if ke huy quan played peter parker..
[id in alt]
he stole his mask
𝐊𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌.
wanda maximoff's sons have soccer practice, while she spends some time with their young and ridiculously good-looking coach in the equipment closet.
──── ♥ pairing. milf!wanda x buff!footballcoach!reader
──── ♥ cont. sub!wanda, dom!reader, reader is gender-neutral but has a penis, shameless smut, blowjobs, thirsting, you are weak in the knees and the heart for milfy!wanda, possesiveness
──── ♥ note. saw lizzie's oscar look and got this whole idea lmao. i am swimming in requests but here this is anyways. sue me lol.
masterlist / AO3 / join the taglist
𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.
every saturday, tommy and billy maximoff have football practice.
it may seem like a hassle to some parents, having to take the time out of their day to drive their kids to this place and that, but for this particular lesson, wanda doesn't mind.
the reasoning for her sweet relief doesn't lie entirely within helping her darling boys play their favourite sport, as strange as that sounds. truthfully, the answer would lean slightly more towards the person that coaches them in that sport.
but, who could blame wanda?
after all, her boys' football coach was just about the biggest heartthrob she'd ever seen.
bronzed skin kissed by the sun, expanding over broad shoulders and a sturdy figure. biceps and triceps so prominent it was nearly blinding, and forearms so structured it made architects weep. wanda felt as if you were a greek god come to life, with an unfairly charming smile and large, large hands.
wanda knew she wasn't the only one, after all, thirsting over the classic young, hot, athletic coach.
now, watching you be surrounded by the younger moms with their kids, hanging off your every word, wanda couldn’t help but feel a bubbling feeling of jealousy rise in her.
wanda maximoff had never been a pushover.
"okay, so when scoring a goal you’re going to find small windows or open spaces. don’t wait for the perfect opportunity, take every chance you get.” you explained to the group of kids grouped in front of you in the hot sun.
“there’s no windows in football!” tommy maximoff helpfully piped up. the lively seven-year-old student of yours was always full of energy, quite unlike his twin, billy, who was generally more reserved and quiet.
you cracked a laugh at his response, before feeling a pair of eyes on you from behind. sitting in the court side benches was mrs. maximoff, with her dazzling smile, looking directly in your line of vision.
you gulped. god, as much as you loved teaching her kids, she was something else entirely. the way her exposed thighs were shining in the hot sun made your throat run dry. when mrs. maximoff gave you a playful wink, you felt something throb in your pants.
i swear to god, y/n l/n, if you get a boner in front of these seven-year olds i’ll kill you.
gratifyingly, you managed to evade the embarrassing situation, instead letting them practice goals on their own for a while.
as all the little kids were running around in the hot sun, you retreated to a sheltered corner to grab a drink. wiping the sweat off your forehead, you nearly jumped a metre high into the air when you felt a tap on your shoulder.
“didn’t mean to scare you, sorry darling.” mrs. maximoff said with a wry grin, sitting herself down next to you. you’re more than welcome to have her, noting the way her eyes raked over your taller, sweaty form. interesting.
“s’alright, mrs. maximoff. how’s your day been going?” you ask, attempting to strike up casual conversation. you ignore your heart beating faster in your chest.
wanda chuckles, leaning back with a sigh. “tiring, i suppose. extremely hot weather, though. summer is a blessing and a curse.” you’re about to agree with her wholeheartedly, before wanda’s casually unbuttoning her blouse. you choke on your words.
she’s absolutely mesmerizing. your eyes can’t seem to stray from her newly-exposed cleavage, accentuating her breasts and the pink bra that peeks through. it’s awful, you know, that your mind is running wild at the sight of the curve of her breast, but you can’t seem to help it.
the two of you spend some time, sitting on that bench, watching as the kids try and fail to kick the ball successfully within the goalposts. it’s almost therapeutic. until……
before you can react, the corner of your eye catches the sight of a stray ball.
it’s flying towards wanda and the drink in her hand, and by some miracle your goalkeeper senses are awakened seconds before it can touch her.
an arm flying out to stop the ball, you miraculously catch it with one hand at such a high pace. your hand flexes with the fierce catch, a well-muscled forearm now in wanda’s direct line of vision. time’s frozen for a second, as you watch wanda’s shocked face, almost blushing too. you’d never felt more cool.
but after your goalkeeper instincts kick in, your teacher instincts kick in, and you stand up to speak to the careless kid. before you can leave, wanda tugs on your arm. you spin around and you nearly faint.
unbeknownst to you, the drink in wanda’s hand had split with the impact of the ball, and it was all over her blouse now. to add insult to injury, it easily seeped through the thin material of the white blouse, basically making it transparent, baring to your eyes what was underneath.
the yells of the kids fade out as you stare at the wanda, shell-shocked. you can see…… everything.
despite wanda’s face of worry, you swear there’s a hint of deviousness in there, almost as if she planned to have her drink there. you shake your head. i’m goin’ mad in the sun, you think.
“i-uh, let’s get you some clean clothes, mrs. maximoff. sorry about the kids, i-”
“no worries," wanda answers promptly, holding on to your forearm. "don't want anyone else to see," she whispers, effectively hiding behind you as you lead her to the equipment closet.
the consequences of this, however, lie in the fact that you can feel wanda's nipples pressing into your back, small and hard and rubied. the searing heat in your pants is almost unbearable now.
calm down, it's not a big deal.
wanda's hand trails over the expanse of your back when the two of you reach the equipment closet, and you unintentionally shudder under her touch. you pretend you don’t notice the smirk on her face.
you shake your head vigorously, resisting the urge to slap your hands to your cheeks. she’s just my students’ mom, you think, swearing you don’t care about how close the two of you are.
when wanda’s ass brushes against your crotch. it takes every cell of your existence not to rip off your goddamn shorts and start fucking her against the wall. you’d never been so riled up.
“here’s some clean clothes. sorry about the size, though.” you mumble, averting your eyes when wanda tries to look at you. you shove the clothes into her hands, eyes fixated on a football on the shelf.
“help me with the button?” wanda asks, and you spin around, then you nearly choke. again.
she’s taken off her blouse, exposing her chest to your hungry eyes. the lacy pink bra is the object of your desires, distracting you in every sense imaginable. at this point, you couldn’t give a flying fuck about your boner. you know she’s as turned on as you.
"i get it, sweetheart, you're a young adult with needs, hm?" wanda asks in a sultry voice, walking up to you ever so slowly.
you swallow, not trusting yourself to speak. all you can do is stare at wanda with a haze in your eyes.
her hands reach the straining tent in your pants. it's erect, forming a bulge so huge wanda can barely cup all of it in her hands.
your breathing becomes ragged as wanda traces her fingertips along the bulge. you're looking down as she gets on her knees, eyelids fluttering.
she licks her lips.
"let me help you with that," wanda whispers, casting a look upwards. you bite back a low groan at her expression, so ready to pleasure you and take your length into her pliant mouth.
you raise an eyebrow in a challenge, staring down with dark eyes, and wanda is more than quick to rid of your shorts, admiring the sheer size of your fully-erect cock.
the tip is a cherry red, precum already leaking, and she eagerly laps up the remaining residue. you let out a moan, hands twisting into her scalp as you pull her mouth closer.
nothing could describe the euphoria you felt when wanda first wrapped her lips around your cock, clinging onto your tensed quadriceps to steady herself.
"shit," you groaned, throwing your head back, tugging onto wanda's locks of hair firmer. she let out a moan from the back of her throat, releasing your cock from her lips with a 'pop'.
moving on to languidly trail her tongue along your shaft, wanda showed off experienced skill in the way she maneuvered her way around your cock, teasing you up and down then licking at the slit.
fuck, you were close. really, really, close.
wanda was relentless in her ministrations, bringing you so close to the edge in such a short time. when she began deepthroating you, gagging prettily onto your cock, you’re sent tumbling over that edge with no safety net under.
“shit, mrs. maximoff,” you breathe, holding the sides of her flushed face, locking gazes with dilated pupils.
she gets up, slowly, brushing off her knees as if she hadn’t just brought you to a kaleidoscopic orgasm. “i’ll take my leave now, coach. the boys-”
you don’t grant her access to the exit, before you’re roughly pulling her back in for something more than just a blowjob.
after that racy encounter with wanda, the two of you seem to end up in the equipment closet a lot more. you’re making excuses, you know, pathetic, but you somehow manage to convince yourself you could ever have wanda maximoff.
you get to know her more, along the way, that her birthday is february 10, and her comfort food is parikash, and she’s sokovian, but her accent hardly ever makes its appearance anymore.
to you, wanda maximoff is more than a quick fuck, or a stress reliever. it’s stupid, you know, because she’s a divorced single mom with two kids and whole lot of responsibilities, and you’re nothing more than someone with too much love.
your role in her life is ambiguous to you. you sometimes wish you could dive into her brain to find out just what you are, but for now you have to be content with what you are.
the first time wanda brings you back home, you're more than eager to repay every favour she's given you.
she's hardly even unlocked the front door before you're lifting her up from the back of her thighs and up the stairs, making her so wet with that effortless, unyielding strength of yours.
it isn't long before you toss her onto the bed - the bed she used to sleep in with her ex-husband, the bed she spent hours masturbating on to the thought of you, the bed you were now devouring her on.
wanda doesn't know what she's done to deserve this, to deserve your deliciously thick cock ramming into her wet cunt, your hot mouth whispering affectionates into her ear, the silver chain on your neck dangling with each fiery thrust.
she's obsessed with the way your tattooed back muscles flex and move as you pound into her. she tries to forge it into her memory,
you're relentless, gripping her plush thighs and pressing her knees to her head. you know she takes yoga lessons and you haven't been more thankful for that flexibility.
wanda's spread entirely open for you, completely bare, all dripping and vulnerable, and you think you might just die.
that night, you make wanda see constellations she'd never witnessed, make her cum so hard wanda thought she might pass out, and simply take her.
that night was one that etched itself into both of your memories, of heat and fervour and lust and love.
love, those three words neither of you would dare to admit, of unsaid confessions and buried feelings.
when you lay beside a passed-out wanda, your own boundless stamina weary, you suppress the urge to stroke gently at her hair. it takes everything in you to not kiss her forehead and murmur things you'd always regret.
your heart was swelling, growing bigger each time you saw wanda maximoff, but she had little space in her life for you.
but for now, you wouldn’t care if it came back to hit you in the face.
for now, wanda maximoff would be everything to you, and maybe that would suffice.
taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @matchasrad @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @gay4lizzie @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @gingerninja-93 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @lovebelt05 @girllcver @natashaswife4125 @lexscursed26 @godsfavouritelesbiann @bvrxbre @zekespisshair @alcolanic @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @wandasloverr @cowxpoke | headers are from pinterest & @firefly-graphics
recently watched ant man, and i swear there was something going on with jentorra and cassie... or maybe that's my syndrome of seeing every fictional woman as lesbian LMAO hope yall enjoyed this, the fic i'll be writing next is probably this :)
masterlist / AO3 / join the taglist
PETER PARKER(S) + tv tropes (insp)
@pscentral event 13 | tropes
@lgbtqcreators creator challenge | tropes
y/n: what if shakespeare was gay?
wanda: oMg we would never know
y/n: RIGHT bc they were v homophobic back in those days
wanda: its a shakesqueer mystery
y/n: did will prefer his quills or having fun with boys from the mills?
nat: you two are literal children *shakes head*
tony: well you were the on who chose to date not just one, but BOTH of them
Y/N, longingly: That reminds me of Natasha.
Wade: Cotton candy?
Y/N: No. This picture of Natasha.
Make You Feel My Love
Warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, blood, miscarriage. Warnings may not be exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
Summary: Your ex finds you. (based on the gif below, credit)
Character: Bucky Barnes
Note: I don’t know what this is, it was a scene in my head and I wanted to write it. Please leave any thoughts or comments or reblogs or anything you like!
You plant the foot of your cane, your other hand in your pocket as you grasp the cluster of sharp keys. It’s late. You didn’t realise how late. The glare of the screen is still burned into your retinas as you blink at the heavy door.
You pause and glance over at the yellow glow peeking out from behind the black curtains. You must’ve left the light on. Lately, you forget everything. It might be sleepless nights, the vivid dreams, or the overtime catching up to you. Or you’re getting careless.
You wipe the thought away. You shove the key in the iron lock and twist it. You angle yourself around the grated door as you open it, letting it lean against your elbow as you grip the top of your cane and unlock the interior door.
The entryway is dark as you push inward and ease the door shut behind you as you enter. You lock it from the inside and shut the thick wooden door, turning every latch and hooking the chain. If you had any friends, you suspect they would wonder what exactly you’re trying to keep out.
You set your cane against the console table and drop your keys into the small drawer, the scrape of the wood thunderous in the silence. You sit on the wooden stool in the corner. You lift your right foot then your left foot, the second with a boost from your hand, and dump your boots on the plastic mat.
You reach for your cane again and stand, short steps between low groans. Sitting all day isn’t good for your hip, you feel it burning in your calf. You rub your eyes as you make your way down the hallway. That lamp must be nearly burnt out with how often you leave it on.
The hair on your arms pricks and you feel an icy trickle up the back of your neck. You stop just at the edge of the door frame, your cane plunking down bluntly on the floorboards. You stare at the yellow rectangle shining through onto the plaster of the opposite wall.
“We both know you can’t outrun me,” Bucky’s voice carries through the void, settling like wet sand in your chest. You grip the handle of your can tight and press your hand flat to the wall, “I’m more than happy to escort you in, doll. Carry you over the threshold just like the old days.”
You quiver and dip your head, lip trembling. No. No, you don’t cry about this anymore. You’ve adapted, you’ve overcome. You’re past him. He is the past.
Or so you thought. Stupid. Naive. You didn’t think you were still those things. But he’s there and you know he’s right.
You peer down at the shadow of your cane, you probably couldn’t even walk beside him and keep up. You lift it slowly and the first step is jarring. A flash of another time, another thump, several, a whirlwind around you, cracking pain in your pelvis, the same horror burning like acid in your stomach.
You come into the doorway, keeping your profile to him as you let out a hollow breath. You turn, dragging your left foot. You blink and clear the blur in your vision. You know this man, he feeds on any sign of weakness. He sucked you dry for six years.
He sits calmly on the couch, the glass shade of the lamp glowing amber behind him. His hand are folded together, his chin down as he twiddles his thumbs, the metal pushing against flesh. You feel it, the way it feels against your skin, around your throat. You hear his growl and your scream, feel the shift in the world as the colours smear and you land in a heap of agony.
That was then.
This is now.
The only thing that’s the same is him. You know it. You sense it. You don’t just change. That sort of bad is burnt to the core.
“Are you going to ask me?” He turns his head slowly, his blue eyes flaring as the tension ticks in his jaw. For a moment, he looks taken aback, almost as if he doesn’t recognise you, yet you see that you are all that he expected. “Go on, ask me why I’m here?”
You don’t reply. This is what he does. Taunts you into it. Baits you until you can’t hold back. Then he acts like you started it. Like you’re the bad one. Like you’re crazy.
“Alright, of course you already know that, doll face,” he chuckles, “tell me,” he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “have you been waiting for me? Huh? Come on, you didn’t think that all this…” he looks around, “would keep me away?”
You swallow, your mouth dry, throat tight, “I hoped….”
“You’re my wife,” he growls.
“Fuck that piece of paper,” he snarls as his irises blaze, an azure ocean threatening to drown you, “baby,” he shakes his head, “what happened–”
“Not what happened,” you hiss, “what you did–”
“All you had to do was to tell me the truth–”
“I told you the truth,” you insist and catch yourself, snorting as you tilt your head, “I’m not arguing with you. I can’t–”
He clucks and juts out his chin as he faces the room. He drags his fingers down his cheeks as he sits up. He stands slowly and you lean back on your right heel.
“You need someone. You need me,” he begins, “baby, look at you,” he does just that as he turns to you again, “I can’t stand it. Watching you struggle–”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“You didn’t think I would give up. You knew I wouldn’t.” He sighs, “why does it always have to be a fight, doll?”
“I left. I’m gone. We’re over. Two years. Is that not enough of a fucking hint?” You slam the bottom of your cane down, “Bucky, you did this.” You gesture to your leg as you adjust your hold on the cane, “don’t stand here and act like I chose this. Don’t you dare talk to me about helping. Help what? Yourself feel better? I’m not your fucking crutch anymore.”
His cheeks tense and you see that change. That way his eyes go distant, as if he sees through you, as if you’re not even there. His fist clutches against his left leg and he exhales heavily through his nose.
You suck back air and gulp.
The memory tugs at you. His grip on your throat, the edge of the stair under your heel, his growling tones, your mewling please, and the sudden drop. Bones bouncing on the wood, your stomach hitting the trim, and the cool floor at the bottom. The despair that bled from between your legs.
“I didn’t fall.”
“You fucking fell.”
“You killed our child, James. You. Not me. You have to live with yourself. I won’t.”
He covers his mouth and slowly pulls his hand down his chin. He snickers.
“You always were a fucking liar.”
You wince. Yes, he’s just the same as he was. But you’re not.
The smirk lingers on his lips, “what was that, doll?”
“I said go. Leave.”
He sets his feet wide and crosses his arms, “the alarm is disabled. Wifi is cut. Signals are jammed. No one’s coming. So, are you gonna make me leave? Leave my home?”
“Bucky, this is not your–”
“Wherever you are, is where I belong,” he sneers and steps forward. You brace yourself and shift back on your heel, “I still love you and I know, you love me.”
“No, you never loved me–”
Another step as you wrap your fingers around the metal, “I do. Don’t you understand that all I’ve done is look for you? I think only of you. I dream of you. I can’t escape you.”
“Bucky, no, no,” you heave as he marches closer and closer, “just go. Please. We both need this to end–”
“You’re fucking mi–”
He reaches for you and you throw your cane up, the foot swinging between his legs and ramming into his crotch. He grunts and staggers back. He cradles the front of his pants as he slips to one knee and you steady yourself, spinning unevenly and hobbling through the door.
Your footsteps form and clomping rhythm with the can, thumping against the wooden floor loudly as your breath quickens. You stumble the last few steps as you get to the front door. You won’t get much further than that, you always knew you wouldn’t be able to run.
You pull open the small cabinet mounted on the wall and punch in the code. It beeps and you open the safe. It’s empty. You hear the click as Bucky’s shadow darkens the doorway down the hall. You hit the side of the cabinet with your fist.
“Got the one in the bedroom and the one in the kitchen floor, too,” he grits out as he limps towards you, “doll, I know you better than you know yourself.” He approaches and aims the barrel at your head, “so let’s sit down and talk this out. We can fix it.” He comes closer and puts his other hand against your stomach, his real hand, “we’ll try again.”
SpiderMan from the MCU meets the batfam.
Iron Man barrels in with paperwork and a team of lawyers because it's HIS weekend
And that's how everyone finds out Tony Stark and Batman (not Bruce Wayne, Batman) are interdimensional ex-lovers with shared custody of Spider-Man
Star Wars: Darth Vader - Black, White & Red #2 [Textless] (Variant Cover) (2023)
Art by: Declan Shalvey
*Teen Morgan asks her Aunt Y/n an advice*
Y/n: Morgan just ask me how to friend-zone a boy and I think this is where my years of experience are finally going to pay off.
Yelena, who Y/n just met a few hours ago: you friend-zoned a lot of dudes?
Tony: oh she absolutely did. and then she met your sister who made her even gayer which i didn't know was possible.
Yelena, shocked: y-you're dating my sister?!
Nat, arriving from a meeting: oh, you two have finally met. she's the person I've been talking to you about. and we're actually engaged.
Yelena to Nat: wait, h-hold on. y-you're engaged? a-a-and you're gay?! not that i'm against it or anything, don't get me wrong... and i'm happy for you! i just- it caught me off guard and i need to process for a second...
Y/n to Yelena: sorry, i didn't tell you earlier... i thought your sister would want to be the one to tell you the news.
Yelena: ah, it's no problem! but if you break my sister's heart, i break your bones, got it?!
Y/n, giggling: i promise, i wont. i love her very much. *goes beside Nat giving her a reassuring smile*
Let me take care of you
Pairing: Natasha x you
Warnings: mentions of blood? Idk
Summary: Natasha has a bad solo mission, and it's up to you to fix up her injuries and make her feel better.
It was a little past four on a subdued, rainy afternoon when you hear the familiar sound of the apartment front door opening and closing.
With the knowledge that it must be your girlfriend, Natasha, returning from her two day solo mission, you turn down the heat on the stove before leaving the kitchen to go see her. It wasn’t often she went on solo missions anymore, especially not after messing up her leg a little over a year ago after a particularly bad fall, but director Fury was adamant no one else could get the job done as well as her.
It was a mission to retrieve a disc drive containing information on a critical government matter, and it required stealth and skill due to the amount of government officials involved. There were plenty of people capable for the job, as least that’s what you thought, but maybe you were just salty because you’d missed her more than normal.
You frown in slight concern when you see her still clad in her black widow suit, awkwardly kicking off her boots as she stumbles unsteadily in a futile effort to remain upright.
“Baby?” You question, stepping closer and placing a gentle hand on the small of her back. The red head startles at the sudden touch, whipping her up to face you. You couldn’t help but gasp slightly at the sight of the bloody, busted lip that greets you, reaching out to lightly graze the tip of your finger over the least painful looking part of it.
She gives you a pained smile as she finally manages to pull off her boots, stumbling forward into your arms. You were quick to catch her, a single arm around her waist as the other rises to cup the back of her head. Natasha’s hands seem to desperately clutch the back of your shirt, her trembling breath hitting the bare skin of your neck.
“It’s okay,” you murmur instinctively, craning your head down to press a soft kiss to her cheek, “you’re okay. Let’s go clean up, alright?” You murmur, and Natasha just barely nods, allowing you to bend at the knees before scooping her tired frame up into your arms.
Normally, Natasha would at least attempt to fight you. She’d go rigid whilst simultaneously voicing hostile words of disagreement. Stop that. I don’t need to be babied. I’m fine, and you’d roll your eyes fondly whilst telling her to just relax, and she’d comply, although she’d still curse in Russian beneath bated breath.
So when non of that happens and she instead falls limp in your arms, you knew tonight would be one of those nights. Where she’d leave everything up to you. Where she’d let you take full control.
No more than ten minutes later, you had Natasha sat on the closed toilet seat clad in nothing but a sports bra and underwear. Her body was littered with both bruises and scrapes, but those don’t seem to be bother her as much as her leg. The scar from her surgery stood out prominently against the pale skin of her thigh, and you lightly trace the pad of your thumb of the thick, raised line before leaning down to place a gentle kiss to it.
“Does it hurt?” You ask, looking up at her.
Natasha nods slightly.
“Bad?” You reaffirm, reaching for the warm, wet wash cloth you’d placed over the side of the tub before rising to your feet and gently cupping her chin.
She nods again as you begin to carefully wash the dried blood off of her face, and you notice her eyes become shiny with tears. Your heart tugs at the sight, because it was oh so rare your girlfriend allows herself to become this vulnerable with you. To show her pain and not hide behind a lie.
“I’m sorry baby. Will you take some medicine?” You ask hopefully as you toss the now soiled washcloth into the sink, reaching for the disinfectant and dabbing some onto her busted lip.
Natasha does no more than wince slightly, and you quietly apologise as you press your lips against her warm forehead in a tender kiss. She does however nod slightly at your words, and you knew then that the pain must be pretty bad.
The red head despised every single kind of medication out there and would often fight tooth and nail to avoid having to take it. She was somewhat okay with the traditional Tylenol so long as it was only a low dose, but anything unfamiliar was a no go, even when the pain eventually ends up reducing her to tears.
Even when she’d first broken her femur, the only way to get medication inside of her was through an IV and you’d better made sure she was sleeping. If not, she’d purposely rip out the line, and it took hours to convince her to let the nurse put other one in.
It was because of her past, you knew, so you never pushed her.
“What happened?” You ask as you place a hand on each of her thighs, trailing your fingers over the soft skin.
Natasha clears her throat softly as she places her hands over your own. “I jumped, and landed wrong.” Was all she offers, and you nod your head in understanding as you give the flesh of her thighs a gentle squeeze.
“Alright baby. Let’s get you showered and into bed, and then I’ll get you some medicine, okay?” You take Natasha’s hands and pull her to her feet, taking note of the fact she keeps the majority of her weight off of her bad leg.
“I need to take it now,” she murmurs as she clings to the material of your shirt, “otherwise I’ll back out.”
Nodding, you grab the medicine that had been given to her for her leg a little over a year ago and pour two pills out into your palm. You then hand them over; and Natasha only hesitates for a few moments before tossing them into her mouth and swallowing them dry. You tut at her in a light chastisement as you fill the glass kept by the sink with water, and Natasha rolls her eyes softly as she swallows down two large mouthfuls before handing it back.
You tip the rest of the water out and place the glass back onto the counter. “That’s a bad habit.” You voice your concern as you reach over to turn on the shower, checking the temperature with your wrist before hooking your fingers beneath the bottom of her sports bra.
Natasha sighs lightly as she brings her arms up, allowing you to pull the garment off of her. She watches as you toss it into the laundry basket. “I know.” she grumbles almost petulantly as she takes ahold of your shoulders to keep her balance as you tug down her underwear, giving her hip bone an affectionate kiss before returning upright. “It’s just easier.”
“I know.” you repeat her words with a understanding smile, placing your hands beneath her underarms to help keep her steady as you coax her into the hot shower.
“You too?” She murmurs as she leans against y the tiled wall holds out her arms, and you immediately nod your head as you wiggle out of your jeans and shirt. You could see that she was already becoming somewhat drowsy due to the strong medication in her system, and you weren’t about to risk her injuring herself further should you decide to leave her alone.
Not that you would ever admit that to be the reason. Natasha hates it when you worry about her despite the fact you’d reassured her that concern was normal in a healthy relationship.
You take ahold of her as you step into the shower, taking on the majority of her weight as her arms settle tightly around your bare waist. You cup the back of her head in response, fingers lightly combing through her damp tresses as your lips press tenderly against her hairline. You’d missed her so much. Her smell. Her voice. The feel of her body in your arms and the way she’d cling to you like you were her lifeline. You’d missed it all. And you couldn’t wait to take care of her.
“Alright baby. Can I wash your hair?” You ask as you break the silence, and Natasha does no more than nod her affirmative against your neck. You couldn’t see her face, but you could tell her eyes were closed to due to feeling of her eye lashes fluttering repeatedly against your skin. She was heavier against you now too, and you knew despite her best efforts to stay awake, she was slowly but surly losing the battle of consciousness.
Making sure to keep a supportive arm around her waist you reach for the vanilla scented shampoo and begin to coat it through her now wet hair. It takes two washes to rid the smell of sweat from her red tresses, but Natasha doesn’t seem to mind. She remains almost silent against you with the exception of her slightly hoarse breaths.
Man, you hoped she was coming down it a cold.
By the time you deem yourself done, the red head was barely holding on to consciousness.
“Okay, we’re done.” You ease her unsteady frame out of the shower and bundle her up in a large, warm towel, doing the same for yourself. You then take it upon yourself to scoop her up bridal style into your arms before carrying her into the bedroom, easing her down onto the end of your bed and kneeling down before her.
“Sleepy my love?” You question, reaching up to tenderly brush her wet hair out of her face.
“No.” Natasha grumbles as she instinctively leans into your touch, forcing her droopy eyes open.
“Okay,” you laugh slightly, the thumb of the hand still in her cheek gently grazing over the warm skin. “Let’s get you dressed and have some dinner okay? I made pasta.”
“Yummy.” Natasha murmurs with an almost dreary smile, and you smile softly as you lean up to press a gentle kiss to her lips.
Despite the fact your lips barely graze her own, she still winces in slight discomfort. Before you could pull away and apologise, her hand rises to cup your cheek, and your eyes flutter closed when you feel her lips brush against your nose. You return the sentiment almost immediately, the corners of your lips quirked up into a soft, endearing smile.
“Alright sleepy head, let’s get dressed.”
Nearly 600 notes on my touch starved imagine?! That’s literally insane!!
Is there anything you guys would like to see? I was thinking of a Natasha sickfic if that sounds good?
Thank you for reading!
“I’m going to watch the new Daredevil for the plot”
Captain America: The winter soldier plot: