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im not trying to make friends or fall in love
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Hondo: Time for plan G.
Street: Don’t you mean plan B?
Hondo: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties.
Chris: What about plan D?
Hondo: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.
Deacon: What about plan E?
Hondo: I’m hoping not to use it. Luca dies in plan E.
Tan: I like plan E.
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now at last the worst is over (reel against your body's borders)
S.W.A.T (2017)
Chris Alonso/Jim Street, Chris Alonso & Jim Street, Chris Alonso & David Kay, hurt/comfort, tenderness, post 5x09, coda
Rating: T
Words: 3463
Whatever this thing is between her and Street is just that, a thing. An amorphous, ever-present Thing that is going to turn into Something at Some Point. And she has no idea what she’s going to do when it does.
Or, Street helps take care of Chris after they get back from Langford.
Read here, or below the cut.
“Really, Deac, I’m okay. Street will be here in a few minutes with my truck, and he’s going to stay overnight to make sure everything is good, which it will be. Go home, be with Annie, and give everyone my love.” Chris’s hands play with the thin blanket on top of her as she looks Deacon straight in the eye. The day’s events in Langford are still only a few hours old, so she understands and appreciates his worry, but she also knows that she’s fine. Cuts and bruises, a sprained knee, cracked ribs, and a concussion are all things she’s dealt with before, and she tells Deacon as much, which makes him crack a small, wry smile despite himself.
“Okay. But please call if you need anything.” He leans down and kisses her forehead, a move she’d usually wiggle away from but accepts gratefully given the circumstances. Heading out, he throws one last comment over his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t worry about primping too much for Street, he likes you either way.”
With that, Deacon walks out, leaving Chris with her shock. She isn’t surprised he noticed, he’s always been able to read her better than the rest of the team, but she doesn’t like it, either. Whatever this thing is between her and Street is just that, a thing. An amorphous, ever-present Thing that is going to turn into Something at Some Point. And she has no idea what she’s going to do when it does, so she chooses to ignore it, badly, instead.
Luckily, she isn’t mired in her thoughts for too long before she’s jolted out of them by a soft knock and the door squeaking open. Street smiles at her, bag of clothes in hand, and she swears she feels her heart skip a beat; the heart monitor doesn’t seem to pick it up. He walks to the bed and sits the bag down on the foot of it, pulling out shorts, a tank top, and a zip-up hoodie.
“Do you need me to grab a nurse?” He asks, turning towards the door, “I know those leg braces can be a bitch.”
Chris, however, is already shimmying the shorts over her bruised legs. She pulls on the rest before taking off the hospital gown through gritted teeth. The act exhausts her, and she leans back onto the pillows before exhaling heavily and reaching over to hit the call button.
“It’s fine, Street. And you can turn around. Like I told Deacon, it’s not my first rodeo. I just need them to unhook me and to sign the paperwork, and then we’re good to go.” She says with a closed-lip smile, unconsciously tapping her fingers to dispel her nervous energy. Just being alone with Street in the same room shouldn’t cause her stomach to feel like it’s full of butterflies, but it does. When he takes another step towards her, heat builds up in her cheeks that she hopes he can’t see.
“By the way, my apartment is pretty devoid of groceries at the moment. So if we could stop somewhere, I’d appreciate it, unless you feel like playing chopped in my kitchen.” Street finally cracks a real smile, not one shadowed by worry or doubt, as he plops down in the chair next to her.
“Sure thing. I can call in something at the sushi restaurant down the street, if you want?”
Chris nods with a yawn. In the same moment, the nurse enters and begins to remove Chris’s heart monitor.
“I take it this gentleman is staying with you tonight?” The pair nods simultaneously.
“Perfect. They’re filling your prescriptions at the pharmacy downstairs now, and you need to be woken up every two hours for the next twenty-four hours, but get as much rest as possible between those check-ins. I need your signature on the bottom of this page.” The nurse holds out a clipboard which Chris signs quickly, more desperate to be in her own bed with each passing second.
“I’m going to give this to the desk to process, and as soon as that happens, in about five or ten minutes, I’ll be back in with a wheelchair to walk you out.” She nods at Chris, and with that, it’s once again just the two of them.
Chris clears her throat before she speaks, intentionally stilling her hands despite how badly she wants to wring them or hold onto the sheets or do anything to expel the excess energy coursing through her.
“Thank you for staying, by the way. Maybe, uh, maybe in a few weeks when everything is settled again I can grab you a coffee as a thank you.”
She doesn’t miss the look of surprise on Street’s face, quick as it is. It’s a small door, she knows, but the largest she’s willing to open given her own past and the rules they have to adhere to. Coffee is safe, it’s normal for a team member to grab another coffee, especially as a thank you, she rationalizes. Coffee can become something more, but it doesn’t have to. She doesn’t let her face betray anything else, any hope or worry that she’s pushed him away too much for him to be open to anything now.
“I’d like that. I’ll go grab your meds so we can get you home. You’ve had a long day, and I’ve had a long day worrying about your long day.” He gives her the classic Jim Street smile, open in a way she’s never felt, and totally confident. She gets the impulse to reach out, to hold him in this moment forever until she’s mesmerized the exact shade of his eyes and every dimple and freckle on his face, but all too soon he turns away. Panic grips her chest for a second, enough to make the pain in her ribs flare up, and she takes the deepest breath she can to get it under control. She’s afraid, Chris realizes, of what will happen when they’re out of the hospital and at her apartment. Where, intentionally or not, he’s going to see more of her than she normally allows by virtue of him being in her home, the parts of her that she keeps hidden behind her walls at work. Rationally, she knows he’s been at her apartment before, but never overnight. Even when she was spiraling after Erika’s death, she never brought anyone back to her place. She always kept it out in the world, in a place she could run away from. She can’t run away from Street for much longer (and she’s not sure that she wants to, anyway.)
The nurse reenters with a wheelchair and helps Chris lower into it. A second later, Street is back, putting the small orange bottle in her bag before slinging it over his shoulder and opening the door for the nurse.
Outside, the evening air feels like a new day as it washes over and through Chris. The blistering heat in the desert earlier that caused her lips to chap isn’t nearly as bad in California, and the sky is a blend of muted pinks and periwinkles dotted with stars that she can’t look away from. Street looks over at her, but seeing Chris unguarded and enamored is enough to make him not break the moment. It’s not often, if ever, people see her like this, and he tucks the sight away to linger on later.
“I’m going to pull the car around.” He whispers to the nurse, who nods with a knowing smile. Street can’t help but look back at her, just like she did earlier, and he’s once again hit with a massive sense of relief that she made it out alive, and anger that she was hurt at all.
The soft hum of the engine brings Chris out of her reverie. She chides herself for the amount of times her brain has gone fuzzy today, but considering the concussion, she can’t bring herself to care too much; she’ll have plenty of time to think comprehensive, consequential thoughts before she’s able to go back to work.
Street jogs around to open the back passenger side door, stopping when Chris gives him a look.
“I figure it’d be best for your leg to have it as elevated as possible. Humor me?”
“He’s right,” the nurse comments, “back seat is best until you regain some mobility in your knee.”
Chris sighs, grumbling a low “fine” before she steadies her breath and pushes herself up from the chair in one fellow swoop. As soon as she’s standing, Street’s by her side and wrapping his arm around her to support her weight, the nurse hovering in case she’s needed.
“This okay?” He asks, and at Chris’s small nod, the two take a tentative step forward. It doesn’t feel good, but Chris manages the rest of the way before leaning her lower back against the edge of the seat. With the help of Street and the nurse, she gets settled semi-comfortably in the back seat, head resting against the back of the seat and eyes fluttering. Street thanks the nurse for the both of them before going back to the driver’s side, and starting back home.
“Give me the crutches.” Chris says, voice groggy. She’s surprised she was able to sleep on the drive home; it’s a testament to Street’s driving through LA traffic, but she’ll never tell him that.
“Chris, are you sure?”
“Street, you’re not carrying me, and there’s no elevator. It’s a flight and a half of stairs, I’ll live.”
He sighs, but refuses to fight with her. He knows this is a bad idea, but if this is the quickest way to get Chris upstairs, then so be it. Once she’s got her feet underneath her, he adjusts the crutches and hands them over.
“I saw a spot when I pulled in. I’m going to park, and I’ll be back in a second. I’m asking you, nicely, to not start up the stairs.”
Chris wants to roll her eyes, but just the thought starts to give her a headache.
“Fine, but hurry, please.”
By the time they get to her door, Chris feels like she’s dying all over again. Her ribs are screaming, her breath keeps catching in her chest, and her leg is about to give out from under her. Street notices, worried, but still doesn’t say anything, just pulls the key from her bag and unlocks the door. Chris hobbles straight back to her bedroom, squinting against the light when she turns it on. She leans the crutches against her nightstand before lowering slowly into bed, letting out a breath when she gets her weight off her leg.
“Here, let me help.” Street says, voice soft. Carefully, like he’s afraid to startle her, he arranges her pillows so that she can elevate her leg comfortably and her ribs are supported. His eyes run over her usually-tan skin as he pulls a light blanket over her. Cuts and bruises litter her arms and legs, her knee is swollen and a particularly nasty shade of purple, and he can only imagine how her back and torso look. He averts his eyes, unable to keep thinking about how close he was to losing her, and abruptly walks out of the bedroom before returning with a bottle of water and two small, white pills.
His gaze lingers on her face, taking in the bruise blooming on her cheek and the butterfly bandages on her forehead. By the time he got to the hospital, they’d already helped her wash off the blood and dust, but he can’t stop seeing the trail of red that ran down her face when they landed in the desert. He blinks.
“Chris?” Her eyes flutter open.
“Hey, I have your meds. Better to take them now before the last dose wears off.” She nods, holding out her hand to take the pills, basking in the millisecond of time when their hands touch, and swallowing with a wince.
“My card is in my wallet to order food. It’s the least I can do, just get me whatever. The TV remote’s on the table, or you can hang out in here, I don’t really care.” Chris can feel herself becoming delirious, not completely in control of her stream of thoughts or which ones she filters out. She holds eye contact with Street for another moment, long enough for him to see the trust she has in him, before they slip closed.
The third time he goes to check on her, she’s already awake. He peels himself off the couch, moving swiftly to her door, and stopping when he hears what sounds like a soft sob. He waits for a moment, and when the crying continues, turns the hall light on before entering the room. With the light on, Street can see the pain written all over Chris’s face. Her jaw is tense, hands clenched in the blankets next to her, and eyes screwed tight like if she closes them hard enough she can make everything disappear. Street swears his heart breaks when he notices the faint tear tracks running down her face, and before he feels his feet move, he’s kneeling next to her bed.
“Chris?” His tone is gentle, and as far as he can tell, she doesn’t register that he’s there at all.
“Chris?” He repeats, this time getting a broken whimper in response. Street can feel his own heart rate pick up, but knows he needs to stay calm. He brushes one of his hands against hers, and when she doesn’t flinch or pull away, wraps his palm around her white knuckles. In an effort to calm her down, he massages her hand until he feels her grip loosen some.
“Good, that’s good. Can you open your eyes and look at me, Chris?” Immediately, Chris shakes her head. Before his eyes, Chris’s walls build up around her, and he knows she doesn’t know it’s happening, so he keeps pressing forward.
“Chris, please? Let me see those beautiful eyes. It’s okay, you’re safe, I promise.”
It takes a few more minutes of his gentle platitudes before she cracks her eyes open. With his free hand, he uses his thumb to wipe away a few of the remaining tears dotting her face. He stays quiet, wanting to give Chris the space to come to and talk at her own pace. As she’s trying to get her breathing under control, a coughing fit overtakes her. Quickly, Street lifts her to sitting, adjusting the pillows so she’s as upright as she can be, and holds the bottle of water to her lips as she drinks some down.
Feeling somewhat more calm but completely exhausted, Chris brings a shaky hand to her face to get her hair out of her eyes before it falls limply back to her side. She stares ahead as she talks, voice hollow but tinged with bone-deep pain.
“Can you help me outside?.”
The simple act of asking for help makes Chris’s voice cracks as she fights off more tears. There’s nothing harder for her than feeling weak and helpless, and it’s been years since she’s felt both so strongly. But Street doesn’t say anything, just nods and runs a hand down her back.
“Do you want your crutches?” She shakes her head, slowly turning, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and pushing herself to stand on her good leg. It’s then that Chris looks at Street, who’s doing everything in his power to produce a neutral a look as possible to not make her feel worse. Without talking, he moves to support her weight and they slowly make their way outside. A chill runs through her as she opens the door, and she winces as she tries to get settled on the small patio couch.
“Do you want me to grab you a blanket?”
She shakes her head, swallowing.
“I won’t be able to be out here long with my leg anyway, I just felt like I was suffocating inside. I’m sorry you had to see that.” Their eyes meet his for just a second before she looks at the ground, worried about how this is going to change how he sees her. Street holds in a scoff, intentionally being mellow despite how he wants to make her understand that he loves her, and nothing on heaven or earth will change that.
“Please, don’t apologize. You’re injured and in pain, Chris, there’s nothing weak about that, and it kills me to see you think that it does. I know you might not be ready to talk about what happened earlier right now, but I’ll be here when you do, and I hope that you know you can come to me about anything. Nothing that you do or say or go through will make me see you any differently.” He looks at the city skyline as he speaks, but feels Chris’s eyes on him at the end and risks looking over at her.
“You know how I feel about you.” He says, reaching out and giving her hand a small squeeze before turning his gaze back to the horizon. They sit for another fifteen minutes before Chris breaks the silence.
“Ready to go back in?”
Street stands and hums, holding out his arms for her to brace herself on as she gets up, pain thankfully dulled. Once they’re over the threshold, she motions her head towards her bedroom, and Street tightens his grip.
Back in bed, Street again adjusts the pillows around Chris and turns to go back to the couch when her voice stops him.
“Street. Stay with me?” The front door is open. The back door is open. Every damn door is open and Chris is all but inviting the Thing in with a confetti cannon; it makes me feel safe, she realizes, and right now that’s all she wants.
He thinks he misheard her at first, because there’s no way she just asked him to stay, presumably in her bed, but when he turns to look at her there’s no confusion in her face. She definitely asked, on purpose, and who is he to deny her.
She feels the bed dip when he sits down and tries to turn on her side to face him. A jolt of pain that escapes in an involuntary gasp stops her, though, but Street’s hand coming to her cheek dulls it some.
“Easy, I’ll come to you.” He settles onto his side, propped up on one elbow and leaving his other hand to trace over her face. His thumb brushes over her nose, eyebrows, flutters over the bruising, and lands at the peak of her lip. Chris leans her face into his touch, and opens her eyes to find him gazing at her so fondly it almost sets her on fire.
“When Deacon and I were in the desert… Miguel asked me if I think about my family, and what they would go through if I, you know. And I told him I don’t think in worst case scenarios, and normally that’s true. Especially since Erika, I have to keep my heart calm to keep my head on straight. But, in Langford, Street, I was thinking about you. About everything unsaid, and this thing between us that terrifies me. And I know there’s a lot more that needs to be straightened out, and there are rules I can’t break and that I can’t ask you to break either, but I care about you. You’re the most important person in my life, Street, and I just need you to know that and to trust that.” It’s not as eloquent as she’d like, but she knows when it comes to him, her words always get caught up anyway.
Chris can see out of the corner of her eye that Street is speechless, and it blooms a sense of security in her that she wants to feel all the time.
“I’m going to try to go back to sleep,” she starts, “but I’d like it if you held me until you have to wake me up again.”
Slowly, taking care to not jostle her sore body anymore, Street wraps himself around her. One arm sits lightly across her torso, while the other cradles her neck, letting her rest her head in the groove between his shoulder and chest. As soon as she’s comfortable against him, Chris lets herself truly relax for the first time in countless hours. His scent calms her, and the warmth from his body and the blanket lull her to sleep. Right before she slips, she feels him plant a soft kiss on her hairline, and she knows she wants to feel it again.
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hi! can i please request “can you just hold me, please?” and ☾ for one muse to hug the other without explanation, with chris alonso? ty!
blind devotion | chris alonso x reader
It's late when you hear the tell-tale rev of Chris's truck in the driveway, the crunch of loose gravel under heavy tires making your ears perk up. It's faint from where you're sat, curled up on the sofa under a pile of blankets with a Brooklyn Nine-Nine rerun playing on the TV in front of you, but still the noise is able to soothe all the worries that have been bouncing around your head for the last few hours.
You shuffle upright and try to make yourself presentable. You know that after all the years you've spent together that Chris couldn't give two shits about how you look, but you also know how terrible she feels when she comes home late to see you with eyes ringed red from worry and your phone clutched in your hand waiting on that infamous phone call.
The door opened about the same time as you pushed yourself to your feet. There was a soft thump, no doubt Chris dropping her duffel at the door in the little spot next to the coat rack that had long since been designated as her spot. You were just opening your mouth to speak, to tell her that the leftovers from dinner long forgotten were waiting in the oven when a small body threw themselves at you full force, nearly sending you both flying.
"Chr-." You're cut off when the very woman herself presses her face into your neck, leaving you no option but to let your jaw slip into the dip of her shoulder and be muffled by the collar of her sweatshirt.
Her hands find purchase on your waist, gentle yet strong arms wrapping around your waist. Her fingertips delve under the hem of your shirt and press into the exposed skin. As you regain your balance she carries your weight, holding you tightly against her as you sway gently together.
You stay like that for a moment before you pull back, which Chris doesn't make an easy thing. It's only with a soft tut does she take the hint and let you stand back a little, letting you pull away while still keeping you in her arms.
Even after you stand back, she doesn't meet your eyes. She favours instead to tuck her head under your chin and press faint kisses to the skin of your neck. Under any other circumstances you'd giggle and shove her away, but it's when you feel her stuttering breaths against your skin that you begin to panic.
"Chris, baby." Your voice is thick with sleep but the note of certain cuts through like a knife. "What's the matter?"
No answer.
All your girlfriend does in response is nuzzle into the crux of your neck, in the space where your shoulder meets your neck. Her grip on your waist doesn't lessen - if anything, it tightens at your words.
Tilting your head, you press your lips against the shell of her ear. "Baby, come on. "
There's a stern quality to your voice, not sharp enough to upset her but enough to know that she's worrying you. She raises her head, and your heart just about drops to your feet when you see the glassy look in her eyes.
Usually when Chris is crying, you can tell why. Sadness, anger, joy, exhaustion, injury - but this look is none of those. That scares you.
You cup her cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb over her cheekbone as she leans into your touch. "Talk to me, Chris."
She shakes her head. Your eyes are still taking her in, scouting for signs of surface injuries when her hand takes your own and leans her head in against yours, pressing your foreheads together. Ah.
You're starting to get the feeling that whatever hurt she's in is the kind that a couple Tylenol and some cuddles in bed with a heatpack will fix.
"Bad day."
Her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it. It's got that fragile quality that comes with the demeanor she assumes after especially taxing days, the ones that have her clinging to your side and relying on you to be able to quieten all the noise - the thoughts of things she could've done differently, the things she could've prevented, the lives she cou-
"Just wanted to see you." She leans back, cradling your jaw in her hand. She looks tired, so tired, but there's a little light in her eyes that gives you hope. That goes along with the softening of her tense shoulders under your touch, and the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips.
You can't help but return the smile yourself, and it's not long before you're both leaning in to capture each other's lips. Still smiling into the kiss, you don't miss the sharp intake of breath that happens when your hand brushes over a certain spot on her hip, and the look of pain that taints her expression.
You arch an eyebrow, and she pokes your cheek in response. The sounds of soft laughter fill the room, but you both know that laughs and kisses aren’t a cure for whatever is going on underneath the surface here.
“What do you need me to do?” You’re pulling away, drifting towards the bathroom in search of the well-worn first aid kit that quickly became a staple in your house. Your mind is already racing with thoughts as you tug her along by the wrist - chamomile tea would be better than green to help her relax, her favourite hoodie is already in the drier, if only you’d thought to pick up another bag of Cheese Puffs the last time you were at the stor-
“Hey, hey”, Chris pulls you back gently. She knows what’s going through your head, the way your brain immediately kicks into overdrive when you know she’s hurting. How all you can focus on is her and her worries, how you can undo all the damage that’s been done.
She’s knows that she’s by no means an easy person to look after, no matter how much you take it in your stride now - and that you’ve had to learn how to take care of her when she won’t, or can’t, tell you what she needs. There are times, thought however rare where she does know what she needs. Tonight is one of those nights.
You hum softly under your breath, eyes widening as an urge for her to continue. "What do you wanna do, baby?"
Chris swallows, and lowers her gaze. She's never been good at asking for help, even when it's with someone she knows won't think badly of her for it.
That, she supposes, is what makes it even harder.
"Can you just...", her voice trails off, but with and encouraging squeeze of her hand she continues.
"Can you hold me? Please?"
The smile you give her damn nears trigger the well of tears gathering in her eyes.
"Of course, sweetheart." You tug her hand again, and pull her into the hallway towards your bedroom. As you lead her away, Chris allows a lazy smile to take over her face as her eyes slip shut.
She'd heard it all her life, but she'd never truly understood what it meant to follow someone blindly. She'd never believed in it either. Not until she'd met you.
But as she followed you down the hallway, with only your soft footsteps and grounding grasp on her hand to assure you that you were still there, she knew that if she had ever to follow anyone blindly, she wouldn't have far to look.
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Alone
A/N: This is a train wreck. I set out to write a quick little imagine about Chris offering to be the reader’s emergency contact when it turns out they don’t have one, but then it spiraled. I’m not really happy with it, but I want to post it. I know what it’s like to be lonely, and if this helped me then I hope it helps you a little bit too.
Pairing: Chris Alonso (S.W.A.T) x Reader
Summary: When you get hurt off duty and the only emergency contact you’ve got is work’s, Chris high-tails it to the hospital to see you. When she gets there, she finds out that you haven’t got an emergency contact. Things once held in darkness come to the light, and Chris won’t let you keep living like this.
It took me the guts of an hour and a half to write this, so please tell me what you think. This can be read as a platonic fic or a romantic one.
Keep reading
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Bold of you to assume street knows what a verb is😆
Deacon: Would you please not Street this into a worse situation than it already is?
Street: Hang on, did you just use my name as a verb?
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Y/N: When I get murdered, can you make sure I become an unsolved case.
Wanda: What?
Y/N: I want to be on Buzzfeed Unsolved.
Natasha: Can we go back to the part where you said “when I get murdered”?
#wandanat incorrect quotes#wanda x y/n#natasha x reader#avengers x y/n#wandanat#wandanat imagine#wandanat x you#wandanat x reader#wandanat fic#wanda x reader#wandanat fanfiction#wanda x natasha#wanda maximoff#the avengers#natasha romonova#natasha romanov#avengers#natasha romanoff x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#avengers academy#avengers imagine#avengers fanfiction#marvel cinematic universe#marvel mcu#avengers endgame#avengers icons#mcu#marvel movies#avengers memes#black widow x y/n
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/N: Where’s Natasha?
Tony: Don’t worry about Natasha.
Y/N: Oh, I’m sorry, have you met me?
#natasha romanoff x autistic!reader#wanda maximoff#avengers x y/n#natasha x reader#wanda x natasha#wanda x y/n#wandanat#the avengers#natasha romonova#avengers#natasha romanov#Blackwidow#avengers academy#marvel cinematic universe#marvel mcu#marvel movies#avengers fanfiction#avengers imagine#mcu#avengers endgame#avengers memes#avengers icons#wanda my beloved#wanda maximov#the scarlet witch#multiverse of madness#scarletwitch#wandanat incorrect quotes#wandanat fanfiction#wandanat fic
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Teen!Y/N first morning and breakfast with the avengers
Wanda: *cooking bacon*
Y/N: *glaring at it*
*ki blasts the bacon in the skillet*
*Wanda, Nat, Tony, Peter, Steve, Bucky, Bruce, and Sam looking confused*
*Thor smiling*
Nat: What…What’d you do that for?
Y/N: it growled at me.
Steve *looking concerned*: ma’am are you okay?
Bucky *smirking*: I like this kid already.
Peter: Bacon…growls??
Wanda: it was sizzling…
Y/N: no it threatened me
Peter *dazed*: Bacon…can threaten you?
Wanda: the grease was just popping…that’s what happens when you cook bacon.
Y/N: when you what the what?
Nat: you don’t know what bacon is?
Bucky: we don’t have that at Hydra. We do, however, have suspicious gray mush, dry sometimes moldy bread, and syringes filled with questionable liquids though.
Y/N: yeah what he said.
Tony: anyone else reconsidering bringing the kid back from that Hydra base?
Sam: Stark that’s not right.
Tony: there is a big ass hole in my kitchen right now, tweety bird.
Tony: can we get like a refund for a different kid or something?
Nat: Tony.
Thor: What a great demonstration of power from such a tiny human. Keep up the good work Lady Y/N!
Tony: actually, don’t. But if you do, please aim for Stars and Stripes Forever over there.
Y/N *confused on what she did wrong*: are you not supposed to eliminate any and all threats that come your way?
Bucky: we have a lot to work on kid.
Peter*still dazed*: Mr. stark can bacon threa-
Tony *walking away with his hands up*: This is out of my expertise kid. I’m going to go draw up a new kitchen layout.
Bruce: do you think you can show me that one more time I wanna study the-
Everyone but Bruce and Y/N: NO!!!!
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Y/n: To late daughter
[Discussing undercover mission]
Y/n: Bruce can play the role of my father. He’s old like my actual father.
Bruce:
Y/n: You’re right, he should be grand papa or whatever cause he’s really old. Natasha can be my wife!
Natasha:
Y/n: And Wanda is my mistress or that’s what people think...but really, she’s my wife too! The three of us are in loving relationship.
Wanda:
Y/n: And we have one kid, America!
America: Please don’t drag me into this. Please.
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Natasha and Y/N on a mission:
Natasha: Do you have the radios?
Y/N: *hands them to Nat*
Natasha: What about extra widow bites?
Y/N: *hands them to Nat*
Natasha: Did you remember the explosives?
Y/N: Oh no, I must’ve forgotten them-
Natasha: For Gods sake…
*Y/N pulls them out from behind her back with a shit-eating grin on her face*
Y/N: NEVER DOUBT ME
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"its an up hill slope but I won't loose hope til I go the distance.....and my journey is complete"
I’m To Blame (Wandanat X Reader)
Summary: An AU where instead of Clint and Natasha at Vormir, it’s you and Natasha. Wanda’s still angry about the outcome.
Warnings: Angst, Unhappy ending, Arguing, implied suicide
A/N: This is purely self indulgent angst.
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The wrong person died that day.
“She jumped and you let her!” Wanda said quietly but the sharp tone never left. You knew she would have yelled if it wasn’t for her strained voice.
What started as a small argument quickly elevated when Wanda mentioned Natasha. The two of you rarely spoke about what happened during and after the events of fighting Thanos. You were heartbroken about the sacrifice Natasha gave to save the world, Wanda was equally as crushed when she heard the news. But months later, it wasn’t brought up until now.
‘It wasn’t my choice.’ You look down, not wanting Wanda to see your expression. Finally, it’s silent after what seems like hours of arguing, you finally had enough silence to think. You couldn’t help but ask the question that was burning a hole in your head this entire time. “You wish it was me and not her, don’t you?”
You step forward, Wanda looks away guiltily when she hears your question. “Wanda?” you call out to get her attention back, your voice faltering in the process. “You wish I sacrificed myself instead, right?” you ask again, emotionless this time. “I mean I get it, she’s better than I ever was. A better superhero, a better girlfriend. She stayed when I didn’t, I understand.”
You look at her with a defeated expression, you realize how you could never undo your mistakes, how you could never make Wanda feel the way Natasha made her feel. Wanda stayed silent, it gave you the answer without any words. Instead, she stepped towards you to caress your cheek in the softest way possible. Your tear filled eyes lock with her emotionless ones.
“Maybe you should leave,” she finally says.
Your heart ripped at the words, a pathetic whimper left your mouth. This time it wasn’t your choice to leave, it was a suggestion, a suggestion made by the woman you love the most. You can barely come up with a response because what is there left to say? She wants you to go.
“Okay,” you respond, it’s barely audible but she hears.
When you leave the house, there’s nowhere left to go. Both of the women you love are gone and there’s nothing you could do about it. You stay parked in the driveway, not wanting to go to a motel close to her house or back to the somber compound. You don’t know how long you’ve stayed in the car until the dim light from the kitchen went dark.
Everything was sort of hopeless at this point with nowhere to go and Wanda wanting nothing to do with you. Possibly there was a second option, an option where you could be with at least one of your loves.
The car starts shortly after the thought. You back out and head towards the highway knowing what you’re going to do next.
At least she wouldn’t have to fear I’d come back again.
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Y/N: So if a regular cat says meow
Natasha, half asleep: Yeah…?
Y/N: does that mean a Texan cat says meowdy?
Natasha: God dammit Y/N it’s 3am!
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*playing twister*
Yelena : Right hand red.
Natasha : *ends up on top of Y/n*
Y/n : You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?
Yelena : I stopped spinning like 15 minutes ago. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't notice.
Natasha : *Muttering* Oh no I noticed
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Natasha: why isn't Wanda speaking to you?
Y/N: she was playing loves me/loves me not this morning with a flower I gave her and it landed on loves me not
Natasha: and she's holding that against you??
Y/N: ...
Natasha: but she's your wife???
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Y/n: I’m a bisexual and I haven’t even made out with a guy or girl yet.
Natasha: So, you’re a (insert gender) who’s attracted to girls and guys, but no girls or guys are attracted to you?
Wanda: Damn, you really put’s the 'L' in LGBT.
Y/n: I-
Y/n: I'm getting bullied by my girlfriends
(Asexual y/n)
#asexual#wanda x natasha#wanda x y/n#avengers#natasha romanov#natasha x reader#wanda maximoff#avengers x y/n#wandanat#natasha romonova#the avengers#Wanda#wanda x reader#wanda maximov#scarlet witch#multiverse of madness#the scarlet witch#black widow#natalia romanova#natalia romanoff#natasha romanoff x autistic!reader#natasha x daughter!reader#natasha x you#natalia alianovna romanova#yelena boleva#black widow movie#natasha and yelena#natasha x wanda#wandanat x reader#wanda maximoff x reader
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y/n,a dumbass, firsts time at a zoo*
Y/N, looking around at the animals: What are they in for?
Natasha: Y/N, this isn't prison.
Y/N: So they can leave?
Natasha: No, but-
Y/N, pointing at a bird: I bet that one murdered someone.
#Avengers#the avengers#avengers#natasha romanov#natasha romonova#wanda x natasha#wanda maximoff#natasha x reader#avengers x y/n#wandanat#wanda x y/n#avengers age of ultron#avengers secret wars#avengers rp#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#marvel#marvel mcu#marvel movies#Scarletwidow#black widow#natasha romanoff#natasha x daughter!reader#natasha romanoff x autistic!reader#natalia romanova#natalia romanoff#Wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff blurb
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Incorrect Quotes
*The Avengers playing a team sport*
Kate: Are you upset you don’t get to be on the same team as Nat?
Wanda: Have you ever played a game with Nat?
Kate: No…
Yelena: Have you ever been trapped in a cage with a wolverine?
*Meanwhile, on the other side of the field*
Nat, chasing Y/N: I SAID FASTER! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE WORD “FASTER” MEANS? IT MEANS MORE FAST!!!!
Y/N, sobbing: I DON'T WANNA PLAY THIS GAME ANYMORE!
*Not my GIF*
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