—not from pain, not really—but from the tenderness. The way Y/N touches her like she matters.

Y/N’s thumb brushes lightly over her wrist, just above the soulmate mark still hidden beneath Wanda’s sleeve. The glow softens under her touch. The burn eases. Recognizing her.

Wanda swallows, throat dry.

Y/N gently opens her palm, revealing the cut—still bleeding.

“It’s fine,” Wanda says stubbornly, her voice low.

“You’re bleeding,” Y/N says softly. “It’s not fine.”

She starts cleaning the wound with delicate precision, her touch light but steady. Wanda watches her work in silence, torn between the instinct to pull away and the aching need to stay right there.

A pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, Y/N speaks again. “Why did you do that?”

Wanda doesn’t have to ask what she means.

Her jaw tightens. “She touched you.”

Y/N looks up, startled by the sharpness in her tone.

“She touched you like she had the right,” Wanda breathes, trembling. “She doesn’t.”

Silence.

Y/N studies her, eyes searching.

Then, quiet and careful: “And you do?”

Wanda meets her gaze, raw and open. The storm is still there—but it’s not rage. It’s fear. Hunger. Longing.

“Yes,” she whispers, before she could process what she said. “I do.”

She doesn’t look away.

And Y/N doesn’t speak.

She just finishes wrapping Wanda’s hand, movements slower now, softer somehow.

Wanda watches her—every motion, every breath. The calm in her presence. The way she makes everything stop spinning.

As Y/N ties the last bit of gauze, her fingers brush once more over Wanda’s wrist, where the soulmate mark pulses happily beneath the skin.

Then she whispers, barely audible:

“I’m just a mistake, Wanda.”

She gives a weak smile, and turns.

Before Wanda can stop her, she’s gone.

And the room, somehow, feels colder than it did before.  

Wanda stares at the door. The ache in her chest is new. Sharp. And suddenly she can’t breathe. 

Is this what Y/N felt?

And for the first time, she feels it:

The hollow space where Y/N should be.

---

Part 5

---

hehe🤭

[natsgrave]

guess who's back? back again.

NO WAY, ANOTHER CLIFF HANGER!?!?! 😭

Knight Falls - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Wolverine!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk (Blood, violence, torture)

Summary: Your perfect life with Natasha isn't meant to stay that way with the Red Room still looking for her.

Word count: 3030

AN: It’s been 84 years since the last update, but I truly thank everyone for their recent interest in this fic and for giving me the motivation to keep going!

Click here to refresh your memory with Part 2.

“Again? Are you sure?”

“Why not? It’s not like she has somewhere to be.”

Dr. Cornelius’s bald head leans into your peripherals. He’s wearing his signature mirrored glasses so you can see your reflection in them: the hair matted to your forehead, the sickly paleness of your skin, the dilation of fear in your pupils.

“You’re our most generous donor,” Dr. Cornelius says, patting your arm with a heavy hand. You try cringing away from his touch, but you’re bolted to the table at every joint. The things you would do to this man if you were free. “Besides, you have to pay for your upkeep somehow, right?”

You growl in response to his words. You don’t try speaking to them anymore. They’d never listen to you anyway. 

In the background, metal scrapes against metal and the clanging strikes a chord of fear in your chest. It’s not easy to move your head but you still try, until you see one of the surgeons back at your side with a scalpel shining in the bright overhead lights. 

“What haven’t we taken today?” Dr. Cornelius asks. 

The surgeon shrugs, his expression unreadable behind a mask. You wonder if he takes enjoyment in this, or he’s just following orders. There’s a lot of each around here. All spineless cowards to you.

“How about the liver?” Dr. Cornelius suggests, pushing down on your stomach. You squirm uncomfortably, but no matter what you do, you can’t escape him. Ever since these sick psychopaths got their hands on you, they weren’t going to let you go.

“Sure.” 

Before you even have a chance to register the surgeon’s response, his scalpel presses into your side until it breaks the skin. Blood rolls down to the metal slab you’re lying on. You can’t block out the pain as he saws through you, but you’ve learned to disassociate from it. If they were going to treat you like an object, you needed to pretend to be one to survive.

***********************************************************************

You come to slowly, your head pounding like someone took a sledgehammer repeatedly to your skull. Light worsens your headache so you squint while you get your bearings. You find yourself strapped tightly to a table, heavy blocks of metal encasing both of your hands. There’s even some kind of solid muzzle over your mouth, restricting your breathing. 

Your first thought doesn’t go to the countless times you’ve been in this position before, it goes to the one that landed you here: Taskmaster standing over you with a gun pointed between your eyes. Your forehead throbs at the memory, but since you actually remember what happened, your healing must be functioning as normal, despite the extreme sluggishness that weighs you down. You pull aggressively at your binds, but you’re cinched tight to the table.

Panic builds inside of you.

Screaming doesn’t do anything. Neither does begging them to stop. Which is why you don’t do it anymore. You lie there like a fish, your eyes glazed over and unseeing, even though you are completely aware of everything happening to you.

Your skin tearing open. The blood pouring out of you that they don’t even try to staunch. Being ripped apart and put together more times than you can count.

The muzzle makes it impossible for you to take a full breath and the anxiety overrides your control. You hyperventilate frantically, but it’s still not enough air and the ache in your lungs starts to build. It feels like you’re drowning in fear and panic and you completely forgot how to stay calm. 

You never thought you’d find yourself in this position again. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let it happen. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and try moving your whole body, but your legs down to your ankle are held in place by metal restraints. A band over your chest presses down like someone’s knee in your sternum. The fear of not being in control is crushing like a weight of its own and you fight harder, until the metal starts cutting into your wrists. But you won’t stop, afraid that you might never make it out if you do. 

“Y/N. Y/N!”

Your head whips around painfully against the restraint locked around your neck. Natasha is crouched a few feet away from you, blocked behind a wall of jail bars. You try to speak but your words are muffled by the muzzle. 

She squeezes her arm through the bar, straining to reach you. Her fingertips barely brush your forearm, but her touch is instantly calming. 

“It’s okay. I’m here,” she says, trying to be brave for the both of you, but you can smell her fear mingling with yours. There’s a cut with dried blood on her forehead, but she seems okay otherwise. At least the two of you were together. You focus on your breaths again, forcing yourself to take them slowly and as deeply as you can. Your heart rate falls and the panic begins to melt away.

Natasha has never seen you like this before. The crazed look in your eyes when you woke up, the desperation in which you tried to unsuccessfully free yourself. She knows it must be traumatizing and embarrassing for you to be in a position of helplessness. She wishes she could be closer to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything will be okay, but she’s stuck behind the bars in a cage and can barely reach you. 

“I love you,” she blurts out, in case she doesn’t get a chance to say the words again. “I love you so much and I’m going to get us out of here, I promise.” You cannot speak, but you look at her with pure adoration and trust. 

“I’m not sure where we are,” she says, filling the silence. “I woke up a few times before they brought us in here. But I think we’re on some kind of aircraft–”

At that moment, your surroundings jolt and Natasha falls back in her cell. You know you aren’t going anywhere with the table bolted to the floor, but the motion is jarring and worrying. Escape would be a lot more difficult if there was nowhere for you two to go.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Natasha whimpers, curling into a ball. You can’t stand to see her like this, even more frustrated because you can’t do anything to assure her. A growl rumbles in your throat as you tug pointlessly at your arms yet again. “It should be me on that table. You warned me going after the Red Room would be dangerous, but I didn’t think it’d end like this.”

You grunt in disagreement. You had no regrets going to that Russian home with her and you wanted her to know that.  

“If we get out of here,” she continues in a lower voice, “Maybe I should leave y–”

Before she can finish her sentence, the door swings open and three men walk in, Taskmaster among them. Instantly, the hairs on the back of your neck rise in warning. The shortest man struts over to Natasha’s cell, and the scent of fear that rolls off her is so strong it nearly chokes you.

“Natalia,” Dreykov greets as Natasha shrinks back to the corner of the cell. “Glad to see you back in the Red Room.” You growl to get his attention away from her. “Oh.” He slowly turns as if he completely missed you lying there. “Forgive me for not introducing myself.” 

He comes to your side. He smells like cologne, sweat, and a trace of fear. It makes you feel minutely better that even though you’re strapped to a slab of metal and rendered nearly immovable, he’s still scared of you. “You may address me as General Dreykov, and I think you’re already well-acquainted with Taskmaster.”

An insult is muffled by your muzzle. 

Dreykov chuckles. “We’ve been waiting a long time to get our hands on the both of you. You certainly didn’t make it easy.” He steps back as Taskmaster opens Natasha’s cell door and goes inside to grab her.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams. You yank at your restraints again; you’re not above skinning yourself if you have to. If the two of you are separated, there’s no telling what this man could do to her.

“You stay right here,” Dreykov says, as Taskmaster drags Natasha by. She tries reaching out for you again but Taskmaster pins her arms to her sides. “Dr. Morozov is happy to keep you company.” 

“Natasha!” you try to scream, but it’s unintelligible. 

“Y/N, I’ll come back for you, I’ll–” Taskmaster carries her out of the room, Dreykov following behind. The third man, thin and tall, dressed in surgeon’s attire, is left alone with you. While his physical presence isn’t very intimidating to you, the fact that he’s in a total position of power over you scares you the most.

“I heard you’re in possession of a substance we are very, very interested in,” Dr. Morozov says, his voice high and squeaky compared to Dreykov’s. “I told General Dreykov I had to come see you for myself.” He disappears from your vision but returns, pushing a rattling metal tray of instruments. Panic surges through you again, but you swallow the fear and try to stay calm.

“General Dreykov tasked me with removing this adamantium from your bones,” Dr. Morozov says, sounding giddy with excitement as he picks up a scalpel. “He isn’t sure if it’s even possible, and will most likely kill you in the process, but that’s a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.” He brings the blade into your left forearm, cutting your skin from your wrist to your elbow. You snarl and struggle, but he presses the blade deeper and deeper until it clangs against metal. “Aha!”

You need an escape route now. You refuse to lay here and be picked to pieces by yet another crazed surgeon. Your breathing quickens again, but this time you’re totally in control. 

“General Dreykov said you had…hmm, what was the word he used?” Dr. Morozov goes on. But your arm is already healing, so he cuts it open again and uses a clamp to hold it open. Adrenaline rushes through your veins so strongly you don’t even feel the pain for a moment, and that’s exactly what you need. Dr. Morozov is so busy studying your left arm, he doesn’t notice you tugging on your right arm. 

You tense your bicep so hard it feels like it’s going to tear out of your skin. The restraints are too tight so they pinch into your skin as it bunches up at your wrist, but you keep pulling until it starts to cut through. With one last breath to ready yourself for the pain, you yank with all your strength and your skin peels off your hand.The loss of the top layer creates enough room to slip your hand through the restraint, the blood acting like a lubricant. 

“Claws!” Dr. Morozov says suddenly.

If you didn’t feel so sick you would’ve laughed at the irony as you swing your right arm up and release your claws into the center of his chest. Dr. Morozov is dead before he collapses onto the floor. You tear the muzzle off your face first, then use your claws to cut through the remaining restraints. By the time you’re free, the skin on your arm and hand has healed back. You stand up, overwhelmed with nausea and pain, but it passes after you steady yourself on the table.

You check if Dr. Morozov has a security badge of some kind and find one in his pocket, stealing it for your own use and leaving the room. You’ve been dressed in a white shirt and sweatpants, now stained with your blood. You’re not sure why you feel so sick, maybe you had been drugged or were still recovering from being shot point-blank in the head. Either way, you don’t have time to sit and recover. You need to find Natasha. 

Following Dreykov’s scent down the hall, you dodge around corners and climb a few flights of stairs. It’s a miracle you don’t run into anyone, but something tells you it had been specifically set up this way. You use Dr. Morozov’s badge to pass foot-thick security doors, cautious to stay on guard in case of an ambush. But you hardly have time to be concerned with your own well-being when Natasha is with Dreykov. 

The thought of that slimy, vile man putting his hands on your girlfriend makes your stomach knot into a pretzel. Natasha had told you stories of what he had done to her and made other Widows do. While you could no longer be surprised by the vileness of humanity, it broke your heart to hear about the horrible things Natasha had been subjected to. Finding the Red Room would be her way of getting closure from that, but it seemed like whatever plan she had had utterly fallen apart with the surprise of Taskmaster. You have to find her before anything worse can happen to her.

Dreykov’s cologne intensifies and you trace the scent to a large door cracked slightly ajar, where his and Natasha’s voices drift out of.

“Don’t tell me to stop!” Dreykov screams, and his genuine anger causes you to pause in alarm.

“If I don’t tell you when to stop, how will you know to shut up?” Natasha responds, then the unmistakable noise of flesh against bone. 

“Natasha!” you yell, going into motion once more. But before you can get through the door, a massive figure drops down from the ceiling and plants their feet against your chest, sending you flying back into a metal wall so hard it dents around your body. For a moment, you can’t even breathe and you’re certain your entire ribcage has collapsed. 

Each miniscule breath you manage is like swords shoved through your lungs and you truly feel the weight of the metal on your bones as you struggle to get up. You lose track of Taskmaster until he slams onto the back of your head. Your metal skull rebounds against the floor and despite its added protection, your brain was just as vulnerable as anyone’s. Professor Xavier had warned you numerous times how much more severe brain injuries could be for you because your brain was literally cocooned in a metal shell. 

You had never really believed him until now.

No thoughts pass through your mind as you teeth rattle like candy and your vision blurs like someone has taken an eraser to half of it. Taskmaster grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you back to your feet. You hate how he easily he throws you around. Very few people could make you feel like a ragdoll. The claws rip out from between your knuckles and you slash out wildly, but he drops you before you can land a fatal strike. You aren’t focused so much on actually hurting him as you are distracting him. You need to keep him at bay long enough for your brain to heal. 

But you have no awareness of your surroundings, out of your environment and in an already-weakened state. The floor trembles beneath Taskmaster’s weight as he closes in on you. You swing without being able to see and feel the pull of your claws as it strikes against something, but it isn’t enough. Taskmaster’s claws stab through your back and steal your breath. You fly through the air, this time colliding with the ceiling and punching right through, landing on the floor above. 

You’re so disoriented in the settling dust you don’t see Taskmaster emerge from the hole you came through, stabbing you in the leg to drag you back down. Rage overtakes the pain at the thought that this man has simply turned you into his plaything, so when you fall back through the hole, you give in to your animal instincts and attack him. 

You slash and punch and kick in an unpredictable pattern because you aren’t thinking anymore. Taskmaster falls into a defensive mode and you sense hesitation as he backs away from you. Gaining some ground back lulls you into a false sense of security, and you don’t realize until it’s too late that he wasn’t hesitating. He was studying you, picking up on your style and techniques instantly to use back against you. 

After a blow that scores three long gouges across his chest plate, he launches at you in a frenzy that rivals your own. You have no protection like he does, and his claws, although not made of adamantium, are still durable and sharp enough to take chunks out of you. Blood splatters the walls and you’re forced to play defensively again after he punctures your lung and cripples both your legs by slicing your hamstrings in half. You crawl away from him, refusing to beg for your life but too scared to fight him more. You’ve never fought anything like him. 

Taskmaster looms over you as you shrink down, wheezing, the last fire of a fight fading in your eyes. He grabs the scruff of your neck like he would to a dog, stabbing you in the chest until blood spurts out of your mouth.

Despite that you easily outweigh the average male, he easily drags you into Dreykov’s office and kicks the door open.

Natasha is standing over Dreykov at his desk, blood dripping from her crooked nose. You wish you had the energy to break free and punch Dreykov in the face, but you barely cling onto consciousness as Taskmaster drops you like a sack of bricks.

“Y/N!” Natasha shouts.

Taskmaster pulls out a gun and presses it into the back of your head as you struggle to get up. 

“Don’t,” Natasha begs. 

You grit your bloody teeth, wanting to tell her that a little lead wouldn’t kill you. 

“That is not for her,” Dreykov says, pointing at Taskmaster’s gun. “It’s for you.”

Before you can even blink, Taskmaster removes the gun from your head and aims it at Natasha.

BANG.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Sorry to leave yall on ANOTHER cliffhanger. But one more part to go :)

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[natsgrave]

The Camgirl Next Door

Series Masterlist

Summary: One of your favorite ways to relieve stress is by watching a beautiful camgirl named “Scarlet Witch.” When Wanda Maximoff, Scarlet Witch herself, moves in next door, you fall for her.

A/N: My first series! Hope you all enjoy!

This is an 18+ series with nsfw content. Chapters with smut are marked with *.

Part 1 - New Neighbor*

Part 2 - First Date*

Part 3 - The Morning After*

Blurbs/Drabbles in this AU

[natsgrave]

Stuck Together - Part 7

Summary: After Westview, Wanda and her children go into hiding. She's not happy with the person in charge of protecting them.

Wanda Maximoff x F! Super Soldier R

A/N: Final part is here. Thank you to everyone reading :)

Quiet.

Something you love. Or used to, anyway.

It’s stupid, how fast you got used to the little things. The sounds in the kitchen as Wanda made coffee. The hurried steps of fhe boys, eager to join Riley in a morning walk.

Now you’re back to being alone, feeding the animals, looking out the window while the radio plays some generic music.

Everything’s so bland and boring and you hate it.

Then, one morning, you hear a car parking in the driveway.

“Sestra!” a voice with a heavy accent calls, and your shoulders drop. You realise a moment later that you were holding your breath.

Fanny barks, eager to say hello to Riley. You open the door, your dog sprinting out to greet Yelena and her pup.

There’s a brunette trailing right behind the Russian, looking around nervously.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, you left the hospital against medical advice. What was I supposed to do?”

“Hu-huh” you cross your arms, looking at the stranger. She hesitates, taking a step forward to introduce herself.

“Kate Bishop”

“Clint’s minion” you recognise the name. He told you all about their little stint in New York. You turn to Yelena, raising your arms. “I’m fine, all healed. You can chill”

“Well, we came all the way here, could we at least stay the night?”

In that moment, Riley sits at your feet, barking excitedly. You glare at the blonde.

“Only because Riley agreed”

“Good girl” she says, scratching behind her ears. With a roll of your eyes, you turn back home, Yelena and Kate close behind you.

As you prepare coffee and the two girls make sandwiches, you think of all the things Natasha told you about Yelena.

She was my little sister.

And you knew, that if anyone could understand your grief was her, out of all the people in the world.

But that didn’t mean you wanted to spend time together. It was a constant push and pull. Talking about Natasha and avoiding the topic altogether were both equally painful.

After a while, you show them the guest room. Yelena doesn’t flinch at the sight of one bed, and even when you mention the other rooms available (or even the couch), they both walk in.

As Yelena walks by you, you arch an eyebrow, and she gives you a stern look.

“Shut it”

Figuring it’s better to give them some privacy to settle, you take a stroll around the farm, Lou happily following along while Fanny and Riley chase each other.

Your mind is a mess, and you don’t know which way to turn to hurt less. As usual, there’s a weight in your chest when you think about Natasha, and how much you miss her. But now, Wanda’s abscence is also there, the wound very much fresh and open, as only a few days ago she was in your arms, promising to stay.

For the first time in years, you miss going on missions.

“Had a good walk?” Yelena says when you’re back. You just shrug your shoulders, sighing as you go up the steps. “Well, ok. Have a seat”

“What is Bishop doing?” you ignore her invitation, taking a look through the window.

“Trying to cook dinner”

“Is she going to burn my house down?”

“I’d give it a 40-60 chance of it happening” the blonde smiles, clearly not worried about it. Then, she pats the space next to her on the porch swing. “Now come. Sit”

With a sigh, you walk up to her and lean against the bannister, crossing your arms as you look at her. Yelena rolls her eyes at your defensive stan.

“So, what’s the deal between you and this Wanda?”

“Nothing”

“Not what I heard” she shakes her head, amused. You glare.

“From who?”

“Barton”

“Oh, come on. You were trying to kill the guy a few weeks ago and now you gossip? He braids your hair while he’s at it?” you mock.

“Ok, fine. Not directly from him. He called Kate and she called me”

“She called you or you were together?” you tease her.

“Stop being an ass. Tell me what’s going on”

You look away for a moment, thinking that you could tell her it’s none of her business. Ask her to leave you alone, to try and get drunk, forget about everything that’s weighing you down.

But you can’t. Because, whether you like it or not, you’re bound by grief, and loss. And love. Love for Natasha.

If she was struggling with something, you’d be chasing her around until you made sure she was ok.

“Nothing. I thought… Hill asked me for help to protect her. And for those couple of weeks, I developed these feelings. Maybe I was just lonely”

“Feelings? Like love?”

“I guess. But she left, and it’s probably for the best. She’s right; someone always gets hurt”

“You’re already hurt” she replies, her voice gentle.

“I’m a big girl, I’ll get over it”

“But do you have to? Why not go after her? Give yourself the chance to be happy. Just once”

“I don’t think… I didn’t do anything to stop her, Yelena. I don’t think I can be happy, after failing Natasha” you finally say, voice shaking.

“You didn’t fail her. She made a choice. After everything she went through, all the possibilities that were taken from her… do you really think the last thing she ever did was against her will?”

You can’t answer that.

What’s worse? To think you could have stopped her? Or that her sacrifice was always inevitable?

Yelena stands up, her hand on your shoulder.

“Just… remember what you told me. A life worth living. That’s the best way to honor her memory”

“Yeah” you sigh, looking up. You hate crying.

Though, a second later you smell the smoke and hear Kate’s scream.

“We should probably go help her”

“And order some pizza” Yelena adds, smiling as you roll your eyes.

—

It’s been a while since you’ve been here.

The gifts and letters scattered around always warm your heart.

There are people who value her, honor her life.

Natasha’s legacy.

As far as your little tribute, it’s all the plants you placed around this hidden corner of land.

You spend some time cutting and cleaning the grass around the gravestone, and then turn your attention to the flowers.

The peonies get pruned, daffodils adding a spring of color. You know the hydrangeas aren’t blooming until early summer, but that’s fine.

Natasha once told you; bare trees or withering flowers didn’t make her sad. It meant she was staying long enough in one place to watch them go through every season. It meant she had a home.

Once you’re done removing the soil, checking the watering system you installed, and fixing the little gifts people left for her, you sit on the floor, watching your hands.

“Sorry for not coming sooner. Hill called me. And you know I answered because she was your friend. Turns out she wanted me to help out Maximoff. She got a bit more annoying than when she was running around the Compound looking like a raccoon with all that eyeliner” you chuckle at the memory of her dark clothes, rings and smoky eyes. She couldn’t look more different now.

“I should have known it was going to be trouble, and I don’t mean just because I almost got killed twice. It’s because… I started to fall for her. She has two kids, by the way. Born from magic or some weird deal I don’t really understand”

I didn’t think I had it in me, to fall in love again. Not only because I lost you, but because I had been so angry at everyone. It felt like I only had space for that emotion. Anger.

But I saw myself in Wanda. In everything she lost, in all the things that were taken from her, without so much as an apology. And I want more for her. I want her to be happy. Maybe with me. Why not?

As usual, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. It’s different this time, though. I still feel sad and lonely, but it’s also a different kind of nostalgia. I can think about you and appreciate everything we shared.

Most importantly, I think I’m finally ok with the fact that you made your choice. I have to trust that you knew what you were doing, Tasha. And that whether I like it or not, it is what you wanted.

You lean your head against her grave, the stone cold against your skin. It makes your heart ache, it makes you wish you could bring her back and feel her warmth against your body.

How could you ever think Wanda’s a monster? If you could, you’d create a new reality, a new universe where Natasha gets to live the life she always deserved.

But you can’t do that. All you can do is go and find your own happinnes.

With a final touch, you speak softly, hoping she can hear you, wherever she is.

“I love you, so damn much. And I always will”

—

Very few times in her life, has Wanda regretted putting on The Dick Van Dyke Show.

And then, she realises what episode they’re watching.

Never name a duck.

The one where Ritchie becomes attached to two ducks, but only one of them survives. Until he’s sick and the vet tells Rob he needs to be in the wild.

The words that come out of Rob’s mouth make Wanda think of you.

“But maybe that was a selfish love”

That’s exactly what she thinks her love for you is. Selfish.

You didn’t ask for any of this, and Wanda’s not about to burden you with everything she carries. She’ll manage alone, like she has done ever since Pietro died.

Except she wasn’t alone. There was Vision, Steve and Natasha. You, in the background, doing your part, fighting for Wanda’s right to have a life outside of this.

Even if she misses you, you deserve to have a life.

And so, she let you go.

“Can we watch something else?” Billy asks, and Wanda can tell the show is making him sad as well.

“Sure, sweetheart”

After watching Zootopia, the kids drag their feet to the room they’re sharing. Fury provided another safe house, while Wanda decides where to go next. Billy and Tommy need stability and of course they won’t get it by changing houses every other day.

“Can I ask you something?” Tommy says, turning to look at Billy, making sure his brother’s asleep. “Is Y/N ok?”

“I sure hope she is, my sweet boy. She knows how to take care of herself” Wanda smiles at him, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears that are almost rolling down her cheeks. “Now you get some sleep, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow”

“Night, Mom” he replies, settling in bed.

As Wanda takes a moment in the hallway, she allows herself to think about you, probably back home. Watching Ancient Aliens, cursing at the TV as you sip on a bottle of beer.

It’s stupid, how much comfort it brings her to think of you doing the most absurd things.

Said comfort doesn’t last long, though. She hears a branch snapping close to the house. It’s a small place and the road ends a few feet away from the entrance. So, whoever approaches has to leave their vehicle and walk to the front door.

Without wasting a second, she goes to the door, hand up in the air to hold the intruder.

“Hey, now wait a second” you say, smiling.

Wanda’s so shocked that she drops her hand, you crashing down immediately after.

“I’m sorry” she rushes to your side, and you sit up. Wanda places her hands in your face,  fingers tracing the cuts and bruises that are still healing.

On pure instinct, you move forward, kissing her. She moans against your lips, allowing you to wrap your strong arms around her waist. But then she remembers.

“Stop”

“No” you shake your head, pulling her closer. “You said you’d stay, Wanda”

“That was before”

“Before…”

“You almost got killed because of me” she sighs, pushing her hair back and standing up. You follow her, reaching for her hand.

“Can’t even tell you how many people have tried to kill me. And I’m still here”

“It wasn’t just him. It was Agatha too. And who knows what else? I’m like a magnet for these things. I don’t want you getting hurt” she says, arms around her own body, as if desperate to find something that can hold her together.

“Wanda… bad things are going to happen. It’s part of life. Wouldn’t you want to face them with someone who… who cares about you?” you whisper, holding her chin between your fingers.

“I’m scared”

“The thing is, we’ve both lost people. And I know, I can’t deny that a part of me will always love Natasha… but I think I have to accept she made a choice. And I should try to live my life. I think Vision would want that for you as well. I mean the real Vision; not that white awful thing” 

“I just don’t want to lose anyone else. I don’t know if I can take it” she says, finally reaching forward. You kiss her temple.

“Well, just come back home and we’ll take it one day at a a time. Together”

“The kids miss you” she says after a beat of silence.

“And I miss them, but I swear if there’s a fourth Cars movie I will burn down Pixar myself”

Wanda laughs for a moment, her breath tickling your skin.

“Promise me you won’t leave me” she says against your neck and you smile, making her look at you.

“Scout’s honor, witchy”

“Don’t…” Wanda’s about to fight you on the nickname, when you meet her lips in a soft kiss.

“Just stop fighting it. You like me too much”

“You wish” she teases, kissing you again.

Looks like you’re stuck with each other.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[natsgrave]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

Sumary: When Natasha finds herself missing your presence, she realizes just how much her life has changed. What once felt like an afterthought now feels essential. She never imagined how much she’d come to need you, and how much better life is with you by her side.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Platonic!Avengers

Word count: 7410

Warnings: A very soft Natasha, bad Mood, Dry jokes, saudades. +18 content.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Author’s Notes: Part three is finally out!! Thanks for all the love you guys are sending to this work. Feel free to send me an ask so we can talk about our mini family—please do, I’m dying for this 😭😭😭

゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᥫ᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༝ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨♡୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᡣ𐭩 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꩜　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ��� ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　⸝⸝⸝♡　　⁺　　୨୧　　　₊　 　 ˚₊

There were worse things than waking up happy. Natasha just wasn’t used to this version of it—the soft kind. The kind that came in slowly, quietly, like sunlight slipping through half-drawn curtains. It didn’t blaze or demand. It settled.

You’d already come and gone that morning—something about Stark needing a schematic review—but you’d left behind your usual trail of affection: still-warm coffee in the red mug she always pretended wasn’t hers, a brown paper bag with her favorite pastry, and the faintest trace of your perfume clinging to the pillow beside hers. She didn’t need any of it. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed. But damn if it didn’t make her want more.

Ana was still asleep in her little bed across the room, curled under the corner of Natasha’s old hoodie, breathing soft and even. Natasha sat at the table barefoot, coffee in hand, half-smiling to herself without realizing it. This wasn’t a fairytale. It was better. It was real.

You hadn’t said anything official, neither had she. But somewhere between the flowers once a week and the lazy mornings on her couch with your head in her lap, something had clicked into place. A silent agreement. You were hers. She was yours. And neither of you were going anywhere.

You were at her apartment almost every day now. Sometimes just to nap. Sometimes just to exist in the same space. But most nights, after Ana was asleep, it turned into something more—long, drawn-out kisses on the couch, tangled limbs in the low glow of the TV, your mouth on her skin like you were trying to learn her by heart. Natasha didn’t let many people get close. But you didn’t try to break her walls down. You just made her feel safe enough to lower them on her own.

There were still moments when it hit her hard. When she’d glance across the room and see you with Ana—sharing snacks, playing with puzzle pieces, carrying her on your hip like she belonged there—and Natasha’s chest would tighten in a way that almost hurt. Because this wasn’t a dream. This was real. And somehow, it was hers.

She’d never imagined she’d get this. Not the child. Not the quiet mornings. Not you. And yet, here she was. Drinking her favorite coffee, in her apartment that didn’t feel lonely anymore, with the sound of her daughter breathing peacefully in the background and the ghost of your kiss still lingering on her lips.

Natasha Romanoff, international spy, ex-assassin, former Avenger… was in love.

And for once in her life, it wasn’t complicated. It was just right.

Natasha had never planned on falling in love. Especially not with someone younger. Much younger.

She told herself that in the beginning. Repeated it like a prayer, like a defense: you were twenty-three. Brilliant. Reckless. Overflowing with the kind of fire she thought only existed in people who hadn’t been broken yet. And yet—you chose her. You chose them.

You stayed. Through all the chaos. Through Ana’s tantrums and midnight wake-ups. Through Natasha’s silences, her scars, her tendency to shut down instead of open up. You brought flowers when she was having a bad week and didn’t want to say it out loud. You brought chocolate when Ana was teething and neither of them had slept in two days. You brought yourself—unapologetically, completely.

The first time you left, Natasha barely flinched.

Three days. That was the length of your mission. A simple extraction, routine enough that even Fury hadn’t been concerned. She hadn’t made a big deal of it—kissed your temple before you left and made some half-hearted joke about bringing her back something interesting. And that was it. She’d spent the first evening watching cartoons with Ana curled up on her chest, the second one organizing files in the quiet of her room, and by the third morning, you were back, carrying pastries and that tired grin you always wore when you pushed yourself too far.

She remembered thinking it was fine. She didn’t miss you. Not really. Not in any way that was abnormal.

But then it happened again.

A month later, another three-day mission. Longer distance this time. Minimal contact. She told herself it wasn’t a big deal again. She’d survived years without attachment—three days without you shouldn’t even register. And yet…

This time, there was a shift.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing worth naming. But the silence felt heavier at night. She lingered longer by her phone, her thumb hovering over your name more often. She still had Ana—her anchor in everything—but there was an odd, persistent restlessness underneath her skin. She snapped at the coffee machine one morning when it jammed. She cursed a little louder when she stubbed her toe. Nothing big. Not enough to call it anything.

She didn’t realize it for what it was. Not then.

She thought she was just tired. She told herself she’d been too used to sharing space with you, that maybe you’d spoiled her by being around so much. That was all. Nothing serious.

But then came the third time.

Present day. And this time?

It was bad.

You were gone. Again. And everything felt off. Off-kilter. Wrong. The apartment felt colder, and Ana—sweet Ana—was crankier than usual, refusing naps, pushing her food around on her plate, clearly missing you in her own small way. Natasha tried to hold it together, but this time it wasn’t just silence—it was absence. It was the absence of your coffee cup in the sink. The lack of your music humming from the bathroom. No sarcastic quip about her black ops hoodie or shared glances over Ana’s head when she did something ridiculous.

Natasha was fraying. Worse—she knew it.

And she hated that awareness.

She tried to channel the frustration into something useful. Clint had agreed to run combat drills with a new batch of recruits, and Natasha threw herself into it with the kind of sharp, violent precision she hadn’t leaned on in years.

She didn’t hold back.

The gym floor was already slick with sweat, and the sound of fists hitting pads echoed like thunder between the high ceilings. The new recruits—bright-eyed, fully trained, and supposedly ready for fieldwork—were scattered across the mats like a massacre had just taken place. Natasha paced in front of them like a wolf in black leggings, half-sane from too many hours of sleep deprivation and too few texts from you.

“Again,” she ordered flatly, and a collective groan rose from the group.

One of the girls—Elena, maybe? Or Eliza? Natasha didn’t bother remembering—wobbled to her feet and tried to correct her stance.

“You’re favoring your left. You do that on a mission, you’ll lose a kneecap.”

“I—uh—okay, Agent Romanoff.”

“‘Okay’ isn’t gonna regrow your kneecap, sweetheart.”

Clint snorted from the corner, arms crossed, chewing on a protein bar like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

“You know,” he said casually, “some people call this mentoring.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, looking entirely unimpressed. “Some people have standards.”

Clint raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, no judgment. I just don’t think Stark’s daughter would’ve survived your version of boot camp.”

“She wouldn’t have whined this much,” Natasha shot back, already circling the next recruit—tall, cocky, abs for days, too much gel in his hair. She jabbed at his shoulder with two fingers. “You flinch like that again, and I’m gonna have Steve run you through shield drills until you cry.”

“I—I’m not flinching.”

Natasha stared him down. “You blinked when I said ‘Steve.’ That counts.”

Clint laughed outright now, leaning against the wall. “You’ve been extra scary lately, Nat. Should I be worried?”

“Just bored,” she muttered, even though they both knew that wasn’t the truth.

“Bored?” Clint raised a brow. “This is your version of bored? I can’t wait to see what happens when you’re in a bad mood.”

She shot him a dark look that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Keep talking and I’ll put you on the mat.”

“Oh no, anything but that,” he said, hand on his heart, mock-fear in his voice. “Whatever will I do if my bestie breaks my spine in front of Gen Z?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barton. I’d let one of them do it.”

One of the recruits whispered, “We can hear you,” and Natasha turned just enough to give them a slow, feral grin.

“Good. Maybe it’ll motivate you.”

They looked like they wanted to cry, She didn’t care.

Because if she stopped moving, stopped teasing, stopped being this barely tethered version of herself—then maybe the ache in her chest would start catching up.

And she couldn’t afford that.

Not yet, You were still gone.

Natasha Romanoff was a force in the training room. Everyone knew that. But even she had her rhythms — the way she sized someone up, tested their footing, let them learn through a bruise or two without destroying what little confidence they had. But not today. Today, she was sharp. Clinical. Unforgiving. Every correction came with a hit, every mistake was pointed out with the flick of her staff or the slam of a mat.

By the end of the session, half the recruits were limping and the other half were trying not to look like they were on the verge of crying. They weren’t rookies. All of them were somewhere in their early twenties, eager and just green enough to think they had something to prove. Normally, Natasha would break them down with precision, then build them back up.

Today, she left them scattered across the floor like discarded chess pieces.

“Alright, go,” she finally said after a bit more of torture, waving a hand like she was shooing pigeons instead of a group of elite S.H.I.E.L.D. trainees. “You’re all free to cry in the showers. Debrief’s in two hours. Don’t be late or I’ll actually try.”

The room cleared out faster than a fire drill.

Clint, who’d spent most of the session leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his mouth shut, finally raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” he said. “That was brutal.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “They’re fine. They signed up for this.”

“They signed up for basic tactical sparring, not full-contact therapy.”

She gave him a look, but there was no venom behind it.

Clint stepped forward and offered her a bottle of water, which she took without a word.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on or should I wait until you start decapitating punching bags?”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re always tired. This is different.”

She stayed quiet. Long enough that Clint didn’t think she was going to answer. Then—

“I’m not used to being alone anymore.”

That surprised him. Not the words, maybe, but the way she said them. Flat. Matter-of-fact. Like it was a diagnosis she didn’t quite know what to do with.

“I mean, I can do it,” she added quickly, like that mattered more. “I’ve done it most of my life. I know how to keep Ana on routine, I know how to make sure the bills are paid, I know how to function—”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

Natasha glanced at him.

“I know that look,” Clint said. “You’ve got it under control on the outside, but inside you’re counting every creak in the apartment.”

She didn’t answer, which meant he was right.

He softened his tone a little. “This the third time?”

Natasha nodded. “First time was fine. Just a three-day recon. Ana missed her, I missed her, but I kept busy. Second time was about a month later. Same length. But it hit differently. I was irritated all the time, couldn’t explain why.”

“And now?”

“I’m snapping at everyone,” she muttered. “I haven’t been able to fall asleep without checking the door three times. I wake up every hour thinking I heard something. My body feels like it’s stuck in defense mode.”

Clint tilted his head. “She make you feel safe?”

Natasha let out a dry laugh. “Isn’t that ironic?”

Clint smiled gently. “Maybe. But not surprising. You’ve spent your whole life being the safe one. The one with backup plans and exit routes and eyes on every angle. No one ever stuck around long enough for you to want safety.”

She didn’t deny it.

“I didn’t even notice,” she said after a moment. “That it was happening. I just… slept better. I rested. When she was around, I wasn’t bracing all the time. I started drinking my coffee while it was still hot. I didn’t flinch every time Ana made a noise in the middle of the night.”

“Must be weird.”

“It’s terrifying,” Natasha said, but there was a hint of a smile there now. “Because I didn’t think I was missing anything. I wasn’t unhappy. I had Ana. I had work. Everything was fine.”

Clint didn’t interrupt. He could see the thoughts still arranging themselves behind her eyes.

“She’s young,” Natasha said eventually. “Bright, loud, stubborn. She walks into a room and everything wakes up. And then… when she leaves, it’s like the apartment forgets how to breathe.”

Clint grinned. “Wow. You’re really down bad.”

She smacked his arm.

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “That sounds like someone who’s trying real hard not to use the word love.”

“I’m not saying it to you.”

“But you’re saying it.”

Natasha looked away, then back, then sighed.

“She’s only been gone for a week” she muttered. “And I already feel like my skin’s too tight.”

“Yeah,” Clint said softly. “That’s love, Nat.”

She didn’t reply. Just stood there with her arms crossed, jaw tight, like she was trying to keep the storm in her chest from spilling out across the floor.

And Clint didn’t push her.

Because he knew her. And she’d say it when she was ready. But until then, he’d be there. And maybe, if the world played fair for once, she would be back soon too.

She just left without saying a word to him and wandered to the kitchen, chasing the illusion of calm in a cup of coffee. A desperate attempt to reset, to claw her way back to something that resembled her usual mindset. Useless? Absolutely. But still a valid attempt.

She used what little spare time she had to chip away at the paperwork piling up on her desk, going through the motions while her brain begged for a break, but she couldn't bring herself to stop

When the clock finally pushed her toward the inevitable, she made her way to the meeting room. It was still quiet—mercifully so—and she let herself enjoy the silence for what it was: the last moment of peace before the incoming storm of idiocy.

Clint arrived not long after.

“Ready to deal with them again?” she sighed, barely turning her head to look at him. “It can’t get worse, right?”

It did.

After snapping through training drills and watching half the recruits nearly cry from a simple sparring critique, Natasha thought she’d reached the peak of her frustration. She thought the fire had burned out enough that she could sit through something as low-stakes as a mission planning session without needing a punching bag. She was wrong.

They were in the meeting room, a stack of files spread across the table, and the only thing more painful than their blank stares was their awful strategy logic. It wasn’t even an actual op—they were just meant to propose a plan, something clean and professional, basic protocol. But somehow they managed to turn it into the most chaotic, disjointed mess she had seen since Clint tried to microwave a steak.

One of them suggested a twelve-person infiltration team for a two-man job. Another thought a decoy explosion in a civilian area was a “good distraction.” Natasha stared at that one for a long time. Said nothing. Just let the silence hang until he cleared his throat and tried to backpedal.

It was hell.

They were hell.

And the worst part was, she couldn’t even find the energy to get mad anymore. She just wanted to be anywhere else.

She found herself thinking about your hands.

How they moved when you spread files across her table. How you always started a plan from the middle and worked backwards like it made more sense that way. How your theories were messy, but your execution was precise. How your dumb croissants always left flakes on her floor, but your coffee? Always perfect.

God, she missed you.

These newbies were making her feel ancient.

And somehow… you never did.

Which, in that moment, made her realize something even worse, She wasn’t just used to your presence. She had started to rely on it.

And now? With your chair empty across the room and a dozen voices talking over each other like toddlers playing spy?

She’d never wanted to quit a debrief so badly in her life.

She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, lips pressed in a flat line as she watched one of the recruits confidently draw a completely backwards tactical map on the whiteboard. The entrance and exit points were the same. The safe zone was placed inside the potential combat perimeter. And their plan to extract intel involved “grabbing the briefcase and hoping for the best.”

Natasha blinked. Slowly.

She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t laugh.

She just watched. With the dead-eyed stare of someone whose soul had left her body approximately five minutes ago.

Clint was sitting to her right, trying—and failing—to stifle his amusement. She caught the edge of his grin in her periphery and didn’t bother to hide the glare she shot back.

“You’re enjoying this,” she muttered under her breath.

“Immensely,” Clint whispered, taking a casual sip of his water. “This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”

She let her head fall back against the chair with a quiet groan. “I’ve trained toddlers with better tactical awareness.”

Clint chuckled. “You did train a toddler. Yours has better instincts than these guys.”

She exhaled sharply, the corner of her mouth twitching despite the ache behind her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

They watched another recruit stand up to add on to the plan, immediately contradicting the first half of it. Natasha let her eyes close, counted to ten, reopened them, and still nothing made sense. The files were sitting right there, everything they needed laid out in plain detail—but they weren’t reading, they weren’t thinking, they weren’t you.

You would’ve solved this in five minutes flat. Coffee in one hand, smug grin on your lips, and a completely insane but functional plan in front of her before she could even finish skimming the brief. You made chaos look elegant.

And you were so damn good at what you did.

Not just in the field. But with Ana. With her. With everything.

She missed the way you filled the space beside her. Missed the balance of it. The peace of knowing you were close enough to lean on, even when she pretended not to. She hadn’t realized how much calmer she’d become until you left—and now every breath felt too loud. Every second dragged.

You made things quiet. Inside her head. Inside her chest.

And without you there, she felt like her entire body was clenching around silence. Like she couldn’t relax. Couldn’t trust the stillness.

The room buzzed with voices again, someone suggesting parachutes in a low-rise recon op. Natasha stood up sharply, scraping her chair back.

“All of you,” she said flatly, “out.”

A beat of silence. Then chairs shifting, people scrambling, a few mumbled apologies.

Clint didn’t even try to hide his laugh now.

“You’re brutal.”

“They were parachuting into a building with three floors, Barton.”

“Bold,” he agreed, nodding.

Natasha rubbed her temple, tiredness dragging across her features like the weight of three sleepless nights. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at the table, at your empty seat, at the untouched coffee cup across from her that she’d placed there without thinking.

And Clint watched her. Quiet now.

“You okay?”

She let out a breath. “No.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he waited.

“I’m tired,” she said, not looking at him. “Not physically. Not really. Just—on edge. All the time. Like I’m waiting for something to go wrong and I don’t even know what it is.”

Clint watched her carefully, but she didn’t return the look. Her fingers tapped against the file in front of her, slow and bitter. She wasn’t trying to sound dramatic. She was trying not to sound like she was one sleepless night away from losing it.

“And don’t start with the maybe-you-just-need-a-break crap,” she added, her voice dry as dust. “I swear to God, Barton, if one more person tells me to go meditate or do yoga, I’ll throw someone off the balcony just to feel something.”

Clint raised his hands, surrendering with a little whistle. “Wasn’t gonna say a word.”

“Good.” She closed the file with a hard snap. “Because the only thing I’m doing is going back to my apartment, taking a damn hot shower, and snuggling with my daughter until the tension in my spine lets go or I pass out trying.”

“You sure you don’t want to join the rookies for round two?” Clint teased, watching her sling her bag over her shoulder with the kind of aggression that suggested something—or someone—was about to be strangled.

Natasha shot him a look that could peel paint. “Those idiots wouldn’t know a mission plan if it hit them in the face with a blueprint and a crayon.”

“Sounds like a no.”

“It’s a hell no.”

She pushed the chair in with a sharp movement and started toward the door. She was already picturing it—Ana’s small body curled under her arm, the smell of baby shampoo still lingering in her hair, the weight of something real and safe grounding her. The apartment would be warm. Familiar. You wouldn’t be there, but Ana would. And maybe that would be enough to stop her from unraveling further.

“I’m going to go cuddle my toddler,” she muttered as she walked away, mostly to herself. “In an attempt to soothe my fucking nerves before I kill someone.”

“Love that for you,” Clint called after her, smirking. “Tell Ana I said hi.”

But she didn’t answer. She just kept walking—jaw clenched, back stiff, heart pounding louder than it should.

And maybe that was the part that scared her the most.

It was getting harder to calm down without you.

She should’ve gone to her own apartment. She meant to. But in the elevator, her finger pressed your floor instead of hers. She stared at the button, thought about fixing it—and didn’t.

It wasn’t on purpose. Just muscle memory, maybe. Or something quieter. Something she wasn’t ready to name.

She ignored the unspoken rules of social decency—the ones about personal space, about waiting until you’re invited, about not letting yourself into someone else’s apartment when they’re not home. But rules had never done much for her. Not when her chest felt like it was pulled too tight, not when every inch of her skin ached to be somewhere that felt less.

So she walked in like she belonged. Because maybe she did.

The scent hit her first. Your perfume, soft and clean, still lingering in the air like you’d left only minutes ago. Her shoulders relaxed before she even realized it. The knot in her back didn’t go away, but it loosened, just enough for her to breathe. She scoffed under her breath, irritated with herself. This is ridiculous.

She wasn’t supposed to be the kind of woman who felt safe just because of a smell. That was something for romance novels and bad TV dramas. And yet here she was, sinking into it like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Pathetic.

But she didn’t leave.

Instead, she walked to your bathroom, peeled off her clothes, and stepped into your shower. The water pressure was—of course—better than hers. Much better. The kind of steaming hot that instantly blanketed her skin, wrapped around her ribs, and made the world feel like it could fade for a few minutes. She let her forehead press to the tile and made a mental note: Have her install one of these in my apartment. Perks of being your… something.

Natasha let herself fold. The heat hit her hard, softening the edges of her muscle, but not the ache underneath. That, only you could reach.

She braced a hand against the tile, eyes shut, water cascading over her back. Her other hand moved across her body, every touch of her own hands washing away the grime taking deep sighs and low whines come out of her mouth... she is a needy mess. the week, the endless static of a life too sharp lately. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t you.

Her fingers stilled at her collarbone, and all she could think about was your hands—gentler than she expected, steady, unhurried. The way you touched her like you had all the time in the world. The way your thumb had traced her hipbone once without even noticing, and it had made her breath catch like a damn teenager.

She wanted that.

God, she wanted you.

Not just your mouth or your body or the heat of your skin against hers—though she wanted that too, badly—but the presence. That anchoring calm you carried, the ease in your laugh, the way you never flinched when Ana clung to your chest or Natasha woke up gasping in the middle of the night. You were steady. You were safe.

And she missed you like hell.

The water rushed down her back as her palm curled against the tile. Her breath hitched—not from the steam, but from the ache in her chest. This wasn’t just about the day. Or the week. This was you, absent in a way she hadn’t let herself admit she wasn’t handling well.

She needed your hands. Your weight behind her. Your mouth pressed to her shoulder whispering sweet things on her ear... bringing her to a lazy orgasm, your fingers trusting inside her exactly how she likes it, that type of orgasm that made her bones melt. She needed to feel claimed—wanted—in the way only you managed to make her feel.

She let the water run until her skin turned pink and her legs felt a little less steady. But not weak. Just—softer.

She wrapped herself in your towel, tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked at her reflection. She felt ridiculous—needy in a way that made her wince. Two years spent living something close to celibate, and now she couldn’t make it through a week without you.

“Pathetic,” she muttered under her breath. And yet, she didn’t leave.

She wasn’t ready to leave.

Not when everything in this apartment smelled like you.

Not when your presence lingered in the sheets and the steam and the air she breathed like a promise.

Not when her skin still craved you more than the water could soothe.

Wrapped in your robe—still warm from where it had hung by the bathroom—Natasha felt like she was wearing a secret. The collar smelled like you. The sleeves hung past her wrists just enough to feel wrong on her body and right in every other way. The plush fabric swallowed her frame, soft where her skin was still pink from the shower, grounding her like only you managed to do.

She padded barefoot into your bedroom, towel-drying her hair lazily as she reached for your phone. You weren’t home, but she didn’t need permission. Not anymore. Not after the way you’d held her the last time she’d fallen apart. Not after the way your hands had memorized her.

She dialed the tower’s daycare.

It rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello—Avengers Tower Child Services, this is—”

“I need Ana.”

There was a pause, just long enough to signal the woman on the other end had recognized her voice. “Oh—are you coming down to pick her up?”

“No,” Natasha cut in, her voice low and dry. “Have someone bring her to Ms. Stark’s apartment.”

Another pause. Sharper this time.

Natasha didn’t usually pull rank. She didn’t like making people uncomfortable if she could help it, didn’t like reminding people of who she was unless she had to. But today? Today she didn’t give a fuck.

The silence on the other end of the line cracked into a gasp—the kind someone makes when they choke on air but try to hide it. “Ms. Stark’s apartment?” the woman repeated, barely managing to keep her voice steady. “But she’s—uh—she’s currently away on mission—”

“Exactly,” Natasha replied, cool and calm as ice. “I’m in her apartment.”

She hung up before the woman could recover, before she could come up with something else polite to say. The truth was already in the air. No taking it back now.

And maybe Natasha liked that a little more than she should.

Still barefoot, she wandered into your kitchen and opened the cabinet where she knew you kept the coffee mugs—second shelf, left side, tucked behind that one chipped one you never threw away. She picked your favorite, poured the last of the hot brew into it, and cradled it between her palms like it might warm her deeper than the robe already had.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a pair of your pajama bottoms—soft, a little too big, cinched at the waist with a lazy knot. your robe, draped over it. She smelled like your shampoo. She moved like someone who belonged in your space.

When the elevator dinged, she didn’t rush to meet it.

She walked slowly, casually, letting the scent of your coffee cling to her like another layer of you. She opened the door just as the delivery woman was adjusting Ana on her hip.

And the look on her face?

Priceless.

Natasha didn’t smile. Not really. But her mouth did twitch in a way that let the woman know she’d seen it. That she understood exactly what this looked like. And that she wasn’t about to explain herself.

She reached for Ana, who immediately threw her arms around her mother’s neck, cheek pressed into her shoulder with a tired little sigh.

“Thank you,” Natasha said, expression unreadable but voice polite.

The woman mumbled something in return, eyes flicking once more to Natasha’s clothes—your clothes—before she stepped back into the elevator.

And that was that.

Natasha smiled to herself, something smug curling in her chest, her mood instantly lighter—as if claiming you, even in a silent, indirect way, had flipped a switch in her head. The robe still smelled like you. The coffee was yours. The space was yours. And now, so were they.

She looked down at Ana, who was content and warm in her arms, still sleep-dazed with her cheek pressed to her shoulder. “Mama made it pretty clear,” Natasha murmured, voice full of dry satisfaction. “She’s ours.”

Ana made a little sound—a soft gag, half-laugh, half-yawn—like she agreed in her toddler way, and Natasha huffed out a quiet chuckle. “Exactly,” she said, brushing her lips over the crown of Ana’s head. “I didn’t even have to say it out loud. That poor woman nearly fainted.”

Ana mumbled something incoherent and tucked herself in tighter, her small fingers wrapping into the edge of Natasha’s robe.

Natasha carried her toward the bedroom, her hand cupping Ana’s back instinctively. She still had her coffee in the other hand, warm and familiar. “You know,” she said softly, talking more to fill the quiet than anything else, “you and I—we make a good team. I don’t even have to say what I want, and you go ahead and make me look all possessive.”

Another little sleepy gag came in response, and Natasha smirked.

They reached the bed.

It was still unmade from your morning rush—covers half thrown back, your pillow slightly indented. Natasha settled in like muscle memory, stretching out with a soft sigh as she adjusted the blankets over them both. She took one last sip of coffee before setting the mug on your nightstand.

Ana curled on her chest, tiny limbs draped naturally over her like she belonged there. Natasha’s hand moved up and down her daughter’s back in a rhythm she didn’t think about.

Everything smelled like you.

Everything felt like you.

And wrapped in your robe, in your bed, with Ana��s heartbeat against hers, Natasha let herself close her eyes for the first time that day and just breathe.

This—this was hers. And she wasn’t sharing.

Ana fell asleep fast—unfairly fast, in Natasha’s opinion. One minute she was blinking slow against her chest, the next, completely knocked out, tiny fingers still curled in the fabric of Natasha’s borrowed robe.

Natasha looked down at the peaceful little traitor and sighed through her nose. “Such a simp,” she muttered, mock-scolding, brushing her knuckles gently against Ana’s red hair. “You know that, right? One whiff of her and you’re out like a light. No standards.”

Ana didn’t respond, of course. Just let out a soft snore, drooling slightly onto Natasha’s chest.

“Gross,” Natasha added affectionately, then shifted with a little grunt of effort, sliding out from under her daughter with the practiced ease of a mother who’d done this dance too many times. She tugged the robe off her shoulders, tossing it to the chair by your desk, then pulled the duvet up to cover them both. It smelled heavenly. Like you. Of course it did.

She rolled her eyes—at you, at herself, at this whole situation she never thought she’d be in.

“Great,” she muttered as she settled in beside Ana again, tugging the duvet tighter around them. “She has turned both Romanoffs into complete idiots. Well done.”

The bed was warm. The room was quiet. Ana’s breath was slow and steady, pressed into her side now. Natasha tucked her arm around her daughter and let herself relax.

It didn’t take long before she was out too.

Simp, indeed.

It was, without a doubt, the best sleep she’d had all week. No tossing, no restless half-wakes at every small noise. Just warmth. The kind that wrapped around her bones, settled into her skin. The kind that whispered safety without needing to say a word.

Natasha was sleeping like a log, dead to the world. But even as she stirred, something felt different. Not wrong—no, not at all—but new. Or rather… familiar in a way she was beginning to crave.

There was an extra weight draped over her waist. Not heavy, but grounding. And then the scent—yours—undeniable, curling around her like a second blanket. It was the only reason she didn’t jolt upright like usual, the only reason her muscles stayed loose instead of tensing on instinct. She blinked, adjusting to the low light filtering through the room, and looked down.

Your hand.

Delicate, sure. But firm in its claim, wrapped around her as if she were something fragile and rare, something to be protected. Treasured. As if you knew what she tried to hide and wanted to shield her from it anyway.

She didn’t know how to breathe for a second.

She didn’t feel weak. She didn’t feel small. She felt… like yours.

Carefully, quietly, she rolled onto her side, slow enough not to disturb Ana, still asleep by her side. Her eyes met yours. Warm. Soft. Tired in the same way hers were.

You leaned in first. Or maybe she did. It didn’t matter.

Your lips brushed hers in a slow, unhurried kiss—lingering just a second too long to be casual, just deep enough to say I missed you without either of you needing to say a word. There was something sacred in the silence. Something steady in the pull between your mouths.

Longing and relief, tangled together in the stillness.

The kiss faded slowly, not because either of you wanted it to, but because the moment demanded breath—words. Familiar rhythm. Something to tether the weight of the morning to something more manageable. You stayed close, noses brushing, your hand still resting over her waist.

“God, you look terrible,” you whispered, the corners of your mouth tugging into a sleepy grin.

Natasha let out a soft huff of amusement, half-heartedly rolling her eyes. “Thanks, printsessa. Nothing like brutal honesty to start the day.”

You blinked at her, incredulous. “Day? Darling, it’s fucking 22:00. How did you manage to destroy your biological clock like this?”

You brushed a strand of her messy red hair off her cheek, your fingers deliberately slow, teasing. “No, really. Hair like a bird nest. Dark circles. You look like someone tried to cosplay insomnia.”

She smirked, biting back a laugh that might wake Ana. “I’ve been busy not murdering anyone this week, thanks to someone disappearing again.”

“I was working,” you said, mock-defensive, shifting just a little so your leg hooked around hers. “Some of us have very important things to do, you know.”

Natasha scoffed. “Right. And I’m sure the fate of the world depended entirely on your ability to drink five espressos and ignore my texts.”

You grinned, nose brushing her temple. “Six espressos, actually. And I wasn’t ignoring. I was… emotionally unavailable.”

That earned a soft laugh from her—real and unguarded. She tilted her head back just enough to meet your gaze fully, her expression still dry, but touched with affection. “You’re insufferable.”

You grinned wider. “And yet here you are. Wrapped in my sheets. Wearing my clothes. Sleeping in my bed.”

She pressed a quick kiss to your chin, her voice lower now, almost fond despite her teasing. “Yeah. Must be losing my edge.”

You pulled her closer again, arms snug around her waist. “Nah. You just found better edges to soften against.”

She didn’t say anything. Just let herself melt into you, breathing easier than she had in days.

She was quiet at first, her body still heavy with sleep as you brushed your fingers lazily down the slope of her waist. Her hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions, eyes half-lidded and unfocused as they slowly adjusted to the light.

You let your hand slide up, resting it on her ribs. “A little bird told me you weren’t exactly… thriving this week.”

She stilled slightly. “Clint?”

“Mmhmm. Said you almost impaled a trainee for calling you ma’am.”

“They earned it.”

You grinned. “You told one of the analysts she had the tactical sense of a door.”

Natasha grunted.

You snorted softly. “You’ve been stomping around the tower like a sleep-deprived dragon.”

There was a long pause before she finally sighed, low and quiet. “I don’t sleep well without you.”

You didn’t tease her for that one. Not this time.

Instead, you shifted closer, curling around her a little more, letting her breathe you in. Her shoulders softened. Just a little.

“I mean, if this is you at thirty-three, I can’t imagine the chaos when you’re sixty,” you said gently, your lips brushing her hair. “You’ll be throwing people out of windows for breathing too loud.”

Natasha let out a tired, amused sound. “That’s optimistic. I’ll be worse.”

You kissed her jaw. “Cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“You’re so cute when you’re cranky and secretly in love with me.”

She turned her face into your neck, mumbling something unintelligible, but you could feel the smile there.

Natasha was still tangled in the last traces of sleep, Ana’s little body sprawled by her side, her scent mingling with the faint sweetness of your perfume that lingered on the pillows. The calm wouldn’t last, she knew that. It never did. But for now, she allowed herself to rest in it—until you stirred beside her and she felt your fingers brushing her side softly.

“I have some news,” you said, voice low and close to her ear, carrying the weight of something important, but softened with warmth.

Natasha’s body tensed the smallest bit. It was instinctive, like a defense mechanism. That tone—it meant change. She shifted, careful not to wake Ana, and met your eyes. “What kind of news?”

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on your elbow, and smiled. “Good news, I swear.”

Still, she didn’t smile back. Not yet. She just waited, studying your expression. She’d learned to read people deeply, and you—God, you were the only person who ever made her forget how.

You reached up, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “Fury said I’m not necessary here in the Avengers anymore, so I can go back to England.”

Natasha blinked, just once—but it was enough. That word again.

England.

It was always there—hovering like a shadow behind your name, your work, your laughter. The place that could take you back. The place that wasn’t here.

Her throat tightened just a bit. “So… you’re leaving?”

You heard it. You always did. The tension behind her words. The shift in her breathing.

You leaned closer, your forehead nearly touching hers. “But I’m also not necessary in England either. So I chose to stay here.”

Natasha blinked, unsure. “Wait, what?”

“I said I had good news,” you cut her off gently, your thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “You’re looking at the newest member of the Avengers. Apparently one Stark wasn’t enough, so now they get to deal with two.”

That earned you a blink of surprise—and then, slowly, a breath of relief. Natasha didn’t smile, not quite. But the way her shoulders eased, the way her fingers curled slightly tighter around Ana, spoke volumes.

Still, you could tell her mind was spinning.

“So… you’re staying here?” she asked quietly, as if she didn’t quite trust the answer yet.

You nodded. “Fury said I could go back if I wanted. But I don’t. I want this. I’ll be living here. In the Tower. With you. With Ana.”

And that was the moment everything shifted.

You weren’t just dropping in and out of her life anymore. You weren’t a fleeting miracle or a reprieve between the chaos. You were staying. Permanently. Part of the team. Part of them.

A breath she didn’t know she’d been holding left her lungs all at once, and she couldn’t help the way her hand slid up to cup your cheek, holding you close as if anchoring herself to reality.

“You’re serious?” she asked.

You grinned. “Completely. They’re stuck with me now.”

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Poor bastards.”

You tilted your head. “That wasn’t very supportive, Romanoff.”

“Oh, I’m supportive,” she said, leaning forward to kiss your jaw. “I’m just also a realist.”

You chuckled, but even you couldn’t hide how full your chest felt—because you knew. You knew what this meant to her. To all of you.

“I missed you too, you know,” you added after a moment, a little softer now. “Don’t think you were the only one close to losing your shit. They paired me with this guy in his thirties—had more field experience than me but didn’t even know how to operate an advanced interface system. Almost blew up the whole thing trying to sync it.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “At one point I had to take over and told him to step back before I sent him to basic training again. I’m pretty sure I growled.”

She smirked, drawing circles against Ana’s back absentmindedly. “Sounds like you were channeling me.”

You smiled and leaned down, resting your forehead against hers. “I think I just missed home.”

That word hit. Home.

And somehow, this—you, her, Ana, this bed—had become exactly that.

Natasha sighed, curling her fingers in the hem of your shirt. “Well… I hope you like shared showers and stolen hoodies.”

You chuckled. “It’s part of the contract.”

She smiled against your mouth. Finally. And maybe this wasn’t perfect. Maybe the world would keep throwing chaos their way. But at least for now, there was one solid truth Natasha could finally hold onto:

You were home. And you weren’t going anywhere