Tumpik
#avengers x reader
lesbian-deadpool · 3 days
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Natasha: Do you ever just look at someone's hands and think, "yes"?
Y/N: *Notices Natasha staring at their hand*
Yelena: *Gags*
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greatapebroly · 2 days
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So I saw you were looking for request so here I am!!
Basically Natasha and Reader are arguing because Natasha came out of no where and started accusing Reader of doing something but the reader is just like “what? What are you even talking about I didn’t do that” but Natasha doesn’t believe her and walks out and doesn’t talk to the reader for awhile until one of the avengers has to explain to Natasha that reader didn’t do anything wrong and it was someone else.
You can end it any way you want to.
Anyways bye hope you have a nice day/evening/night
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Word Count: 3,213
Warnings: Arguing, yelling ofc, Nat ignoring R at first, a punch, a push, mentions of beating, mentions of past hydra affiliation, an emotional rollercoaster i think, like 20 people get beheaded im joking
A/N: this was not supposed to take as long as it did. that is a fault on my behalf and i am sorry for the prolonged wait but now here we are if you're still interested. I hope you don't mind video games bc that's what R is doing before shit hits the fan. First angst fic so i'm kinda nervous butt i've read a fuckton of it so I tried to incorporate that into my own ideas? but enough from me since i've made you wait long enough. and pleaseeee enjoy
I Did What..? (N.R)
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Your typical day at the compound consisted of waking up next to the most beautiful redhead in the cosmos, giving her a kiss, followed by 20 more, showering, eating breakfast, training/mission, then you hop on the game.
After a long day of saving people and interacting with them it's nice to have something to ease your mind at the end of the day.
Your favorite game was Call of Duty Black Ops 4. Occasionally, Natasha would join you but she was busy giving Wanda some pointers to hone her hand to hand combat skills. So it was just you and that's normally how you liked it.
You don't have to worry about reviving any of your teammates nor yourself since you're damn good at the game and you can go through whichever easter egg much quicker.
It was around 6:30PM and you'd beaten Voyage of Despair twice before moving onto Ancient Evil.
Your day was pretty good. You were able to play Xbox all day without any distractions from that eccentric boy Tony always has around. No Morgan to beg you to let her play with you then throw a hissy fit when you throw her out. Nobody bothered you and it was great. It was like nothing could ruin your good day and you were happy about that.
Days like this aren't common for you unless Natasha is around or in close proximity to you so you were proud of your improvement since Hydra.
Natasha still hadn't returned to your shared room and it's not that you thought something happened to her, it's just that she said she'd only be with Wanda for an hour and it's been 3 of those.
You contemplated searching for her but you were so close to the boss fight and you were sure she was alright so you turned your attention back to the game.
You were delivering the final shot to the Boss, Zeus, on Ancient Evil when the door to your bedroom flew open and in the doorway stood Natasha.
The angered look on her face was foreign to you as you ran up to her to engulf her in a bone crushing hug after not seeing her all day.
"I missed you Natasha you left me alone a lot longer than you promised to." You said as you buried your head in her chest.
Upon seeing this Natasha almost felt bad for being angry at you. She knew you were fragile as far as emotions and wanted to forget about the whole thing and cuddle you for infinity but that quickly subsided when she remembered why she was here.
That fucking conversation with Wanda. She knew deep down inside her that you would never betray her like this but her mind was so clouded with her emotions that she didn't even think when she pushed you off her.
You hit the ground hard but for you it felt like a cloud.
"Natty?" You asked confused by her sudden actions. It was then you looked up and noticed how pissed she looked but in a dangerously calm way.
You knew Natasha would never intentionally hurt you but the way she was right now you weren't entirely sure so you stood up and thought of what to do.
You're not exactly good in situations like this but you remembered the time she taught you how to handle people's emotions the correct way so you thought you'd put that knowledge to use right now.
"Do you need me to give you space?" You tried. No response.
Okay i'll try this.
"Do you wanna talk about it ?" You asked again.
This caused a reaction in Natasha as she moved from her spot in the doorway to the bed. It was like her body was on autopilot. Wanda words kept replaying in her mind like a broken record.
"You know I heard Y/N has the hots for Maria and if i'm being honest i can totally see it. Last week when you were on that mission in Siberia Maria kept going in and out of Y/N's room and they said that if you listen close enough you could hear squeals and what sounded moans. In my opinion the potential they have is amazing and they'd be such a cute couple. it's like a perfect fit, Maria's so tall and y/n isn't exactly short bu-"
Natasha had tuned Wanda out by then. She didn't need to hear another word. Wanda was still new kinda like you so she didn't know that you and Nat had a thing going on but the way she spoke of you and Maria made her sick to her stomach. She felt as if the whole world had been dropped on her.
She ended the training early and decided to walk around the compound in attempts to clear her mind but that was soon proven to be unhelpful.
Her mind was screaming at her to not believe the allegations but when she heard other people around the building talking about it she couldn't think otherwise and made her way to your shared room with murder on her mind. not literally
"Helloo Natty are you there?" Natasha was snapped back to reality by the feeling of you lightly shaking her shoulder.
"Why did you sleep with Maria while I was gone?" The question was so eerily calm that it would make anyone feel as if they were in an unsurmountable amount of danger.
"Natty what do you mea-"
"Don't fucking lie to me y/n i've heard what everyones been saying. That you fucked Maria on multiple occasions while i was in Siberia."
The words were coming out so calm and smoothly that anybody else would think she was asking a simple question but you could see the fire burning in her eyes.
"Natasha i didn't sleep with Maria I was just showing her-"
"Showing her what y/n!" Natasha exclaimed as she stood up. This caused you to shrink up a little out of instinct from past experiences.
"N-no i was just sh-showing her my vi-"
"Yeah showing her your virginity." Nat mumbled under her breathe and somehow it didn't reach your enhanced ears.
Something inside Natasha was screaming at her to stop but her anger overtook that something.
"You know something y/n I really thought I could trust you. I helped you free your mind of your past. I opened up to you and told you things about myself that i've never told anybody. Not even Clint and you go and pull this shit. We could've been great together Y/N and I knew that ever since we brought you back from Hydra but obviously a mistake. Once a fuck up always a fuck up."
Whatever fear you had quickly went away as those words came out of her mouth. Who did she think she was to criticize you on your past mistakes and blame you for something you had no idea about. All you wanted to do was show Maria your video game collection and maybe make another friend so that everyone could see that you were capable of redeeming yourself just like Bucky and Wanda. Was that such an issue ? Apparently it was.
"Oh so now you have no-" Natasha started but you quickly cut her off.
"Ever since you brought me back from Hydra the whole fucking building has been against me Natasha even the ex Hydra members who, you would assume, understood the hell I went through and how I was currently feeling. Maybe they could've, I don't know, helped me understand what I was feeling instead of dragging me through the dirt because I sure as hell didn't know. The only person who didn't treat me like absolute shit the whole time I've been here was you. You understood what it was like to be broken and molded into someone you didn't want to become. You were the one who taught me what it was to be a person and helped me work out my feelings. You showed me a whole new world Natasha and you're just gonna throw that away become of some bullshit you heard on the streets ? And FYI the only reason Maria was here a lot was because she asked me if she could start joining in on my gaming and I gladly said yes. She said she wanted to get know me instead of the shit she heard from everyone else and you know what ? It was nice to have someone else to talk to while you were gone. It was like a breath of fresh air to know that not everyone was against me but I didn't know me finally being willing to trust someone other than you would lead to the one I love the most treating me as if I'm a terrorist and I get it. I am. I'm a terrorist, a murderer, a fucking psycho killer but guess what Natalia Romanova SO. ARE. YOU.!" You said jamming your finger into her chest with each punctuation.
The use of her real name and your outburst caused Natasha to realize what she was doing as she tried to pull you into her arms.
"Baby let's talk this through I didn't mea-"
"Don't touch me Natalia. You hurt me. You hurt me a lot more than Hydra or anyone here ever could and you wanna know why? Because I fucking love you and for you to turn around and lay this shit on me hurt a LOT you may not care and I don't know how to explain it but it hurt Natalia and I want you to know how much you hurt me because I never want to see your face again."
"Baby don't say that you don't mean it listen I'm so-"
"I said get OUT!" You screamed as your powers started to take control of your body causing you to shake with anger.
The tears were flowing from both of your eyes was unknown to you as Natasha stood up and slowly made her way to the door knowing what your powers could do if you lost control. Hell it was way worse than what Wanda could do.
Natasha stopped to take one last look at you in hopes that you would let her redeem herself but you only pointed towards the door and said one word.
"Go." And she did. She left and she immediately regretted it as she heard glass shatter from behind your door. She wanted to turn around and go back inside.
She wanted to kick herself for letting a silly rumor get to her. She wanted to break that door down and hold you and talk things out like responsible adults but she knew that if she went back in there while you were in this state, or if she went back in there at all, that just might be the last time she ever saw the light of day.
She contemplated paying a special visit to Wanda for putting these things in her head but instead she went to the source of the problem.
Maria.
Natasha knocked on the woman's office door and awaited a response but she didn't get one. She tried again before she opened the door to see that Maria was not in her office so she decided to ask Jarvis.
"Jarvis can you tell me where Maria is please it's urgent ?"
"Miss Hill is currently in Y/N's Room but may I inform you that Y/N has specifically asked me to not let you into her room." The A.I. responded.
Those words hit Natasha like a church bell. Maria is with...you. In your shared room probably holding you like Natasha wanted to. Maria is the one comforting you when it should be her there picking up the pieces she so messily threw all over the place.
She could just see it now and it made her sick. She resented herself for her actions and she wanted to make it up but will you accept her back ? Did she even lose you ?
Everything that happened today was giving Natasha one hell of a headache and if she was being honest she needed a drink. Bad. So she headed over to Tony's.
"Ahh Romanoff how's it going?" Tony asked as he opened the door to his lab but he quickly took in the look on her face and stepped aside to let her in.
Tony wanted to ask what was on her mind but instead he just poured her the drink she so desperately needed.
After her 7th shot he took the bottle from her.
"What the fuck Stark?"
"Easy Romanoff I just wanna ask you something. " When she didn't respond he continued. "Is this about Y/N and Maria?"
Tony didn't even get a chance to react as Natasha sent a quick right hook to his jaw.
"HOLY FUCKING HELL ROMANOFF!" Tony exclaimed as he rubbed his jaw in pain. "I guess it is about them huh." He asked rhetorically but the question still made her tense up and glare at Tony.
"Woah now Red. Don't take my words as an insult i'm just trying to figure out why you came to my lab at... nine o clock at night."
Had it really been that long Natasha thought to herself. Everything happened so fast that she couldn't even register time.
"Yeah it's about them. I fucked up Tony. I let these stupid fucking rumors get to my head and I said shit to Y/N that I would've never said if I was in the right state of mind scratch that I shouldn't have said any of that period I can't make excuses for my mistakes. I know she's delicate coming straight outta Hydra and all but I don't know what came over me it's like I became a whole 'nother person."
Tony didn't interrupt once nor did he know what the fuck Natasha said to you, but he did know that none of the rumors were true but how exactly did he tell Natasha this without risking the possibility of death or serious life threatening injuries but you only live once so fuck it.
"So you do kno-"
"I know. I'm just fucking ignorant. She tried to tell me so many times that that wasn't the case but I didn't listen and now I think I just lost the one true person I ever gave a fuck about. How do I even face her when Maria is with her giving her the love and affection she should be getting from me in a situation like this."
Tony smiled as he saw you walk through the door. Not because he liked you per se, don't get him wrong he doesn't hate you like everyone else but he doesn't exactly invest his time in trying to get to know you. He smiled because he knew you caught the last few lines of Natasha's rant and hopefully Nat would leave so he can finish his work. As much as he loved his red haired friend he loved working his ass off more.
"Natasha?" You called out and this made Natasha turn around so fast you'd think she'd have whiplash. She couldn't believe her eyes as she got up and started walking towards you.
"Baby I-" She started but you hushed her and pulled her outside.
"Listen I really wanna-" Natasha started again but she stopped when you placed your arms around her neck and brought her in for a kiss. And another. And another. Followed by another until you finally spoke.
"I know i'm not good with my emotions but when you started accusing me of sleeping with Maria it felt like a fire was starting inside of me and I wanted to extinguish it but the flames kept growing and somebody was trying to put them out but the flames engulfed them entirely and that somebody was me and I had to watch that somebody burn alive and it-"
"Shhh you don't have to explain yourself. If anything I should be the one explaining. Actually I don't think I can explain what I said to you but I can at least try. I didn't mean any of those words I said okay ? Not a single one but that doesn't exclude the fact that I still said them.
"No Natty you were right once a fuck up always a fuck up I can accept that because it's true but what I can't accept is how I called you all those horrible names but I forgive you."
Natasha watched confused as you backed away from her and opened your arms in an assumingely hugging gesture but instead you said
"Go ahead and beat me as many times as you'd like I can take it. As long as you don't leave me i'll let you hit me as much as you want as compensation for what I said to you earlier and for being involved in something that made you mad. I shouldn't have been talking to Maria in the first place and that's a fault on my behalf and i'm sorry and I wanna show you that so go ahead and get it over with."
Natasha heart broke at the sight of you. She knew you were only doing this because Hydra would beat you for the slightest reason. It's like a defense mechanism for you. Over-explaining and degrading yourself in an attempt to get off the hook.
Natasha took a step towards you and you closed your eyes as you braced yourself for the impact but instead you were engulfed in the warmest hug ever.
You opened your eyes confused as to why you weren't being flung around right now but as if she read your mind, Natasha answered the question for you.
"I would NEVER inflict ANY kind of harm onto you even if it meant saving my life do you understand me Y/N L/N?"
You didn't exactly grasp the concept of what she was saying because if you did something wrong then a harsh punishment should follow but you liked how Natasha arms felt. The same feeling you got when you woke up in them every morning unless she was on a mission.
"I'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. im sorry. i'm sorry. im sorry. im sorry." Natasha said between kisses.
"Natty I already told you I forgive you."
"I know but what you just said and did shattered my heart into a million little pieces. I just want you to know that despite everything you've been through and despite all the shit that unfolded today, I love you Y/N. I love you so fucking much that I could scream it from the top of Mount Olympus and it still wouldn't be enough to express my love for you because that's how much I fucking love you."
"So, tell me who all was fucking with you while I was gone."
Today was probably the weirdest day you'd had in a while but you're sure that weirder days were to come especially since you're an Avengers dating another Avenger but you wouldn't have it any other way especially if you had a Natasha Romanoff by your side.
A/N: Too much ? Too little ? I never wrote angst before so I kinda just went with the flow. Let me know in the comments please and thank youuuuuu for reading and for your request.
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notpikaman · 7 hours
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-Chapter 1: The Avengers' Therapist-
Female Bisexual Reader x The Avengers
Rated M for language & eventually sexual themes
1K Words
PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING:
There is One Female Reader who is going to be involved in a relationship with Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, & Clint Barton
This is a circa 2014 trash fic and that's okay. It was something that I wanted to write. It may not be for everyone.
This is an AU. There are probably going to be themes from several movies. The Avengers are getting along and living together in the compound from AoU. Tony and Clint are not married.
This will be a longer fic with many chapters, some may contain sexual content. Updates will be M, W, F hopefully.
Some of the Avengers are going to be cold to our reader. To me as the author, this felt like a pretty accurate representation of how these characters would react to having someone in their space.
------
"You could have told us," Steve Rogers crossed his arms. "This is our safe place."
Tony Stark had a tight frown. "It used to be our safe place, until half of the world started to hate us."
"We can handle the problem ourselves," Wanda Maximoff argued, her accent thick. It tended to fluctuate, a telltale sign that she was stressed.
"I used to think that too," Tony said, his voice softening. They all had a soft spot for Wanda. "Until I wasn't functioning. I wasn't sleeping or eating. I got caught up, thinking the world was a horrible place. It doesn't have to be."
Natasha Romanoff rolled her eyes. "Save the speech, Tony. It's great that you've hired this therapist and all, but don't count on me actually talking to him."
"Her, actually," Tony corrected. "I'm glad that all of you feel that way, because I've invited her to stay with us for a little while."
"Tony-" Steve scoffed, shaking his head.
"Listen, I took a deal to pardon you all from some of the shitty stunts you pulled last year, and part of that includes a final evaluation. Just try to get to know her."
"When does she arrive?" Clint Barton asked.
"In an hour," Tony said. "I'll be in the lab with Dr. Banner if you need me."
-------------------------
You rolled your suitcase down a long hallway, squinting at the text Mr. Stark had sent you on how to arrive in the Avengers private quarters of the compound. It was serious security. A fingerprint, a retinol scan, an EDITH directed phone call to your new employer, and you finally entered the common area.
There was a large sitting area with an even bigger kitchen and dining room table. There were three different hallways that branched off.
The room was empty, so you followed the directions you were given to your bedroom. It unlocked with your fingerprint, and you found yourself in a beautiful space.
It was quite large, but bare despite the bed and nightstand. You loved the window seat that overlooked the woods.
You were incredibly nervous for this job. You weren't even sure how Mr. Stark had even found you. You had a PhD in clinical psychology, but apart from school, you hadn't had much workforce experience. What could you offer the Avengers? These were people who had faced situations you couldn't even fathom.
The smell of food caught your nose, and you took a deep, shuddering breath to brace yourself for exiting the safety of your room.
You were certain of one thing. Ordinary people didn't become Earth's defenders. These were an incredibly strong group of individuals who had to separate themselves from those ordinary things that normal people always strived for. It could make it difficult to separate friend from foe, and you were prepared for that. You were prepared to face their tough exterior walls.
It was Sam Wilson, The Falcon, who was cooking. The rest of the room was empty.
"Hello," you greeted softly.
He spun around with a gleaming smile, his pinched eyebrows suggesting he was a bit confused by your presence.
"Hey, I'm Sam," he said, offering his hand to shake. "And you are...?"
You introduced yourself, clasping your hand with his briefly. "Mr. Stark hired me."
"Yeah, well, Tony pretty much owns half the world, so," Sam teased.
You felt a rush of heat creep up your neck. You were hoping Mr. Stark had told everyone why you were going to be around. "I'm a therapist."
His smile dimmed, and he turned back to the stove. Your heart plummeted to your feet.
You felt that cold shoulder, so you took a seat on one of the barstools that lined the island.
"That smells amazing," you whispered.
"Thanks," he said. "It's a family recipe."
Captain Steve Rogers entered the room next, coming from the hallway that your bedroom was located in. His stunning cerulean eyes found yours, but his expression remained blank.
"Steve Rogers," he introduced, curt and straight to the point. He turned to a cabinet, pulling out plates and silverware to set the table.
It was James Buchanan Barnes who entered the kitchen next. All of these men were huge, easily towering over you.
"Who are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
You introduced yourself for the third time.
"A doctor?" he asked. His harsh tone gave you the impression that he didn't actually care. "Aren't you, like, twelve?"
"Buck," Sam hissed, and you felt the heat creep up on your cheeks once again.
Everyone else came filtering into the common area, minus Banner and Stark. They crowded around the table, but you stayed put. You didn't want to be in anyone's seat, and you didn't want to be overbearing.
Sam served you a bowl, and you smiled in thanks.
No one paid you any attention, and even though this job wasn't exactly what you expected, you understood their coldness towards you. There was a stigma against therapy, even more so when there wasn't an ability to trust.
The classic cajun style jambalaya was amazing, and you finished the bowl in no time.
"This was great. Thank you, Sam," you said, disrupting the small conversation at the table. You stood from your seat, dropping your dishes into the sink.
You knew the best way to help them was by getting to know each of them individually, and that wasn't going to be easy. You planned to fully integrate yourself into whatever jobs or tasks they do during the day just so they could get used to you.
Once you were in your room, you pulled a notebook from your bag. You wrote each Avenger's name on the heading of different pages. Under Sam's, you wrote "likes to cook". There were a lot of people, and proving you were a good listener and observer was a good first step.
------------------Author's Note-------------------------
hope you all are doing well and enjoyed this. hopefully ch 2 will drop Friday. let me know if you want tagged!!
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vulpe-fox · 1 day
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letters home ii
where the heart is
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader
Word Count: ~6600
Warnings: not proofread
(A/N): Life, man. Takes a lot out of you right now, doesn't it? Hope everyone is doing alright.
Summary: Your love is the ink you wrote with. Or: Natasha receives her first letter.
letters home - Prologue , letters home i - to know your name
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|| And I'll be in denial for at least a little while / What about the plans we made? ||
“Tangerines and clementines are both varieties of the mandarin orange. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Melina told me.”
You hum on the other end of the line, and Natasha presses the receiver closer to her ear to hear it better. The wind has picked up some time ago now, urging more heavy clouds towards the shabby telephone booth she’s in.
“She tells you a lot.” Your voice is scratchy, static. The latter Natasha can blame on the weather; the former she doesn’t know if she can ask about.
So, she answers you instead. “She does.” Melina tells her about oranges and bioluminescence, about history and fiction, Schlatter and his invention of Aspartame, and a part of Natasha cannot help but feel proud of being able to memorize it all to relay it all to you.
“How’s Brussels?” She asks when you don’t respond. Melina told her about that, too. A month later, Natasha still doesn’t know whether the remark was more than a simple slip of the tongue, but she’s glad for it all the same. There are only two safe houses in Brussels that have a landline. Out of those, there’s only one that she knows the number of. Yours, as luck would have it.
“Cold.”
“Is that why your voice sounds like that?”
You don’t answer.
“How’s Katya?” She tries. “I haven’t heard from her in a while.”
“Ekaterina is fine.” 
Natasha expects a follow-up, some background noise from the widow in question, a shout, or some disgruntled groan like the ones that came before. But you remain silent, and whatever noises Katya—no, Ekaterina, Natasha corrects in her mind—used to make do not come either.
“She is...” you continue eventually, words carrying with a wheezing sigh, “resting.”
“Long day?”
A dull thud sounds on the other line. She thinks you might have pressed the receiver closer to your mouth because when you speak again, your voice is louder than before. Raspier too, and just a tiny bit nasal. “Very,” you agree.
The phone beeps in a low, flat sound, and Natasha digs her hand into her pocket to look for yet another coin. She throws it in. The call continues. You remain silent.
“Are you...” she licks her lips, twisting the cord around her index finger.
“Alright?”
“Lonely.” She swallows. “Are you lonely?”
“Are you?”
“I…” The metal casing of the payphone is cool against her forehead when she leans against it. Natasha wishes it weren’t. She wishes it were warm, wishes it were you—your shoulder, your collarbones—resting under her. Wishes it was your warmth meeting hers; a gentle, feverish hello. “A little.”
You don’t answer for some time, terribly curt where you were anything but before. She feels the difference in her bones, her blood, the briefness she once associated with drowsy mornings making her heart ache now. It’s foreign, and it’s wrong, and a part of her cannot help but wonder whether speaking more would bring you the same amount of relief as hearing it would do her.
“It will be over soon,” you say, and she wants to cry at the sudden sound. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” you echo, sweetly, softly. “Soon.”
Natasha nods and closes her eyes. Cold and teary-eyed, she imagines pressing her face against your chest, hearing your heartbeat instead of the rain, feeling your palms on her cheeks rather than Yelena’s, always sticky with juice or dirty from outside.
I missed you, she wants to whisper into your skin. I miss you. You’re here with me, and I miss you. I missed you more when you weren’t in my arms, and I shall miss you most when you’re back in them because you weren’t in them once. She imagines drawing you closer then, pressing into your touch until no more room remains. Resting skin to skin, she’ll have the strength to say more. Something about love and air and how Melina told her about Sisyphus just last week. That’s me, she’d tell you, and missing you felt like that. Endless. Hopeless. An insurmountable task with the world as both enemy and witness. 
“Are you still there?” Your voice brings her back inside the telephone booth. Small as it is, the air in it has long since grown stale. Natasha toys with the edges of an advertisement to keep her mind off of the headache that it’s causing.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
The phone gives another flat sound. Immediately, Natasha rips her hand away from the poster and stuffs it back into her pocket in search of more change. There’s only one coin left. She throws it in. The call continues.
“That was my last quarter,” she tells you.
“Three more minutes?”
“I think so.”
“I still can’t believe Melina would give you some change to call me.”
“Me neither.” Because she didn’t. Natasha stole it. “But I’m glad she did.”
“Yeah,” you hum.
There are a lot of things she wants to say, a lot of thoughts she has yet to articulate, find the words for. But right now, with her forehead still pressed against the payphone, listening to your breathing on the other line, Natasha manages only three short syllables. “Stay with me?”
“Of course.”
Outside the tiny telephone booth, it starts to rain.
The coffee is just beginning to brew when Natasha decides to wake you.
It’s barely six, and the sun has yet to start struggling against the thick blanket of clouds that has emerged on the horizon. The streetlamp from outside shines a path from the living room all the way towards the staircase to the second floor; a path she takes slowly, her steps halting, socks catching against the floorboards. Some steps creak as she steps on them, and a small part of her hopes that the sound wakes you before she has to.
The window at the end of the hall is slightly open, and the wind outside is playing with the curtain covering it, throwing the fabric back and forth. Streetlight, intrigued by the tug of war, peeks between the folds of fabric in sporadic beams. Natasha makes a game out of avoiding each one.
She hops over some and slides past others, the silliness of it briefly distracting her from her task. She stops only once she reaches your door, heels knocking together as if to stand to attention. You’ve picked the room farthest down the hall. The one closest to the window, and the farthest from the one she’s claimed as hers.
Natasha takes a long, calming breath. Then, clenching her right hand into a fist, she knocks.
You don’t reply.
She knocks again.
Silence.
Are you—Natasha’s hand fumbles towards the handle, fingers tight around the metal as she opens the door. The window in your room is wide open, the white lace curtain blowing inside with the wind, and—there you are. You’re a curled-up lump beneath the covers, your head barely peeking out, face pressed into the thin pillow.
You stayed. Her heart settles at once.
Leaving the door cracked open, she creeps towards the window. She collects the curtain with her left hand, bunching the fabric in her fist, and closes the window with her right, careful not to make a sound. Immediately, the room seems warmer. Quieter, too, without the whistling of the wind outside. Natasha takes a moment to straighten the curtain back out, shifting her feet. They’re cold, and so is the floor, no doubt thanks to the still open window in the hallway.
For a moment, Natasha considers leaving to close that one, too, but the sheets ruffle behind her before she has the time to act on that thought, so the redhead dismisses it whole.
You’re motionless again by the time she turns, a corner of the blanket now clutched in your fist. Natasha smiles at the sight, foolishly imagining a world where you’d wake and smile at her, too. Like you used to. Like she misses. Softly, Natasha shakes her head to disregard that thought.
She thinks of calling your name but decides against it, raises a hand but doesn’t approach. And for a while, Natasha remains just like that; one hand lifted as if to reach for you while the rest of her body refuses to act.
“I am awake.”
Natasha jolts.
“And it is rude to stare,” you add. Lazily, your eyes focus on where her hand is still uselessly hovering mid-air. “I do not bite, you know?”
Natasha’s steps are soft when she closes the distance between you; her hand softer still as it lowers onto your shoulder. “I wasn’t sure I was allowed,” she admits. She still isn’t, doesn’t know whether your remark was meant to be taken as an invitation, but you do not push her off or flinch away, and the redhead dares to take it as a good sign.
“I’m your wife,” you chuckle wryly.
“Outside, you are,” she agrees. The mattress dips under your combined weight, your body slumping against hers in the divot. “In here, you don’t have to be.”
You hum. “And what would you have me be in here then?”
A friend, she wants to say, the words heavy on her tongue. My friend. My everything. If she were brave, she’d even make a sentence of the truth. I want my everything back.
“I don’t know,” she lies instead, not selfish enough to ask you to be someone she helped bury with her own two hands. “Whatever you want to be.”
The pill bottle for your cough stands opened on your nightstand, and outside, the wind whistles a little louder, whipping loose leaves against the windowpane. Natasha focuses on those that stick to the glass, thinking of that stuffy telephone booth, caught in a rainstorm in autumn. You focus on her and think of Brussels, of pressing the receiver close just to hear the sound of her breathing on the other line.
“Mandarins and clementines are both varieties of the tangerine orange. You told me that,” you mumble into the pillow, still drowsy and warm. “Do you remember?”
“Mandarin,” Natasha corrects. “Tangerines and clementines are varieties of the mandarin orange.” She nods. “I do. Called you from a payphone across the city. Stole some spare change from a kiosk for it.”
“Really?”
“Melina wouldn’t have let me call.” She shrugs.
You smile around a tiny yawn. “I wouldn’t have either.”
“He was a good man,” Natasha continues, her hand still on you, warm. Warmer than the blanket, and your body, and the flimsy, peeking sun. “The kiosk owner. He had a family to feed.”
“You regret it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Her thumb rubs tiny, slow circles into your shoulder. Then, the first letter of her name. The only way you could ever still be hers. “Why bring it up?”
You shrug, sinking lower under the covers. “Was it raining then too?”
“It was.”
“It sounded like it.” You hum wearily.
“Do you…” She purses her lips, unsure of how to continue. There are a lot of things she could ask—most of them about everything she’s missed out on, some about your missions, few about your life—instead, still staring on ahead, Natasha settles on something more familiar. “Do you remember what I asked you that day?”
“You asked a lot of things.”
Natasha’s lips quirk bitterly. “About you being lonely?”
“I do.”
“…Were you? Lonely, I mean.” Repeating it feels odd, almost distressing. Like she is asking you to say yes, and then, worse still, admit to being just as weak as she had been.
You’re silent for a long time. When you do answer, your voice has lowered into a whisper, as if begging her not to hear. “Sometimes.” Only when the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
“Were you alright?” Natasha adds on. She knows better, but you are talking, and her blood has been missing the richness of your voice.
You chuckle lowly. “Ekaterina had a mean chokehold,” is all you say. Then, grabbing the blanket, “What time is it?”
Natasha removes her hand to look at her watch.
“Ten past six.” She mutters. “We still need to get ready.”
You nod, sitting up. “Right.”
“Right,” Natasha echoes, awkwardly slapping her thighs as she gets up. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
She leaves the room with an uncomfortable urgency crawling below her skin. It makes her jittery, her hand slipping from the handle twice as she turns to close the door behind her. The window in the hallway has snapped shut with the wind, a part of the curtain’s fabric caught between the wooden frame and wall. She frees it to close the window properly, then descends the stairs to return to the kitchen.
The coffee has cooled by now, still hot enough to drink but not nearly enough to scald the tongue. She pours it into two cups and plates the food, pulling out a chair to settle at the table after. She lingers for a while, then, hastily scooting back, rearranges her seat to have a better view of the staircase.
Natasha picks at her nails while she waits, occasionally casting glances to the stairs and past them, towards where she knows your boxes still stand stacked close to the front door. She had hoped you would’ve opened them by now. But you didn’t, and the grey tape was first to glare at her this morning.
She has half the mind to kick them now, but—there you are, dressed in yesterday’s clothes. You could borrow mine, she wants to say. You could keep them. All of them, if you want. Instead, Natasha wrinkles her nose and doesn’t say a thing.
“I made breakfast,” she motions towards the plates. “Your favourite.” The last part comes out quieter, unsure.
“It was.”
Natasha almost flinches at your tone, watching your lip curl as you take your seat next to her.
The breakfast is spent in silence, safe for the occasional screech of a fork or a knife against a plate. Natasha sends you occasional glances after she’s finished, dividing her attention between the furrow in your brows and the remaining coffee in her cup.
“The Clarks live nearby,” she says eventually. “They’re—”
“Friends of the target. I know,” you cut in. “I read the file.”
“Of course.” She purses her lips, swaying the brown liquid in her cup. “I thought we could drive by after the shoot. See if they invite us.”
“Why would they?”
“Socialites.” Natasha shrugs. “I’ll bring a bottle of wine, say it was a housewarming gift, and suggest we open it together.”
You hum, momentarily quiet as you cut into the food. “They’re involved in the trade, aren’t they?”
It’s a rhetorical question, measured in a way Natasha doesn’t like. A part of her is certain that you’re about to ask for something she cannot provide, and the redhead feels the dread as it rises in her chest to lump up her lungs. “They are.”
“I assume we’ll be armed then?”
“You won’t be.”
“But you will?” You raise an eyebrow, eyes not yet meeting hers.
“If I need to be.” Natasha nods slowly, shifting in her seat.
“What if I need to be?”
“You won’t.”
“What if things go awry?”
“They won’t—” Her voice hardens, jaw clenching at your blatant refusal to let her plunge the conversation to its death.
“You expect me to just sit there while they fire at us?”
“They—”
“Or maybe you expect me to just sit there while they fire at me? Surely, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t let you run around here unarmed.”
“Enough,” she hisses, fists clenching atop the table. “I’ve already taken a risk in bringing you here. I won’t take one in arming you.”
“Did S.H.I.E.L.D. feed you that line or—”
“That’s my common sense talking.”
“Weren’t using much of that when you picked me up, were you?”
“I—”
“Or did you seriously think I’d take this lying down?” The redhead doesn’t answer. “Will you be armed?” You repeat slowly, daring her to interrupt you again.
Natasha looks into your eyes, seems almost hesitant when she answers. “Yes.”
“Fucking fantastic,” you grumble, lips curling in a snarl as you stab into your food.
The conversation doesn’t pick back up.
The shooting site turns out to be a warehouse three towns over, sitting snug amongst some evergreens. Natasha parks the car behind it and exits without another word, stopping only once she’s reached the building’s corner.
There, she crosses her arms and waits for you to catch up.
This morning is a cold one. Without the car’s welcoming warmth around you, you can do nothing to stop the goosebumps from rising along your skin. Natasha, watching you fold your arms across your chest to preserve some heat, bites her tongue to keep herself from offering her jacket.
She leads you past the door and through a hall full of covered-up machinery and rusty tools. Your steps drag up dust, the particles floating up into the air to settle on your clothes. Swiping a hand over a crate, you watch whatever dust doesn’t stick to your palm rise into yet another cloud. Natasha sends you an irritated glare over her shoulder, nose twitching, and you cannot help but huff amusedly at the sight.
Closer to the back of the hall, hidden behind more crates and dirt, you begin to make out a staircase. The redhead takes the steps down towards another door, motioning for you to follow her as she reaches for the handle.
“Behave,” she warns. The first words spoken in a while.
“Always,” you snark half-heartedly. Still, your face smoothens. The frown disappears, replaced by a pleasant expression. Your back straightens, eyebrows lifting as your eyes widen just a bit. Then, you smile, and you aren’t quite you anymore. Natasha tilts her head, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise to attention.
It’s been so long since she’s last seen you do this. She almost forgot just how startling it can be.
“Are you done staring?” Your voice snaps her back. It’s still sharp around the edges, a sting that brings her comfort.
Natasha nods and turns the handle.
Inside, the air seems cleaner; the interior, brighter.
The slim hallway that greeted you starts broadening the longer you walk, the sound of voices growing louder just as the walls start opening up around you to give way to a huge, white room.
Photography equipment is speckled about the place, fabrics with tropical motives hung over some chairs and railings. In the back, a small group of people stands assembled, dressed in festive attire. One of them, an elderly blond male, notices you and hobbles over.
“There you are!” He greets Natasha, pulling her into a hug. He is as short as he is adamant to wrap his arms around her shoulders, leaving the redhead slouching in his hold. It’s undeniably charming. 
Once parted, the man turns to face you. “The wife, I presume?”
You smile and outstretch a hand.
“Maxim. Just Max is fine,” he introduces himself, taking your hand in his ringed one. His grip is tight, a little sweaty, too. “Pleasure is all mine.”
You don’t deny.
Past his shoulder, two women start to approach. The first to reach you is a blonde, shorter than Natasha but just as brief of words. She greets the both of you pleasantly enough, then takes the redhead by the arm and points towards a curtained area in the corner, wordlessly asking her to follow. The second to appear is a tall brunette, her hooded eyes twinkling as she slinks closer to you.
“Irina. It’s a pleasure,” she smiles. Her arm is soft as it loops through yours, lean muscles flexing beneath the skin as she starts tugging you away in the opposite direction of where Natasha is being taken. You cast a glance back. Natasha doesn’t do the same. Irina, visibly amused, only holds on tighter and pats your bicep. “Do not worry,” she says, laughter in her voice. “We’ll make sure you have the wedding of your life.”
The brunette pushes you past another set of curtains and skips towards the mannequin standing behind them. It’s dressed in white, a picture of your mugshot printed out and pinned to its face. Irina grins at the sour look you send it, then jiggles her hands about the mannequin to redirect your attention to the outfit on it.
“Natasha had given us your measurements,” she tells you, eyes thoughtfully flicking between the fabrics and you. Your goosebumps have long since settled, but the way she steps closer to glide her palm over the exposed skin of your arm has some of them rising again. “Seems we’ll have to do some last-minute adjustments, hm?”
With ease, Irina commandeers you into the needed position and fishes a tape measure from her pocket to place it against your body. She mumbles your sizes under her breath, nods or shakes her head as if leading a conversation with the numbers, then fixes what can be fixed with safety pins once you try the outfit on.
Between ordering you to stand a certain way or turn another, she tells you anecdotes and objectively terrible jokes, making sure to glance up after each one, looking for a smile or the sound of your laughter. Whenever she does get a form of either, she pauses her work to send you a wink, grinning as if having just won a prize.
You, in turn, do not tell her that it’s her strange persistence that keeps you entertained.
“And…” Irina drawls the sound after a while, smoothening her hands over your clothes, “done.” She gives you an appreciative look, smiling when you don’t flinch away from the hand she places on your cheek. “A true doll, aren’t you?” Her voice dips into a murmur, amused, before her index and thumb suddenly pinch at the skin under her hold. “If half our clients were as cute as you—why, I’d never stop working!”
Irina chuckles at the look you throw her. “I mean it,” she insists, voice lilting, and takes your arm again to start leading you back towards where she’s taken you from.
Maxim stands waiting in the centre of the room, and some of the backgrounds have already been hung, adding splashes of colour to the otherwise sterile environment. Behind him, standing close to the background of a banquet hall, people have started opening bottles of champagne to pour them into glasses.
You do not linger on the scene for too long, partially because Irina insists on keeping a brisk pace; mostly because Natasha has yet to stop looking at the two of you from where she’s stood next to Max.
Natasha in white.
Your breath catches stupidly, chest suddenly too hot and uselessly small for the space your heart demands. It trashes against your ribs, and you fear it’ll rip your chest cavity open long before you manage to tell her that she is beautiful. Always. Even more so now.
Is this what you would look like at your wedding? You wonder, remembering the way she would talk about wearing all white, having a dress with frills and entire halls decked out in peonies—is seeing this enough? The second thought tastes much more bitter. You do not know whom the question is for.
“She does a good job, doesn’t she?” Irina murmurs from beside you, leaning closer. “Not as good as I, of course, but…” She gives Natasha a once-over. “Good enough, no?”
You do not find the words to agree.
The brunette releases you once next to Maxim, teasingly patting your shoulder on her way to her colleague.
“Finally,” Maxim grumbles, turning to give you both a look. “Ready?”
You nod. The redhead is quiet for a long time, still looking at you. When Max raises a hand to snap his fingers in her face, she blinks, then nods in confirmation.
“Well,” the man grins, “go and look happy.” He points towards the first background, a scenic landscape at sunset.
The stark white lights dim, reds and warm oranges falling around you as you step forward. Natasha follows closely behind, stopping when you do to comfortably wrap her arms around your neck. “Smile for the cameras,” she whispers softly and tips forward to place her lips on your cheek. Click. You blink at the sudden camera flash. Were they always this bright?
Maxim, already hunching to inspect the picture taken, nods and throws you a thumbs up.
Another kiss meets your cheek. Click. Then, the corner of your mouth. Click. Natasha is smiling into your skin, the green of her eyes vivid with warmth whenever she looks at you. Almost like—you swallow, praying that the lump in your throat won’t grow too big to breathe around.
“I’m your wife,” she echoes unhelpfully, the heat of her palms suddenly bleeding onto your elbows. “You can touch me back.” Click.
Slowly, your hands rise to her waist. Natasha meets them with a quiet snort, lips twitching against yours. “Must you make everything difficult?” She mumbles against you, grasping at your hands to guide them to just above her hips. She presses onto them as a sign for you to grip her harder, removing hers only when you start holding her as told. It doesn’t feel hard enough. Click.
“I wasn’t,” you mutter back, indignant because it’s true. “You’d bruise.” That too. Because no measure of distance would ever make you feel close enough to someone you once regarded as integral to your very being. Someone who was both sinew and bone and everything in between.
“I’ll forgive you just this once.” Her lips curl against yours, eyes never leaving your pair. They’re darker, a little desperate, too. Click. “Convince me,” she whispers against your cheek. You wonder whether her lipstick smears when she kisses there right after. Click. “That’s all you need to do. Convince me that you love me. Everything else will follow. You know how it is.”
“I do,” you agree and kiss right back. Your arms wind around her tighter, the last of the space between you disappearing, and—oh, how long it’s been. How very, very long. Click.
This is the closest you’ve been and held her in years, and it’s—it’s warm. You’re warm. Natasha’s eyes water. Isn’t this how it’s supposed to be? A voice inside her croons, a child’s cluelessness clashing against bone-deep pain. Why are you sad? It asks. Natasha doesn’t know. But she is. The artificial sunset is cold on her skin, you are warm in her arms, and she is so dreadfully sad it feels like it’s eating through her chest.
All at once, her hands can’t find enough purchase on your body. Click. The fabric of your clothes bunches uselessly between her grasping fingers, her face pressing into your neck. Click. No matter how close you are, it doesn’t feel close enough—click—and her heart trashes against her ribcage as if to make up for the distance to yours.
Warm. She’s forgotten that you could feel like anything but hurt.
“First dance!” Max calls from behind you, clapping twice to rally the actors. Natasha feels sick.
The lights around you brighten once more, the cool white almost blinding when it comes. The redhead is first to follow Max’s instructions, not waiting for you to catch up as she pushes her way past the forming crowd.
Her hand is already outstretched when you show up.
The music starts quietly, a slow song whose lyrics you cannot properly hear over the chatter of the people around you. What once seemed a rowdy crowd has turned into an admiring group of wedding guests, holding champagne glasses and watery smiles as you twirl to the melody.
“Takes you back, doesn’t it?” You murmur, remembering the odd waltz lesson you took for an even odder job.
“You remember?”
“Hard to forget when you constantly stepped on my feet.”
Natasha seems to soften at the memory. “I seem to remember you being the one that had to be re-partnered,” she chuckles.
“And I did perfectly well without you.”
You did. The redhead swallows against the sudden flash of hurt. There are many things you did well without her. Too many for her not to feel pathetic about caring as much as she did. Does. Perhaps—and that is the most terrifying thought of all—always will.
“Well, you did learn from the best.”
Your lips twitch at her jab, a crooked little grin, and Natasha cannot help but push her lips against your smiling mouth. Click.
Not for the first time, Natasha wonders which one of you will survive the other.
The shoot ends in the late afternoon, the once howling wind now accompanied by rain.
You’ve changed back into your regular clothes some time ago, now waiting in the car for Natasha to collect the printed pictures and video footage. Her jacket lies sprawled across your lap, wet from when you’ve held it over your head to shield you from the rain. The redhead had thrown it at your face just before you left, stupidly trusting you with the keys to her only means of transport while she was at it, too.
For a moment, you considered driving off out of simple spite. You didn’t, but the thought was amusing enough while it lingered.
Now, you watch the raindrops slide down the window as you wait. Occasionally, you pick a pair to judge their made-up race. The wind steers some from their path and helps others, proving both ally and adversary in your game.
Behind the racetrack, rounding the corner with a hop, Natasha appears almost an hour later. She’s clutching a heart-dotted envelope to her chest, hunching her shoulders in an attempt to shield it from the rain. Once close, she rips the door open and jumps inside, throwing everything onto the backseat before shaking out her hair. Some of the water lands on your face. Her jacket, in turn, lands in hers.
The redhead yanks it off with a huff, hair mussed and dripping water onto her lap.
“Put it on,” you tell her, and she thinks it almost tender. “Or you’ll catch a cold.”
Natasha nods and, looping her left arm through the sleeve, asks, “Clarks?”
You hum in agreement.
The rain quietens as you drive, calming into an unpleasant drizzle by the time you reach the Clark household.
“The house on the right,” Natasha juts her chin in its direction, pressing her foot on the brakes to slow the car into something barely above a crawl. “And…” she pauses, nods, “that’s her.”
A young, blonde woman stands at the mailbox, hurriedly retrieving letters and magazines. She notices your car when it nears her house, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she squints at the nameplate. Whatever she seems must please her because her lips fall into a sudden grin, and she all but hops to the curb to wave you over.
“Bingo,” the redhead mutters, smiling smugly. She rolls down a window once she stops, watching the blonde lean in from your side of the car.
“Hi!” She greets, stretching in a hand. “I’m Elena. You must be the new neighbours, no?”
“That’s right,” you agree kindly, taking her hand in yours. It’s a little cold, some subtle callouses blending in with otherwise soft skin.
“Rushman, right?”
“That’s us.” Natasha smirks from beside you, hand sliding to rest on your thigh. “We’ve thought we’d use this weather to explore the neighbourhood a bit.”
“Well, there is certainly a lot to explore!” Elena smiles around a light giggle. She’s still holding your hand, your joined limbs bobbing with her excited movements. “Would you like to come in for some tea?”
“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Natasha shakes her head, smiling as well.
“Nonsense!” Finally, the blonde releases your hand. “I’ve wanted to drop by and introduce myself anyway!” She opens the door for you in one fluid motion, then, jamming her mail under one arm, waits for you to unbuckle before pulling you to her side.
Her hold is light and friendly, easy in a way that makes you doubt the possibility of it being staged. “Marcus—my husband,” Elena adds as she opens her front door, “is away right now. Oh, he’ll be dying of jealousy once I tell him that I met you first!”
The minimalist décor jumps out at you and clashes with the woman’s smile, the cold geometry and sharp edges falling at odds with her apparent heartiness. Natasha must have noticed, too, because she subtly seeks your gaze and raises her hand, motioning towards her wedding band. Husband, maybe? You nod.
“Any particular blend you fancy?” Elena turns to regard the both of you.
Natasha insists on whatever is simplest while you volunteer to help in the kitchen, stopping only when the redhead kindly reminds you about the bottle of wine she’s forgotten in the car. You accept the car keys and leave before she can give you her jacket.
The housewarming gift sits neatly on the backseat. Next to it, the thick envelope of photographs you took hours before. Hesitating, you reach for the latter first. A plastic card greets you at the very top. Turning it over, you read the text written on it. Driver Licence, in neat, bold letters. And to the left, a picture of your face, shot mere hours before.
“I was just about to go look for you,” Natasha croons from the living room when you return. She’s eyeing you with a cocky grin, gaze on your wet clothes. “Did you find it?”
“I did.” You raise the gift; raise the driver’s license, too, watching her face crumble momentarily.
“I wanted to give that to you later,” the redhead mutters.
“Why?”
Natasha shrugs. “You asked, didn’t you?”
You do not reply, wordlessly placing the bottle onto the coffee table as you stuff your licence into the flimsy back pocket of your jeans.
“You’re back!” Elena appears to deposit the snacks. Then, seeing your sopping form, gasps and hurries to what you guess must be the bathroom. When she returns, she’s got a fresh towel in her hands which she carefully wraps around your shoulders. “You shouldn’t have,” she chides, ushering you to the leather couch. “Let me get that tea.”
Natasha remains at the sidelines, blankly watching the way you pull the towel closer to burrow in its warmth.
“What are you thinking?” Your voice is quiet, soothing, with the rain still whipping outside. Like this, you seem entirely too gentle. Younger, too, and only half as cruel as she knows you to be. 
“Natalia?” You whisper when she doesn’t reply. “Are you still there?” That one comes out a little giggly.
Am I? Natasha blinks, trying to focus on anything but you. It doesn’t work. All the colours around her melt into the hue of you, and her heart feels sore at the lack of vacancy.
“Nat?” Your brows furrow. Natasha wants to cry.
“You’re terrible,” she says finally. It isn’t an accusation. Merely a reminder. A blister to stave off the eventual burn.
“So?”
“I love you.”
“You are an idiot.” This is an accusation.
Elena is still in the kitchen, too close not to hear, and outside, the wind is snapping the branches against the windows so violently the frames start whining.
“Not an idiot,” Natasha corrects with a wobbly smile, sauntering closer just as Elena shows, “yours.”
The blonde settles by the window while Natasha settles in your lap, her side warm and growing warmer still from the way your arms wrap around her waist. Swathed securely in your hold, she repeats the words. “I love you.”
You pinch her thigh. Natasha persists. “I love you,” she mumbles, skimming her fingers over your cheek in silent prayer.
“I love you too.”
Please say it again, she almost says but catches it. Please never stop saying it. Instead, Natasha closes her eyes and smiles, head slumping against your collarbone.
“So,” Elena giggles. At once, the redhead straightens. “Oh, don’t mind me,” the blonde waves it off, “I remember how Marcus and I used to be after our wedding. Unbearable, I say.” Her laugh is gentle, smoothened by whatever memory she is remembering.
“Still,” Natasha stops at Elena’s raised hand.
“Nonsense,” the blonde insists and pours the tea. You watch the soft white steam as it rises, momentarily taken by its graceful dance. “Any plans for what you’ll do next? Aside from work, of course.” She winks at Natasha.
“Haven’t really thought about it yet,” you shake your head. “Guess I’d start with redoing our floors.”
“Our floors?” Natasha raises a brow as the blonde gasps excitedly. “What’s wrong with our floors?”
“Don’t like them.” You shrug.
Opposite you, Elena is wiggling in her seat in sudden delight. She is, you find, truly into interior design.
“Tired?”
Natasha nods her reply, not bothering to pretend that she is anything but. Elena closes the door behind you with another tiny wave, wishing you a safe drive and a good night for what has to be the fifth time now.
“I’ll drive.”
“Do you even know how?” The redhead quirks a brow. The chuckle that meets her makes her shiver.
“I have a license, do I not?” You fish the small card out of your pocket to wave it. Natasha doesn’t manage to fight off her amused smile.
She settles into the passenger’s side seat and reaches for the bundle of photographs when you start the car, closing the envelope back up to comfortably press it to her body.
“Really?” You ask. The redhead merely nods.
The envelope slips from her grasp whenever Natasha starts dozing off. It snaps her back to attention more than once, the little jolts she gives being as amusing as they are endearing. Each time, you snicker, and she pays you no mind—a childish game that ceases at the first red light, where the redhead finally falls asleep.
"You can rest now," you whisper, words hardly more than a breath. Leaning over, you brush some hair from her face, your fingers trembling. You try to imitate her gentleness from this morning, but the action doesn’t come naturally to you at all, and you accidentally skim the shell of Natasha’s ear.
The redhead wrinkles her nose but doesn’t stir. You think you could cry from relief.
Her grip tightens on the envelope just as the light turns yellow, the paper creasing where her fingers meet it. The tacky pink hearts scrunch and distort, and you clutch at yours. 
It would be so easy to leave, you think. To drive away and never come back.
The light turns green. 
Casting another glace at the redhead, you step on the gas and follow the street to what is to be your temporary home.
Beside you, Natasha shifts in her seat and clutches at the photographs. You do not know, but below them, stuffed into her jacket’s inner pocket, lies your very first letter. It’s crumpled and worn; the paper thinned around the Dear until only the Nobody remains.
It’s raining again. I tried to trail the raindrops on the window, follow their little race, but my breath fogged up the glass, and I wrote your name instead. How very stupid. How very much me. My neighbour visited me yesterday. We drank some tea and wine. But only later. The tea came first. Apparently, I talk about you when I’m drunk. Did you know that? Mrs. Andersson told me, said I cannot shut up about your green eyes. I’d like to think she’s lying, but it must be true. I’ve always found them beautiful. Tomorrow, I’ll go visit the house that I wrote to you about last time. The one with the tiny garden. I thought I saw a swing there, too, but walking past it yesterday, I couldn’t find it. No matter, dear. I’ll hang a new one when the time comes.
Tags:
@mostlymarvelsstuff,  @strangegardentaco , @natasha-danvers , @sxph-t , @5aftermidnight , @morbid-gaymer , @ludwigvonbaethoven , @mxrvellouspidey , @blackxwidowsxwife  , @pleasantbearscissorstoad , @mostlymarvelsstuff​ , @imnotslouching
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ramp-it-up · 1 day
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Deck the Hallways
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Shield High School FACULTY AU
Pairing: Teacher! Bucky x Teacher! Reader; Sam Wilson and Thor x Reader (platonic)
Word count: 875
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI, Language, pretty tame otherwise, Christmas decorations, going commando, teasing, tinsel tug of war, chess playing, suggestive language. All errors my own.
A/N: This is a teacher AU. All characters in this are ADULTS, as you should be if you’re reading my fic. Thank you. 😊
This comes right after Quarter Finals and at least one other part (not yet published) chronologically. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
This is in response to the following ask for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas. I missed these characters. Thank you for this ask.
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I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
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You were busy decorating the staff lounge Christmas Tree, and Bucky was busy watching you.
That cute barely-within-teacher-dress-code red and green plaid skirt was calling him, and he had visions of what he was going to do to you later.
You looked over your shoulder at him and sashayed over, wrapping a yard of tinsel around his neck as you stood with his knee between your legs. You were alone in the lounge, but someone could walk in any second.
It was exciting.
“Gimme your panties.”
Bucky smiled up at you with that smile that was hard to resist as he slid his palm up your leg.
You shivered.
“Wish I could, James. But… can’t give you what I don’t have.”
Bucky’s eyes got big, and so did his grin. He clenched his hands, cheered, and then put his hand back on your leg, moving higher. He was about to go there as you heard someone clear their throat.
You stepped back and turned to see Sam smirking at you as he came in. He and Steve found out about you two in New York, but you swore them to secrecy. If Principal Fury found out, your jobs were in jeopardy.
Sam cleared his throat. 
“Gotta keep that shit down.”
You’d gone over to the tree and pretended like nothing happened, grinning from ear to ear.
Bucky’s voice was back to the usual monotone.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Wilson.”
You peeked back over your shoulder to witness Bucky staring at the chessboard on the table that he’d turned back around to. He looked back at you and winked.
Sam made retching noises as he moved his knight.
“Y’all are gross by the way.”
You giggled as Bucky scowled at Sam.
“Shut the fuck up, Sam. Checkmate.”
“Awwww! Man. Yourname has given you holiday superpowers with that tinsel.”
Bucky looked down at the garland and smiled, flicking it over his shoulder like a scarf. 
“You never used to beat me like this.”
Bucky flipped Sam off as Eric Masterson entered the lounge.
“Ms. Reader is giving out superpowers for the holidays? To Barnes?”
He went over and tried to take the tinsel from around Bucky’s neck. There was a brief tug of war between them until they broke the string and stumbled back. Masterson panted as if it were a great effort. He pointed at Bucky. 
“He is not worthy of Christmas powers. I will play Santa at the Holiday Pageant this year and demonstrate the wonder and majesty of Blitzen, which is Christmas Spirit.”
Masterson stood with his hands raised to the ceiling as if he was expecting something. Sam got up and stood beside him, looking up as well.
“What’s gonna happen? Snow?” 
You turned around to witness this scene. Bucky and your friends made you irrationally happy. You watched Bucky tuck his tinsel in his pocket as he winked at you again.
“And Blitzen is the name of…”
He took in Eric’s blank stare.
“Nevermind. You’d make a really terrible Santa, Eric. Just sayin’” 
“Don’t be mean, James. You should apologize.”
The way you looked at him was too much, he couldn’t say no, although Sam would know he was whipped. He thought about resisting, but then you pouted. Those lips. He thought about them wrapped around his…
“Shit,” Bucky cursed under his breath.
“Sorry Eric, I meant that you should be the MC instead, you know, basically lead the show. You’d be great at that. At the forefront.”
Masterson bowed a bit.
“Thank you for recognizing my talent, Barnes.”
Bucky shook his head at Eric and turned to you.
“And thank you for the holiday superpowers, Ms. Yourname. I would like to discuss that item you’re missing…”
He turned around to see Sam smirking and Eric smiling innocently at you two.
“...In your lesson plans on the Great Depression for your Gatsby unit. I can help get what you need inside… I mean help fill up that hole…in your unit.”
Bucky smiled a wolfish grin as you played along. Sam was gagging again. Eric was pouring himself some coffee, having lost interest in the conversation.
“Sure, Mr. Barnes. We’ll get it in. 4:30? Turner Street Cafe.”
“Deal, Ms. Yourname. It will be an eventful session. See you then.”
“See you then Mr. Barnes.” 
You twirled a little bit as you walked out of the lounge for your next class. Bucky bit his lip.
Sam shook his head and said under his breath, “Isn’t Yourname’s apartment on Turner street?”
Bucky straightened up and frowned at Sam.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
But he could not hide the light in his eyes. Sam just smiled at his friend, happy that he was finally happy. Bucky nodded at Sam and headed out to the soccer field to check the condition after the previous night’s rain.
Eric came up to Sam, sipping from his mug.
“You gotta admire James and Yourname. They are dedicated to banging it out for their profession. They go so hard, I hope they are taking care of themselves.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is hard, but they are dedicated to banging it out.”
“Of course they will, and they probably fuck like rabbits, too.” 
Eric looked down at the chess board, and then back up at Sam.
“Let’s play some chess.”
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Reblog it baby! 😘
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warenai · 1 day
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Wanda: well Y/n, I have to say, I'm really disappointed.
Y/n: well, you didn't have to say it. You could've just thought it
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A Walk Through Hell - Avengers X GN Reader - Choose Your Own Adventure Series
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Title: Overwhelmed
Avengers X GN Reader
This is a choose-your-own-adventure story where you, the reader, get to choose what happens in the next chapter. Based on the most popular choice, that's what going to happen next. Along with the freedom of choice, you have a chance to get with either; Steve, Bucky, Thor, Pietro, or Natasha. Your eventual bf/gf will depend on the paths you choose. Good luck.
Additional Characters: Steve, Thor, Fury, Natasha, Pietro, Wanda, Tony, and all other Avengers (Mentioned)
| First Chapter | Next Chapter |
WC: 1,357
Warnings: Reader was saved from Hydra, Reader is a bit shy considering you know... Hydra. Typical Hydra talking and Reader getting overwhelmed
Looking down at the elevator floor, you waited beside the man named Fury as the elevator went up and up.  As soon as it stopped, the doors slid open revealing a wide hallway decorated with a modern design. You followed close behind Fury as he walked down the hall which opened up into a large living room-type area. There were the Avengers, their heads turning towards you and Fury... Well, mostly you. 
Thor was the first to notice Fury's arrival and his booming voice filled the quiet space as he greeted him. Everyone else then turned to see you and looked shocked, if not confused. Tony stood up first and approached you while Clint, Natasha, and Bruce followed suit. Soon enough you were slightly crowded by most of the Avengers. A blessing and a curse. Unable to meet any of their eyes, you shuffled closer to Fury. Fury looked down to pat your head before turning to the team.
"This is Y/N. They were newly rescued from Hydra. They'll be your new Avenger. I want you all to be nice and fair. Understood? Y/N has only just started working for SHIELD and they're still adjusting to being around other people.” Fury then turned to you and gave you a small smile, “I’ll check on you later.” He then left and Tony was quick to stick out his hand which you took after hesitating a moment longer than necessary.
“I’m Tony Stark. Also known as Iron Man or the leader of the Avengers.” He shook it gently before pulling it away, "And this is my friend Steve Rogers." With a wink, he pulled the blond into a side hug and grinned ear to ear. You weren't sure what to do or say so you simply smiled in return while looking up at the blonde hero. The man seemed taken aback for a few moments, glancing between you and Tony before returning your smile. After a long beat, Steve spoke,
"Hi, I'm Rogers, I mean, Steve. You can call me Steve." He stumbled out, seeming a bit flustered.
"Nice to meet you." You said softly, rubbing your arm with your hand as you glanced up at the handsome man before you and back to the floor.
At another sign of movement, you looked up, noticing a woman with red hair, smiling softly at you. "I'm Natasha, but you can call me Nat. I also used to be in Hydra." She confessed and your eyes widened.
"You're the Black Widow." You said in awe and realization as she nodded.
"I am," She answered, before offering her hand slowly, "Do you want me to show you to your new room?" She asked and after a moment, you nodded, taking her hand as she led you down the hall. 
A woman in a black sweater and dark red pants came rushing over, walking beside you, and slightly startling you. She raised her hands to show she wasn't a threat before apologizing, "I'm sorry for startling you, I wanted to come with you. If that's alright?" She asked, and you quickly noticed her accent.
You nodded, smiling softly and she returned it, "It is."
"I'm Wanda by the way. And I'm sorry about my brother in advance."
The two women then lead you to a door near the end of the hall. Natasha opened the door and you stepped in. Looking around, you noticed it was pretty bare and had the same sort of style as the living room. There was a door in the corner, to what you assumed was a bathroom. Beside the bathroom was a closet, the wooden sliding doors shut. Against the wall in the middle of the room, was the bed. Your heart began to race as you looked at it, a small smile creeping on your face. The bed was way bigger than the one you had in the Hydra base. It was canopy-like, black base with white sheets, blankets, and pillows. It was a dream. You even had a tv.
Natasha turned to you, "Do you like it? If you like, we can go out and shop for some more homey things if you like?" She asked, and you nodded. 
"Yes, please. I'd love to."
"Do you have any other clothes to wear?" Wanda asked, and you shook your head, looking down at your outfit.
"I only have what I have on me." You explained shortly, gesturing to your gray sweats.
Wanda nodded with a smile, "Then we'll get you some new clothes too. We can do it in a few days, for now, you can borrow some of my stuff if you like. Maybe we can steal the guy’s shirts?" Wanda smirked as Natasha nodded.
You nodded, "Thank you," You replied and they nodded once more, before they lead you back to the main room with the other Avengers.
Quickly, and suddenly, a blue flash startled you, a man with white hair grinned before you. You guessed he had mutant powers, considering how fast he was. "Hi, I'm Pietro." He introduced himself and Wanda sighed.
"He's my brother. Sorry about him, he doesn't understand personal space." She spoke, gently pushing him back from you.
A man with long blonde hair and a red cape walked forward, you recognized him from Hydra as Thor, the God of Thunder. "I am Thor, God of Thunder." His voice boomed, startling you slightly which he quickly noticed, "Sorry, my dear. I do hope your stay is a delightful one." He spoke, softer this time in which you smiled bashfully, slightly overwhelmed by his good looks.
One by one, each Avenger introduced themselves, being mindful, polite and friendly. Finally, you got the chance to talk to the infamous Captain America again.
"Hello again." He said and you smiled slightly, waving slightly.
"Hello..." You mumbled shyly, glancing at everyone as they disbursed from the room or chatted quietly with each other.
"I do hope you like it here. I'm sorry you went through what you went through. No one should have to go through that." You nodded at his words, you knew he spoke from experience. You had heard of the Winter Soldier when you were in Hydra.
"I... I know." You let out, surprising Steve, "I heard of what you speak of," You finished, glancing over to the side of the room where you caught Bucky staring at you. His brown hair framed his face perfectly as his dark and deep eyes stared into yours. Quickly, he turned away and you looked back at Steve.
Steve nodded sadly, "They are terrible people... How are you feeling now? Do you need anything?" Steve questioned worriedly.
Your eyes darted down to the ground briefly before meeting Steve's gaze again, "No, I'm alright, thank you. Though, do you know anyone who could tell me about who I am? I only know of my time in H- that place and my name." You whispered softly.
Steve nodded sadly, "I'll talk to Tony and Bruce. They can help you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise before nodding slowly, unsure of whether or not you trusted him completely yet. You should've but you were still working on working on that. The look on his face told you that he was telling the truth though.
"Hey," Natasha spoke as she stopped beside you two, "Mind if I steal them?" She asked and Steve shook his head before turning to you and giving you a small smile before leaving. Natasha then turned to you and gave you a smile, "Do you want to join some of us at this diner tonight? Tony said he would buy you whatever you want." Her expression turned to concern, "Unless you want to stay in the tower tonight. We'd totally understand if you don't feel like going out." You nodded, looking at the floor in thought. 
You did want to go out and eat something, but you knew you could make something at the tower while they were gone. It would be nice to be alone, but you've been alone almost your entire life. What were you doing to choose?
What Do You Choose? 1. You decide to go to eat with some of the other Avengers 2. You decide to stay in the tower and eat there
The most popular comment will win, next chapter is on 12/13/22
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Let me know if you want me to add you to the taglist.
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auroraromaximoff · 30 days
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Wanda: There's a word to describe our situation you know
Natasha: Starts with an L...
Y/n: Lesbians!
Yelena: *Wheeze*
Natasha: Lost, y/n, we are lost...
Yelena: Technically she wasn't wrong!
Wanda: Amongst other things, we are lost
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snow-fire13 · 3 months
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Incorrect Quote
Nat: I'm not doing too well.
Wanda: What's wrong?
Nat: I have this headache that comes and goes.
*Y/N enters the room*
Nat: There it is again.
Wanda, empathetic: Yeah, I got one of those too.
*Pietro enters the room after Y/N*
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wandas6-gf · 3 months
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Y/N: *is carrying in all the groceries*
Wanda: *holds out hand to help*
Y/N: *aggressively moves all the groceries to one hand to hold Wanda’s hand*
3K notes · View notes
rassvetsky · 27 days
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Steel Blue
bucky barnes x reader
"Without giving you a chance to fight, Bucky left. For your own good. But almost a year later, as it turns out, neither of you can handle being apart, and Bucky missed you too much to play it nice when you're moaning out his name like that."
[4.3k] exes to lovers, angst to smut to fluff hehe, alcohol consumption, smoking, unprotected sex, making out, cunningulus, spit kink, marking, choking, bucky's such a gentleman i love him
reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated. not proofread.
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Soft chatter blended into the background as you kept your eyes blandly on the football match playing, small screen not doing the players any justice with the bird's-eye-view. Your fingers trailed the brim of your glass, favorite drink prepared the second you entered the pub, as you were probably the only regular there. That bartender had been a silent secret-keeper of yours for years now, and judging by how quiet and mellow you've been for the past year, he probably knew. 
"Hey," he approached you with a smile after serving his last customers, the group carrying their glasses over to their designated table. He had a warm personality, a bit mysterious perhaps, but the unknown didn't scare you one bit. He was the type of person to make others feel safe. "Everything's gonna be alright. Just wanted to remind you of that."
"Thanks, Colin." you sighed, a thankful smile playing on your lips as you took the last sip of your drink, reaching for your wallet since it was late already. 
Immediately, he reached over the bar to stop you, shaking his head to both sides with a frown. "It's literally impossible to convince you when something's on the house, isn't it?" he joked, earning a scoff from you. "Join me for a smoke break, clear your head a little. You drank a bit more than usual today." 
"Nothing out of the ordinary." you heaved a sigh, letting your wallet find its space back in your pocket as you got up, following his lead through the bar to the front entrance. You saw him fish for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket in the dark, and you reached for your lighter, igniting the flame and holding it against the tip of his tab when he placed it in between his lips, as he took in a long drag, locking the fire in. 
You leaned on the wall and watched him as he took another cigarette out and replaced the other, using the already lit one to light that up before handing the one he had in between his fingers to you. You took it, swirled the thin roll between your fingers to get a read of the label, before taking a long, long drag. 
It was a bit quiet after that. 
"I saw Bucky last week," he admitted, tone soft, almost apologetic. "Asked me 'bout you. How you're doing, and all that." 
"Should've told him to piss off." 
"He's not a bad guy, Y/N. You know that better than I do." Colin's sigh pulled an eye roll out of you. "It's been, what, ten months? A year? Forgive and move on, sweetheart, it's the only way your heart could find peace." 
"I forgave him the second he left, forgiving is not the issue." you shook your head, a bitter chuckle leaving your lips as you watched smoke leave Colin's, urging you to take yet another drag. Letting it burn through your lungs, you exhaled, closing your eyes momentarily. "Can't forget. The only peace my heart ever knew was him." 
And how funny fate was, that a second before Colin started speaking again, your eyes met someone else's in a slight distance. 
Those steel blue eyes that used to let you know where home was. Your safe place. 
Colin followed your gaze through, offering a tight smile to the man, current subject of your conversation. He didn't see it though, too focused on the cigarette between your lips and the hurt in your eyes. Breaking away from the trance rather quickly, he looked ahead again, steps rushing but not towards you. And with that, he left. Not even sparing a hello. 
It's been a year since you last saw him. And it hurt like hell. 
It wasn't uncommon for you to wake up to an empty bed, the warmth of your boyfriend which you fell asleep with long gone, instead replaced by a ruthless cold that took over your entire body, the longer your gaze lingered on his side. 
It wasn't uncommon for him to be apathetic at times. You knew what he went through and what his mind was still putting him through, but you always made sure to let him know that it was okay for him to approach you, seek refuge in your arms and close his eyes, only to think about absolutely nothing. No worries, no demons chasing him through; just you. Just the moment. 
But that morning a year ago, the dread you felt buried deep within your chest let you know that there was more to him just getting up earlier than you when you woke up to his side being cold again. You could still feel the kiss he left by your hairline before he left in the morning, semi-asleep state not allowing you to pull him back to bed when your dreams sounded sweeter to go back to. 
You could feel your heart beating by your fingertips when you blindly reached for the folded paper you noticed by the bedside drawer, unfolding carefully only to be met with Bucky's handwriting, hard to read for everyone but you. 
You wished that you never ever learned how to read then. 
You could tell by the crookedness of the lines and rounds that his hands were shaky as he wrote away, starting off his note with your name, lettering almost apologetic. 
Thank you for making my life a lot more bearable, it read, as you ruffled through the lines with your eyes, unable to concentrate on one sentence at a time. I've always been a firm believer that love and respect are earned, and unfortunately, I never earned your love no matter how keen you were to give it to me. I loved you more than I could ever begin to comprehend, yet you deserved more than I could give. 
You felt hot tears pushing through, creating a pathway through your cold cheeks, salt lines leading the way down to your neck as you blinked once, twice, trying to get rid of them as much as you could just so you could keep reading. 
No matter how much I want to be selfish, I couldn't possibly do that to you. There's a lot of things in this world that you need to experience. You don't deserve to be staying up all night and ruining your tomorrow just so you can hold me through a nightmare. You deserve to be happy, unconditionally. And I know this isn't a good way of ensuring that, but at least this way I'll be sure that I'm not the one holding you back. The guilt of it is unbearable. 
Bucky. A fair man. Yet he never gave you a chance to fight. 
So, as petty as it is, you didn't try to get him back. As your fingers clutched the collar of the hoodie, borrowed from him; you set the paper down next to you, a heavy sob breaking through before you laid down again, knees to your chest. 
I'm going to love you 'till the end of time. 
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Your legs worked faster than your brain could, as they led the way to the pub a week later. It was routine at that point, you never liked to drink all that much but not like you had anyone left to talk to. Most of your friends were busy with life, understandably, as you lingered over the same sore spot for god knows how long. 
Colin's smile invited you in, he already had his jacket on as sometimes he left a bit earlier, leaving the bar to his cousin. The latter was still a student, thankful for every moment that Colin let him work there, as money was tight for everyone and it was hard to find a place for yourself in the job market. "Hey, love." pulling you into a hug, Colin patted your shoulder, head signaling towards the bar. "Someone's waiting for you." 
Taken aback, you frowned. Not a lot of people knew about your little routine, and probably nobody in your life would show up at a random pub with hopes of you hopping by, without even a heads-up. "Who?" 
"Go see for yourself. I need to go, though, please don't hate me when I'm back." 
That sounded like you were about to have a real good reason to hate him once he was back. 
Nonetheless, you waved him goodbye, before making your way over to the bar and scanning the people that sat by it. Spotting an empty stool, the figure next to it felt awfully familiar, quickening the beating of your heart and the intake of your breaths as you swallowed down a lump on your throat, slowly making your way over to it. 
His eyes met yours again. Almost lit up, even. 
"Baby." 
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You were bitter, Bucky was guilty. 
Understandably. 
As you sipped through the pint of Guinness he ordered for you, he kept playing with his fingers, gloves left on the bar long ago as if he was trying to show you that he was better. 
And indeed, he was. 
He pushed through. 
And you couldn't help but feel like maybe that's because of the lack of you in his life, although it seemed to be far from the actual case. He was actually happy to see you, ecstatic even, as your sight was the only thing he wished for in the past year. Every night was spent ruffling through memories of you, snippets of how warm your embrace would feel, how your kisses would ignite a thousand fires on his soul and how you'd smile up at him as if he hung the stars.
He missed you enough to go crazy. 
And you missed him too, but you were as stubborn as a mule. God, you were so bullet-headed that he could barely bring himself to look at you, guilt eating him alive from the inside, fear of never being understood laid deep within his chest. 
But you understood him. Forgave him. Knew why he left, knew why he felt like he had to.
You were just so angry at him that he took your only source of happiness away from you. 
"Sounds eventful." you muttered after he gave you a short recap of how his year went, chuckling to yourself a bit. Barely anything had changed for you except that you hated going home now, knowing that Bucky, your Bucky wouldn't be there to pull you into his embrace and keep you away from whatever was plaguing you all day. You used to love going back home to him back then. 
Bucky kept the silence going for a little while, before reaching from under the bar to brush his fingers against yours. Even the slightest touch like that burned his eyes with tears threatening to escape, he was desperate, so desperate that he could get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, for you to give him something, anything, perhaps a hug or at the very least, a shove. 
"I can't do this anymore." he admitted, tone sheepish. "I came here a couple of weeks ago, asked Colin about you- and fuck, I hoped that you'd be happy, I prayed every night for you to already have forgotten about me-" a sigh left his lips. "But hearing that you were… It broke me. It broke my heart again and I- I'm sorry. I don't- there's no excuse, but I miss you. And I love you, so much." 
His voice was breaking. 
You couldn't help but sniffle, and grab his hand. Your hold was firm, determined, almost filled with passion, even. 
"I forgave you long ago, Buck." you whispered, the nickname washing out quite a bit of his worries as he leaned in a bit, just to hear you better. To hear you closer. "But I don't think you understand what exactly you ripped apart from me when you left. How- How could you even begin to think that I'd be happier without you?" a single tear traveled down your cheek. "As if I'm as pure as the driven snow. As if I gave you anything remotely close to what you actually deserve." 
"You gave me more than-" 
"No, shut up," you snapped, shaking your head. "Seriously, drop that bullshit. We were perfect for each other and you- you were just-" 
You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Because you knew that it wasn't what you actually felt, it wasn't what you actually wanted to say. 
With a sigh, his gaze dropped to the floor. Thinking over everything the two of you had been through. Countless nights spent with you nursing him back to the present with quiet shushes, whispers of 'I'm here, you're with me, safe'. Countless hours of your gentle fingers working shampoo through his hair, massaging his scalp, patching up his bruises. You never mentioned it, never used it against him, instead talked him through the process by telling him about your day; about the flock of birds you saw by the port, about a cute snail you found stranded in the middle of the pavement and carried to safety. 
About life. 
You kept reminding him that there was a world around him, detached from his own bubble. 
When he looked back up at you, his gaze held a thousand words that he didn't have the power to speak out loud at that moment, and a thousand stars. Which, again, you were sure that he hung, himself.
And a silent agreement surged through the both of you then. 
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Bucky could still walk the way to your bedroom with his eyes closed, or rather, occupied. You giggled at the realization, legs wrapping up around his waist a bit tighter but you knew that even if you let go, he'd hold you. 
He was keeping you tight against him as if you'd disappear right before his eyes. 
His lips didn't leave an inch untouched, shirt long gone by the living room, straps of your bra pushed down as he bit down on the thin skin near your collarbones. He imagined this moment at least a million times when he was alone, guilt seeping through his veins but even the thought of you kept him going, tight around his length as he fucked his fist, imagining, wishing, praying that it was you instead. 
And although he promised himself that he'd take it slow and savor it if he ever got the chance again, that promise was long forgotten the second you pressed your lips against his. 
He wasn't rushing, he had all night anyway but god, he was unhinged; uncontrollable with the way a low growl left his lips when he finally laid you down on the bed, a broken moan leaving your own lips when his clothed length pressed against your core. Your hips jumped up to meet his halfway through as you tugged on the end of his shirt to pull it up, and he allowed you to do that, discarding the piece of fabric somewhere on the floor before he reached in for a kiss. 
It was wet, messy, sloppy even- but it had been way too long for any of you to care. You missed feeling his lips against yours, spit leaving a trail in between whenever the two of you parted to catch your breath. Your lower lip got caught between his teeth as he tugged slightly, not even bothering to play nice when his tongue grazed yours, hands all over your body as you squirmed under his weight. His lips traveled all the way down to your neck again, ruthless with the way he was abusing your skin, making sure that the reminders of that moment would stay for at least a day or two. 
You were his, and he wasn't going to let his insecurities take you away from him this time. 
Your fingers tangled through his hair, keeping him tight against your skin with a whisper of his name, body practically on fire with the way you were just so desperate to feel him against you, impossibly closer. It wasn't enough, and it felt like it'd never be. 
"Baby, please," you breathed out, hardly able to even speak with how dried up your throat felt already. He only hummed against your skin, hands making their way in between the bed and your back to unclasp your bra, pulling it through your arms before throwing it elsewhere. 
"Please what?" the look in his eyes made you feel like he'd give you the world at that moment if you asked, lips pink, swollen & wet. You couldn't find an answer- you were so ready to take just whatever he saw fit, mind buzzy with the way he kept grinding on you mindlessly. All those fabrics must've felt like a crowd to him too, as he pulled away a little to peel your jeans off, his own following suit. "Tell me what you want." 
"You know exactly what I want, stop teasing," your tone was meant to be threatening but it came out more of a whine than anything else, as your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he landed a harsh spank on your inner thigh. "Fuck- sorry, 'm sorry," you slurred, already drunk with everything about him. "Just- please, anything." 
"Been too long that you're not as vulgar as you used to be," he snickered, specifically slow as he tugged his boxers off, crawling right back to you just to trail soft & wet kisses across your abdomen, tickling you a bit but you didn't have it in you to complain. "You'd lay there for hours just begging for my cock, wouldn't you, baby?" 
Your mindless nod pulled a chuckle from him as he reached further south, one kiss right above where your underwear ended before hooking a finger through the cloth, pulling it across your legs. "Kept thinking of you. Kept thinking about how wet you always got for me." he whispered, fingertips slowly leading the way to your core, now bare and drenched with expectation as you squirmed, nodding rapidly as if to confirm that. 
A dragged out mewl finally left you when he ran his flesh fingers through your soaked folds, hissing out a curse before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer, face already level with your entrance. "Bucky, Bucky, baby," you mumbled, fingers treading through his hair when his tongue made contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, wet fingers teasing your entrance as he savored the taste. 
He wasn't as patient for much longer though, as he pulled away for a bit to let a ball of his spit fall and soak through your already damp core. Using that leverage to push two of his fingers in, he curled them slightly in the way he knew would affect you the best. The slight graze against your walls pulled a sob through you, as you threw your head back against the mattress, back arching when he trapped your clit in between his lips again, sucking and licking until you were reduced to a whimpering mess beneath his hold. Your cries weren't as silent anymore as you moaned out his name, louder than you meant to, the time spent apart definitely showing its effects as you could already feel a familiar coil forming. 
The only thing that could be heard throughout your rather quiet apartment was the slurping sounds of his lips against your core, groans that left him when he grazed his clothed length against the mattress and your loud pleas, screams of his name with a few tears escaping. It was too much, it was too less, it was perfect and everything in between as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, abusing your clit in a way that you'd only let him. 
That coil didn't take too long to snap, vision blurry until white, his stubble glistening under the dim light with your essence. He felt every single bit of his body taken over with primal urge, wanting to taste you and use you until you couldn't even form a thought, but good lord, he tried too hard to push that back and show you just how much he missed you. Your body was still shaky as he helped you ride through the high, sensitive to the touch, flinching and squirming without much effort. 
The harmony between the two of you was impossible to miss when he pushed himself up and forward just to find you awaiting him there, lips parted and tongue out to be given what you deserve. Bucky let a mix of his spit and your wetness fall on your tongue then, as you swallowed it all down with gratitude, body melting against his when he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a moment to recover. "Tell me you love me." 
You couldn't reply properly then, only a soft whine leaving your lips before his metal fingers suddenly wrapped around your neck, squeezing from both sides slightly to pull that answer out of you. "Love you so much," you dragged out, a bit woozy. "More than anythin'." 
His smile was animalistic as he lined his length up with your entrance, running the tip along your folds to spread your wetness around, your shaky intake of breath indicating just how sensitive you got from only one orgasm. 
He wanted more. 
"Love you more, baby." he whispered before pushing the tip in, the stretch causing you both to groan in unison as he slowly bottomed out, pulling out a bit just to thrust right back in. "Fuck, still so tight for me. You were made for me, weren't you?" 
You could only nod, unable to form any coherent sentences at that moment as your lips parted, gasps leaving through with every single thrust until he got a little meaner. Your gasps left their place for broken moans and sobs then, the force of him on top of you pushing you deeper into the mattress, the guttural groans leaving his lips jerking you further towards the edge of completely losing your self-control. 
This is not where you expected to end up tonight, but you were so ready to thank every single supreme being you could think of. 
His grip on your neck got tighter, free arm used to keep his body up on top of you as you held onto him for your life, nails definitely leaving marks through his back and shoulders when you dug in. He didn't mind, if anything, the pain only made him want to ruin you harder, keep you sore for days just to return to you whenever he saw fit. His hot breath rhythmically hit your neck as he gasped against the skin, hips drilling into you with so much force that the intensity got you shaking again. 
Metal fingers trailed down in between your bodies to circle your clit, harsh material forcing a louder moan out of you as you spread your legs a bit wider for him, the stretch burning through your joints. You were dangerously close already, clenching around his length uncontrollably, intense enough to elicit dragged out and loud moans from him. 
"Good fucking girl," he growled against your ear, soft pants leaving his lips as he took a deep breath. "Come for me, c'mon. Give me what I want." his words barely made any sense to you, as you were way too preoccupied with the loud sounds you let out, mind busy trying to fight off the fog that took over. 
And that fog didn't dissipate until it was finally too much to take in, a heavenly sense of relief surging through your body with heavy tremors, breath held behind a gasp and eyes rolled close. He wasn't too far behind, pace already faltering when his moans got even more broken, unable to keep it together with the tight grip you had on his length as he pushed deep and filled you up- right to the brim. 
With your neck free from his hold, and his weight no longer on you but next to you- you could open your eyes again. Both of you were still panting, trying to recover from what just happened- and speaking of that, Bucky's eyes were on your blissed face, looking for any sort of regret but all he could see when you finally looked up at him was pure happiness in your eyes. 
You were still capable of looking at him like he hung the stars for you. 
A smile broke out on his lips before he pulled you close, sticky bodies wrapping around one another but you were too high to care, especially when he ran his fingers all over your body and pressed his lips against yours. "How are you feeling?" 
"Good," you chuckled wearily. "Really good." 
"I'm glad." with his soft whisper, you closed your eyes again. "You can go to sleep if you want, I'll clean you right up and cuddle you." 
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You wanted to go back to sleep. Hell, you could sleep all day if left unsupervised but seeing Bucky under the morning light, fast asleep with soft snores leaving him was a sight to behold. 
You couldn't take your eyes off of him. 
Your fingers went up to caress his face, tracing his features as a sigh left your lips. He was so beautiful, looked so peaceful and you were really torn between wanting him to wake up and wanting him to get some rest. But the latter didn't seem to be happening anytime soon as he smiled, eyes still closed, just a sleepy hum leaving him. "Morning," he spoke, voice a little raspy from all that sleep. 
"I love you." you whispered, smiling along when he opened his eyes and nodded. He knew, he never for once doubted your love- not because you were a master at reminding him that every day but because he always felt it in his bones when you were around. 
"I love you too, so much," he whispered back. "And I'm never ever leaving the love of my life again."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
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notpikaman · 7 hours
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lesbian-deadpool · 21 hours
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Y/N, to Peter Q: You're not Mario. Let's get something fucking straight, you're Luigi at best.
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ardentcupid · 6 months
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Marvel p.links
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Navigation Harry Potter p.links
disclaimer - explicit nsfw content, use discretion and remember that this is an 18+ only page.
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*videos shorter than 30 seconds are marked*
Bucky Barnes
Bouncing on his cock
Bucky loves your tits
Bucky waking you up with his fingers
Riding Bucky in the morning
fwb!Bucky coming over at 2 am
Bucky fucking you after a mission
Backshots with biker!Bucky*
Steve Rogers
Sloppy blowjob with Steve
Steve giving you a creampie
Showing Steve how much you missed him
Rewarding you for taking your punishment
Shower handjob with sub Steve*
Steve fucking your thighs
Petro Maximoff
Soft sex with Pietro
Cuddly sex with Pietro
Riding + creampie with Pietro
Blowjob with roommate!Pietro
Grinding on sub Pietro's cock
Getting each other off
Tony Stark
Sucking CEO!Tony's dick
Making him hard under the table*
Tony fucks your tits
Teasing him until he comes
Road head in Tony's new car*
Enjoying the view with sugar daddy!Tony
Ass slapping with Tony
Natasha Romanoff
On your knees for Natty
Cuddly sex with Nat
Being obsessed with Nat's tits
Showering with Nat
Nat riding your strap
Wanda Maximoff
Riding Wanda's face
Wanda overstimulating you with a new toy
Getting herself off while you suck her tits
Tribbing with Wanda
Wanda playing with you on the couch
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vulpe-fox · 1 day
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letters home masterlist
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letters home - prologue
letters home - to know your name
letters home ii - where the heart is
to be continued
|| songs :
Francis Forever - Mitski
The Loneliest -  Måneskin
Sunflower - Michele Leigh
Romantic Homicide - d4vd
(She's) Just A Phase - Puma Blue
Strange - Celeste
hostage - Billie Eilish
Bubble Gum - Clairo
Glimpse of Us - Joji
I Love You So - The Walters
Fourth of July - Sufjan Stevens
First Love / Late Spring - Mitski
I Met Sarah in the Bathroom - awfultune
Cupid - Jack Stauber
Telephones - Vacations
M. - Anıl Emre Daldal
Family Line - Conan Gray
Atlantis - Seafret
Times Moves Slow - BadBadNotGood
Bad Habit - Steve Lacy
The Less I Know the Better - Tame Impala
HOTEL - Montell Fish
Dark Red - Steve Lacy
Freaks - Surf Curse
Violent - Carolesdaughter
TV - Billie Eilish
A Million Years Ago - Adele
Something in the Orange - Zach Bryan
Memories - Conan Gray
Just Take My Wallet - Jack Stauber
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samurx · 12 days
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*Y/n and Wanda sitting in jail together*
Wanda: So who should we call?
Y/n: I'd call Nat, but I feel safer in jail.
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flayedspiders · 1 year
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another world [1]
after your boyfriend, peter parker, is killed by the green goblin, you take on the mantel of spiderwoman. a few years later, you're suddenly shoved into a multi-versal war after being called to another universe to help a (smaller) version of peter. a familiar face leaves you shaken.
[2] [3]
PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x reader
CONTENT: NO WAY HOME SPOILERS!!!!!, mentions of suicide, angst angst angst angst, may parker deserves so much better and i apologize for putting her through this
WORD COUNT: 2.2k
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Here lies Peter Parker. Beloved son.
We shall meet again.
[Y/N] stands over his grave. There's a chill in the air, autumn has finally taken New York. She shivers, her coat a few sizes too big, and two hands make their way to her lapel to tuck the girl in tighter. May Parker let's out a sigh.
"We've got to get you a thicker coat," May says. There's a tired look in her eyes. The lines on her face seem deeper. She's pushing on fifty-two now. The grief has aged her far more. "You're going to freeze when December hits."
"This one was his, May," [Y/N] replies. The words make May take a temporary pause. "I can't just find a new one."
Wind sends the leaves skittering along the graves. The red and brown contrast greatly to the pure white bouquet of cleomes sat on the headstone. Spider flowers, [Y/N] thinks with a small smile. He'd appreciate the irony.
"I think Peter would rather you be warm and cozy in your own well-fitting coat than freezing to death in one of his old, worn, baggy ones," May eventually responded. [Y/N] wrapped her hands around her body, subconsciously pulling the coat even closer. She could still pretend it smelled like him if she tried hard enough. The warm scent of cinnamon with hints of oak and amber. The smell of home.
The older woman gave her a sad smile and comfortingly rubbed her back. "But, I understand. It's hard to let go of it when you can imagine it's him. You wouldn't believe how many of Ben's old flannels are still folded up in my dresser."
Quiet crept in again. [Y/N] could still remember Ben Parker's death, how Peter shut down, how May crumbled. How could that have been nearly eight years ago? May still had her days of darkness, when the grief became too much. She had lost a husband and a son. [Y/N] had watched this woman quite literally go through every mother's nightmare. How did she get out of bed? How did she go to work? How was she still breathing?
"How do you do it?" [Y/N] broke the silence, unable to hold her thoughts back any longer. "It's been three years, May, and I still wake up expecting him to be next to me. I still wait for a call, a text, letting me know he's going to be late to dinner again this week because he's gotten caught up with some robbery downtown. I come home from work and I wait. I wait for Peter to walk in with Chinese takeout, give me a kiss that takes my breath away, and sit down to explain his latest gadget idea to me. I look at the door and I wait. I wait it for to open and it never does."
A sob falls from her lips. Tears are streaming down her face openly now, though [Y/N] can't remember when they started. May embraces her, tightly, as if she's keeping the girl in one piece. They fall together as [Y/N]'s knees give in from the weight of it all. The ground is cold. The grass is dead. Peter's headstone has collected enough dirt to look beige. There is no sign of life, no sign of who he was. All of it is dull. It makes the sobs wrack through her body even harder.
The two women sit there for quite some time. May cradles [Y/N] in her arms, whispering soothing words in her ear as the waves of sorrow slowly become smaller and smaller. There's been a quiet understanding between them ever since Peter's passing. They were family now. Neither would ever grieve alone. Neither would ever be alone. This was not the first time May Parker had held her son's partner in her arms as she grieved the loss of her love, and it would not be the last.
"You won't believe me, but it does get easier," May speaks while gently petting the girl's hair. Her breath had finally evened out, she was fresh out of tears. "It took me almost three years to come to terms with Ben's passing. I'm still learning to live without him. Healing is not linear, darling. I know it seems like this is never ending, but you will make it through this. We'll both make it through this, together, hand in hand. I am never leaving you and you're sure as hell not leaving me on my watch."
[Y/N] let out a shaky laugh, pulling back from May to look level with her. There were a few tear streaks down the older woman's face and [Y/N] felt a pang of guilt. She hated upsetting May or making her worry even more than she already did. May gently pushed the hair out of her face and [Y/N] took her hand.
"I'm not going anywhere, May," [Y/N] replied, placing a gentle kiss on the older woman's knuckle. "I'd miss your meatloaf too much."
May snorted, standing up and helping [Y/N] off the ground. "Now, there is no point in lying to me to butter me up," She joked, brushing the grass and dirt off the girl's coat. "Why don't you come back to the house for a bit? I'll make some tea. We could finally take a crack at that pumpkin bread recipe you've been talking about."
As if on cue, the shrill screech of a police siren broke May's created facade of a peaceful night. The women shared a look, [Y/N]'s full of remorse while May's held sorrow.
"Duty calls." [Y/N] sighed. She really did want to try that pumpkin bread recipe.
There was a beat. May opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to find the right words to say. She didn't have to. [Y/N] already knew.
"I know, May," The girl spoke up. "He wouldn't want this for me, and you're right, but he also wouldn't want New York to be completely on its own. This city needs a hero, a symbol of hope. It's selfish, but this is for me too. Makes me feel like I'm carrying on his legacy, I guess. As long as there's a Spider, there's still a piece of Peter around."
It had been hard informing May of the double life Peter had been living after he passed, but what else could [Y/N] have told her? "Ah yes, your son died in a very tragic car accident and that's why his spine was shattered into pieces and I was left completely unharmed although I was also at the scene." Lying to May after losing him just felt wrong.
So [Y/N] told her everything, about Spiderman, about the Green Goblin and the Osborns. And a few months later, when [Y/N] decided to take her late boyfriend's place and protect New York, the first thing she did was tell May. May, of course, pleaded with the girl not to go any further with the idea of Spiderwoman, but [Y/N] had her mind set. She was going to protect New York, not only for her home state's sake, but for Peter's memory as well.
May sighed. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop [Y/N] and there was no point in wasting both of their time. She'd been trying to put an end to this for two years now, but the girl was stubborn. Peter had called it "overly ambitious". May couldn't help but think that Ben could've put an end to this somehow, but it was just her now. She'd find a way eventually.
"If you need anything," May finally spoke. "I'll be home all night. I don't have night rounds at the hospital for the rest of this week. You stop by, no matter how late, okay? Peter's old bed is always there for you."
[Y/N] felt a pang in her chest at the mention of Peter's childhood bedroom. She'd spent at least four months after his death practically rotting away in his bed. There were so many memories from their teenage years in that room. She didn't know if she could face them again without deteriorating.
"Thanks, May," [Y/N] gave her a small smile. "I'll shoot you a text if I decide to stop by. In the meantime, pamper yourself. You work too hard."
The women shared a hug, May giving the girl a warm kiss on the cheek before they finally parted ways. [Y/N] watched May make her way out of the graveyard before leaning down to Peter's headstone. She gently sat her forehead against the stone and closed her eyes.
"I really, really hope you're proud of me."
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It was late. She'd been out for hours now, patrolling around the entire state of New York. Stopped a few break-ins, prevented some drug deals, the usual crime scene. It had been quiet ever since Norman Osborn's death. His passing was sudden, an apparent suicide. The news had sent [Y/N] into a fit of rage.
"That coward took the easy way out. After everything he's done, after Peter, it's over because of a fucking self-inflicted gunshot to the head? It was supposed to be me, May. I wanted to watch him bleed."
[Y/N] sat close to the top of the Empire State building. This had been her and Peter's hiding spot. She could remember the first time he had brought her up here, sometime during junior year, and the view had completely taken her breath away. Peter had taken her hand and told her he loved her for the first time. It truly felt like they could've conquered the world together.
She took a breath, attempting to let herself relax for the first time in a few days. She was exhausted; her head was pounding and her body ached. It was a lot more difficult to do the job that Peter left behind without any super-human abilities. She was extremely lucky all of his equipment hadn't taken damage, trying to follow Peter's notes and blueprints felt like reading a foreign language. It was a miracle she hadn't taken life-threatening injuries yet, though she had ended up on May's doorstep needing help getting patched back up more times than she'd like to admit. Thank God for May Parker.
The wind up this high was chilling. It seemed to bite, but it held a certain familiarity that brought comfort. [Y/N] wrapped her arms around herself, leaning against the structure of the building. The red and blue of the suit reflected against the metal. She had managed to adjust Peter's old suit enough to get it to fit her smaller frame. She was cold. She never used to be cold up here.
Her eyes were getting heavier and it was dangerous to stay up this high, but she couldn't seem to care. She gave in almost at once, letting her eyes drift shut. I'll just rest my eyes for a minute, she thought. It's not like anyone will find me up here.
There was a brief moment of complete silence. No city sounds, no wind, she could barely hear the steady intake of her own breath. It was calm, almost as if she had made her way to the end of the world. A bright, nearly blinding light made [Y/N] squeeze her eyes shut tighter. What the hell?
The noise resumed. Cars honked, people yelled. [Y/N] rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the effect of the light, and noticed that the sun had risen. Had she accidentally fallen asleep and slept until morning? She'd have to send May a text. She always sent May an "I'm Ok! :)" after patrol. The woman must be worried sick.
[Y/N] made her way off of the building, slipping her mask back on and beginning to swing home. The sounds of Jonah Jameson's voice echoed through Times Square. Since when had he begun filming his episodes? She could've sworn the reporter only did his podcast.
J. Jonah Jameson sat at a desk, a stack of papers in his hand. His voice seemed to echo through the city. "Spider-Man continues his era of chaos with no remorse—"
That was weird. She had sworn everyone had switched to referring to the vigilante as Spiderwoman ever since the change had become more apparent. Also, when did Jameson go bald? He looked just... slightly off.
The reporter's rant on the hero continued. "When will you cease this meaningless destruction? After your betrayal to Mysterio, it's a miracle you have any public support remaining at all."
Mysterio? Who the hell was Mysterio?
The girl stopped, perching herself on the edge of a building and looking at the screen expectantly. She couldn't remember fighting a "Mysterio". There hadn't been a big bad in New York since the Goblin.
"It's time this little round of show-and-tell was put to an end," Jameson continued. "When will you face the facts? For the betterment of this city, you should be put behind bars. It's time you turned yourself in, Peter Parker."
[Y/N] felt her stomach drop.
The screen flashed. A photo of a teenaged boy was put on display. The words "PUBLIC ENEMY #1" were plastered over his face. Footage followed of the man Mysterio, accusing Peter of attempting to kill him. He revealed his identity and screen went to black.
[Y/N] could see Jameson's face appear back on the screen, but she couldn't hear a word he spoke. Something was extremely wrong here. She couldn't stop thinking about the boy that they had shown.
That's wasn't Peter.
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